"What kind of shots do we need for Ecuador? I had some when I went to Bolivia, but do I need different ones now?"
"Uhhnng, Gee whiz, Kevin, I dunno..."
"Would you mind letting me know? This is getting expensive."
In 1993, I somehow shmoozed Kevin in to accompanying me to Ecuador. High altitude mountaineering was the bait, for both of us actually, and the sinker was the inexpensive ticket. I mean, we could have gone to Alaska. We even talked about Baffin Island, even though it wasn't exactly high altitude stuff (just BIG). Unfortunately, the latter 2 choices were rather expensive compared to Ecuador, or anywhere in South America, for that matter (except perhaps for Patagonia). We wanted to go high. We wanted to taste that elevation. We got our innoculations & flew to Quito on 27 October, 1993.
Kevin is a master of frugal living. That's what happens when you are a river guide in the summer (living under a bridge with the other guides), and a ski tuner in the winter. He seemed to be like the Dick Renshaw I read about during my formative climbing years.
One of the things we did initially, after meeting each other, was to, naturally, climb a few routes on the same rope.
(I intend to write about Ecuador later, but for now, a few anecdotes...)
Those of you who know him can ask him someday about these tales. Being as spare in words as he is known to be, you might not get as much out of him as you will out of this stuff!
We met informally. He was pounding his way down Garnet Canyon, and I was sitting on a rock, having been assailed by a pair of marmots who vociferously protested my presence in their burrow. Now, this person who passed by me may have been Kevin, or it may not have been him. Suffice to say that we were in the Tetons at roughly the same time, same year. I was inert, having battled my way up from Jackson Hole to be, as I have said, battered about the face and neck by large rodents. I was there to attempt the Middle Teton, with, as usual, far too much gear, and no partner.
Kevin, on the other hand had been up at the lower saddle for the better part of a week, climbing something/anything, I can't remember what he told me. My effort was rained out the very next day, which only goes to show...
Patticakes
At that time, I was living in Casper, which was where we all lived. Kevin and I attempted the reknown aid route "Patticakes" at Fremont Canyon. I think he went first, backing off at a filthy, featureless slot. Were we off route? Okay, we must be off route, we agreed, not really knowing, so I tried a little more to the right, underneath a roof.
Well, the guidebook said the route was A3. However, when I asked Pat for some beta, all he would tell me, with the quiet intensity of Clint Eastwood:
"It's Ayyy... FOUR."
Ofcourse, I started to believe him as I swung out from under the roof onto a stack of tied-off knifeblade pitons, their tips barely inserted in to that sorry excuse of a horizontal crack just over the lip. I backed off to "rest" on an upwardly-driven Lost Arrow pin, which at the time, felt all the more secure, the longer I hung from it. Seeing the knifeblades flex under body weight gave me a sick feeling inside. I think Kevin had a go at it as well, but "Patticakes" was incredibly frustrating to us that day. How could this happen? Weren't Kevin and I both bad-ass solo aid climbers!? Why, heck, both of us had solo-aided A2, A3... not to mention Pat's curious route "Fatal Attraction"... but now this. How embarrassing...
As the sun set on our effort, Kevin said, "I don't wanna be an aid climber anymore."
A few more rock climbing outings, an ice climbing outing or two... these got us closer to South America. I tried to entice other people to go, and a few said they would, but eventually, there was just Kevin and me.
Mind you, I'm not gonna tell the whole Ecuador story here. But allow me a few more quips...
Cody, Wyoming:
It's Kevin's lead. He's been there with Pat for a few more days than me. I join their company more or less as an after-thought, a roving reporter with an ice tool and a camera. Kevin swings into it. He ka-thunks and pecks his way up a dribbling curtain of ice, disappearing over the top. Pat holds the sodden ropes, telling me that Kevin has another fifty feet to go. It's Springtime in the South Fork, and the ice is getting kinda slushy. I look at the rope snaking over the top of the curtain above, listening. For once I am not babbling, and the struggle above is heard in Kevin's trademark understatement:
Eventually, he calls for Pat to come up, then I follow. Kevin's lead had taken him onto a thin sheet of ice melting precariously over a boilerplate rock slab. Just a bit of unprotected mixed climbing... I guess the sweat has all dried up by the time I arrive.
Iliniza Sur, Ecuador
We are descending into cloud, getting off of the mountain. We must cross a crevasse field, but the hour is late, and visibility fades quickly the lower we get. If we don't get a move on, we might get stuck in a whiteout. We have meandered down a few thousand feet of snow, rock and ice. We forget how steep the ground is here. Kevin's water bottle falls out of his anorak's chest pocket, lands in the snow, and begins to move rapidly downslope. We watch it, our ice axes planted. The essential water bottle, minimalist Kevin's only water bottle, tumbles end-over-end in flight, winging into a yawning crevasse, disappearing without a sound.
Kevin stares at the distant crevasse. He looks distressed.
"My water bottle!"
"Yep. Goodbye water bottle."
I cross myself and sanctify the moment. A proud vessel has perished. Kevin is aghast: you simply don't leave a water bottle out here, like this. It is disrespectful.
"If you belay me, I can climb down in there and look for it," he says. I turn and smile at him, because I think he is joking. My face falls when I see he is serious.
"Kevin. It's a goddamned Coca-cola bottle! It had a good life! You can buy another one just as soon as we get to town."
"Well," he concedes, "They're not cheap here, ya know."
Okay, so another impression of Kevin? Okay, one more:
Vedauwoo: Climb & Punishment
Kevin chose this lead, rated 9+ and as it turned out, every bit of that grade. Looked simple. Don Juan decided to sit this one out while Kevin struggled up the initial hand/fist crack.
"It's gi'en nothin' away, now," brogued Kevin. He took a hang just short of a proper rest, then lambasted himself for it. I never was that much of a perfectionist...
He belayed me up through the goofy moves of the latter half, and upon arrival, I saw he was completely out of gear, having placed what he had as best he could. But hey, nothing bad happened. Yet.
We downclimbed to the rappel over Glenda's Chimney, getting back to Don Juan and our stuff. Then it started to snow, with a vengeance. It was late May.
I guess the only point in that little anecdote was to tell you how strong Kevin can be. And that he can whip up a good brogue when the going gets tough.
Think Tita Piaz: One gets to know the mountains better than one gets to know Kevin. Ask him about the taste of shish-ka-bob guinea pig.
Kevin is a master of frugal living. That's what happens when you are a river guide in the summer (living under a bridge with the other guides), and a ski tuner in the winter. He seemed to be like the Dick Renshaw I read about during my formative climbing years. 
We met informally. He was pounding his way down Garnet Canyon, and I was sitting on a rock, having been assailed by a pair of marmots who vociferously protested my presence in their burrow. Now, this person who passed by me may have been Kevin, or it may not have been him. Suffice to say that we were in the Tetons at roughly the same time, same year. I was inert, having battled my way up from Jackson Hole to be, as I have said, battered about the face and neck by large rodents. I was there to attempt the Middle Teton, with, as usual, far too much gear, and no partner.
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At that time, I was living in Casper, which was where we all lived. Kevin and I attempted the reknown aid route "Patticakes" at Fremont Canyon. I think he went first, backing off at a filthy, featureless slot. Were we off route? Okay, we must be off route, we agreed, not really knowing, so I tried a little more to the right, underneath a roof. 
Kevin chose this lead, rated 9+ and as it turned out, every bit of that grade. Looked simple. 
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