This past weekend, a few of us gathered to honor our dear friend Luke, who lost his battle with a rare lung cancer last October at far too young an age. Our mission was to scatter his ashes on a remote, unnamed peak nestled between Lost Valley and Duffey Road, a fitting final resting place for a climber’s soul.
The weather was a blend of light rain and snow, perfectly echoing the ruggedness of the journey. The hike itself was a true mixed bag: scrambling up to class 3, steep snow traverses and ascents, dense bush, slippery black lichen-covered rocks, and sheer bluffs. It was challenging, much like Luke himself.
I remember my first trip with Luke vividly, he took me on my first multi-pitch climb in Squamish despite having a broken arm. Thoughtful to the end, he’d send me good luck texts before my races last year, always rooting for me from wherever he was.
At the summit, we built a small cairn and poured half of Luke’s ashes into it. Each of us then scooped a handful and threw it into the wind as we said our final goodbyes. We raised a beer in his honor, shouting our memories and farewells into the vast wilderness.
To me, Luke is a constant reminder that life is precious and fragile, something to live fully, every single day.
You will be deeply missed, my dear friend.
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