Linda Pryor

End of the trail By Sarah Carr and Monique French

Accidents in the mountains are less common than in the lowlands, and these mountain mansions are decent, delightful, even divine, places to die in compared with the doleful chambers of civilization. Few places in this world are more dangerous than home. Fear not, therefore, to try the mountain-passes. They will kill care, save you from deadly apathy, set you free, and call forth every faculty into vigorous, enthusiastic action—John Muir. On Saturday June 28, 2008, our climbing partner Linda Pryor, an active member of the Pikes Peak group of the Colorado Mountain Club, died while climbing Crestone Needle, one of the many divine “mountain mansions” of Colorado. The group was about 150 feet from the summit when she fell while climbing a difficult section. Her head hit hard, knocking off her helmet, and she tumbled about a hundred feet. As she tumbled, she appeared to be unconscious, and we believe she died on impact. Linda was an experienced climber. This was her second time on Crestone Needle as she had completed all the Colorado Fourteeners and Kilimanjaro. She had also completed all the Basic Mountaineering School (BMS) modules and was considered by some of her BMS instructors to be more a peer than a student. She was looking forward to taking the High Altitude Mountaineering School course and was already beginning to plan to climb the Mexican Volcanoes and Aconcagua. Linda was a cautious and careful climber who knew and respected the limits of her abilities, but she was always preparing for the next challenge. The sky wasn’t even the limit for her. Linda was the perfect climbing partner at the gym, on the rocks, and on the mountain. A close friend said, “She accepted people where they were and who they were.” She was always gently encouraging us to do our best and to grow, but never pushed us where we didn’t want to go. She always taught by example. In fact, she even taught and cared about people she didn’t know. In her personal trip report to friends for her solo summit of Capitol Peak in September 2007, her final fourteener, she tells the story of three young climbers she had seen that morning: “Got up around 3:30 a.m. and headed up to Daly ridge around 4:00 a.m. Ate some breakfast on the ridge (Zone 28 bar—blah). Started to head out when 3 young guys (early 20s I’d say) popped up on the ridge. They followed me since they had not been up there before. I crossed the gully that you come across pretty soon after leaving the ridge—a little tricky in the dark but managed ok. Waited on other side for the 3 kids to get up nerve to cross the gully in the dark. After about 15–20 minutes one of them finally made it across and waited for the others to come. I continued on as I felt they would be ok with the one finally across—amazingly I kept finding cairns even in the dark. Made it up to K2 ridge around 6:30—seemed like it took forever to go up the boulder field to K2—got a sunrise picture—awesome. Kept looking back for the 3 kids but never could see their lights.”

She continued her climb, summited, and a couple joined her on her downclimb. “Got back to camp around noon— neighbors had some beer cooling in the stream so had one with them and visited for awhile. They mentioned the three kids I had started out with turned around at K2 because they weren’t comfortable with the exposure. They said one wanted to continue on—muttering something about if that woman could do it by herself, they should be able to do it. I was pretty stoked. I bet they hated to see an old lady outdo them.”

This was Linda. She brought her sense of humor and fun wherever she went. It was her “Eleventh Essential.” Once again, a lesson we will always remember.

We will always miss her and feel blessed to have shared these “delightful … divine” places with her. She will be always in our hearts and as difficult as this is, we are thankful that she died living life to the fullest, with a smile on her face ... not in those “doleful chambers of civilization.” Our “”Eleventh Essential” will forever be the lessons that she taught us of friendship, kindness, compassion, and responsibility for yourself and your fellow climbers in the mountains. Linda, we will always love you. P