The Ravens Last Flight

“They’re missing,” Charley Kurlinkus, a BASE jumper and friend of Dean Potter and Graham Hunt, called me at 11 pm on Saturday, May 16, 2015. Dean and Graham had jumped from Taft point, a promontory 3,000 feet above the Yosemite Valley floor. They’d been missing for over four hours. I tried to return to sleep. I couldn’t. Charley had called me the year before. 

I’d been in Zion National Park and Sean, “Stanley” Leary went missing. I began searching for Stanley the day after Charley called. Eighteen hours later, Potter flew in from British Columbia, where he’d been wing suit jumping. His emotional arrival caused a groundswell among the other climbers gathered, railing everyone to action. Dean and Stanley had agreed over a brother’s bond that they would find each other’s bodies before the authorities. Potter raged up Gentleman’s Agreement, an 800-foot 5.13 route up the steep south face of the Third Mary. He held Stanley’s dead body, still wrapped in his wing suit, while an NPS helicopter flew overhead. We recovered the body, acting as pallbearers the following day. Dean typically charged in with emotion and then simmered. Over the years, we fought a few times due to his strong outbursts. We’d settle the arguments and he’d be apologetic, nice and fun- Dean at his best.  But his brooding nature and intensity earned him the Valley nickname “The Dark Wizard.” After Stanley’s death, he took some time off base jumping but soon returned to his “dark arts.”

“Stanley was there for my first wing suit jump,” Graham told me. When Stanley crashed, he left the jump site in Los Angeles to meet us at the base of the Third Mary. We reminisced about Stanley a few months later while scrubbing the ketchup slime out of the Yosemite Village garbage cans.

cleaning trash cans with graham

“Stanley was a mentor,” Graham said during our 2 am shift. Graham, Dean and Stanley had jumped together often. Now Stanley was dead. We scrubbed harder.  After Zion, Graham moved into Stanley’s El Portal trailer, care taking the property. 

One day when we were supposed to be cleaning, Graham never showed to work. I was pissed. I figured he died BASE-jumping like Stanley. The Curry Village bathroom tile wasn’t going to scrub itself. I cursed him. He showed up the following day. He had spent the night at the John Muir Inn, the Yosemite jail. The rangers arrested him while he was packing his chute at Mirror Lake, the landing zone for the Half Dome jump. He lamented the temporary loss of his wing suit and rig. He complained about the rangers, the Green Gestapo. He bitched. I tried to remind him that he was the most prolific jumper in Yosemite. A night in the jail and dropped charges was a small price to pay for a hundred Yosemite jumps. I recalled a Tom Robbins, who wrote in Still Life With Woodpecker, “Unwilling to wait for mankind to improve, the outlaw lives as if that day were here.” I was happy that Graham was there to scrub tile with me.

Grahambo-rugged legend

“I decided to get a blue heeler and name her Whisper,” Dean said from beneath a tree at the base of The Nose a few years ago.

“But you hadn’t even met her,” I laughed at the irony as Dean’s little dog barked at me. Dean had an idea though and made it happen. Despite the barking he insisted on calling the dog Whisper. He brought her everywhere with him, the base of El Cap, the Yosemite lodge cafeteria, the headwall of the Salathe. He even base jumped with his dog. In the last few years, Whisper had become an extension of Dean. She joined Dean and Graham in Yosemite West where the men were clearing trees on Dean’s recently purchased property. Dean and his life partner, Jen Rapp were building a house on the property. He’d been in the Valley sporadically the past few years but recently had been spending more time in the Park. Having Potter around the Valley felt reassuring. While working on the Freerider, a raven met me on the summit. The Dark Wizard loved these intelligent and mischievous birds. The birds had opened my backpack and stolen my food while I worked on the Monster off width. I cursed the ravens for stealing my lunch while I was climbing. I’d managed to do all the pitches on the Freerider but hadn’t climbed the route in a continuous ascent yet. The birds seemed like one more thorn.

Dean’s comment on my post about seeing so many Half Dome sunrises was amazing.

“Often the turning point is not the Send but beforehand when we realize it’s possible.” Dean told me. I’d been struggling with the route for a few years. We’d talked about it in Zion during the body recovery. Later in the year, in Camp 4, he offered to climb with me on the route, leading the easier pitches so I could be fresh for the difficult climbing. I was flattered that one of my climbing heroes offered to help me. We never climbed on El Cap but we did engage in Yosemite’s favorite past time, slandering people that weren’t there.

When Charley called this year, I knew. Dean and Graham had attempted a difficult base jump; one they had done before but still required precision to fly through a small notch. Graham jumped first. Dean jumped after him, flying low. Graham turned left and then back right. He failed to make the notch. He flared in an attempt to escape. He impacted the wall with his chest. Dean cleared the notch but lost altitude and crashed headfirst. They both died on impact. Wind, low visibility and the close proximity of the men may have caused the crash. We can only speculate at the actual events. A photographer watched from above, heard an impact but hoped that the men had somehow survived. NPS attempted a hasty by foot rescue that night. The following day, YOSAR recovered the bodies via helicopter. 

Bullwinkle joking

“You know what the last thing to go through Dean’s head was?” Dean “Bullwinkle” Fidelman told me. I met with one of Potter’s best friends. He had worked with Graham and I scrubbing trashcans and was a fixture in the Valley.

“Granite,” Fidelman said. He laughed at his own horrible joke. We sat next to the river, watching the Merced swell from the rain. Fidelman talked about staying with Potter in Yosemite West.  Fidelman made sub par coffee one morning. “Winky! Winky! This coffee is shit!” Potter had screamed. Potter stormed through the house, grabbed the mugs and poured out all the coffee. He remade the brew and suddenly relaxed. The next morning he shouted at Bullwinkle from his bed, “Winky make the coffee!” Rain sprinkled into the Merced as Fidelman recounted the story. He laughed and laughed until he cried.

That night the Monkeys met at Stanley’s trailer in El Portal to remember the men. Yosemite locals, base jumpers from Moab and climbers from around the world gathered. We cooked, ate and then drank for the hangover. Some had been to Taft point that day. Others had gone climbing. Some had cried by the river. Everyone dealt with the darkness that had swept over Yosemite.

I drove into the Valley floor the next day. My head throbbed. The clouds lifted above El Cap and the ravens returned to the sky.