Tom Hornbein, one of my personal heroes and a dear friend, passed away at his home in the spring of 2023. In the the fall, we gathered in Estes Park, Colorado to celebrate the profound impact that he had on so many people he touched as a climber, doctor, mentor, friend, and more. To use a word he seldom left out of a correspondence, it was a truly "precious" opportunity to tell stories, marvel at his legacy, and make permanent the bold impressions left on us all.
As a filmmaker and storyteller, I am sometimes blessed with the opportunity to know a person to a depth I couldn't otherwise access. It's a special opportunity and the main reason I love this craft, but it is also a strange and lopsided relationship. I study their childhoods, writing, careers, etc, and they might only know how I got to their home that day, least of all that I could know more about them than do some of their closest friends. And then come the interviews - that crystalized window where I get to ask anything I want, and they are compelled to answer without pretense or the chance to demur or obfuscate. In Tom's case, I don't think there were too many times that he sat down and told the entire story of his West Ridge climb on Mt Everest, outside of writing his legendary book. It's not that he was withholding, but never liked to talk about his achievements - epic though they were - choosing instead to discuss others and bring his kindness to bear on the vagaries of modern life.
When I was asked in 2011 by Dave Morton and Jake Norton to help with a film about Tom and his Everest climb, it was early in my career and I thought that this might be the most important storytelling opportunity I'd ever get. It may well have been. I certainly approached it as such, throwing all of my weight behind it in a tenacious and probably obnoxious way. But Tom never saw it that way - he saw me as a hungry young talent that maybe shared some of his relentless devotion to goals, in spite of the obstacles or objections. I'd never compare myself to him, but the support and recognition he showed me changed my life and made me feel seen by a hero with whom I never thought I'd ever even share the same room.
After finishing the film, we set out on some tour dates around the country, with the film in tow and surviving Everest team members. Tom never went on stage without his climbing partner Willi Unsoeld's frost bitten toes preserved in a mason jar (Willi died in 1979) to share with audiences. That brought us closer still, and I'll never forget how honored and proud I felt to be included. The funny thing was, Tom always made me feel like he was the one who was honored, always tickled that we went to all this trouble to tell his story, maybe not even realizing how monumental the whole thing was for me.
After that, Tom and Jim McCarthy (another legend of climbing lore) approached me to help with their pet project: documenting the oral history of American climbing for the American Alpine Club. Over the next 12 years, we would travel the country to interview the pioneers of American climbing, starting with the oldest and most vulnerable and working our way to more than 70 interviews and counting. It was because of Jim and Tom's vision and support that this program has gotten this far and will continue into the future.
I was able to visit with Tom for a day at his home in Estes Park back in February of 2023, a couple months before he passed away. He was vivid and sharp, sharing memories and talking about the future. At a certain point, he'd had his fill and suggested it might be time to call it a day. I knew it was probably the last time we would see each other and hugged him extra tight.
Tom summited Mt Everest in May of 1963 - almost exactly 60 years before his death. On that fateful day, he and Willi climbed beyond the point of retreat, their only option to continue up and over the other side, facing the unknown in the way only a hero can. Of course, I always understood the significance of their commitment as a climber, but only now grasp how truly poignant a metaphor that is for his life - and mine. As he said, "risk is but a spice in the essential seasoning of life." Boldness never came in a more powerful little package than Tom Hornbein.
Rest in peace my friend.