Grief is a strange thing. We've reduced the processing of hardships down to psychology, a science. And yet, this seems a mere justification for the sadness and confusion we experience as a result of some emotional trauma.
I didn't know Hayden well enough to call him HK. I didn't know Inge well enough to remember her eyes or smile. But the passing of these two has left our community in a tremendous sorrow.
It is a shame that we are too often better at remembering someone once they've passed than at recognizing them while they are present. Is this human? To focus on ourselves until we've lost something - someone - at which point we grieve over it? Is this not just as selfish?
Hayden seems an exception. He recognizes you in every moment you are together. I met him only once, at the Tennessee Wall this winter. He sought the good lines - not because they were respected but because they were good. Evidently the same can be said for him. He is loved because he was good. He is missed because he was the "better, more humble, more gracious or happier human", despite the fact that he also sent "harder, bigger, more badass routes".
My encounter with him on that day went like this. He was climbing a slew of the best routes at Twall. Some of the hardest, but not only the hardest. From 5.9 to 5.13, he dispatched them with more psych than strength. He spoke of other, lesser traveled crags I loved with genuine stoke. And when he asked what route I was trying, he responded with the simplest HK trademark: "That looks fuckin' sweet." His eyes lit up because of something I was trying. It was a raw, authentic capture of his passion for climbing and his compassion for others.
As it turned out I fell a couple times up this route I had been working, as Hayden and Inge tried the route to our left. Once I lowered, I sort of nudged Hayden to try the route, and he shrugged it as a maybe. There wasn't too much light left, and he had spent the day climbing many climbers' lifetime list. Danny and I walked left around the corner to finish our day on a nice 5.11. As the sun set and we walked back to the car, we noticed Inge hanging halfway up the 13a crack, Tamper Proof. I wasn't experienced in "playing it cool", and instead scurried to ask Hayden, "Did you try it?!"
"Uh yeah man, it's fuckin' sweet!"
"...did it go?" I hastily replied, showing my jumbled priorities without thinking.
"Ha yeah! So much fun", he said, without looking over, his eyes intent on his partner, Inge.
I couldn't help myself, "...did it go...first go?"
He threw on an almost guilty smile, because for him it didn't seem to matter. "ha uh mmhmm..."
He continued to offer some beta to Inge as she hung at the crux, all while motioning through moves with mangled and bloodied hands, because he had not taped up for the roof crack he had just flashed.
And one more thing, he did the 2 kneebar cruxes without kneepads.
These few hours spent on neighboring routes are the only interaction I've had with Hayden and Inge. I think he embodies so much of what our community has convinced itself it cannot be. Accomplished and humble. Stoked and sincere.
In regards to their tragic loss, I am overwhelmed by the depth of this pain in our community. A man with no social media presence has touched so many people. I sense a fog of guilt throughout our community. Could he have known how many of us he had touched? How was he to know if we weren't able to tag him in our throwback thursdays or man candy mondays? How could we wish him a happy birthday without facebook to remind us?
While our feeds are flooded for the next few days with tragic and loving words on Hayden and Inge, keep in mind that they remembered each of us without social media. Let us do the same. They will leave our feeds but not our hearts.
Moving forward, I hope I can live a life a fraction as genuine as his. Know that if I have ever loved you, a part of me will always love you. And know that if you are in a dark time, you have more than a resume of redpoints to fall back on. Cheers.
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