A Climber We Lost: Kurt Blair

You can read the full tribute to Climbers We Lost in 2024 here.

Kurt Blair, 56, December 1

It was the evening of my birthday when I got the news that my friend Kurt Blair had died in an accident on Mt. Cook in New Zealand. I was in Potrero Chico, Mexico, and it was pouring rain, as if the mountains were already crying.

I stepped outside and began sobbing loudly and uncontrollably; I was shocked, saddened, and devastated. Just a couple weeks before, Kurt was here with us, doing what Kurt did: climbing; sharing his extensive knowledge of rescue and guiding; and enjoying moments with friends, new and old.

It was the second season I’d been able to tie in with Kurt here in Potrero Chico, and this season, we climbed together more than we ever had before. I was amazed by his energy and stamina. At 56 years old, he was full of knowledge, enthusiasm, and passion. He noticed the little things, like plants and flowers, and had the ability to climb big mountains, far and wide.

In some ways, I don’t feel prepared to write what I am about to write, but I can feel Kurt’s gentle and encouraging spirit, encouraging me to continue.

This last summer, while hiking down from a local crag in Durango, Kurt shared that he started climbing with his father, Rob Blair at X Rock, a small sandstone climbing area right on the edge of town. In the 1970s, there weren’t any climbing shoes available for kids, so he climbed barefoot. Harnesses with leg loops also weren’t readily available, so he used a rope tied around his waist with a bowline knot.

I was amazed as he told me this, and in my mind I thought I’d love to record a podcast of Kurt telling his origin story someday. Usually, these types of stories come from much older climbers. Kurt was the ultimate bridge between the old school climbers with very little equipment, to this modern era with more than enough technology.

Shortly after telling this story, as we’re walking down the trail, Kurt noticed a small flower. He had our group stop and admire it, noting the name, and making sure we all took in its beauty.

Kurt’s younger sister Katrina shared with me that they grew up in a very supportive household, close to the wild and very connected in the Durango community. Be true to yourself was the only rule growing up, and their mother Pat always encouraged them to “follow your giddy.”

“Our Mom had arthritis her whole life, and we often had to be her hands and legs,” Katrina says.

Katrina believes that growing up this way is part of what made Kurt such an attentive mountain guide, which was his career in the later part of his life.

Growing up, their father Rob was often off on distant mountain expeditions. He would phone in to the kids, telling them about his adventures, molding Kurt’s psyche into idolizing alpine and climbing objectives. As a young kid, Kurt would dress up as an old school mountaineer for Halloween. The culture of the family, Katrina says, was always, “What did you get out and do today?”

When Kurt and Katrina were teenagers, the family moved to New Zealand, which Katrina describes as a very formative experience that fostered a much more community-oriented space than high school in the United States. New Zealand was a very special place to both of them.

There are many things I’ve learned about Kurt since his passing, a true blessing since I agreed to write this piece. And I want to say right now, that Kurt’s life is truly worthy of a book—something that will hopefully happen in the future.

One common thread, from everyone I’ve talked to, is that Kurt was a collector, and a man of lists. Early on, he collected stamps and coins—a seed that was planted by his grandfather, Robert Blair Sr., who was also a climber and first ascensionist. He also collected books, magazines, and expedition postcards; he had every single copy of Climbing magazine, Rock and Ice, Alpinist, and The Climbing Zine. He was obsessive about getting the books signed, and would travel extensive distances to go to presentations and slideshows, where he would bring multiple copies of books to be signed by the authors. His collection, which I just got to see for the first time during the weekend before his memorial, is the most impressive personal collection I’ve ever seen.

Kurt chased lists in his climbing as well, but never boasted about it. In fact, I truly had little idea of how prolific a climber and adventurer he was before he died. He had climbed most of the “50 Classic Climbs” from Steve Roper and Allen Steck’s famous book that guided a generation.

He climbed to the high points of all 50 states, which ranged from the epic to the obscure. He climbed all of Colorado’s 14,000-foot peaks, the 100 highest peaks in Colorado, and many 13,000-foot peaks in Colorado. He climbed five of the seven highest summits of the world, and would have likely climbed Mt. Everest in 2015. But when he was at basecamp, a devastating earthquake struck and the mountain was closed for safety reasons.

Kurt was the real deal. He was a climber’s climber and humble to the core—so much so that I only found out about these achievements after his passing. In conversation, Kurt never once bragged about anything he’d ever done. When talking about climbs and climbing, it was only what he was looking forward to, where he was going next.

Kurt was the father of two sons: Dylan and Galen. Galen told me that his dad was always supportive of whatever passion they followed, from skiing, biking, and climbing to playing chess. He added that he learned to rappel from his dad at the tender age of seven, by rappelling out the second story window of their house. They are both really positive souls that have a similar energy to their dad. I feel lucky that during Kurt’s memorial weekend, I got to spend time with them, and hope to spend more in the future.

Kurt worked in IT for many years for the Southern Ute Indian Tribe. For the last decade or so of his life, he made a pivot to guiding, which is something he’d always wanted to do. His obsessive list-checking came in handy as he completed his International Federation of Mountain Guides certification, which is held by less than 200 guides in the US.

As a guide, Kurt touched the lives of countless people, and not only his clients. In Potrero Chico, I witnessed Kurt hold educational clinics for free for others who simply wanted to learn more about self-rescue. He always freely invited people in to learn. He loved to teach and did so with extreme generosity and kindness. He not only taught about climbing, but he was also an educator for avalanche safety. He was loved in many spaces, including the Ouray Ice Park, where he was a fixture.

Kurt was known to never say a cuss word, yet he had a passion for punk rock, Social Distortion being his favorite band. He’d travel to punk shows, and when I asked him about the mosh pits, he told me he was strategically close to them, but not quite in the middle. A tribute version of the song “Ripple” by the Grateful Dead was performed at his memorial— another surprise to me that Kurt loved that song and The Dead. I’ll always think of Kurt when I hear that beautiful tune.

Kurt was the ultimate embodiment of a climber. He enjoyed a simple day of sport climbing and thrived in the alpine environment of the big mountains. He shared knowledge readily and freely. He spread the love of climbing, far and wide, and is in the hearts of so many for as long as we all shall live.

The last time I saw him was in Potrero Chico, his last trip before he went off to New Zealand to guide Mt. Cook. I was amazed that at 56 years old, he could climb day after day, and didn’t even seem to want or need a rest day. In my mind, I figured I’d have countless more days with Kurt, telling stories and sharing pitches.

By all accounts, Kurt was having the time of his life, just before a fall claimed his life, and the lives of two others: Carlos “Kique” Romero of California (also a certified mountain guide), and a Canadian climber whose name has not publicly been released.

Grieving is complex and different for everyone, but there is no doubt that Kurt was living his life to the absolute fullest. His memorial was one of the most moving experiences of my life. It was gut-wrenching and devastating, yet uplifting. It was a reminder that through climbing, we are able to build deep connections to each other and an international, multicultural community that unites us all in a common good.

Grief seems so painful, and creates a lot of confusion, but I know in my heart that all this pain is worth it for knowing him.

While looking through his archives with his dear friend Bruce Winberg, I came across one of his many lists. This one listed the dream mountains he wanted to climb, and near the end of that list was Mt. Cook, his final climb.

Kurt’s climbing ended on that mountain, but in the finality of his death, he will continue to guide many people in the spiritual, myself included.

I’d like to end this essay with a poem by Marcus Garcia, a mutual friend, and someone who has put a lot of energy and work into normalizing the grief process in our community. Marcus shares his stories of loss and grief, so that we may have the tools to deal with these experiences of heartache and grief  as climbers.

This is his poem, A Shadow To Dance With, written for Kurt:

Grief arrives like an uninvited storm
Sweeping through life’s carefully arranged rooms
Scattering what we thought we knew
About strength, about time, about healing

Some days it’s a whisper
A faint echo of what’s lost
Other days it crashes like waves
Raw and relentless
Taking your breath away
Just when you thought you’d learn to breathe again

No roadmap exists for this journey
No timeline tells us when to move forward
When to rest, when to remember
Each heart writes its own story of survival

They say time heals all wounds
But grief isn’t a wound that simply closes
It’s a profound reshaping of who we are
A lesson in learning to carry both
Love and loss in the same handful of heartbeats

So be gentle with yourself
In these uncharted waters
Some days you’ll float
Other days you’ll sink
And both are perfectly okay

Because grief isn’t a mountain to conquer
But a shadow to dance with
A testament to the depth of your love
And the courage it takes
To keep living when living hurts

 

In the aftermath of Kurt’s passing, a Pursuit of Passion Award has been created by his friends and family, in his name. 

The Kurt Blair Pursuit of Passion Award is a nonprofit fund to encourage those who want to follow their passionate pursuits with financial support to follow through in manifesting their soul dreams.

Donations are accepted to sustain the foundational intention of helping each other reach the heights of our greatest potential. You can make a donation to the Kurt Blair Pursuit of Passions Award Fund here.

 

You can read the full tribute to Climbers We Lost in 2024 here.

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