We don’t yet know exactly how the mountain managed to take your life. We can only hope that you, who accompanied so many people in their last moments, had a peaceful end, like those who were lucky enough to have you by their side at the end of their lives. We had a lot in common, same age, same first name (you were Rick, I was Ritchie, or vice versa), same profession and same existential concerns. There the comparisons end, because you were larger than life.
Posted at 11:00 a.m.
You led two lives in parallel, one on Earth with us and the other closer to the sky, in the mountains with your fellow mountaineers. Your life on Earth seemed so full to us that we could not understand this need for a second life, but, for you, the need to push your limits and continually surpass yourself was stronger than anything.
You were the most humble and simple guy I’ve known. You sometimes said of certain people that they had easy happiness. What a great way to describe someone. You also seemed very happy with your mischievous smile as a taxi driver bringing me back from the airport, tinkering with your old car, playing with the sewing machine, trotting on the roads of the Laurentians in the rain ( I’m going plugger your exploits at the Boston Marathon to make you sweat a little), but especially by eating (way too many) of my girlfriend’s biscotti.
A busy life
As a doctor, your destiny was to help people, often at the end of their lives, like in 2015 when the Everest avalanche took 19 lives. You were on an expedition and you came down to care for the dying on the site. I could make a long list of your accomplishments, of a full life with your big family, your two boys and your beautiful Caro who made the ultimate sacrifice to let you go with fear in your stomach.
Your second life, the one that only high mountain people can understand, was like an incessant quest for beauty and fulfillment that nothing else could fill.
I know that you were a great mountaineer and I will always admire you for having found and maintained this passion, not to say obsession, which took up so much space in your life.
You who bit into life, it was finally the K2 that took it from you. I know you shouldn’t, but I can’t help but resent that damned mountain that’s going to take you away from us. You leave a great void, and the planet lacks people like you… I will miss your mischievous little smile as a taxi driver who brought me back from the airport.
Hi, Richard (Rick) Cartier. Rest in peace, buddy.