A memorial to my brother Steve, 1977-1997
Steven Rusty Court was my youngest brother. He was an accomplished martial artist, a talented rock climber, and an aspiring mountaineer. Tragically he was killed in an avalanche on Mt. Ruapehu on July 1st, 1997 while only 20 years old.
It is useless to dwell on 'what might have been', so instead I'd rather use this space to look at who Steve was, and to explore some of my memories of him.
Steve was born in Auckland on Valentine's day 1977. He had some early health problems, stricken with a dairy intolerance, but soon bounced back and grew into a healthy, active kid. As a child his most distinctive feature was a shock of snow-white hair that earned him the nickname 'milky-bar kid'.
His first dabbling in sport was a season spent in the 'nippers' surf lifesaving squad, although his interest in this soon waned. At around the age of ten he took up Go Shinto Kai Karate, and over the next 7 years or so he worked his way up to become a first degree black belt.
Another early hobby was Role Playing games. He spent many happy hours hunched over rule books, eagerly rolling dice with his group of close friends, or reading from his sizeable pile of favourite fantasy books.
Around the age of 17 Steve discovered his true passion: climbing. He would climb anything that came to hand – trees, walls, furniture, you name it. He'd slave away at his part-time jobs, making furniture, pumping gas, or hoisting sacks of stockfood at Falloon's store so as to be able to keep himself in ropes, karabiners, quickdraws and the other pricey paraphernalia of climbing.
In early 1997 Steve visited me in Hong Kong, where I was living at the time. He spent two months with us, doing some delivery work for Deborah's company, but mainly wandering the hills and mountains – of which Hong Kong has many. One achievement he was proud of was summitting the highest points on each of Kowloon, Hong Kong Island, Lantau Island and Lamma Island. We did quite a bit of climbing together, including my first multi-pitch climb, a route called 'Gweilo' on Lion Rock in Kowloon. I remember arriving at the base of this edifice after a good 3 hours of ferrys, subways and bush crashing, and discovering that Steve had left his climbing harness at home. Duh! Not to worry though, Steve rigged up an ingenious though none too comfortable looking harness from webbing straps, then promptly appropriated my comfortable padded harness on the grounds that he'd be doing most of the leading! On another occasion, he left everyone in Kowloon's Gecko climbing gym open-mouthed after pulling off a dramatic 'figure four' manoeuvre to clean a previously unconquered route.
During all the climbing I did with Steve, I was always struck by his professional attitude towards safety. He would always double check the knots of everyone in his group, and he'd always make sure that those with him knew what was expected of them. Never a macho climber, he was full of encouragement for those who weren't at his level (most of us), but also full of respect for those who were better.
A few months later, I was holidaying in California when I got the call. As near as I could figure, the accident happened as I was sitting on top of Half Dome in Yosemite, thinking how much Steve would love it there. On arrival back in New Zealand I met a group of Steve's friends from AURAC (Auckland University Rock & Alpine Club), and learned some of the details surrounding the event. It seems Steve and his good friend Hamish Coulter were leading a group of beginners in a snow school on Ruapehu. The weather was pretty bad, resulting in most of the trip being spent inside an alpine cabin, however, on the afternoon of the last day the conditions had cleared enough that most of the climbers had been able to venture outside for exercise and some short climbs. Steve, Hamish, and a third man, David Hall, went out on a recce to the top of the Pinnacle Ridge, some distance around the valley. They reached their destination and were returning to the cabin when the snow gave out under their feet, tumbling the three down the slope. David ended up on top of the snow. The other two did not. Despite a fractured ankle, David gamely struggled back to the cabin for help. The alarm was raised, and a group of volunteers rushed to the area, however, due to the severity of the weather all attempts at rescue were badly hindered, and it was not until a couple of days later that a Search & Rescue team with dogs located Hamish's body, with Steve being dug out a day or so later.
I guess the best that can be said is that Steve died doing what he loved, although this is poor consolation to those who miss him. I'm told that on the morning of the accident, he'd said these tragically prophetic words: "Man, I love the mountains, and I'm sure I'm going to die on a mountain one day". The previous day, his friend Hamish had written in felt marker on Steve's mountaineering helmet, the following poignant lines (slightly misquoted from the original):
Do not go gentle into that good night
Old age should burn & rage at end of day
Rage, rage against the burning of the light
-Dylan Thomas
Go hard you young fire tiger - H
Also, the day before he died, beside a babbling brook in Yosemite park, I found a plaque engraved with these words:
Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like Autumn leaves.
-John Muir
I think Steve would have liked that.
A brief postscript: Several months after the accident, the results of a coroner's enquiry showed that neither Steve nor Hamish were negligent in their actions or judgment on the day. Not that that makes any difference to them now of course, but it was important for the families to hear.
If you are interested in reading more, this website has some archived news reports on the incident. Also, Gregg Shinkfield, a friend of Steve's from university, has a memorial page here.