McLean

After attending Dave Bridges memorial service in Aspen, Colorado a few weeks ago, I came away with a singular distinct thought – I wish I had a chance to get to know him better. I had crossed paths with him a few times over the years, but after meeting his friends and family, seeing photos of him and hearing people recount adventures with him, I realized I barely knew him.

The first time we officially met was in the Los Angeles airport on our way over to start the trip that would ultimately claim his life. Although I'd talked to all of the film crew guys, we had no idea what they looked like and were cautiously eyeing anyone in the airport that looked like they might be part of our group. When we finally did meet, it was with great relief as everyone was obviously very capable and experienced at this type of thing. We immediately hit it off and the trip was underway.

A few days into the trip, the conversation turned to food and specifically, any specialty food that people might want to get in Kathmandu. The usual items were thrown out and greeted with universal acceptance: candy bars, beef jerky, soup, tea, etc... As we were discussing this, Dave discretely mentioned one of my favorite food groups. "How about some Spam?" I was thrilled. The conversation kept going around us, but I could tell by the way that he said it that he wasn't kidding, and admitting that you like Spam to a group of relative strangers is always a risky thing to do.

"Uhmm, Dave, I'd be into some Spam. You know, maybe just a couple of tins or something."

"Really? Yeah, I actually like it. Not all the time, but you know, sometimes it can be good," he said.

"Oh yeah, I mean, not at every meal, but sometimes it just really hits the spot. How do you eat it?"

"Usually fried, but sometimes cubed and mixed in with stuff, or right out of the can if I'm desperate."

"Do you drink the juice?"

"Of course."

I knew I'd found a soul mate. And after all, I'm sure Dave didn't do things like win the Aspen Uphill Ski Race by eating a healthy, well-balanced diet. You've got to have your nitrates.

As the trip wore on, Dave's talents became blatantly obvious. Instead of waiting for him to set up video shots, it was the other way around. Fully loaded down with camera gear and equipment, he'd break trail, rapidly outpacing the supposed "talent" as we tried to keep up with him. It's always a humbling experience to have to ask the cameraman to please wait for you while you catch your breath. Dave also had a wicked sense of humor, as he demonstrated by shooting some footage which will hopefully never see the light of day. He did it under the guise of "giving Mike and Kent a good laugh in the editing room." I hope they had a strong gag reflex!

By his own choice, Dave tried to blend into the background as much as possible and unobtrusively document the trip as it unfolded. This led to some funny situations as Dave had as much, or more, experience than anyone on the trip. We'd be stumbling around in the fog somewhere, trying to decide what to do or where to go and eventually we'd ask Dave what he'd do. "I'm just here to document the decisions you guys make" was his usual response. We'd all laugh at him and he'd reluctantly give his opinion, always backing it up with "But, I'll do whatever you guys want to do." More often than not, we did what Dave suggested.

On the day of the avalanche, I was standing about a quarter of a mile away and watched helplessly as it swept over them. We had been waving to each other and I knew that two out of the three people were Alex and Conrad, but I couldn't see who the third person was. After the snow settled, I made my way up to Conrad who was stumbling around on the glacier, leaving a crimson trail of blood drops wherever he went.

"Alex. I can't believe Alex is gone, " he said.

"Who else was with you?" I asked.

"David. It was David."

In a matter of seconds, the world had lost two great humans to an unstoppable act of nature.

— Andrew McLean, MountainZone.com Correspondent

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