Lewis McArthur and my father, Colin Chisholm, a fellow member and a past president of the Mazamas, were the best of friends. From my earliest days, I can recall my father speaking of “an outing with Lew this weekend if the weather permits.” Those two mountaineers led myself and others on wonderful adventures into the hills, climbing, hiking, and camping. These were always of some effort, sometimes wet and cold character builders, and ever lessons on the skills of mountaineering and of conversation. It was during that “second golden age of mountaineering,” when the first ascents were being made of the last great peaks when permits and passes were unknown, and the height of conservation was to burn your trash and bury your cans.
I can recall many stories told by Lew and his friends of the “greatest generation” about their times in the war, particularly of Lew’s days as an army intelligence officer in the wind-swept Aleutians, awaiting a landing from the Japanese grand fleet. History, politics, and poetry, of which Lew had a great store from memory, as well as manners, climates, fire-building, and governments were among the topics. All the while there was the teaching of the ways of the mountains: routes, considerations of equipment--mostly WWII surplus, the weather, technique, and the conditions of the mountains. Sometimes, after safely down to the timber after an unsuccessful attempt but sulking in our tents, he would philosophize that “the mountain will still be there.” These were happy times, filled with the best of memories.
When last we spoke Lew was delighted to recall those memories in the mountains. He smiled as they crossed his mind. He didn’t have a favorite peak he said, each climb was remarkable in its own way. He also gave the advice that if you climb without haste, plan well, and take care to every step you can pretty much go anywhere. In all our adventures he would follow Edmund Whymper’s sage words, from the first golden age of mountaineering:
“Climb if you will, but remember that courage and strength are nought without prudence, and that a momentary negligence may destroy the happiness of a lifetime. Do nothing in haste; look well to each step; and from the beginning think what may be the end.”
One climb, which I most indelibly recall, toward the end of Lew’s climbing career, was a glorious climb of Hungabee, above Lake Louise. In perfect weather, he led us across the mountain’s face on narrow ledges that dropped off to eternity. Approaching the summit, we both mistook the route and ended up at a strikingly steep pitch. To my immense relief, Lew thought better of it, we retraced our steps and successfully tried a more cunning and prudent approach. In all our years, though sometimes cold and damp, we never had a serious accident nor a cross word. Lew was a good companion in our close community of mountaineers. He had a remarkable intellect and was a reliable, steady climber.
The times we had together in the mountains were one of the greatest of life’s gifts. But all created things change. We may grow old, even too old, but still remain the pleasant memories of the days in the hills.
Lewis L. McArthur joined the Mazamas in 1964 and was a member until 1987. In 1991 wrote an article titled “Silcox Hut: then and now” for the 1991 Mazama Annual. Many will remember him as the featured speaker at the Mazamas Centennial Celebration in 1994. Besides the Mazamas, Lewis was also a member of the Alpine Club of Canada and the American Alpine Club.
