Remembering Dean Bowyer
Nora O'Malley
Dean Bowyer served as RMRG Group Leader (GL- operations director), Assistant Group Leader (AG - training director) and Business Manager (administrative leader) throughout the 1970s.
Dean Bowyer portrait by Al Post, November 1978
After that, Dean chose to focus his RMRG work on training. In addition to being an extremely capable mountain rescuer, Dean was a consummate outdoorsman--hiker, mountain climber, scuba diver, and aircraft pilot.
Dean clowning around with the Akija sled litter
Dean's death in a glider crash on November 2, 1996 was a major blow to RMRG. His Quaker style service was deeply moving, although rescue stories were only briefly mentioned. RMRG began the Dean Bowyer Award few years after Dean's death. The Dean Bowyer Award is given to a current or retired member that has shown a performance level above and beyond that expected of their position in the group.
Dean Bowyer and Bill May, RMRG 40th anniversary celebration
Memories of Dean
“Shirt Tail Peak Reconnaissance” with Dean
July 9, 1989 began warm, but everyone knew it would be blazing hot before noon. The Rocky Mountain Rescue (RMR) training schedule called for an exploration of Shirt Tail Peak, northwest out of Eldorado Canyon. Temperatures in Eldorado Canyon were expected to reach close to 100. Dean corralled the group of RMR volunteers at the “Cage,” with the challenge “What shall we do today for training? We’re not going to go melt on Shirt Tail Peak.“
The group settled on driving up to the Long Lake Trailhead west of Brainard Lake. We brought ice axes for steep snow climbing and glissading, but the hike was slow, and Dean, waiting patiently for us to catch up, noted we wouldn’t get much time on snow at our collective pace. Hiking with rising temperatures, we reached the Isabelle Glacier mid-day. We found soft, sloppy wet snow. We did a bit of self-arrest practice and glissading, but soon it was time to hike back to the trailhead. Dean led the way down the switchbacks below the glacier. Arriving at a small, partially ice-bound pond, we found Dean’s clothes in a pile along the shore. Mid-80s with bright sun at our 11,000’ elevation. “Is he going to skinny-dip in that freezing water?” I wondered.
Naked Dean started gingerly picking his way along a grounded iceberg extending into the pond, taunting the rest of us to try the water. About 15’ out, he yelled and jumped, then swam ashore. He climbed out with a shivering roar. “That was great, wonderfully refreshing! Who’s with me for another swim?” A few of us stripped and followed him on the iceberg, a little farther out this time. By the third time, nearly the whole group was out there, lifting our feet in turn off the freezing ice. I stood on the ice, watching Dean jump in again. If he could do it, I could do it.
I held my breath and jumped, and the cold hit me like Mike Tyson. I swam ashore as fast as I could. Possibly the coldest I’ve ever been. I was grateful not to have had a heart attack as we air-dried in the warm sun. We watched Dean go out for yet another round. Someone might have taken pictures of the naked group.
As we hiked out, we were startled by a massive plume of smoke rising above the foothills west of Boulder. This turned out to be the Black Tiger Fire - then the most destructive fire in Colorado history. Thankfully no one died, but none of us expected the scale of destruction from the fire.
Dean was my favorite mentor in RMR. His patience with those of us with limited experience was supportive and helpful, if sometimes irreverent. He lived up to the “Dean Niner” (Caterpillar bulldozer) nickname, often shoving large logs out of the way of the litter evacuation route, and leading rescuers forward despite fatigue and potential loss of morale. I still miss his cheerful confidence.
Dave Christenson
Dean Bowyer iced parka, January 1979, photo by Al Post. “After this trip, we stopped in a restaurant on I-70 for dinner, with several of us still frozen in our parkas. Customers were laughing as chunks of ice fell off and hit the floor.”
Dean Bowyer stories from charlie potter
I knew Dean well. When Dave Hibl called me with news at Dean’s death, I was too shocked for words. Yet in some ways, I wasn’t totally surprised. Dean pushed the limits. That is what made him so good. I first met Dean when he was the RA for the dorm I lived in as a sophomore. It was the fall of 1970. I spent a lot of time with him in many ways. We were both pretty new to RMRG in 70 but we both stayed very active. Dean and I were in the CU Hiking Club and did several trips together in the desert and in the mountains. Later, I was Assistant Group Leader (AGL) multiple times. Once with Dean as Group Leader (GL). Chuck Demarest, Dean and I did 3 expeditions together. We attended a couple of national mountain rescue conferences and shared too many missions to count.
The 1st expedition was to Chimborazo in 78. I was asked to write on Deans cerebral edema attack there. We drove to the “trail head” at something over 14000 feet. The “trail head” was the point when the van couldn’t go any higher. There was no trail. Dean did pretty up well to the Whymper hut at 16400. But he slowed down a lot the next day, arriving at high camp well after everyone else. He was my tent mate there, at 19,300 just below the cap glacier. He got there but was unable to help dig the tent platform. The next morning, he complained of a terrible headache. My experience rescuing a Japanese woman on Denali made me a little concerned, but he seemed to be breathing normally. I listened to his chest and detected some breath gurgling but minor enough to be just congestion. Then he got out of the tent to relieve himself. When he came back in, he immediately passed out. I couldn’t wake him and sounded the alarm. Everyone converged within minutes. The response of the team was awesome. We stuffed him in my bivy bag wearing my freedom harness and started sliding him down on the snow using two ropes as a belay. We were descending in probably less than 20 minutes from when he passed out. But his pupils were already fixed and dilated. My memory was the group totaled 8. Three stayed at camp and 4 of us evacuated Dean but I may be off by one.
We ran out of snow at around 17000. We first attempted to create a makeshift litter out of the two ropes but it was going slowly so we opted to just carry him. Luckily, a short bit later, he started to come around a little. We draped him over two shoulders and he stumbled lower. We had to trade off frequently. It was exhausting because Dean was so much taller than any of us.. We stopped for a rest at the hut. But Dean started to deteriorate, so the rest was short lived and we continued down again. Dean was doing a little better but not great. We opted not to go over the pass again to Quito but instead take the most direct downhill route. That took us to the town of Ambato.
We took Dean directly to the ER. It was not super comforting as we weren’t sure the ER doc understood what Dean was suffering from. But he got taken in. And shortly thereafter, we were asked to leave.
Those who came down had left most of our gear at high camp. And we had 3 people still on the mountain. We decided to make a straight push for it. We drove back up to the “trail head” early the next morning and started off. The climb was long. We didn’t get back to our camp until the middle of the night, maybe 18-20 hours after we started. But the others weren’t there. They had gotten concerned about their own health and started down. Unfortunately, they had camped maybe a quarter mile off the climbing route a couple of thousand feet below high camp. It’s a volcano and level spots are sparse. We passed them unaware in the dark. We did regroup a day later and 5 of us ultimately made a successful bid.
We picked up Dean a week or so later and stayed in Ambato for a bit. We abandoned our plan to try Cotopaxi and the others all flew back to the states. I traveled by myself into the Amazon basin for a week and a half before coming home. .
After this experience, Dean realized that the headaches he got whenever he climbed 13ers and 14ers were a bigger concern than he had thought. In typical Dean fashion, he did not accept that as a limit. He read everything he could find and eventually volunteered to be guinea pig for the high-altitude research lab. He joked that they loved him and he should start charging a lot for his service. He was indeed the best test subject they’d had. Other subjects were too variable from test to test. He’d react consistently, allowing them to perform far fewer tests to get good data.
Ultimately, he did benefit to some extent. He learned things he could do to train and perform better on the mountain. He got drugs that helped. That helped him go to the Tian Shen and Elbrus in 1988 and the Pamirs and Mustagatuh in 94. Though he did have some problems and had to turn around a couple of times on both trips, he did successfully climb a few high peaks.
I could write dozens of stories about Dean if I had the time.
Dean Bowyer operating a gasoline powered cable winch.
excerpt from chuck demarest’s forthcoming memoir
A group of RMRG members responded to Crestone Peak for a rescue of a patient with a compound leg fracture high on peak. We had evacuated the patient down from almost 14,000 feet to Cottonwood Lake at 12,310 where there was a great Landing Zone (LZ) and a pleasant meadow. We called for the “arranged” helicopter, but then the chopper couldn’t come, so 6 miles evacuation to Baca Grade Ranch.
Our relief was short-lived. Within a hundred feet or so of entering the trees from the lovely restful tundra, the trail disappeared. How could this be? A voice rang out, “CHUCK! Where’s the friggin trail?” I had the map, so it was my problem. I answered, “It’s got to be here somewhere. It’s on the map. It follows the creek on the right side.” We searched to the right and to the left attempting to find any trace of a trail, but there was none. Now a “pack trail” is always more substantial than any old trail on a map, but the 20-year-old map was either wrong or more likely the trail had had no maintenance for decades and had become hopelessly buried in downed timber and vegetation. There was no alternative but to bash our way through the downed trees, underbrush, and bogs, belaying the litter down steep slabs, and then down along the valley bottom to our destination. Along the way I and others often roamed up the hillsides left and right desperately looking for that pack trail that we must have missed. There was nothing. Darkness was coming, making it harder to find the best direction through this mess. In this ugly, dreadful effort Dean Bowyer earned the title “DEAN 9,” a take on the heavy-duty Caterpillar bull dozer “D9”. He was a strong guy as he went ahead of the litter bashing down dead timber and tossing various branches, trees and other obstacles to the side, making a better path for the 6 members carrying the litter with our patient. Dean was one of those “larger than life” sorts and could play in any venue.
1987 40th anniversary, Flagstaff Summit, Group leaders picture
Back row: Guy Burgess GL 1974, Joe Stepanek GL 1970, Jeff Wagner (not GL); Dean Bowyer GL 1973, 77, 78; Lewis Dahm 1976, 1980, 1981; Bill May GL 1971-72; Dave Lewis GL 1957-58, 1961-62; Front row kneeling: Chuck Demarest GL 1968-69; Harrold Walton GL 1952; Ray Sundby GL 1985 - 88; Bruce Bartram GL 1982-84
