As one of the finest mountain climbers who ever lived, he bagged numerous first ascents and also blazed new routes up previously scaled peaks. As the author of numerous books, he was already widely published before he was out of his teens. As a photographer of mountains, his images are sought out and displayed by some the finest galleries and museums in the world. As a mapmaker, his work is so finely detailed that many of his maps are still heavily used decades after he drew them. And to his dying day he maintained that all of these accomplishments paled in comparison to his work as the director of the Boston Museum of Science, which he transformed from a dusty and virtually unknown hole-in-the-wall into one of the foremost institutions of its kind.
David Roberts, who is no slouch of a climber himself and who has written quite a few books on the topic, has recently published a new biography of Washburn. “The Last of His Kind” is a fast-moving, well-written account of the legendary adventurer’s exploits that will keep readers engrossed to its final page.
Washburn caught the climbing bug early. He scaled Mt. Washington, New England’s tallest peak, as a child, and by his teenage years had visited and honed his climbing talents in the Alps. But it was in college that he embarked on the path that would bring him renown in the mountaineering world.
During the 1930s, while most climbers were focused on the Himalayas, Washburn headed off to Alaska and the Yukon where, after a couple of early failures, he embarked on an unprecedented string of first ascents. In the years prior to World War Two, Washburn stood atop the previously un-trodden peaks of Crillon, Sanford, Marcus Baker, Lucania and Steele (the latter two he summited during a single expedition).
He also found time, during this stretch, to lead a survey of the previously unexplored area between Kluane Lake and Yakutat, write a number of articles for National Geographic and other prestigious publications, earn a living on the lecture circuit, and accept the job as director of what was then known as the New England Museum of Natural History.
Towards the end of the decade he met and married Barbara Polk, who he promptly brought along for the first trip to the summit of Mt. Bertha (at the conclusion of which she learned she was pregnant), followed by Hayes in 1941.
Once the war broke out, Washburn went to work for the Army as a consultant on cold weather gear. He used this position to further his adventures by finagling an equipment test that entailed a lengthy stay high upon Mt. McKinley. While there he couldn’t resist becoming the first person to reach both summits of North America’s highest peak, even if this wasn’t part of his orders. He later became the first to top Mt. Deception while leading a search party for downed flyers.
After the war he returned to McKinley, this time with Barbara in tow. Despite having no climbing experience prior to meeting her husband, she had proven a natural at the sport, and on this trip she became the first woman to reach Denali’s summit. Brad returned again a few years later and pioneered the now immensely popular West Buttress route.
After this Washburn retired from serious climbing, but he remained active into his early nineties. He was a mentor to younger climbers, always urging them to new heights. He continued to master the art of aerial photography, which he remains unmatched at. And he kept building and expanding his beloved museum.
Roberts knew Washburn well, and his book is drawn on his long relationship with him as much as it is on other sources. But Roberts hasn’t let this friendship prevent him from giving us a feel for the man’s faults as well as his virtues. Brad Washburn could be cantankerous, demanding, obsessive and harshly critical — although these traits are a huge part of what motivated him to such extremes. Brad and Barbara were also blue-blooded New England Brahmins through and through, and more than once in their quotes and activities they display a sense of self-entitlement that seems a tad excessive to those of us born to more humble origins.
Roberts also delves a bit too deeply into an incident involving sexual abuse charges brought against the couple’s son in the 1980s. He gives us more details than we need, particularly given that it occurred more than twenty years ago and that there have been no further allegations.
Perhaps the book’s biggest shortcoming, however, is that it’s just too short. Each of Washburn’s epic climbs were fascinating in their own way, and for the vast majority of us who will never undertake such exploits, more richly detailed accounts would have given us an even stronger sense of what we have (usually due to a survival instinct) missed out on.
Nonetheless, this is the sort of book that readers will blaze through. It’s a captivating story that involves not just Washburn’s exploits, but also offers an informal history of twentieth century climbing. Roberts has presented all of it well. Bradford Washburn lived the sort of life few of us even dream of. Of all the great adventurers who have left their mark on Alaska, none come close to matching his record. He wasn’t just the last of his kind. He was probably the only one.
David A. James lives in Fairbanks.
The Last of His Kind
David Roberts
William Morrow Books
352 pages 2009
$25.99
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