Thomas J. Gibbs

by Stuart S. Penn

While the circumstance of Thomas J. Gibb’s untimely death on June 28 during an attempt to climb Kit Carson Peak may have been tragic, the best thing to do now is to become a chorus of singers celebrating the many colorful melodies of his life.

Tom led the very first hike I participated in after joining the Colorado Mountain Club in June 2001. It was Squaretop Peak, a “B” Class hike. It rained toward the end of the day, but the hike was a joyful introduction to the secret beauty of the CMCÑbringing people together from all walks of life who have a simple love of the outdoors, hiking and climbing a variety of Colorado’s incredible summits, plus finding and sharing other interests.

I noticed how conscientious Tom was; he was considerate and supportive of others. If someone wasn’t feeling well, we slowed, while those ready to bolt off were politely restrained. Tom complimented those showing good form and stamina and invited the whole group on an upcoming Class “C” hike to Whale Peak. This is the kind of support and positive encouragement he would offer freely and often. It was part of Tom’s personality.

Our weekly rock gym sessions were determined by which class at Swallow Hill Tom was taking that week. Every week we climbed every route we could, until we could climb no more. Tom always pushed himself and tried the harder routes just to see how he would fare. Sometimes he was successful, sometimes not, but he always gave everything an honest, full effort.

Tom had endless energy. About a month ago, we were planning on do-ing the Wind Tower route in Eldorado Springs after he did a morning bike ride. Nearing 2 o’clock, Tom called to say he was running late. I asked him how far he had biked.

“Oh, about seventy miles,” he replied matter of factly. “I biked up to Maxwell Falls.”

All this didn’t include the various CMC sections he was involved with during nearly six years with the club, nor the many courses he had taken: BRCS, IRCS, HAMS and Telemark Skiing, not to mention being named the head of the Cross Country Ski School for the upcoming 2003 season.

He took a variety of classes at the Denver Swallow Hill Folk Center, in-clud-ing guitar, voice and folk dancing. At home he had an easel set up in one room of his house, a keyboard in the living room, and an African drum off to the side. In the basement hewas assembling rock gym holds on his walls so he could traverse his walls; he even had a ten-millimeter rope in the main bathroom for knot practice.

Tom was a true, modern-day Renaissance man, but more importantly, he had his heart in the right place. We could sure use a lot more people with Tom’s heart and spirit in this world. P