John Rosholt Memorial

By Peder Ourom, January 2025

Sometime in the now somewhat blurry mid-seventies I first met John. There were two climbing capitals of the world in North America at this time, Eldorado in Colorado, and Yosemite Valley (sorry Henry!) in California. Being a Squamish climber, the magnet for me was the big walls, as they had been for the previous generation of Canadian Valley climbers. For John, the pull was the free climbing. Sure, he was talked into the occasional big wall, (I climbed the movable feast with him the year after the Plunge, (it crosses underneath), just for him to show me where his wall ripper happened!), but John was a free climber from the free climbing centre of America. Valley climbing was swollen hands and full grunting, just keep trucking. In Colorado the style was finesse and patience, working out the moves off tricky gear…trying to keep it together. Colorado climbers had style. They could face climb scary places like Perilous Journey. And only real climbers want anywhere near the Black.

And he was the real deal. I was one of the lucky ones to play with John on Kloberdance. He flowed it in runners, with a swami belt for a harness. Without chalk. To be fair Barber, Breashears, and a barefooted Guerin, probably also could and did.

 John just wanted to free climb and do first free ascents. He had this little book where he wrote down details on all his climbs. John was the gear master. He could tell you the exact placement details for a route he had climbed years ago. Every single one. In perfect order. And he searched guidebooks for the magical letters: 1 PA or maybe A0. Early on before cams 5.10 and 5.11 gear climbing was the real sh#t. And these climbs still are. Even with cams.

You always gave John the off-width and chimney leads. We all wore the goofy thick kneepads wall climbing, but John had a really thin pair that he always wore on long free routes. They were his wide crack secret. His calm way of suffering in a wide was legendary. Once I belayed him on a nasty one in the Black. 5-6”. Steep!! Hexes and stoppers. A pegmatite band of shit midway. A dangerous and ugly lead. Grunting up and slipping down repeatedly. After 30 minutes - Peder to John: how’s it going? John: okay. And he was. Sure glad it was him leading.

I spent a season in Colorado in 1977, at times staying at his dad’s place in Lakewood. His dad was a famous geologist, one of the first to touch the moon rocks. John also started out on this path. However, after doing some geology field work, he decided to move on. And become a gambler. At least until his $500 was gone!

And maybe it never was (to tell the truth, with his well-trained poker face on, John could tell you anything and you really had no choice but to believe him ), so you never really did know the truth.

We climbed all over Colorado that season, Eldorado, Boulder Canyon, the Black, Lumpy Ridge. Serious climbing. Multipitch trad routes on hexes and stoppers. Pulling buckets unroped on the bulge. Stiff green Chouinard shoes that edged like a dream. Outer Space on the Bastille was choice. Praying not to be abandoned on some long scruffy solo climb above Denver that John had dialed years earlier. No chalk to follow, no John. But he saved the last doobie for the summit so it was okay.

 We also stayed in Gunnison, crashing in an upstairs apartment. I think maybe Jimmy Newberry’s? Or Doug Scott’s (the real Doug Scott, not the British one that stole Wozny’s stash). Peter or Gary probably remember. Downstairs, a deli. Every night in the wee small hours we descended like mice. And we made subs. Huge subs. Deluxe subs. Heavenly subs. Four a night max. Trying hard to not slice off our fingers in the dark. And then cleaned up immaculately. Nice clean dirtbags we were. I am not making this up, honest! The peyote was creating some things at the time that maybe never happened, but this did!

John didn’t really like that mountain and ice Canadian suffering kind of thing, but we did make it to the Bugaboos once. We camped at the Bugaboo Snowpatch col, with the big packrat, about the time American alpine wannabes were beginning to show up and fall into the bergschrund at alarming rates. And it sucked. Battling mosquitoes hiking huge loads up the col. F*#king snow and rain and wind and snow. Again. Never go to the Bugaboos with Peder. Looking right at the amazing sunshine off width cracks through the storm. Avalanching.

And he was cheap cheap cheap. Once in Vegas after a day climbing with Hamish we went to Johns to make dinner. He said he had enough food for the three of us. And he did. A can of beans.

Instead, we went to a buffet at a casino. Surrounded by 300lb Zeppelins, we went right to the head of the line, for free. You see, when a card game was about to lose a “loser,” and needed another player, they would call John to come and join the game to keep it going, playing for the house. With his battery powered fan blowing the cigar smoke back in the face of the high rollers. We did have to find clean gambler kind of clothes to make this scam work.

John lived the dream he wanted. Not to be tied down. Climb when you want. Gamble when you want. Stay where you want. Not for John was the “regular” life of jobs, wives, kids, mortgages, and taxes. John only ever wanted to own one key (for his Toyota), he felt more comfortable when his house was able to move. Eventually with his sisters help he did have a real place of his own, and went to two keys. This would not have been easy for him to adjust to. How many keys do you own?

Around the time John disappeared I had been trying to contact him to try and fit in a Valley trip that spring. He never answered. I miss him a lot.

Love you bro,

Peder

Footnotes:

1 John kept that shredded piece of Plunge rope for years. I think it is probably at his house with my dolt cobra hook that he never returned. Jane if you are reading this, please, I want it back! (just kidding)

2 The posted story about John going to the local casino to raise money is mostly true. Some details have been changed but I like this version even better!

 3 The pack rat at Bugaboo col had a name, I just can’t remember it