On July 30th, American Alpine Club employee Dillon Blanksma died after a fall from Broadway ledge below the Diamond on Longs Peak in Colorado.
In a recent phone call with Dillon's sister, Katie Joy Blanksma, it dawned on us that his feverish passion for climbing had created a feedback loop of influence on his personality and on those around him. Below, we take a deeper look at both sides to better understand the critical role that climbing played in Dillon's life and the impact that he had on his climbing community.
CLIMBING'S IMPACT ON DILLON
Katie Joy Blanksma
At the center of the American Alpine Club’s mountaineering museum stands a question: Why do we climb? Mom paused in front of it for a long breath, silently searching for the answers from long-dead mountaineers to help her understand her son’s death—and his life. Why do we climb?
“Just this:” answers French poet Rene Daumal, “what is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees.”
The seeing Daumal describes isn’t so much the unrelenting beauty of mountain vistas as it is the inner seeing and deeper knowing that guide us back on the ground. The climber who gains insight on the summit brings back perspective in the form of love, gratitude, patience, and appreciation.
Dillon certainly found that view, thanks in no small part to the community of climbers and co-workers who gave him space and confidence to grow more fully into the person we’re proud to remember.
“Colorado is where the adventurous, joyful, and big-hearted man really manifested,” remembers Kevin Blanksma, Dillon’s younger brother. “The friends he surrounded himself with encouraged him to just be himself.”
Many of Dillon’s colleagues and climbing partners remember our brother for his high-on-life-stoked-on-mountains energy. In story after story—Dillon, climbing in a banana costume; Dillon, sending in snorkel gear; Dillon, all smiles despite the frostbite; Dillon, the partner with a plan A, B, and C (and a spreadsheet to back it up)—friends described him as goofy, genuine, patient, and full of life.
Our brother was all of these things, yes, but would you believe it if we told you he didn’t arrive in Colorado that way? Or, perhaps, it’s more accurate to say he had not yet fully arrived at himself.
“Without climbing, Dillon would not be the person we know today.” —Derrick Jay Blanksma, brother
“Without climbing, Dillon would not be the person we know today,” says Derrick Jay Blanksma, Dillon’s older brother. “He climbed out of a dark place when he first came to Colorado and with the help of his family and friends he kept climbing,” until he found himself.
When Dillon left California, shortly after graduating from Azusa Pacific University, he was a “broken and lost young man,” remembers Ken Blanksma, our father. He was heading off to start a new job, in a new place where he didn’t know anyone, and he was doing it alone with a broken heart. “He said, ‘Dad, this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.’ ”
Not six months later, after finding his niche with the climbing community, Dillon quit the cush job that brought him to Colorado to start a new one that aligned with his values and surrounded him with people who shared his stoke. At first, our parents couldn’t understand why he would take a pay cut to work at the AAC, but it didn’t take them long to see why: Dillon had found self-confidence, his ecstatic energy, and focused direction.
“A lot of people see their passion through a glass window and think it’s unattainable,” our dad told me after Dillon passed, “You cannot say that about Dillon.” Because Dillon didn’t just find his passion—he found Alex, his person to share it with, and the community who made his passion possible.
The Dillon we knew became the Dillon everyone else knew, too.
“He knew the hurts of life, but he chose joy.” —Heidi Mae Blanksma, sister
“I noticed a happiness that emerged when he moved to Colorado,” says Heidi Mae Blanksma, sister and the oldest of our six-sibling clan. “He was always excited for his next adventure. He took risks and loved them. He pursued joy and found it! He knew the hurts of life, but he chose joy.”
On one hand, he opened up and relaxed in Colorado. He learned to listen to new ideas, accept change, and advocate for others. On the other, he stood firm in what mattered to him most and prioritized people and fulfilling his dreams over easier paths of fulfilling expectations.
“Our climbing community in Golden was [his] first real family-like community outside of his actual family,” recounted Alex Griffen, Dillon’s fiancé and the only other person we know with a smile big enough to compete with his. “One where he had friends that he could count on. One where he was valued and people showed him and told him that. One where everyone was so different, but still had this one thing—a love of climbing and the outdoors—in common.”
“Our climbing community in Golden was [his] first real family-like community outside of his actual family,” recounted Alex Griffen, Dillon’s fiancé and the only other person we know with a smile big enough to compete with his. “One where he had friends that he could count on. One where he was valued and people showed him and told him that. One where everyone was so different, but still had this one thing—a love of climbing and the outdoors—in common.”
Having met Dillon’s Colorado family, it’s clear that the personal transformation, self-examination, and happiness Dillon experienced didn’t happen in a bubble by himself. His community gave him permission to choose a life that made him happy and it was within that space that he thrived. It’s not a novel idea—do what makes you happy—but for Dillon’s parents, brothers, and sisters it’s a shift we watched and adored over these last few years, an ideal that many of us look up to and aspire to manifest more of in our own lives. Choosing joy is easier said than done. Dillon did it.
“[Everyone] wants to be on top of the mountain,” says Trenton, our older brother and Dillon’s first climbing partner. Climbing usually isn’t the easiest way to get there, but it’s the path Dillon loved. He loved the movement. He loved problem-solving. He loved working through fear to summit mountains both literal and figurative. “I believe that truly strengthens you physically, mentally, and spiritually.”
“He found his joy and then passed it on to whomever he met.” —Joyce Blanksma, mother
“I cannot bear to even think of one of my children going ahead of me,” wrote Joyce Blanksma, our mother, in a letter to Dillon on March 18, 2018, where she expressed both her fear for his safety as well as her recognition that he had something we all seek but don’t all find: purpose and joy. Now she writes, “He found his joy and then passed it on to whomever he met. He made a difference in people's lives. I will strive to live like Dillon, to love, and to bring joy to others.”
Daumal had it mostly right. Climbing changes not only what you see but how you see. And yet, maybe he didn’t have it all right. Maybe, even if those below never climb to see the summit for themselves, they still see it in those who have been there.
As Dillon’s life was forever changed and immeasurably enriched by climbing and the community he found in Colorado, our lives—his family and friends, coworkers and co-conspirators—are forever changed from witnessing Dillon’s growth. By choosing joy over fear, he gave others permission to do the same. By accepting love from others, he inspired a deeper love in and for himself. By pursuing happiness over expectation, he became more genuinely Dillon.
To those at the AAC and beyond, we would like to say on behalf of our brother, son, and fiancé: don’t stop pursuing your climbing dreams, and thank you for being there for his.
A NOTE ON THE GRIEF OF LOSING DILLON
Katie Joy Blanksma
In climbing circles we talk a lot about risk and consequence as personal choice—manage the risk, accept the consequence. But I wonder what happens now to my mother? My family? Myself? Risk management might bottle down to decision-making, but accepting the consequences? Consequence impacts everyone who ever loved you.
As Dillon’s big sister, I cannot imagine a future where he is not. His laugh. His hug. His infamous GIFs blowing up the family text thread. I do not understand how six siblings forever bonded by the deepest love and loyalty stop being six to suddenly become five.
As a climber who looked up to my little brother as a mentor and guide, the foundation of my vertical world has been pulled out from under me, replaced by a freefall of doubt, anger, and guilt. Our plans to make Epinephrine our next sibling objective, gone. Our schemes to turn Creeksgiving into an annual family tradition, erased. My hopes to make Dillon as proud of me as I was of him, dried up.
I don’t write this to detract from the beauty and truth of my brother’s legacy. I am so very proud of who he became and all the folks he helped on their own journeys—myself included—but I worry that in over-romanticizing Dillon’s life and climbing, I inadvertently over-rationalize his death and our grief. It’s true Dillon reached profound joy through climbing. It is also true that our sorrow in the wake of his death is bottomless in equal measure.
One truth cannot be weighed without the other.
DILLON'S IMPACT ON HIS CLIMBING COMMUNITY
Shane Johnson
Working at the AAC is about so much more than "work." It's about supporting and sharing your passion and partnering with like-minded individuals to achieve something significant for your chosen family. You share more than your hours in the office. You share the sanctity of the rope and you share your adventures, both literally as well as through stories. For most of us here at the Club, Dillon was a climbing partner. For some, he was a best friend. For all of us, he was a valued member of our tight-knit team. When Dillon fell from Broadway on July 31st, we lost a friend, an overwhelmingly positive force in our organization, and an important member of the climbing community.
"The AAC is community. And Dillon was a pillar of that community. Always ready with a smile or a dad joke, his zest for life was unmatched—he put his full heart into everything he did. His loss leaves a big hole, but I am thankful for the years we got to spend as coworkers and friends." –Heidi McDowell, AAC Events Director
That Friday morning, I woke up to messages from climbing partners and coworkers with a link to a news article titled "Man Dies After Fall on Longs Peak." The report said that a 26-year-old climber from Golden had fallen from Broadway, below the Diamond on Longs Peak. Golden is a small town, and the climbing community is interwoven; I was sure I'd know the climber. And then my mind flashed to a message Dillon had sent to the AAC staff on Wednesday: "a final attempt for me on the Diamond tomorrow with my partner. The Diamond actually gets pretty good service on Broadway and higher... but I won't respond…"
"a final attempt for me on the Diamond tomorrow with my partner. The Diamond actually gets pretty good service on Broadway and higher... but I won't respond…"
I called his phone to ease my mind—sure that he'd pick up and I'd have to explain why I was calling him early in the morning. It went straight to voicemail and my stomach sank. I called my friend, John, to see if he knew anything, and all he could say was, "I'm sorry, it was Dillon."
At Dillon's memorial, I expected to know most of the people there due to our small local climbing community and even smaller staff. After walking through the crowd, looking for acquaintances to grieve and connect with, I realized I knew only a handful of the few hundred attendees. It was moving to see that Dillon's reach was far more extensive than just the circle of people we ran with together.
His energy for the climbing community didn't stop at the Club. In addition to working as a Full-Stack Software Engineer at the AAC, Dillon spent evenings teaching classes at the local climbing gym, Earth Treks Golden. His selflessness and willingness to teach others after a long day at work continually impressed me. Furthermore, he was a reliable and psyched climbing partner for dozens of people in the Front Range and beyond—racking up joy-filled ticks of adventurous routes across the West and dreaming up even bigger plans for the future.
"Dillon was the kind of friend who helped you believe in yourself. Somehow he always made you feel important, and really knew how to celebrate the little things for the people he loved. As a climber, he always put the people before the objective. As long as he was in the mountains with good friends, guaranteed it was going to be the best day ever. I gained so much from knowing him, and amidst the grief, I most of all feel grateful that I got to call him a friend while he was here. I know he'd want us to keep climbing with as much stoke and love as he did, and to believe in ourselves as much as he believed in all of us." —Amanda Hogan, AAC Member Services Manager
During his three year tenure, Dillon played a critical role in improving the Club's IT capabilities, including developing a new database system and a new profile for members. Dillon's contributions to the Club dramatically enhanced our ability to serve our members, and the broader climbing community. His approach to his work stood as a testament to his character and passion for what his work supported.
"Dillon embodied what the Club stands for both as a climber and as an employee. He was extremely dedicated, selfless, exacting, and had a strong work ethic that I deeply admired. He was always generous and kind to others, very committed to family, and had a bright future. He was of the best character—the kind of friend and colleague we all strive to be." —Nat Matthews, AAC CFO and COO
Dillon's enthusiasm for adventure and outgoing, goofy personality brightened our office and the lives of those around him—but it wasn't immediately that way at the Club. As he grew into his role and gained comfort with the staff, we gradually gained insight into the energy that he brought to everyday life.
"I'll always remember his warmth and smile. Given his height and also his quiet stature, I think of him as a gentle giant." —Dougald McDonald, AAC Executive Editor
"He was always psyched, always willing to help, and always with a smile on his face. He had the longest arms on staff, which was good because his jokes were pretty reachy :)" —Eddie Espinosa, AAC Volunteer Program Manager
Dillon had a knack for instilling fun and energy into both serious and mundane situations. In June, Dillon and his partner, Nathan, wore Hawaiian shirts and snorkeling gear up the classic route "Scenic Cruise" in the Black Canyon. Over the spring and summer, Dillon maintained his contribution of positive energy despite the challenges of working remotely during the pandemic.
"He had the perfect GIF for every situation." —Katie Sauter, AAC Library Director
Undoubtedly, we will feel Dillon's loss at the Club and in the climbing community for years to come.
"Dillon, we miss you. We miss being able to get awesome beta from you and hear about the climbs you've done. We miss your stoke about your work and climbing, and how you would help us with both whenever we needed it. You were such an inspiring and upbeat person to be around, and I wish we could share more awful Dad jokes with you or try to beat each other at another costume contest." —Vanessa Logsdon, AAC Senior Development Coordinator
We'll miss you Dillon. As a coworker, a climbing partner, and a friend.
