August 19, 2001, Mark Kingsbury memorial service at the summit of Mount Madison. Those present included Jeff Leich, John Shultz, Ned Baldwin, Doug and Caroline George, Becky Mulkern, Michael and Steve Bridgewater, Bill Barrett, Amos Rogers and Chris Stewart. This is a brief part of what was said. We spent about an hour together on the summit on a blue sky white cloud day.

We're at Madison to remember our friend, Mark Kingsbury. There are hundreds of others who would like to be here with us, but can't. Judging by the e-mails and stories I've read, there are thousands of people who counted on Mark as a true friend. Mark was killed in a motorcycle accident this Memorial Day weekend. It's news that still seems unreal. Different people know Mark from different times in his life. I know him best from the summer of 1969 at Madison Hut.......

Mark worked three summers in the huts between his years at the University of New Hampshire - Madison in 1967, Greenleaf in 1968 and Madison again in 1969, as hutmaster. His skiing coach was happy because he believed hut work kept Mark in top shape for the downhill skiing season. His coach was right. Despite his coach's urging, however, Mark didn't carry a 10-pound rock in each hand as a way to strengthen his arms while backpacking supplies to the hut. When you regularly carry 95-100 pounds and more up the Valley Way, rocks aren't necessary.

Our crew in 1969 included Lew MeKeon as assistant, Doug George (who prepared my first mixed drink -- a quarter strength cranberry sour), Humpy Damp, Glen Harvey and me. Mark was in charge. At first, I thought he was infallible and I hung on his every word. After a few weeks of working together, I realized how capable he really was. He shrunk from no problem. He rarely lost his poise. He treated everyone fairly. He worked harder than anyone else on the crew. (And we all worked hard.) And he was very patient with us. He had to be: Everything was new.

It was a busy summer with seemingly endless full houses, and we were short on experience. Happily for the AMC, Mark taught us well. Mark taught me how to tie a load to a packboard so it wouldn't collapse. He showed me the crump spots on the Valley Way. He showed me how to make breakfast for a crowd of 70, measuring and mixing dry ingredients the evening before and cracking eggs -- one in each hand -- into a small bowl before adding them to the giant mixing bowl. That way, a rotten egg doesn't ruin the whole batch. He taught me about how to work the propane stoves and refrigerator, how to prepare Denver Chocolate Pudding, how to bake bread, how to properly grease my boots, how to clear the water lines, how a toilet works, and -- without any fanfare -- how to treat other people. And he put up with our endless use of "Also Spake Zarathusa" as the wake-up song on a battery-powered record player we used for reveille. He lead by example, with tolerance and kindness.

As the years passed, we'd hear bits of news. Mark had graduated from UNH and headed West for adventures in skiing. Mark was guiding skiers for Canadian Mountain Holidays out in Banff. Mark was in love, then married, then a father. The news always seemed happy. Mark eventually took over at CMH, the hand-picked successor to the legendary Hans Gmoser. As Jack Tracy wrote on the OH Web site, Mark "was a dynamic figure shaping Canadian Mountain Holidays into the premier, modern back-country HeliSkiing company with few peers..."

I last saw Mark more than 20 years ago at a hut reunion. I don't recall whether it was a get-together in Boston or up at the spring brawl in Jackson. I do remember that Mark smiled and shook his head when he talked about our summer at Madison. "What did you think?" I asked him. "You guys were all so little," he said. "I thought Bruce Sloat was joking -- all these little guys assigned to Madison Hut. I didn't know how we'd get through the summer with all the work and packing that had to be done." We got through because of Mark. He will always be in our hearts.

-- Chris Stewart