Poet Gary Lemons Remembers Jim Whittaker, Who Died Last Week at Age 97

The world knew Seattle-born mountaineer Jim Whittaker as the first American to reach the top of Mount Everest, the planet’s tallest peak, in 1963.

But at sea level, Port Townsend knew him for more than 40 years as a neighbor, fellow dog-walker, teacher, accomplished sailor, fundraiser for the Northwest Maritime Center, and advocate for the Wild Olympics legislation to protect our local national forest.

The acclaimed mountaineer died peacefully at his home in Port Townsend on April 7 at age 97, surrounded by family and loved ones. His wife, Dianne Roberts, and son Leif live in PT.

To capture the spirit of Whittaker’s life in Port Townsend, we invited PT poet Gary Lemons to describe his experience interviewing Whittaker during three weekly half-hour sessions in 1998 on Port Townsend TV. Lemons was the station manager there from 1997 to 2010. 

By Gary Lemons (guest writer)

The studio was in its earliest stage, and as such, there was a lot of inexperience with setting up for live television. But with the help of wonderfully dedicated volunteers, as well as the support from the city council and the community, we went live with Jim Whittaker out to some 3,000 homes in PT.

Jim came into this hubbub and was amazing. He greeted everyone like an old friend; he felt like a volunteer himself. 

Being experienced with studio work, he gave advice on camera placement and lighting and generally made himself immediately part of the crew instead of stand-alone talent. 

We were so in awe of him that his calmness helped tremendously. It became so much easier to sit and talk with him after seeing that side of him—the organizer, the teacher, the let’s-get-it-done guy.

I sat across from Jim when the opening credits were done. After the introduction, I asked him first off how he liked Port Townsend.

He talked so much about his love for the ocean-—how sailing taught him self-reliance and instilled a lifelong love of wild places, whether oceans or mountains or forests. He loved Port Townsend because he felt at home surrounded by all three of these things: the Olympics in plain view to the west, Puget Sound and the Straits creating an island feel, and the old-growth forests a few hours away on the coast.

This was during the period he and his wife were co-creating, with local and state government support, the Northwest Maritime Center. He told me that there was no better teacher—especially for young people of all ages—than exploring new terrain, seeing new things, solving the puzzles nature provides. 

He said curiosity was a life-long gift, if preserved and nourished, that led to adventures that kept life interesting and challenging. And that in his role as teacher, he felt curiosity was the one trait he’d learned to honor and nurture in his students—whether they were new to mountaineering or sailing or trekking. 

Mostly, he said, it’s about wanting to know what’s on the other side of the horizon and then going there to find out for yourself.

He flickered back and forth between a comfortable buttoned-down academic and the wild man of the mountains that was so pure and fresh it was a bit scary. The crew was mesmerized, and the audience loved him.

He got very serious talking about Everest—about the ordeal, the dangers, the historic accomplishments and deaths—and the impossible task of taking one more step with hurricane force winds in your face, frostbitten body parts, and your heart thumping like it was about to explode inside your chest and still going on. So much preparation, so many years spent in training, the thought of failure unacceptable, the mountain’s deadly legacy.

His brother—his best friend and climbing partner—was not with him on this epic adventure they’d dreamed about since childhood. He talked about how painful that was and yet how much he loved his brother for making the hard choice to do what was best for him and his family. He called decisions like that: the mountains you climb alone.

In a quiet way with dry wit, he talked of the hardships of climbing and the rewards. He said coming down off the mountain was like a dream; he questioned whether he’d ever been up there at all. He said this was true for him with every accomplishment out on the edge. When they were over, when they were memories and permanently etched sensations in the body, they still felt somehow unreal, like someone else did those things.

He talked about the importance of family—of closeness and nurture throughout the life of a child, the importance of both parents raising a child if possible. How complete and caring the environment provided in childhood can last a lifetime and is a foundation to fall back on when things go south.

Behind his calm presence, there was a deeply emotional man. A few times, tears came to his eyes talking about his Sherpa guides, how they struggled and prevailed and died for the love of mountains.

He was funny too. He told me his favorite joke at the time: “Time flies like an arrow, but fruit flies like a banana.” 

He was a consummate human being as far as I could tell. A beautiful soul, he carried weight most people wouldn’t consider lifting. He carried it with grace and real love.

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Jim Whittaker is survived by his wife of 52 years, Dianne Roberts; his sons, Bob Whittaker, Joss Whittaker, and Leif Whittaker; his grandchildren, Adam Whittaker, Tony Whittaker, and Sarah Kanzler; and his great-granddaughter, Sophie Whittaker. He was predeceased by his older brother, Barney Whittaker, his identical twin brother, Lou Whittaker, and his sons, Carl Whittaker and Scott Whittaker.

The Whittaker family would like to express their deepest gratitude to the Jefferson Healthcare hospice team for their extraordinary support.

In lieu of flowers or gifts, the family invites people to honor Jim’s memory by making a donation in his name to one of the following organizations: The Mountaineers, The Northwest Maritime Center, Washington’s National Park Fund, or the Hospice Foundation for Jefferson Healthcare.

A public celebration of Jim’s life will be planned by the family at a later date. Details will be shared when available.