This all began when I decided to hand-write a letter that I figured would never be read. I definitely did not expect it to be answered.
First, I had to find the address of a man I wasn’t even sure had one.
I’ve always been intrigued by the pioneers of the sports I love. The adventurous few that broke trail for the rest of us into the unknown when maps were sparse and gear was heavy. Real explorers. As a documentary filmmaker, these exceptionally tough men and women frequently had me daydreaming about the perfect film character.
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The groundbreaking life story of Fred Beckey is being told for the first time in Dirtbag: The Legend of Fred Beckey. Please support the making of this exclusive documentary film by backing the Kickstarter campaign before August 25, 2016.
Over a decade ago, I read an article about Fred Beckey. It mentioned that he used to promote Dick Barrymore’s ski films in the northwest to make a little extra cash. Fred piqued my interest. As a climber, there was no one more mysterious than Beckey. Rumors swirled around his secret black book of climbs, more first ascents than anyone ever, the forever bachelor and the original American dirtbag. I knew Barrymore from a previous film project, and I asked him what he thought about a documentary on Fred. He laughed, “I’d pay to see that movie made!” and gave me Beckey’s address.
A few months later, I’d nearly forgotten about the letter when the phone rang. A grizzly voice shouted, “This is Beckey. I’ll be skiing in Utah if you want to meet me.”
I was floored! After a six-hour drive, I headed straight to Alta to get some runs in before contacting Fred. As I skied to the lift, I had to navigate through a yard sale of poles, skis, a backpack half-packed with gear strewn across the snow, when I suddenly realized this was Fred Beckey himself getting ready to ski.
I nervously introduced myself, excited to finally meet one of my climbing heroes. He looked up and snarled, “I don’t want to talk to you right now. Can’t you see I’m busy? Call me later.”
First impressions … forget about them! Discouraged but determined, I went skiing alone. A couple days and 13 phone messages later, I still couldn’t reach Fred. Warming up my car to drive back to Colorado feeling defeated and that I’d missed my chance, my ears perked up when the phone rang. It was Fred on the line.
“Great skiing, there was no time for phone calls. Wanna get a donut?”
I met up with Fred and pitched him on the importance of documenting his life over some bad diner coffee. My filmmaking mind was running wild with ideas.
“No one cares about any of that. It’s not important,” he murmured dismissively before his eyes lit up. “We should go climbing sometime.”
And that’s what we did. We tied in together many times over the next year before a camera was ever turned on. Fred became my friend and climbing partner long before he was the subject of a documentary.