“I guess it’s the peacefulness of being outside. It feels good, and it makes everything make sense when you are out there,” said Peter’s 21-year-old sister, Claire, before they headed up. “We just want to see where he was. It’s probably beautiful.”

Peter’s parents, Bill and Karen, raised he and his siblings with this motto: take chances, make mistakes, get messy.

When Peter headed up skiing Saturday, he was doing exactly that.

Tuesday afternoon, more of Peter’s friends gathered at Carvers to share beer and memories, sifting through photos for a slideshow and beginning to process their loss.

 
Nate Klema, friend and fellow skier on the day of the avalanche, quoted Peter, “I’m not going to be some chump who doesn’t ski on the last day ever.” Klema and another close friend, Trevor Doty, remembers him saying it throughout the fall.

 

They laughed about the “typical” Peter saying, and Doty stopped on the verge of tears, “I wonder if he knew how prophetic it was going to be?”

The 23-year-old Durango native moved through life at a rhythm all his own, a boyish grin on his face, driven by his passion for the outdoors, learning, adventure, laughter and a unique form of dance.

“He had his own style of dancing. I don’t know if he ever kept beat or rhythm or if anyone else knew what he was doing,” Claire said.
At times, his individuality frustrated adults around him, which often meant struggling through high school. It was his tendency to ask “Why do I have to do it your way?” that led Peter deeper into the backcountry, drove him to create and learn, and earned him a special place in the hearts of those around him.

“Peter could complicate a one-float parade, but that was part of his creativity and ability to think outside of the box,” said his mother, Karen.
The easier way was not something Peter sought – whether forging his own path up a mountain or repairing a pocket on a worn out pair of pants.

The oldest of three, Peter took the role of big brother and friend seriously, and used his passion and vibrancy to bring both friends and siblings deeper into the outdoors and make the most of life.

Peter Carver earns his turns in the San Juans on one of his many backcountry expeditions. Carver, never one to take the easy route, according to friends and family, died doing what he loved best Sat., Feb. 2, north of Silverton. Mourners returned to the site Tuesday, “It makes everything make sense when you’re out here,” said Carver’s sister, Claire./Courtesy photo

“He taught us about the gear and everything and then also just how to go out the night before and have such a good time and wake up so stupidly early and go get big breakfast burritos and listen to really good music on the car ride up,” Claire said.

Peter spent a lot of time with his father, Bill’s, friends, namely Paul Wilbert, Chris Johnson and John “Duncan” Rothwell.

“Peter Carver is a lot of things for me. When he was younger, I would refer to him as my ‘spare son.’ But as time went on, he has become a frequent visitor, roommate, co-worker, student, teacher and more than anything, one of the closest personal friends I’ve ever had,” Wilbert said.
Peter’s ability to make friends with a wide range of individuals set him apart, along with his unique personality.

“I knew him really well, but when he would open his mouth, nine times out of 10, I had no idea what he was going to say,” Johnson said.

Peter’s former girlfriend Natalie Brandsma said the two began dating shortly after she lost her father, also to the mountains. “Peter reminded me that I wanted to live, about how sweet life is at a time when I had forgotten,” she said. “In so many ways, Peter swooped in, scooped me up and said ‘let’s go skiing!’”

Although Peter was known to push limits, he was so loving that friends and family say it was impossible to really get mad at him. Doty recalls a three-day bicycle trip to Taos, when approximately 65 miles in, they dropped some gear with friends who were driving. Doty dropped a few things, but Peter ditched it all.

“He rolled up with a water bottle and a long-sleeve shirt tied around the front of his handle bars and a giant grin,” Doty said. “I’m like, where is all your stuff? And Peter tells me, ‘It’s alright, we’re close.’ A little while later, we’re sharing one sardine. I’m like, ‘You know what, Peter? You’re lucky I love you man.’”

He also had a cynical sense of humor; surprising, at least, for someone so upbeat. He was a skilled writer, and friends enjoyed tales of his travels, like the time he spent with yogis on a mango farm in Baja.

“The gossip on the farm is all about whose energy was off during morning yoga, and such and such used a metal spoon to stir the booger water, or kombucha, whatever crap, tit-for-tat stuff, starting a new society is so hard, especially without metal spoons,” Peter wrote.

Many of those nearest to him say he fell into a stride in recent years – finding a balance between respect and nonconformity.

“It was really fun to transition from being his dad to being his friend,” Bill said. “He’s one of my best friends. There was so much mutual admiration. He’s a better man than me, and that is every parent’s dream.”

Peter never had the chance to see it, but he received a letter over the weekend accepting him to the American Institute of Professional Geologists, a testament to his growing passion to find innovative solutions for carbon sequestration.

On the day of the avalanche, Peter rallied his friends early after a late night of dancing.

“All day, he was talking about his friends and family,” Klema said. “In retrospect, it seemed so much like he knew it was going to happen. I feel really lucky that I got to be there.”

Peter’s last conversation with Klema and Rothwell was planning his next adventure, a hut trip for his birthday, just a week down the road.
“Peter had a bunch of harmonicas but the funny thing is, he had all these keys, but he’d only ever play one,” said Doty. “That was Peter: off beat, out of key, fun loving and awesome.”