It was with trepidation that I picked up the latest book about Conrad Kain; it was a combination of things, really, beginning with Kain’s reputation (great), the size of the book (large) and the size of the print (small).
Given all three, I suspected Conrad Kain: Letters from a Wandering Mountain Guide, 1906–1933, edited by University of Alberta Faculty of Physical Education historian Zac Robinson and published by U of A Press, would be a long academic slog through a dense story exploring why Kain was so great.
Kain is justifiably recognized as one of Canada’s greatest mountain guides and mountaineers. He has over 60 first ascents or new routes to his credit in the Rockies and Purcells, including the first ascent of Mount Robson in 1913. He’s a significant figure in the history of climbing and mountaineering and worthy of the attention, but as I am slogging through an academic book, I wasn’t looking forward to another one.
But by the end of both the foreword, written by Banff writer and historian Chic Scott, and Robinson’s introduction, I realized any trepidation I was feeling was completely unfounded. I had unfairly judged both Kain and this new book about him.
As both Scott and Robinson point out, Kain was much more than his reputation as Canada’s greatest guide and mountaineer.
“The key to appreciating Conrad Kain is to acknowledge that despite his great climbing achievements – he was human,” writes Scott. “In these letters we see Conrad Kain the great guide and mountaineer as Conrad Kain the human being.”
Robinson, meanwhile, adds that Kain’s letters, while affirming the popular representation of the mountaineering legend as a carefree soul, also provide the “complex life of a person who has suffered, loved, and worked, and who consequently deserves to be remembered as accurately as possible.
“His letters were a medium that made valid and valuable his life and his multifaceted role as a mountain guide,” writes Robinson, “as a labourer, a friend, a tourist and traveller, an immigrant – a writer. They are a small but important piece in a more open and inclusive understanding of the past. Conrad Kain deserves nothing less.”
What both Scott and Robinson say is true; in the letters we find a Kain who is disarmingly open and honest about his life, his successes and his failures and this unscripted or unedited look into the life of a remarkable man continues throughout the book. As editor, Robinson has provided no polish to Kain’s words, buffing up the man to make him look better; he instead allows Kain to speak for himself. As a result, we are witness to Kain’s life, the highs and lows, through his own words, without any filters.
Robinson does, however, provide extensive and informative footnotes that provide context and create a broader historical story that fits Kain’s life into the events that occur around him while filling in any gaps in the narrative.
The 144 letters in this book chronicle one half of a long correspondence between Kain and his friend Amelie Malek. The collection came to the Whyte in 2005, donated by Gerhard Pistor, a resident of Vienna, Austria. Pistor’s father had been instrumental in helping Kain gain employment with the Alpine Club of Canada.
Malek transcribed the letters shortly after Kain’s death in 1933 for J. Monroe Thorington, who produced the 1935 biography of Kain, Where the Clouds Can Go. When Thorington finished Where the Clouds Can Go, he sent the transcribed letters to Pistor’s father, who had planned to write a German-language autobiography about Kain.
Given the time range covered in the 144 letters, 1906–33, we are able to see Kain grow and mature from the 25-year-old young man he is at the beginning of his journey, full of life and wonder, to the 50-year-old man writing his last letter shortly before his death in 1934.
Kain first saw Banff on June 20, 1909. He was well received and found the landscape to be to his liking, writing, “The mountains are very beautiful, and so also are the forests and many lakes . . .”
His work with the Alpine Club of Canada was seasonal and not always gratifying. During winter he was left to own devices, demonstrating his resourcefulness. He worked as a carpenter, with a hunting outfit, a survey party, as a farmhand and railway construction worker, but always with an eye towards the next season in the mountains guiding in Canada, Europe and New Zealand. It was not an easy life, despite finding success and developing a connection with the land here in Canada.
Kain suffered from deep homesickness throughout his life in Canada and little seemed to match what he missed so dearly. The flowers, birds and even the seasons failed to match their counterparts in Austria.
“… I still remain a good old German and will not stay away from my beloved home for my entire life,” he writes, adding in another letter that he is as healthy as an “elk in the forest,” aside from the homesickness, adding “there is no help for that!”
Despite the homesickness and setbacks, Kain also found happiness and contentment in Western Canada. He found mountains to climb and clients to guide; he built a magnificent reputation; he got married and with his wife Henriquita Ferrara (Hetta) bought a small farm in the Wilmer Valley where they had flowers, livestock and fruit trees. He was an eternal optimist who always seemed to find a way forward, no matter what roadblocks life threw his way.
It’s these very qualities, along with Kain’s honesty, that make Conrad Kain: Letters from a Wandering Mountain Guide, 1906–1933, an easy and enjoyable read.
Kain’s reputation is still great, Conrad Kain: Letters from a Wandering Guide, 1906–1933 is still a large book and the text is still small, but it just goes to show that the old cliché is true: you can’t judge a book by its cover; or a person by reputation alone. It helps that Kain is one of those rare gems whose personality and reputation match. He is a great climber and a great person.
Conrad Kain: Letters from a Wandering Guide, 1906–1933, published by the University of Alberta Press, is available for $34.95.
