We only get this one life to live, and Sha lived his enough for all of us. Sha was like that.
Many times I have described my friend Sha to others as “larger than life.” This description has never been used by me prior or since, as no one has ever captivated my attention quite like Sha. To say Sha was large is an understatement. He had the strength and presence yes, but how does one become larger than life? Allow me to explain.
I first met Sha in the early 1990’s as a close personal friend of my brother Paul, and a longtime companion of my cousin Tom. We began a series of backcountry adventures over the next couple decades that filled us with camaraderie and friendship. Since I was the outsider from the Midwest, I needed to attempt to assimilate with these three pendejos (an affectionate term that still carries weight to this day).
Sha was talented in all the ways that a real man need be. He was simply the most competent fellow I have ever come across. Whether it is the mechanical knowledge and the operation of tools and machines, the able touch of the trout rod, or the reading of the land, flora, and fauna, Sha was exceptional. Sha was like that.
On one evening, camped at the top of a small island in the center of Ross Lake, just south of the British Columbia border, the four of us sat in our chairs trying to determine what to eat for dinner. It was our last night before returning and we had depleted the majority of our resources. Just when you thought the discussion could go no further, with all of us still sitting on our butts complaining, Sha jumped up. Come on Danny, we need to catch us some fish for dinner.
The facts were though that it was already dark out and the only fish to be found were up a fjord, a good boat ride north. We went anyway and Sha led us up a Falls to a spot where we were able to blindly catch some nice trout….legally….no…..inspiring….yes. As we returned in the small zodiac, listening to the steady thrust of the engine, it provided for me the understanding of the meaning of the word determination. Sha was like that.
Many nights around the campfire Sha would tell stories. Often they would involve his childhood in Iran. He was able to talk slowly and descriptively because he always had our attention. He enjoyed best speaking about the nuances of the day or recent adventures. His memory and awareness was so keen that when he told stories about what happened that same day or even ten years ago, he always described elements I had missed, even when I was right there alongside him. Sha was like that.
Looking back, I now know that it was Sha’s ability to communicate so effectively that made him stand out as a human being. Regardless of whom he was speaking to or what the subject was, Sha could reach a level that was comfortable and interesting for both. He had a knack for reaching folks, and an unquenchable interest in learning from others. This was evident when he began housing and caring for the chronically disabled. He had a compassionate heart for others and an insistence on doing right by them. Sha was like that.
I realize that 90% of my time with Sha was out in the backcountry. One place where Sha was always happy, focused and relaxed, was in the natural world. His knowledge of the plants, fish, birds and animals was certainly challenged by Tom and Paul, but in my view was unmatched. He was always content out under the stars. That is where I developed my admiration for Sha, and felt the consistent respect he granted me. Sha was like that.
It is hard for me to understand this moment, yet we have faith in the unplanned purpose of life. We have lost a true warrior, a great friend, father, husband, son, brother, boss, caregiver, outdoorsman, and a man who was “larger than life.”
Sha moved on to the next life on December 8, 2009
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