On the 17th of January my
uncle, Mike Mamacos, died. He was in his late eighties and had lived
out the last 10 or more years of his life as something of a hermit in
his beautiful, simple dwelling, deep in the Du Toits Kloof mountains,
that has no electricity or communication connections with the outside
world. Although a loner, he was also a quiet but welcoming host to
visitors. In his day, Mike was one of the best rock climbers in the world. At a memorial gathering held at the mountain club I paid
tribute to this unusual man. Composing what I wanted to say was a
valuable, meaning-making process of realising and appreciating what
his influence means for me:Wednesday, January 29, 2014
A tribute to Mike
On the 17th of January my
uncle, Mike Mamacos, died. He was in his late eighties and had lived
out the last 10 or more years of his life as something of a hermit in
his beautiful, simple dwelling, deep in the Du Toits Kloof mountains,
that has no electricity or communication connections with the outside
world. Although a loner, he was also a quiet but welcoming host to
visitors. In his day, Mike was one of the best rock climbers in the world. At a memorial gathering held at the mountain club I paid
tribute to this unusual man. Composing what I wanted to say was a
valuable, meaning-making process of realising and appreciating what
his influence means for me:
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