He was the son of Henry Goetseels Wild and Virginia Calvert Weller Wild, a brother to his sisters Nina Wild Hayssen and Alice Wild Trewin, who preceded him in death, and his brother Nelson Hopkins Wild who lives in San Francisco.
He was and remains a revered uncle to thirteen nieces and nephews, and a seemingly endless array of grand and great grand nieces and nephews. His love for horsing around and unrelenting sense of adventure was shared throughout the generations. Uncle Hank was the kind of uncle that would let some random kid climb on his back as he banged out fifty push-ups. He played Santa’s helper on Christmas Eve delivering stockings while little ones slept in the middle of the night. If a mandarin orange or other goodie happened to go missing he’d explain it away as the elfin service.
Most of the younger generation learned about Seattle’s less than famous eateries as Hank’s guest. There was Addy’s Cafe, the Hotel Cafe and the Chalet in Redmond, the Roadhouse in Fall City, Twede’s in North Bend, and Foothills in Issaquah. He’d often read the paper with a cup of brew while the young’uns chomped on burgers and downed shakes--generally running roughshod on whatever diner they happened to drop into.
And while he was in the restaurant business for over twenty years, he couldn’t be called a cook. Dining in was typically regulated to assembling some greens and cucumbers tossed together with store-bought vinaigrette and a vodka martini on the side.
His life was a lifelong adventure spanning the Pacific where he was a decorated veteran serving in post war Japan, to scaling the tallest peaks in the Andes, Rockies and Cascades. To train for higher ascents up Mount Rainier and then Aconcagua he jogged up his local hill, Mt. Si, with a bowling ball stowed in his backpack. More interested in summiting than adhering to rules, he sometimes headed to the top of Rainier solo--a definite no-no for most but not for “Wild Henry” as he was called by his fellow guides.
He once said that he’d risk his life but never his life savings. He lived a spartan life that saved indulgences for hiking and climbing gear and Stueben glass, which he gifted to his mother each Christmas. He gave generously to those he loved.
He loved long drives but staying between the lines was never his strong suit. He parallel parked by feel -- first by another car’s back bumper and then by a third car’s front bumper. His adventures took him below the surface and into the clouds. He acquired a taste for scuba diving, earned his pilot’s license and was a paratrooper. The terror on the highways was only equalled by the horror in the skyways. Most sensible folks opted out of his joy rides over Lake Washington with “Thanks, but my Dr. says I have a heart condition.”
Along the miles he partnered with two that were his match, known to each other and everyone else as Kay and Tertu. He’d split his time between Kay in Seattle and Tertu in Colorado. In his later years he made yearly road trips to visit Tertu and his cabin in Fairplay, where the location and 10,000 foot altitude granted him access and acclimatization to climb pretty much whatever peak that caught his fancy. He’d then return to the Pacific Northwest to visit with Kay in the lowlands. And this seemed to be agreeable for all three.
His driving days ended when he fell asleep at the wheel and hit a parked car. It was the start of the end of his independence. He never quite grasped why “they” took his license away. When told “It’s because you fell asleep at the wheel and hit a car” he defended his near perfect driving record noting “It’s never been a problem before” and that he’d “always woken up in time.”
His final home was an efficient apartment in North Bend, Washington that was a stone’s throw to popular hiking trails. There he could amble up to the top of Rattlesnake Ridge at a moment’s notice, with a nephew, niece or some other kinfolk in tow. From the top he could take in the panorama of Mount Si, his go-to mountain from some thirty years before, and reflect on the many peaks he had conquered throughout his extraordinary life--if only to take in the sweeping view and breathe in the fresh mountain air.
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