The Franz Dopf I Knew

I originally wrote this on May 21, 2019, the week that Franz died. I held off posting this, but with the memorial for Franz last week, I felt it was time.

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My father-in-law Franz passed away last week, but we really lost him several years ago. At the age of 82, Franz spent every single day hiking, skiing, kayaking or cycling. Every day was something new – with friends or out on his own. On a lovely August day in 2013, Franz rode to Bragg Creek via Highway 8. On his way home, just before the traffic circle, he was struck by a car.

The accident caused head trauma, and then a stroke. He lost his balance, and soon found it difficult to ski or bike, which he loved to do. Not being able to ski since he was a young boy was a real blow. Franz was depressed about his loss of mobility, and then his loss of freedom. Soon, he found walking difficult.

Along with the physical loss came mental decline. The post-concussion syndrome lead to dementia, which then progressed to Alzheimer’s. Prior to being hit by the car, Franz’ mind was sharp, clear and focused. I could discuss business with him at any time, and he knew exactly where revenues and expenses should be. The disease eventually lead to his body shutting down. That one moment by an inattentive driver seven years prior killed Franz, slowly and painfully.

Early Climbing

I thank Chic Scott for his dedication to preserving Canada’s mountaineering history. Through Chic’s work, Franz’ early days of climbing have been recorded. This is very fortuitous, because Franz would never talk about himself or consider anything he did as having much consequence. He was so humble, that his own sister-in-law had no idea about his mountain feats. It was only when Franz was recognized in Banff, and was asked to sign a copy of one of Chic’s books, that she learned about Franz’s mountaineering history.

Franz left Austria in 1951, in search of Canadian mountain adventures. He had climbed and skied the Austrian alps with his childhood friend Hans Gmoser. Chic’s book Deep Powder and Steep Rock – the life of Hans Gmoser – tells many tales of their early adventures and climbing in Austria. For example, when Franz and Hans were only 15, they left home and cycled the circumference of Austria. Their bikes had no gears, and the tires were stuffed with straw. With no equipment or camping supplies, they were lucky to have a barn to sleep in, and were reliant on the good nature of strangers for food.

Franz and Hans soon started climbing in their local mountains. Chic does a great job of describing their early climbs, and some of their mishaps.

I will add more tale that is NOT in Chic’s book. Franz and Hans left school at 16, and both began apprentices. Franz was a furniture maker, and Hans was an electrician. After working hard all week, on Friday night they would pack up their climbing gear, and cycle the 70 odd kilometers to the foot of the mountains. After hiking up to the mountain hut, they would finally get to bed after midnight. The next morning, Franz and Hans were up for an alpine start, and climb all day Saturday. After a full day climbing on Sunday, Hans and Franz would then hike back down to their bikes, and ride the 70 km back home. These were strong, hard men.

Climbing in Canada

Together with Leo Grillmair, it was time for Hans and Franz to take a big risk and move to Canada. They landed in Edmonton, thinking it was pretty close to the mountains. Not realizing the distances in Canada dwarf those of Austria, they quickly discovered their mistake and moved to Calgary. More than 50 years later, Franz STILL pronounced it Edmounton.

The trio soon discovered Mount Yamnuska, and spent their time putting up first ascents on this now iconic mountain face. Franz got the first ascent and named it Calgary Route. Since then, many routes have been established. The Yam is a great book to learn the history of climbing on Yamnuska.

Franz, Hans and Leo also spent a lot of time on Mount Assiniboine. Hans and Franz narrowly missed getting the first winter ascent of Assiniboine, but with poor equipment, they turned back just shy of the summit with major frostbite on their feet. There is a famous photo of Hans and Franz on the porch of Lizzie Rummel’s cabin. They are describing their climbing ascent of Sunburst Peak.

Barb Renner shared this story with me about how lucky Franz was. While climbing Mount Assiniboine, Franz lost his wallet, and saw it tumble down the mountain face. Oh well. That’s that. A few days later, Sepp Renner was on Assiniboine recovering the body of a climber who had fallen to this death. There, on the snow, was Franz’s wallet. He picked it up, and had it waiting for Franz back at the lodge when he descended off the mountain.

Business

While Hans and Leo went on to develop their mountain guide careers, literally invent the sport of heliskiing, and founded Canadian Mountain Holidays, Franz went his own way. Ever independent, working for others was not his style. Franz was a successful home builder for decades. His distinctive Austrian-style homes are dotted around Calgary, and easily picked out. As a trained furniture maker, he also built kitchens and interior woodwork.

Franz built the first two sections of the CMH Bugaboo Lodge, and the Alpine Club of Canada’s Canmore Clubhouse. Many of the ACC huts feature Franz’ furniture.

Franz also had an eye for property. He bought a condemned house in Kensington, and an old bi-level on 17th Avenue. This was at a time when both areas were considered seedy and undesirable. They are now highly sought after addresses, housing a thriving retail complex in Kensington and a restaurant on 17th Avenue.

After surviving the major oil crash of the 1980s, Franz needed to rent out the basement of the bi-level on 17th Avenue. To help lease it, he made a few pieces of furniture. Instead of leasing the space, he sold the furniture. He then built more furniture to put in the space. Thus, he accidentally created a thriving furniture manufacturing and retail business called The Pine Shop (Ingrained Style Furniture Co.).

Family Man

While Franz was a successful mountaineer and businessman, his first responsibility was a husband and father. He felt he couldn’t be a mountain guide with a young family to raise, as he would be away from home too much. Franz took his lovely wife Roberta and his three kids Debra, Mike and Tony everywhere. They climbed in the Bugaboos, using Mike as the scout to find the crevasses. When Mike fell in a crevasse, Franz hauled him out with a rope tied around his chest. There were several trips back to Austria to climb various mountains, and visit his family. My husband Mike doesn’t remember learning how to ski or climb. They were both activities he did since learning how to walk.

Franz was also a fantastic grandfather to his two nieces and two nephews. He never shied away from taking them skiing, hiking or kayaking. He was always calm and patient, never rushing the kids to keep up. When my girls were 3 years old, we did the 10 km Sunshine Meadows hike as a family – Franz and Roberta, Mike and I, and our daughters. It was a slow and steady hike, neither rushing nor dawdling. It set the stage for many more adventures. When our kids were 8 and Franz was 78 years old, we travelled with Franz and Roberta to Austria, and climbed Franz’ childhood mountain, Große Priel. Franz set a steady pace that the kids could do all day, and expertly guided us up the mountain. It was a magical moment in the mountains, and I am so thankful we spent that time together.

As a father-in-law, Franz welcomed me with an open heart. When I had some distressing news to share, he acted like it was the best thing he’d ever heard. He never judged or interfered, and offered support only when asked. It was the ideal combination of watchful from afar. I knew he’d be there if anything happened, but didn’t feel him looming over us, or questioning our decisions. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss this until it was gone.

Slow and Steady

As someone new to the mountains (I didn’t start hiking until I was in my late 20s), I spent a lot of time watching and learning from Franz. What struct me the most was how fluid and unhurried he was. Franz never rushed anywhere or hurried anything. Everything was slow and deliberate. However, the effect was that he was always the fastest up to the top, or the first skier down. He had this amazing ability to gently pursue any task until completion.

Skiing was a great example. Most people fly down the slope, with hard stops on the moguls. Panting after a few good turns, stopping to rest, and then continuing on. Franz’ approach was to gently glide through each mogul, never tiring himself out, and therefore never stopping. He would soon pass the other people, and would be at the bottom, patiently waiting for the others to arrive.

The same with going up. Franz would start agonizingly slow, but once he got going, nothing could stop him. Far into his 70s, the only people who could keep up with Franz were guys in their 50s. He lead many backcountry skiing trips, breaking trail and finding the routes. He was a leader with the Norseman Club, and helped push that group to new heights.

Franz’ slow and steady philosophy was applied to everything in his life. With work, he never worried about overtime. He told his son Mike – never do more than eight hours worth of work. There will still be plenty more to do tomorrow. By not burning himself out, Franz was extremely productive. In retirement, Franz decided to build cedar strip canoes and kayaks. He came into the workshop every day, for six hours a day. In no time, Franz had a small armada for everyone in the family.

Finding Franz

As Franz got older, he would spend every day doing what he loved. I was lucky enough to ‘find’ him on several of his adventures. Once I was driving into Okotoks, and saw this old guy having lunch on the grass beside the car wash, his bike propped up against the wall. Slowing down to make sure he was okay, I realized it was Franz. We chatted for a bit, he finished his sandwich, and then cycled off.

The first time I scrambled Mount Yamnuska solo several years ago, I was coming down after the scree section when I saw this old guy coming up the trail. He was wearing a knit cardigan sweater and boat shoes. I was getting a bit worried for the person until he looked up. It was Franz. He was out for a drive in his little red sportscar, and somehow found his way to the base of Yam.

The worst part about Franz’ passing is that I will never again ‘find’ him on one of his adventures. Last week, I scrambled Mount Yamnuska solo for the second time, to think about and honour Franz. I had the mountain all to myself, and had a good cry as the full enormity of losing him came crashing down. Franz lead a good life of adventure in many areas of his life. He was a role model in so many ways. I miss him greatly.

Alisen