Ralph Ryan (RDD-77): Rick "Cadet" Russell was one of the most intelligent persons I've ever known. When a subject intrigued him, he would research it to the point where he could have a spontaneous, intelligent, and factual conversation even with the experts. Volcanism, earthquakes, horticulture, silviculture, arborists, and tree felling to name a few.

Rick was the kind of jumper that anyone would want to have as their jump partner, knowing that being in his presence would be an adventure within itself.

A Redding native, he ventured north to Alaska for decades to fight wildfires. He didn't have family in Redding and was a private person. What he did have was a lifelong friend and jumper bro in Richard Linebarger (RDD-74). When Rick's illness progressed, Richard was there for him, visiting him, consoling him, and reminiscing with him. I'm sure the love Richard gave him made him know he was not alone, and I'm sure he crossed over with love in his heart. There'll never be another soul like yours "Cadet." RIP bro, and thank you, Richard Linebarger, for being the best friend a person could ever have.

Doug Swantner (RDD-82): Always a 10 on the Richter scale, fueled up on freshly-brewed Peet’s coffee on the fireline, Rick could work and talk with the best of them. He was always up for a challenge and could weave a story that would spin your mind. Working with him, Sulinski, Troop, and Dube on a long-haul beater on the Tundra could alter your life.

Lance Clouser (FBX-85): There I was on a fire on the Karluk River on Kodiak with Rick, one of the Nactsheims (they all look alike) and some other jumpers. The fire was 2-3 acres, and we put it out rather quickly. The fishermen were quite courteous and offered us their fishing gear. Rick was more than willing to partake in the offer. He was like a kid in a candy factory with the salmon fishing. I think we demobed the next day, and I was there alone with Rick. It got quiet, and Rick then said, "Do you hear that?" "No," I responded. "Listen, it’s a low hum-like noise," he said. I listened for 10-15 seconds and responded, "I think I hear it. Sounds like the generators from Larson Bay." He instantly screamed, "No, not that noise. It’s the noise of Mother Earth crying out!"

Tom Romanello (FBX-88): I was ops chief on a large fire in Central Idaho about 15 years ago. While briefing some shot crews out in a meadow, I noticed a pickup truck come to a stop. After about 30 seconds, someone exited and began running across the field toward us. I thought, "what the hell is this?" As the lumbering bear-like figure drew closer, I realized it was the great Silverback in full stride. I hadn’t seen him in about 10 years. As he approached, he yelled, "Romy" (his version of Romo) in his booming voice. He then proceeded to give me a bear hug that nearly crushed my rib cage and then abruptly sprinted off without another word. The bewildered hotshots asked, "What was that?" "An old bro that I haven’t seen in a long time," I answered. That was the last time I saw Rick. He spoke only one word yet managed to leave another indelible Rick Russell memory that will always be there. He was a colorful character and will be greatly missed.

John Lyons (FBX-90): I had many great conversations with Rick over the years. His memory and IQ would blow my mind. I recall a conversation we had one fall about rhizomes in tree roots. Six months later when I showed up in the spring and said hi to him, he picked up mid-sentence where we left off, as if we had only taken a moment off to take a swig from our whiskey/Peets coffee mixer.

I spoke to him three years ago as I was trying to figure out how to borrow that Vermeer tree transplanting machine he was always dragging around. He was upbeat and full of stories, and we talked for at least an hour about a variety of things that it would normally take 3-4 people to know. One thing he said stuck with me. I asked him if he was still doing tree work, and his rapid response was, "No, I quit that a couple of years ago as I no longer had the cat-like reflexes to jump from limb to limb."

Rick was a badass human being, probably more suited to being a crosscut faller in the 19th century. Thankfully, he found smokejumping in Alaska. It was inspiring to know such a rogue character in these modern times.

Jon Larson (FBX-89): Lots of Richter Rick stories. He was one strong dude. I remember getting him riled one day while loading a flatbed truck with fire packs. His reaction was to launch the 85-lb boxes from over 10ft away with me dodging to keep from being crushed.

We jumped a fire one evening that was already over the hill. Rick was the IC. We worked into the night, then bedded down. The next morning a helicopter landed with supplies. After unloading the ship, Rick called Johnny Mac (who was second in command) saying, "Johnny, this baby is yours, I'm out of here," then jumped on the helicopter and left. Rick had a premonition that his mother (who was ill) needed him, so off he went to California.

Matt Allen (FBX-95): A couple memories. One was how he always said he was gonna "shoot on over" to whatever he was heading to. Another thing was hearing some guy off a village crew speak highly of Ricter Rick, something along the lines of "that Rick Russell—he knows how to have a good time." I remember Rick saying, "Many a lady has been woo’d with a Copper River red and a nice bottle of red." There was a Pulaski throw at a pig party late 90s that he won with a single one-handed toss. Superhuman feats were normal for the "Back."

Brent Woffinden (FBX-89): He scared me at first, but that lessened when I got to know him better. I bought an old rotary engine Mazda from Rick. The starter did not work, so it needed to be parked on an incline or push started.

After the ’93 season, there was a good deal of rehab work needed on the Wenatchee NF. So Rick, Larson, Gould, Clouser, Lyons, and I all went down as contract fallers to work until the snow prevented any more work. We needed to be teamed up, so Larson and Gould were a team, Clouser and Lyons were a team, and Rick looked over at me and said, "Woffman, looks like me, you and Big Red (his old red arborist truck) are going to be a team." I had no idea the month-long education I was about to embark on as Rick, Big Red and I drove from camp to the work site and back every day. I got in-depth lectures on the hum but heard stories of forest fairies and other musings that only Rick could provide.

Bruce Ford (MSO-75): He was my suitemate in the barracks one summer. By the end of the season, it seemed perfectly natural when Rick would waltz in from our shared bathroom, stark naked in his silver-backed glory, beer in hand. He was avidly following a magma movement that was apparently getting set to blow up all of Mammoth and probably Tahoe as well. Then there was the "hum." They broke and pulverized the mold after he was produced! As a bard said, "We shall not look upon his like again."

Steve Baker (NCSB-88): I'd just transferred to Alaska in ’92 and had not officially met Rick yet, but I did when I awoke from a deep sleep to the sight of a large, naked, extremely hairy man standing next to me. "This your whiskey?" he asked as the bottle was on the way to his mouth. "Yes, it was," I replied. "I'll get ya back," he said as he drained it.

Ken Perry (FBX-93): 1993 somewhere out by Eagle. We all woke up as the fire approached Romo trapped in his tent. Could have been last night’s cook fire. Anyway, being a rookie, I decided to gear up and drag the line. As I rose over a knoll, there he was, Rick, completely naked, sitting cross- legged looking down over the interior. Without changing his gaze, "You hear that?" I could hear the dredges down on the river. I thought, "Yeah dude, everyone can hear that."

Scotty Lusk (FBX-81): I remember being on a four manner with Rick out on the flats He got to telling about the Little People who live inside Mt. Shasta. That same year Cynthia and I stopped by Redding, and we played our first round of golf ever with Rick. He was wearing white golfing shoes. A couple years later, I was leading a tour on the Plumas to a group of Maidu Elders. They got really quiet and looked at me with awe when I mentioned the Little People.

Gary Baumgartner (FBX-88): Rick was my jump partner on my first fire jump at the McNeil River grizzly bear viewing cabin. As Rick and I were mopping up some peat moss together, he asked if I could hear the earth talking. Curious, I inquired about what he meant. With a stern and intense look, Rick explained that if I listened hard enough and paid attention, I would hear the earth humming. Being a good but extremely intimidated rookie, I quickly replied, "Oh yeah, I hear it." Looking back, I must admit that I did start hearing a hum or a ringing sound that summer. Strangely, it intensified during my career as a jumper.

Mel Tenneson (FBX-86): Rick was one of a kind. The "Silverback" was extremely strong, as I observed him loading paracargo numerous times over the years. He could really throw those 90-pound double waters when he wanted to. One memory I have is from a fire north of Eagle. Rick was kicking cargo to us out of the Casa. While watching the cargo come out of the aircraft, we had to quickly dodge a Mark III pump that augured in next to us. Rick immediately called down and informed me that the weak link had broken. I retrieved the chute and noticed the static line clip was still closed with nothing inside of it. On the next resupply a few days later, Rick had a special box for us, Copper River red salmon and wine, a nice surprise for some tired smokejumpers.

Jim Raudenbush (FBX-82): I was on Quillin’s hotshot crew, and we were on a fire with a bunch of jumpers. This was the first time I had worked around jumpers on a fire. The fire had been resupplied with pallets of C- rations. When it was time for the crew to eat, someone would grab a case of C-rats, turn it upside down, open the case and everyone would blindly grab a rat. The crew was standing by when Rick walked up, ball cap on, fire shirt unbuttoned, his big hairy chest sticking out, unsheathed Pulaski over his shoulder. He says, "Good morning," pulls out his knife, grabs a case of rats, tears it open and starts rifling thru all the boxes until he finds a cinnamon nut roll. He sits down, eats the roll, then gets up and walks away. The crew just stood there in disbelief. That’s when I decided I wanted to be a jumper.

Murray Taylor (RDD-65): I was Russell's best man when he married Susie Stingley, a lovely wedding to a lovely woman in Dunsmuir. I also worked many times for him as his ground man doing tree takedowns. At one job, a man from the County Ag. Dept came and, while Rick was talking to the homeowner, told me, "Rick Russell is the best tree man in Shasta County." I had no trouble believing that. I can also tell you that his climbing skills in a high tree, swinging from limb to limb, small chainsaw dangling on a line below, lowering cut limbs, was amazing and only possible because of his great confidence and strength.

When I think of him now, I see two images. The first is of a guy, silhouetted in blue-gray smoke on a lone portion of tundra fireline, a bundle of burlap bags tied on his PG bag. He has a moss-filled bag in each hand and slamming the line alternately with each, on and on and on without breaks. The other, and my favorite, is of a photo of Rick on the very top of Mount Shasta, his spiritual home. There he was, buck naked, facing away from the camera, wearing only his White boots, the sun over his left shoulder, head tilted back, and his arms thrust upward into the sky. That's the way I want to remember him, in his element, on top of his world.

Troop Emonds (CJ-66): I had just returned from one of those classic, good deal fires up on the Coleen River. It was one of those deals where we caught fat, world record size, Graylings a couple feet long. We get back to the jump shack and Rick hands me this bottle of Scotch and congratulates me for reaching a number of jumps. The Blak is there and says, "Troop, do you know what that is?" "Yeah, it’s Whiskey." "No, it is the best Scotch that money can buy." I kept the unopened bottle for many years. When the jumpers were out in Galena, my neighbor, Erik "the Blak" Schoenfeld (CJ-64) came over for a visit. I pulled out that bottle, and the Blak killed the entire bottle and walked back to the Volpar to be ready to spot the load.

Rod Dow (MYC-68): Some of you might not be aware that Airhead was right about The Hum. After decades of all of us saying, "Um, yeah right, Rick," scientists announced about 15 years ago that The Hum is real. Scientists have discovered that Earth's hum is a constant, pulsing note that's not heard as clearly in human ears (well, except for Rick). People are attracted to genuineness, the property of being real. Rick wasn't trying to be anybody but who he was, that's for sure. Each of us contributes to the group in an individual and unique way. Rick Russell was the only being in the universe who was capable of producing Richter Rick, the guy who was attached from his brain stem to the center of the Earth, to Mt Shasta, to the magma that magically surfaces in Iceland. Rick Russell made the best version of The Siverback that the universe could ever, in a million eons, produce for the benefit of the rest of us. And, if there was an Alaska Smokejumper who was physically stronger than Rick, I'm not sure who it would have been.

See you on the other side, Buddy. You were absolutely one of a kind. Grab the saw, rip that white spruce over there down the middle, and set up some benches around the campfire. We'll all be along soon.