I felt a connection to Rolf right from the start.  Looking SO much like Gordon, how could I not feel endeared to him?  It was when we moved to Chelsea that my admiration and adoration really took hold. Rolf took every opportunity to have our family join his for cycling, skiing, hiking or anything outdoors, usually followed with a grand feast. Rolf was eager and energetic to test our mettle on the Gatineau Hills ski trails, play tour guide along the bike paths of Ottawa and Gatineau or cheer from the sidelines as one or more of our kids finished a face. 

My love for fixing, renovating and building things became a bonding topic between us.  He never missed a chance to ask what I was working on, what I was going to do next, how I was going to do it and more importantly, did Gordon know what I was doing? Way back in about 2005, I decided to remove some kitchen cabinets and install pot lights in their place. Not having done lighting before, I read the instructions and learned I was going to need to put in a junction box. Before Google or YouTube, I had Rolf. He walked me through (by telephone) the process of installing a junction box, feeding the wires and finally, the pot light installation. He was just as proud of the lights as I was!!

On my next birthday, Rolf gave me a tool belt. On many occasions after, whether Christmas or birthday, Rolf added to my tool collection. Screwdriver set, voltmeter, laser level, stud finder. My brother in law GOT ME!!  I like to think I helped fulfill his need to buy tools. I know he helped me on my journey fulfilling my love for all things “that need fixing”.

I will miss his inquiring mind, his rapt attention to my fix-it stories and his endless knowledge of how-to-do-anything.  I will cherish my tools all the more and with each use, thank the guy who GOT ME!

“Can you come out to play?”, Rolf would call, laughing over the phone, to get me out for a ski or a bike, or latterly a short hike.I met Rolf at Nakkertok Ski Club, and through the 1990s and 2010s joined him recreational skiing in the Gatineau Park as well as the Ski Club.Most memorably, we skied together for many years in the Canadian Ski Marathon.Led by Rolf, a variable quartet of us skied in the 4-man “Veteran” team competition, usually with Dave Mallory, and in various years co-opted David Garcia, Jim Bradford, Wayne Johannsen, and one or two others.I don’t have all the Ski Marathon records to hand, but the medals hanging on my basement wall remind me that we won at least 5 golds, 2 silvers and a bronze in various years of the competition.Rolf was the natural skipper of the team, seemingly borne on skis up there in the Laurentians where the Marathon is run.Mere mortals like me, relying on brute fitness to climb the hills and surviving the downhills with white knuckles and multiple bruises, could only marvel at Rolf floating across the snow and dancing down the hills, or wince as he sometimes sat on his poles on the steepest.Techniques that required a lifetime of practice, and maybe a genetic disposition: the Mamen men I’ve skied with all seem to reflect their Norwegian heritage, and Rolf told me his father was a remarkable skier, still liberated on skis in his later years when he’d otherwise become frail.

I also learned during my years of friendship with Rolf the amazing story of his great uncle, Bjorne Mamen, a member of the scientific team of the Karluk expedition of 2013-16 to the Canadian Arctic, and a young Norwegian ski champion. Stranded in the ice north of Alaska, with the ship breaking up, crew members were taught by Mamen to use skis which aided their trek over the ice 130km to Wrangel Island.There unfortunately half the crew perished, including the intrepid young Bjorne Mamen, while the survivors were rescued following a 300-km trip to over the ice by the Karluk’s Captain, Bob Bartlett accompanied by an Inuit hunter who had joined the expedition, then a crossing by sea from Kamchatka Peninsula back to Alaska to organise the rescue ship.I can’t help thinking that Bjorne Mamen showed the same optimism, dazzling athleticism and determination that we knew in Rolf.I used to suggest, half-seriously, to Rolf, that we should arrange our own expedition up to Wrangel Island to view his great-uncle’s grave and get some experience of the harsh conditions faced by the Expedition.

In retrospect, most of the time I spent chatting with Rolf was on skis, just by nature of the long treks in the Gatineau Park or on the Marathon.But we also had some memorable bike rides, where we swapped reminiscences, news of our families or the odd word about work – we didn’t talk more than superficially about work, but I was always impressed and intrigued about his work as a senior manager of the Space Agency, and some of his experiences on exotic trips to the Arctic or Russia, for example.More prosaically, I had to endure Rolf’s complaints about the miseries of travelling by train down to Saint-Hubert, while he kept up a running joke about my being as a Transport Canada employee somehow personally responsible for the performance of VIA Rail.

On the bike rides, Rolf showed me lots I hadn’t known about the region, up and down the Rideau River, way out west of the City, and along the eastern shore from Gatineau.

For one so active and accomplished, these last few years were clearly very tough for Rolf.His increasing inflexibility from the Parkinson’s disease meant his skiing and biking had to be slower and the outings shorter. But he was determined not to succumb gently, and optimistically pushed those limitations in our expeditions.We also substituted convivial meetings with friends over coffee for more vigorous outings.After his dreadful fall last year he was even more limited, but embraced the rehabilitation, and we settled for more limited hikes close to the house, latterly with his walker/wheelchair.But, as ever, he drove himself to weave through undergrowth to show me hidden views along the Rideau River.

The news of Rolf’s tragic drowning came as a terrible shock.I can only imagine how momentously sad it has been for Maggie, their children and grandchildren, and for Rolf’s sisters and brothers and their families, who were all close to him and dear to him.Rolf was a wonderful companion to his friends, as a model of cheerfulness, optimism and determination – in the photos I have of Rolf he was always smiling. And in these days of informality and increasing coarseness in language and behaviour Rolf also offered an antidote of politeness and civility.I am still reeling from the shock, but I am very proud and humbled to have been among his friends.

Rolf was a role model to many people. Some of my first memories of him involve leading wintertime outings for a crew of kids and cousins, skiing up the hill in Saint Sauveur and across Lac Beauchamp. Our goal was to gather wood to build a fire and roast hot dogs. This is ambitious on several levels but Rolf got us all there, lit the frozen wood, built the fire, and made our lunch, and we returned home happy from a great adventure.

Rolf embodied that spirit of adventure. I remember him enthusiastically rallying groups around the local ski trails and up the hiking path to loup garou. I also remember the sense of welcome that he extended to others. When I was 14 or 15 I fell in love with cross country ski racing and I felt like it opened up the whole world for me. Each year I would make several trips up to Ottawa to do the local races or train with his Nakkertok crew. Rolf and Maggie always welcomed and encouraged my visits. Rolf was a strong and passionate skier, a trait he passed on from his father. On one of those trips I remember Rolf begrudgingly accepting that for the first time, at age 50 or 55, he had lost the unsanctioned (and ill-advised) Nakkertok race down Penguin hill in the Gatineau.

Rolf's encouragement was also playful. When I first decided I wanted to ski the length of the famous Canadian Ski Marathon Rolf told me that if I finished he would eat his toque. My father and I stayed at their house the night before, got some waxing tips and set off on the ski. A couple days I got a phone call of congratulations saying how bad his toque had tasted.

Rolf reflected a wonderful spirit of adventure and of appreciation. I'll miss him and his place in the family, but this spirit will live on.