I just heard news that Eliot, my good friend from college, died yesterday in a hiking accident. He was only 24.

His death is so senseless. I am in shock. For the past two hours, I have alternated between sobbing mercilessly and wandering aimlessly around my Rome apartment in search of a wine opener that I know doesn’t exist.
Last week, I was supposed to meet up with Eliot while in New York for a night between flights. In the end, he went downtown while we stayed uptown. The next afternoon, my friend met up with him in Central Park. I was invited, but I had to decline so I could go camera lens shopping at B&H before heading to the airport. It kills me that I had two opportunities to say goodbye, but both times, I chose not to.
Eliot was one of the craziest guys I knew. Stories about him were epic. He was always taking time off school to do the nuttiest things — participate in archaeological digs in Jordan, hike through Patagonia, conquer the Appalachian Trail. As a result, while he started in the class of 2008, he was slated to graduate this year. He had taken off the semester to travel across the country before heading back to Princeton in the spring to complete his thesis and get his degree. Typical Eliot. His Facebook quote, the longest entry in an otherwise bare profile, explains it all:
You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again…so why bother in the first place? Just this: What is above knows what is below, but what is below does not know what is above. One climbs, one sees. One descends, one sees no longer, but one has seen. There is an art of conducting oneself in the lower regions by the memory of what one saw higher up. When one can no longer see, one can at least still know…
I will treasure our crazy nights out, our Mathey meals, our swapped adventure emails, our probing conversations. Eliot had a passion for life that was insatiable. I’ll honor his memory by trying to emulate it. Rest in peace, friend. You will be missed.
Article: http://www.dailyprincetonian.com/2009/09/24/23873/