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Cody Roman
Dial was born during a warm spell in Fairbanks, February 22, 1987, thirty years ago today. He died when a
tropical hardwood toppled on his camp in Corcovado National Park, Costa Rica
during a solo, off-trail trek in July 2014.
Those of us
who knew him knew him as physical, intellectual, family and friend-centered. He
enjoyed packrafting whitewater, reading as research and recreation, Dungeons
and Dragons as immersive games at once fantastic and analytic. He liked
scuba-diving and skate-skiing, spicy food, and modern music. He introduced many
to Radiohead, the Kills, the Black Keys, kim-chee and exotic tropical fruits.
He wore no
tattoos, no piercings, no pretense, no nonsense. He was affectionate, strong,
authentic. Girls around the world swooned over his Harry Potter look: cheekbones,
hair, wire-rimmed glasses.
He read
voraciously, perceptively, too. Once, in a budget hotel room in Kota Kinabalu
on the island of Borneo he read two books over four days: The Malay
Archipelago by Alfred Russell Wallace and Stranger in the Forest by
Eric Hansen, regional classics separated by a century. He noted that “Hansen
describes Chinese men sitting at their doorstep in exactly the same way as
Wallace. In fact, there’s a couple places he uses the same imagery.”
Cody Roman was
a respectful son, a teasing brother, a loyal friend. A chef who excelled at
sauces without measure, he took pleasure in cooking for others. He baked pies
for potlucks and preferred Cherry Garcia to all other ice cream and bacon to
all other meat.
On a hike across
Umnak Island at six, he took to calling himself “Roman”. Over the next two
decades that’s what most of us called him.
Even as a
young boy, Cody Roman displayed an intelligent courage. He was careful and
cautious but adventurous, experienced and skilled. He was wise in risk, but not
averse to it.
At 11 in Costa
Rica he caught a nectar-eating bat near the Pacific and a strawberry poison
dart frog near the Atlantic. At 12 he swam beneath a waterfall in northern
Australia and grabbed a side-necked turtle, surfacing with an outstretched arm
clutching the reptile, excited and grinning.
He told some
his trek in Costa Rica was training to cross Panama’s notorious Darien
Gap.
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He was a
gifted story teller, both orally and in writing, telling stories less about him
than about those around him – what he saw, not what he felt. He liked to hug
and be hugged, to lift weights and climb rock un-roped, to swim and explore.
He once
articulated that something amusing made him smile, but something funny made him
laugh. Somehow Cody Roman was quiet but not shy, affectionate but not weak,
often caring but sometimes distant.
He could wield
a scowl with some precision, made sharper by muscular arms, but his heart
was big, too, his compassion a reward for love, his affection physical.
He had a habit
of scratching his head with both hands, of thinking before speaking. He shared
his treats. He didn’t complain. He pitched-in to help, rather than sit-back and
watch.
He’d rather
try and risk failing than not try at all.
During a road-trip
he sent home post cards and bourbon, limited-edition from Kentucky for his family
and friends to enjoy. We did, still do, savoring in that mash of corn, malt,
and rye warm memories that linger.
Conceived in
the Brooks Range, Cody Roman was an Alaskan, born and raised. He went to Chester
Valley Elementary, Steller Secondary, attended William and Mary on a
scholarship, with help from student loans and family. After graduating in
biology, he moved back to Anchorage, took a year off, then entered the graduate
program in environmental science at Alaska Pacific University.
He avoided
debt and saved, paying off his student loans by 23.
He worked summers
and holidays over a decade at the USGS Molecular Ecology Lab, starting at 16 in
the school district’s mentorship program. There he learned to extract DNA, run
PCRs, read LiCor gels. He looked forward to next gen sequencing and eDNA.
For his
master’s degree he sequenced the DNA of a thumb-sized isopod called Saduria
entomon. The genetic samples from around the Arctic he collected himself
from Teshekpuk Lake, Barrow, Kaktovik, Cook Inlet, or from other scientists in
Scandinavia, Bristol Bay, and the Chigniks.
By 25 he’d
published peer-reviewed journal articles on the DNA of snowy owls and the
biogeography of ice worms. He did field-work, too, catching shrews and voles in
Gates of the Arctic, Cape Krusenstern, Bering Land Bridge, Nogahabara Sand
Dunes, the North Slope, and on JBER.
He loved to
share what he knew or debate what he thought and eagerly, insatiably, sought to
know more about everything, but especially history, economics, and science.
He was
careful, knowledgeable, curious and creative. He thought critically in science
and spoke cynically of politics but helped with his hands when he could.
His future was
bright, promising, wide-open.
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