David John Porter 23 September, 1971 – 27 December, 2021
Hannah Turrise-Banks
I will always remember Uncle David for two distinct reasons. Firstly, for the adventures he took Zac (my older brother) and I on when were children. As a child it seemed as though Uncle David was up for pretty much anything to do with the outdoors. He encouraged us to be brave and take risks, something that has shaped Zac and I to this day. Secondly, I will always remember him for how intelligent he was. When I was completing my undergraduate degree, I had a law subject that I could not get my head around, I was very close to failing this particular subject. I emailed Uncle David and he kindly helped me understand the content in a way that made sense to me. He also helped me write a response to the question. I remember laughing with Uncle David once I received my results because Uncle David was at the top of his field and together, we had only received a credit. I know for sure that without Uncle David’s help I would have failed that subject. I will remember him for his generosity of knowledge and willingness to help people who were in need of his skill set. I'm nowhere near as clever as Uncle David but I hope to honour his memory by upholding his generous spirit.
Hannah Turrise-Banks
> VIEW ON MEMORY TIMELINEJohn Baker
Part 2 David led a very exciting life. Escapades of youth with Phil, motor bike road trips on his own, a desert road trip with his Defender (and me), surfing trips with Jill, trips overseas with his family, Skiing, climbing mountains and riding rapids with friends, chasing Pumas in Patagonia for the perfect photo, a rough and tumble childhood in Ourimbah. The son of a missionary bricklayer. Schooled in a public school on the Central Coast, graduating in law and economics, winning at Sale of the Century, a successful lawyer, editor of a civil machinery magazine, farmer, labourer, Bushman, essayist, Army Reservist, skilled photographer and cook, national magazine columnist. Son, Brother, Friend. Husband. Dad. Especially Dad. Yes, David led a very exciting life. But all those things only say so much about David. I once said to him that his wit and insight reminded me of the satirist David Thorne. David took this as the highest compliment. I then suggested he also reminded me of Sheldon Cooper, a fictional particle physicist come polymath character in the TV series The Big Bang Theory. A comparison he was less fond of. Both are, of course, absurd comparisons. David is not like anyone I know. Yes, he knows a lot about a lot. Yes, he is one of the smartest most rational people I know. He also had a deep connection with wilderness, with justice and fairness. He was passionate and compassionate. He searched for knowledge, understanding, meaning and spirituality. He proudly clung to his bogan roots – he was anti-elitist. Perceptive. A leader. Tough. Organised. Brave. Immensely capable. Loyal. Assured. Dogged. David and I were very different people. I used to think he was the type who didn’t tolerate fools easily. But he tolerated me – and I was pretty sure he considered me a bit of a fool. For a while it felt an arm’s length friendship. After living with him, I stopped worrying about what he thought of me, and I just accepted David. He became like a big brother - yet also a little brother. We spent hours together late at night watching the Wallabies play rugby in Europe. We played Doom via FTP across Sydney before the world wide web was a thing. We walked many miles together through the thickest bush and across the steepest valleys. We camped together, in remote locations and in the best and worst of weather. He taught me many things. He was there for me when I needed to get from Epping to Kensington in minutes, when someone wanted to push me around late at night on the streets of Sydney, when I was struggling emotionally, when I needed someone to help show me how to renovate a house, when I needed to be brought down a peg, when I had a planning application response to write. Or just a chat. He was generous with his knowledge and kind with his advice. He was funny, mischievous, and a good, decent, beautiful, complicated man. I loved him deeply. I will miss him dearly. Without him here the world makes a little less sense. His favourite fare. I don’t want to understate David’s own agency in his life’s journey, nor downplay the significance of and influences in his earlier years. When David first met Jill he was already pulling himself out of a difficult time in his life and there can be no doubting the importance of his upbringing and his early adult years in shaping him. However, Jills impact is profound. David would often say Jill gave him a new lease on life, that Jill was the best thing to ever happen to him. And I am in no doubt about both these things. In the wee hours of the morning, after a long boozy catchup or deep in the bush somewhere remote, he would talk about Jill, and then Jemma and Sam and Lucy and his demeanour changed. He was happy. Not the mischievous happiness of misbehaviour, or the exhilarated happiness of climbing a mountain. He was happy with a calmness that I only saw when he spoke about them. He was proud, he was in love. He adored everything about them. In these moments, all his sharp edges fell away. David and I will go on no more hikes. There will be no more late night catch ups. I wont get that chance for him to teach me to ski. I will no longer hear him laugh. Deeper water always called to David and for much of that journey someone in this group of mourners was with him. We are lucky to have shared those moments with David and lucky to have those memories. David taught me the Sierra Clubs motto that when you hike in wilderness you are to leave nothing but footprints, take nothing but photos and keep nothing but memories. David has left this world, he took a lot of photos, and imprinted himself on so many people. He may not have mastered bowling, but he had a fine innings. Goodbye old mate.
John Baker
> VIEW ON MEMORY TIMELINEJohn Baker
David is not your average bear. And as one of his favourite musicians is Humphrey B Flaubert, I have a theme… David was a funny old fellow. Some are of the opinion David was an athlete. Well, athleticism did not come naturally to David. A young David was a bow-legged gaggle of limbs which combined to create a cricket spin bowling action too ridiculous to describe. Things only got worse on release of the ball which rarely bounced on the pitch. David was not to be deterred and he bowled and bowled and bowled and bowled. Not embarrassed. A little frustrated. And very determined. He did become more coordinated. He took up Judo and played an improving game of what we called “combat squash”. Yet some things do not change. An enduring image both my wife Amelia and I have of David was on a camping trip with Jill and our young children at the Pink Lakes of Murray Sunset National Park. We recall a faraway solitary bow legged silhouette surrounded by the white of the salt lake. David was unmistakable up close and at a distance. He was a funny man. He liked to laugh and smile. In Year 12, the future accountant joked that his relationship with his school sweetheart was serious because they had memorised each other’s Tax File Numbers. This made him laugh more than those he told but… well, his laugh was so enjoyable. I lived with David in his house in Newtown when he was going through a difficult time of his life. I hoped it would help him to have some annoying company to put up with and I would often try to lighten the mood to make him laugh. One day I hired the comedy movie Black Cat White Cat. “It isn’t a foreign language arthouse movie is it!” he said concerned. He sunk into the couch; arms folded, lips pressed. David had a way of acquiescing whilst letting you know how grumpy he was about it. But he gave it a chance and laugh he did. David was fastidious in preparation for our hikes and gave me tips including the benefits of tubed sweetened condensed milk and cutting off the handle of the toothbrush to save space and weight. I, on the other hand, was not so well organised but was keen to impress and humour David. After a hard days hike and a horrendously windy night of camping in the wild David woke to see me preparing breakfast for us both. He watched as I pulled out of my pack a large amount of bacon I had kept cool with an icebrick, eggs and tomato protected in Tupperware, pepper grinder and some fresh basil. I then pulled out a large heavy based frypan to cook it all in. His laughter echoed down the Grose valley. “Well done that man!” he would say before telling me that I wasn’t using the tea bags properly and explained the science behind correct steeping. When I suspected his navigation skills were not as good as he claimed I asked if we were lost. He insisted (with a huge smile) that he was NEVER lost. Merely that his ‘perceived location was temporarily spatially dislocated from his actual location’. Early in our hiking adventures David instituted a rule that every sentence we spoke on the hikes MUST contain at least two swear words. And they had to be bad ones. This amused him no end. David got in all manner of strife. One of David’s favourite movie scenes was a wild looking Daniel Day Lewis running at full speed through the forest. Like the Mohicans, David was a bit wild. David was a bit rough. David was also a bit wicked. When David acted on his wickedness, it delighted him immensely. My strongest memory of my teenage years is David and his regular accomplice, Phil Lovelock, grinning ear to ear after some mischievous adventure; purchasing underage alcohol, hunting imaginary monsters in the bush with bow and arrow, escaping from sharks when spear fishing. As recently as August David would still be regaling me with his teenage adventures. In high school, David ran away from home. He didn’t run to a friends house, or to hide away in the bush nearby. That is way too pedestrian. David ran away 600km, to Tenterfield. When I needed to quickly get from Epping to the University of NSW to hand in a thesis, he dropped what he was doing, rode over to my place, shoved me on the back of his motorbike, told me to hold on and “be the bike”. The next 15 minutes was a blur of traffic violations. Many years ago, David and I went camping with our partners to Dharug National Park. We went for a leisurely afternoon stroll up to the escarpment, heard lyrebirds, saw ancient etchings of emu and kangaroo, had a nice picnic. And watched the sunset across the Hawkesbury River. Then we came across a cliff. With the light almost gone David helped control his and our fears as he led us around the cliff to find a way down. There were drops where we couldn’t see the bottom and he would slide down more in hope than certainty and, finding ground would guide us down after him. After seeming hours of this, in pitch blackness we stumbled, scratched and sore, back to camp. Part 2 to follow.