Roman Dial’s first encounter with Dick Griffith at the Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic pretty much encapsulated the spirit of the man Dial called the “grandfather of modern Alaskan adventure.”

Griffith invited the 21-year-old Dial, who was traveling without a tent, to bunk with him while rain fell in Hope at the onset of the inaugural race. And then the white-haired Griffith proceeded to beat virtually the entire field of racers — most of whom were 30 years his junior — to the finish line in Homer.

Griffith, who died earlier this month at age 98, was a prodigious adventurer with a sharp wit who fostered a growing community of fellow explorers who shared his yearning for the Alaska outdoors.

Dial was one of the many acolytes who took Griffith’s outdoors ethos and applied it to his own adventures across the state.

“Someone once told me once that the outdoor adventure scene is like this big tapestry that we all add on to,” Dial said. “And where somebody else is sort of woven in something, we pick up and kind of riff on that. And he added a really big band to that tapestry, and then the rest of us are just sort of picking up where he left off.”

On that first meeting at the race in 1982, Dial and the other Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic competitors got a sense of Griffith’s humor as well. In a story that is now Alaska outdoors lore, Griffith pulled a surprise move at the race’s first river crossing, grabbing an inflatable vinyl raft out of his pack and leaving the field in his rear view.

“You young guys may be fast, but you eat too much and don’t know nothin’,” Dial recalls Griffith quipping as he pushed off.

“Old age and treachery beats youth and skill every time.”

In those years, Griffith may have been known for his old age as much as anything. But it didn’t take long for the 50-something racing against a much younger crowd to make a mark.

Kathy Sarns was a teenager when she first met Griffith in the early 1980s, and the topic of the Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic came up.

“He says, ‘You want to do that race? I think a girl could do that race,’ ” Sarns recalls. “And I’m thinking, ‘Who is this old guy?’ And then he says, ‘If you want to do the race, give me a call. I’ll take you.’ ”

Sarns took up Griffith on the offer and in 1984, she and her friend Diane Catsam became the first women to complete the race.

Sarns said the adventures “fed his soul,” and were infectious for those who watched Griffith and joined him along the way.

“He motivated and inspired so many people by what he was doing,” Sarns said. “It’s like, well if he can do that, then I guess I could do this.”

By the time Dial and Sarns had met Griffith, he had already established a resume for exploring that was likely unmatched in the state.

In the late 1950s, Griffith walked 500 miles from Kaktovik to Anaktuvuk Pass, passing through the Brooks Range. Later he went from Kaktovik to Kotzebue in what is believed to be the first documented traverse of the range.

In total, Griffith logged over 10,000 miles in the Alaska and Canadian Arctic. He raced the 210-mile Iditaski multiple times.

Starting in his 60s, Griffith made annual trips north to tackle a 4,000-mile route from Unalakleet to Hudson Bay in northeastern Canada. At age 73, he completed the journey.

“The reason he did a lot of trips by himself is because nobody could keep up,” Dial said.

Born in Colorado, Griffith grew up in rural Wyoming during the Great Depression.

The first Griffith adventure that evolved into lore was the story of how he met his wife, Isabelle.

In 1949, Griffith was plotting a trip from Green River, Wyoming, to Lee’s Ferry, Arizona — a 900-mile trip down the Green and Colorado rivers.

Isabelle said she’d fund the trip if she could come along. She did, and the two were soon married. After a series of other river adventures, the couple moved to Alaska in 1954.

The couple had two children, son Barney and daughter Kimmer.

John Lapkass was introduced to Griffith through Barney, a friend with whom Lapkass shared outdoor adventures.

Like many, Lapkass connected with Griffith’s wry sense of humor. Griffith would write “Stolen from Dick Griffith” on all of his gear, often accompanied by his address.

In Alaska, Griffith basically pioneered rafting as a form of getting deep into the Alaska backcountry.

Anchorage’s Luc Mehl has himself explored large swaths of the state in a packraft. An outdoors educator and author, Mehl met Griffith over the years at the barbecues he hosted leading up to the Alaska Wilderness Classic.

Although he didn’t embark on any adventures with Griffith, Mehl was amazed at how much accomplished well into his 80s.

“There are people in these sports that show the rest of us what’s possible,” Mehl said. “It would be dangerous if everybody just tried what Dick did. But there is huge value in inspiration. Just to know it’s a possibility is pretty damn special.”

Griffith continued to explore and compete. He ran his last Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic at age 81 and continued with rafting trips through the Grand Canyon into his late 80s.

John Clark’s dad worked with Griffith on Amchitka Island in the early 1960s, assisting with drilling on the Aleutian island before it was used for nuclear testing.

Clark went to high school in Anchorage and regularly joined Griffith on a weekend ski, often tackling the Arctic Valley to Indian traverse.

Clark described the 21-mile trek through the Chugach Mountains as a “walk in the park” for Griffith, a brisk workout to keep him prepped for bigger adventures.

“I was a teenager and I liked to sleep in,” Clark said. “And he wouldn’t even ask me. He would just come knock on my door at 8 a.m. and say, ‘Get your skis.’ ”

Many of those adventures were done mostly anonymously as a course of habit with friends, some only finding out after the fact what Griffith had accomplished.

“He had the heart of an explorer,” Clark said. “Dick’s exploring 40 years ago would have been with the pure motivation of finding out if he could get from here to there.”

Griffith also was well-known for officiating marriages across the state. He married Sarns and her husband, Pat Irwin, as well as Lapkass and his wife.

“I don’t know how it started,” Lapkass said. “We weren’t the first but it was kind of special. Everybody sort of wanted him to do the honors.”

He would celebrate the matrimonies with annual “Still Married” parties at his house on the Hillside, open to both those who remained married and even those who didn’t. He continued to officiate marriages until the last few years.

As the community of outdoor enthusiasts grew, the parties at Griffith’s weren’t only held to celebrate marriages. He regularly had big gatherings at his house on Sundays and for the holidays, bringing together his “orphans,” many of whom had no immediate family in the state.

The gatherings were a great time to bring new friends into the fold and rehash old adventures. One story — perhaps more a favorite of guests than the host — involved an instance where Griffith had a bad case of frostbite on his backside after being battered by frigid tailwinds.

“I don’t know how many Thanksgiving or Christmas dinners we had there,” Sarns said. “Always plenty of food and lots of laughter, and that’s where we’d pull out the photos of him recovering in the hospital.”

In 2012, Alaska author Kaylene Johnson-Sullivan published “Canyons and Ice: The Wilderness Travels of Dick Griffith,” which covered his hundreds of adventures through Alaska and beyond.

The film “Canyons & Ice: The Last Run of Dick Griffith” documented his career and last trip through the Grand Canyon at age 89.

While his achievements were documented in his later years, Lapkass said Griffith’s motivations for being in the wilderness were almost completely internal.

“He was quite an inspiration for a lot of folks,” Lapkass said. “He wasn’t looking for sponsorship, for money or big TV productions or anything. He just felt like doing it. So he did it. And that definitely impressed a lot of people. Because some folks, you know, they want to do stuff, but then they want to let everybody know that they did it.”

As his life went on, Griffith was deeply involved with the Eagle River Nature Center as a board member, trail worker and financial donor.

Perhaps Griffith’s biggest gift to the outdoors community was a dose of self-confidence, a little extra boost to reach that next peak.

“Everybody that came near him benefited,” Sarns said. “Just because it just made you think outside the box a little more, being around him. You may push yourself maybe a little more, whether it’s an extra mile or an extra 100 miles. For some people it was just, ‘Hey maybe I can just go climb that mountain after all.’ ”