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Why do it? A hiker’s confession.

WHY DO IT?

A hiker’s confession

By Jerry Bisantz

OK, so this is the newest in my “try to figure out why Jerry does stupid stuff all the time” writings. And this one will be about my passion for climbing.

I must blame my buddy Steve for this one.  I never knew anything about hiking and climbing until I went for a little “trek” at the Lynn-Fells Nature area in Stoneham, MA. I liked it so much I was done for.

Buying hiking and climbing equipment, and a tent for overnighters, I became obsessed with challenging myself on any of the forty-eight 4,000 ft mountains in NH. I started on small mountains to get used to climbing. … Mt Wachusett, Pack Monadnock, Mt Watatic. My first 4,000-footer was Mt Pierce. Did it with my buddies Phil, and Steve. The view at the top was extraordinary, and the effort was worth it. Of course, that was 13 years ago, and 33 mountains ago.

So, imagine my surprise when I found myself, this September, halfway through the 9.2 mile, three summit climb that is called the Franconia Ridge Trail, facing the third and tallest of the mountains, Mt Lafayette, and literally holding back tears, and, not because it was so beautiful (and trust me, it is breathtaking)… but, because I was so miserable.

Breath. That’s what it was all about. Breathing. I was sucking wind with every step. And there was NO turning back. I wasn’t about to re-climb Mt Lincoln and Little Haystack, only to attempt to go DOWN the Falling Waters Trail.  I had no choice. I made the mistake. I was the stupid person who forgot how difficult it could be.

A side note: I had completed this same climb 11 years ago. It’s easy to forget how hard it was then. But now, at the ripe old age of 71, I thought I could still do it. And I was learning quickly how naive I was.

If you have never climbed in The Whites, let me tell you what makes them stand out: ROCKS. Millions of them. At all angles, shapes and sizes. Jagged edges, small cracks, any opportunity to turn an ankle, or break a leg. No easy, manicured trail or switchback, no.  You look for the trail marker and you say to yourself “that can’t be a trail.”  Even the Ridge, almost three miles of exposed trail above tree line, even that is filled with nothing but rocks.

I got to the point where I would climb for five minutes, sit down and suck wind for three minutes, and repeat. People were passing me like I was standing still. I kept looking at my watch, making sure that I would have enough sunlight to complete the climb. Praying that I had the energy to at least get to the AMC Greenleaf Hut that looked like an inviting little postage stamp on the Western side of Mt Lafayette.

That little speck seemed to get further and further away every time I stumbled over rock after goddamn twisted, misshaped rock on the descent. They say that most accidents occur on descents. That’s because good old gravity has it’s say. Fortunately, hiking poles can be used to cushion and slow yourself down with each step. My water bottle was empty, tongue beginning to swell, I slowly made my way down the torturous path to the Hut.

Where was that feeling? That overwhelming feeling of being one with nature? That feeling that I, at 70 years of age can still do this when so many of my friends are content to suck down a beer and watch TV or are unable to do it due to bad knees, ankles, or medical conditions.  Nope, that feeling was not there. Not at all. Just tired, boring plodding along. Occasionally I would trip on a jagged rock, catch myself with my poles. My thighs were screaming. I didn’t dare look at the view if I was moving. Each rock, each step had to be analyzed as to where to put my feet.

I had stepped into the water above Cloudland Falls on the Falling Waters Trail. Up to my knees. I literally squished my way to the top of Little Haystack. Now, on the descent, blisters were beginning to arrive.

Who needs this crap? I started thinking of my stupidity. “Challenging” myself to do this difficult climb. A climb that literally killed a hiker two years ago. “Mr. Macho,” huh? Yeah, right. I started questioning myself, my body, all the dumb decisions I had made in my life.

No cell service. At least if I can make it to the AMC Hut, I may be able to assure my wife that I was OK. But, where the hell is this hut? Why is it taking so long? I summited Lafayette an hour ago, and I am still not there. My mouth felt like sandpaper, my feet were killing me, and I was running out of gas. Big time.

As luck would have it (all bad so far) I had to climb again. Almost 200 more feet to reach the Hut. Climbing at that point was pure torture. I finally turned a corner, and there it was: the AMC hut. Many hikers were lounging in the sun, taking a break.

I wearily went inside, pulled off my boots with much effort and changed into dry socks for the rest of the descent. I helped myself to a brownie, filled my bottle with ice cold water which I drank greedily. Not moving at all was a pleasure.

The hikers were all very nice. One thing about climbing, it’s hard to find a jerk on the mountains. Everyone was just happy to take in the scenery and rest for a while.

I stayed about 20 minutes at the Hut and plotted the next part of this interminable hike. The Old Bridal Path Trail would take me back to my car.

It certainly couldn’t be that hard, after everything I had been through. I spied a very interesting young lady who was about to begin her descent. Her name was Alex. She looked to be about 25 years of age. What really set her apart from everyone else was the fact that she was barefoot. Yes, ya got that right… barefoot! When she told me she was from my hometown of Buffalo, NY I knew that I had to descend with her. Fortunately, she was cool with an old coot like me hanging with her. Ya gotta love a fellow Bills fan.

Angels come in crazy packages. Alex was my angel. Her nonstop conversation, her ability to find just the correct rocks to trust helped me on that interminable last trail.

When we got to the bottom, over 7 hours after I began, we took a “selfie” and promised to keep in touch.

I called my wife, told her I was safely off the mountains, and headed to The Woodstock Inn for a steak and a beer.

Where was that incredible feeling? That feeling of being on top of the world? Of seeing that 360-degree view of all the beauty of the mountain tops, the soaring eagles that flew beneath me?

I didn’t feel it.

I felt tired, I felt old. I felt stupid. I overdid it in a dangerous way.

As I sit here typing away, my sciatica has grounded me. Perhaps it’s for the best that I take a little break and be a bit more aware of my limitations. A challenge is one thing. Stupidity is another.

Is 70 the “new 50?”

Not when it comes to The Franconia Ridge Trail.

Not by a mile.

Fading Impressions (Ghost Signs)

Fading Impressions

By Leo Racicot

I first noticed ghost signs around town about twenty years ago; I was sitting at the depot when I noticed the faded Hood’s ads on the side of the old Thorndike Factory Outlet building: Hood’s Vegetable Pills, Hood’s Ointment. There were names of other Hood products but they’ve faded over time. This is why it’s so important, I think, to try to preserve them, as history, as culture, as advertisements of the way the city used to be. I like taking photos of them and of murals in general because of their impermanence; you go back a week, a month, a year later and they’re gone. The urge to capture them, like scarabs in amber, is strong.

The J.C. Ayer ghost ad downtown on Middle Street is probably the most recognized of Lowell’s signs. It, along with the Rogers sign, also on Middle Street, are hard to miss. Both are still well-preserved. J.C. Ayer Company was once a mainstay of Lowell in the 1900s, offering residents, as it did, so-called “quack” patent remedies like Sarsaparilla, Cathartic pills, Ague cures, hair tonic (“vigor) and my favorite name, Cherry Pectorals “for anything that ails you”. Rogers was, of course, one of Lowell’s big toy and novelty stores and is still, I believe, in operation, selling pools and pool equipment.

For years, I’d take ghost sign strolls around the city to see what I could see. One sign that has proved a challenge for me is the Uneeda Biscuit ad on Merrimack Street near where the Royal Theater used to be. Due to heavy construction in that area, the awkward location of the sign, the trees, I’ve not been able to find a proper vantage point from which to snap it in its entirety. I’ve tried taking a photo from far away (Zoom lens), from close up (can never get close enough) but never can commit it to film. I keep trying.

The nicest sign, not diminished by time, is the Lawrence Manufacturing sign near Riverwalk Way. I was out walking Sally DeAngelis’ dog, Ruby, when I happened quite by accident to turn around and there it was. It quite startled me; I didn’t know it was there, had never heard about it. Luckily, I had my camera handy, snapping it from many angles. A true Lowell treasure.

The Lowell Sun newspaper sign downtown, towering above Prescott Street but visible from lots of different observation points, isn’t, strictly speaking, a ghost sign. I’ve heard it referred to as The Citgo sign of Lowell, in reference to Boston’s legendary Kenmore Square landmark attraction. DIY efforts to keep it looking young continue and it says and hopefully will always say Lowell to those of us who remember its banner landmark status from when we were kids.

The author thanks Joe Markiewicz for suggesting “ghost signs” as the topic for this essay.

_______________

J. C. Ayer Co. on Middle Street

Lawrence Manufacturing Co.

Rogers Toys on Middle Street

Uneeda Bisquit

Have a Joyous Vacation!

Have a Joyous Vacation! – PIP #109

By Louise Peloquin

     At a time when a great many Lowellians were actively engaged in World War II,  L’Etoile maintained daily detailed coverage of the conflict and of those involved in the thick of it. While extending happy summer vacation wishes to readers, the editorialist did not forget all of the valiant individuals who made endless summers days carefree for schoolchildren and anyone privileged enough to take a break.

Turmoil tortures today’s world too and service members continue to risk their lives, and, alas, lose them. Nemo’s message therefore remains pertinent. (1)

 L’ETOILE – July 7, 1944 Editorial

 JOYEUSES VACANCES!

      The summer season, with its soft breezes and its burning rays, is supremely evocative of idleness and of aimless, playful rambling. To adults and to little ones appears, at the most heavy and most painful time, the anathema of the original earthly paradise: “You will earn your daily bread by the sweat of your brow.” Everyone dreams of the enchanted garden of Eden before the fall.

     If this period of heatwaves generally brings workers a bit of relaxation and recreation, for our schoolchildren, summer brings ultimate happiness. For them, only one thing counts, one thing that, for ten months, they have waited to shout with all of the power of their lungs, these two words: “Vacation time!” How many delights in these magical words! No more despotic morning alarm; no more fastidious and absorbing homework; no more pages to learn and assignments to copy; no more teachers to spy on them; no more detention; no more slavery! No more of that. On the contrary, freedom, fresh air, racing in fields, sun on heads, in eyes, in hearts, in souls, everywhere!

     It is beautiful. We have all been there and we would not, for all of the gold in the world, spoil the joy our dear, precious schoolchildren. We need them to grow strong and vigorous because their task, in future battles, will be heavy and exhausting. To acquire vigor and strength, they need recreation during these hours of rest and calm.

     At the solemn time we are crossing, we ask all of our valiant schoolchildren to think of their older brothers who are exposing their lives on the fields of battle in order to secure, for the next generation, freedom and happiness and to pray to God for them.

     Parents who have delegated their task during these past months to our devoted teachers, should open their eyes to provide their children with physical and moral strength during these days of vacation.

     To all, a joyous and beneficial vacation! (2)

• Nemo

 ****

Many of L’Etoile’s editorials are not signed but this one is. We cannot identify this However, the name could be borrowed from French writer Jules Verne’s fictional character called Nemo who first appeared in the 1870 novel “Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea” and last appeared in the 1875 novel “The Mysterious Island.” Nemo, the brilliant and mysterious submarine captain of the submarine Nautilus, is known for his anti-imperialist views.

Translation by Louise Peloquin.

David Daniel embraced Lowell

David Daniel (1945-2026)

David Daniel passed away on May 5, 2026. He was a prolific writer and a longtime contributor to this blog. He also touched the lives of many people. Remembrances from his friends Steve O’Connor, Jerry Bisantz, Jay Atkinson and Ed DeJesus have previously appeared on this site here and here. Today, Anne Whitaker, a close friend and former neighbor of Dave and his wife Stephanie, shares her thoughts on Dave and his passing.

David Daniel embraced Lowell

By Anne Whitaker

My husband Bob and I moved into a small condo in the Lamson Estate mansion at 209 Nesmith St, Lowell in the mid-1980s. The DeAngelis brothers had rehabbed the mansion into beautiful condos. The brothers told us that there was a couple moving into the unit below ours – the husband is a writer and the wife works at a college they succinctly reported.

David and Stephanie moved in at about the same time we did. Bob and I purchased and helped design our lovely condo on the 3rd floor that had been service areas and quarters for the mansion. David and Stephanie’s condo was on the second floor directly below us and had been a beautiful living area. The house provided us it’s own Lowell story and history that we all enjoyed. From that base on Nesmith we forayed out to sample Lowell’s ethnic eateries especially the Sundance on Central Street and we enjoyed the burgeoning arts scene. This was the start of our beautiful friendship – friendships plural actually.

Back to David and Lowell…David based his private eye novels in Lowell. The fictional PI Alex Rasmussen had his office on Merrimack Street across from the Lowell Sun Building. David even wrote Bob into his Alex Rasmussen books depicting Bob in his actual news photographer profession at “The Sun”. David taught at UMass Lowell as you know. He became a Jack Kerouac Writer in Residence. He was sought out as a speaker and expert interviewee on Kerouac and writing.

David and Stephanie moved to Westford, while we stayed on at the Lamson mansion for a bit longer and then moved to Chelmsford. Bob and Dave took a few creative forays into the city when they could. Whenever we got together, Lowell and “our mansion” were favorite topics.

David was constantly writing for himself or reviewing others’ manuscripts or drafts in many genres of writing. You can see from the blogs and comments how David inspired and assisted so many. Beyond writing, David’s calm demeanor, generosity, kindness and great intellect provided further inspiration. He later fired up young students’ imaginations while teaching at the Middlesex Academy Charter School.

There are others reading this who can say a lot more about David’s symbiotic relationship with Lowell. For me, David was able to bring our house, neighborhood, mills, characters, seedy parts, arts and other parts of Lowell to life. In those early years, his interpretations penetrated my psyche. Every time I went to Lowell I always thought of David and Stephanie and my husband Bob in that mansion, discovering and traipsing around Lowell and making the city our own. (Bob passed in 2019 – we had been divorced for a while.)

Now when I am in Lowell it feels like I am inside an Escher painting. The windows of “our mansion” look askew, the streets undulate and the mill buildings seem tipsy. The element that formed the city for me and meant so much is missing. There is a void. I think the city itself can feel it.

This has been about David and Lowell. Yet I feel a more personal void. My friend of 40+ years has left and I feel “a disturbance in [my] Force”. I’m a bit adrift about it and can’t put it into words well. I’m thankful David and Stephanie decided to move to 209 Nesmith Street so long ago. It was a blessing for me that they did.

I recently thought about all the writing David had left to do. He said last Fall that he had so much left to write, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to get to everything. Can a writer EVER finish everything he or she wants to write? I selfishly wish he could have finished up a few more. I will be re-reading some of my faves, and delving into more.

One thing I have already done and will continue to do is follow this directive. Perhaps you can too.

“Take your memories and make them his immortality.” From Reunion by David Daniel.