Opening Act:  The first 30 or so years of Jerry's journey took place in the mid-west.  He was born in Iowa and raised in Nebraska.  The son of an educator and gifted with uncommon intelligence, Jerry was an outstanding student and received a doctoral degree in Physics.

Act Two:  The second 30 or so years of Jerry's journey brought him East to the Cambridge area.  He got a three-decades long job working as a Theoretical Physicist with Avco/Textron, met and married Ann Butler, bought a house in Lincoln, and raised 3 sons.

Final Act:  The third 30 or so years of Jerry's journey was a time of reinvention.  He moved to Woburn, became an avid hiker, retired from Textron and worked as a consultant, and became a grandparent.

Memories of Jerry Yos

by Ellen Ruggles 

Jerry Yos. That is a name I had heard of on the trails and read in the AMC Outdoors magazine yet we didn't meet right away in my adult hiking days. But from what I learned, he often led hikes to interesting destinations.

Our paths first crossed following my first NH Chapter AMC meeting. I sat nervously and listened, while others submitted hikes they wanted to lead. I was feeling insecure, unsure of what I should do. I was hoping that someone would ask me to co-lead with them, yet, nobody did. As I was leaving, feeling very out of place, and not likely to return, a tall, older man approached and politely introduced himself, then asked if I would like to co-lead a trip to Owl's Head with him. Humbly and gratefully I agreed.

Owls Head has a reputation for being tough because it is in the middle of the White Mountain National Forest, and the last part of the hike has no maintained trail. No matter how you go, it is a long 15- to 18-mile slog and most people don't want to do this grueling hike more than once. People only want to hike there because it is on the list of 4,000-foot peaks people summit for a patch, making it a "must-do" for many. While most people dread it, I quickly learned that Jerry is not like most people and in his life hiked it many times, including two Sundays in a row! The first one was our first hike together in the rain, and then the next Sunday to guide the people who left because they hadn't wanted to be out in the rain all day.

I can't find my records, but Jerry and I officially co-led dozens of AMC NH chapter hikes together. Many other times we hiked just for fun and adventure. Like the February day we hiked Mt. Hale. A snowstorm foretold wintery roads, but north we drove while others decided to stay away. On the trail, the snow fell steadily, promptly covering up our snowshoed steps. We knew the way, though, and it was lovely and fun for those of us who love this kind of adventure. When Jerry stepped into deep snow slightly off the monorail of packed snow and ended up waist-deep, I worried about what we could do to get moving again. But Jerry, in his experience, knew what to do besides flail and waste energy, which involved pack removal, snowshoe removal, placement of poles crosswise in front of you for support, and doing what in yoga class would be called Downward Facing Dog.

We were mostly hiking friends. Only a few times did we meet up away from the mountains. Once was to hear infamous mountaineer and author Ed Viesters speak in Somerville. Viesters is famous for saying, "Getting to the top is optional. Getting down is mandatory." Good point! Another time, my partner Brian and I were allowed to bring guests to a presentation and dinner at the Museum of Science in Boston and we chose Jerry and our friend Cathy. Another time we met at a church in Winchester where my mother was accompanying a long-time family friend for an evening of Negro Spirituals. Also fun was an afternoon of sledding at a golf course in Lynnfield with Cathy. Beyond that, the mountains called and we answered.

His vast knowledge of plants had us tasting the small Indian Cucumber Root which resembles its namesake, once you wipe the dirt off. The new growth tips of pine trees in spring taste like nuts, we learned. The leaves of the deciduous Winterberry ground cover with red berries are edible and taste like mint.

We pointed out each "Hurrah's Nests" in the trees. I had learned about them from my Nova Scotian grandmother and Jerry was the only other person I've met who knew what I meant and went along with the phrase as something real rather than a tangle of twigs and leaves in the notch of tree branches, I learned later.

After winter snows had melted, we sought the wildflowers. He'd name them, pointing to Spring Beauty, and Star Flower, and Sandwort and Wild Sarsaparilla which, when newly sprouted, fools people into thinking the plant is poison ivy. One steamy day we encountered a group wearing long sleeves and legs. They said they feared the itch of poison ivy more than comfort. Of course Jerry knew there is no poison ivy on the White Mountains trails, and tried to let them know, but foolishly they seemed unconvinced. With spring the woods are also brightened by Clintonia, a short stemmed wildflower with delicate yellow flowers nodding downward. In fall it is known as Blue Bead Lily, for it's dark blue berries. The spring wildflower with white petaled blossoms has bright red berries in fall and its name then becomes Bunchberry. I can hear him explain... I hmmmm always will.

Trails and mountains and ranges were all familiar to Jerry. He knew, for example, how many switchbacks there are on the trail on Mt. Garfield. Switchbacks make steeper inclines feel easier. He always knew the best places to take a break. It's knowledge like that which makes a great leader. Yes, he understood the trails well, but sometimes if a newer hiker was in the car, Jerry would take out the guidebook and read the trail description in a way that sounded like a child's favorite fairy tale.

On a trail in Vermont, I popped a question and Jerry responded quickly. Surprised, I asked, "Jerry, how do you know this?" With a solemn voice and straight face, he said, "I thought you'd ask so I looked it up."

As we were hiking Mt. Osceola, he told of a time he was solo and wanting to find the nearby summit of a trail-less peak "just over there" called West Osceola. He pointed to an opening in the dense woods where he had left the trail to explore. He tried so hard that he spent the night in the woods, waiting for the sun to rise. Why? Why not? He chuckled as he said he wasn't even missed at work the next day.

Well, I'd have missed him. I do miss him.

Jerry's hiking personality was calming and people loved hiking with him. He often led with a steady line tagging along behind. We tried to keep groups to ten people, but Jerry didn't like turning people away. We took turns leading, though sometimes he kept to the back of the line to keep company with a slower hiker. (While in time he was the slower hiker he, too, was not alone.) To keep in contact we would call out "Marco" to a deep reply of "Polo." As long as we heard from each other, all was well.

An example of his calmness was a hike into Mahoosuc Notch. This narrow passage on the border with Maine is not an easy-going trail. Certainly, hikers of the Appalachian Trail don't look forward to it because there are rock boulders to climb over and around and under. Add in narrow caves with tight openings it was a challenge for people with large packs. After a mile of unrelenting scrambles through the notch, the trail splits from the AT and climbs steeply. One time there with Cathy and I, we neared the top and stopped to see a family of Spruce Grouse (also called Fools Hen because they seem so unafraid you could grab one) shuffled across the trail and into the woods. A short while later, at a nearby ledge with a welcomed breeze and view, packs were dropped and snacks came out. Suddenly a male grouse appeared, circling foolishly. It yanked at Jerry's tee shirt sleeve, then moved forward to peck at his boots. Jerry sat motionless, and the silly bird hopped up onto Jerry's bent knees. Still no reaction from Jerry other than a twinkle or two in his eye. That is calmness!

Jerry also remained calm for a hike of Mt. Washington via the Great Gulf Trail that didn't go as planned. This is another example of a hike many want to do but are afraid to go without a leader. There were other leaders who would not accept this type of hiker. Jerry's casual competence, companionship, and consideration helped them feel capable. If a trip took longer than what the guidebook suggests, that's okay. The Great Gulf trail is on the order of 12 miles through rugged wilderness, with a steep climb up a boulder-strewn trail toward the clouds. And then you have to hike down. With Mt. Washington, you never know for certain what the weather will be. At the lip of the gulf, the winds buffeted hard, clouds stole visibility, and although it was still summer, snow and sleet fell. One in the group urged that we must turn back. Jerry, who knew better, explained that it was safer to keep moving the shorter distance upward to the summit than go back. "As we go through the clouds, watch for the person ahead of you and remember a person is also following you." Wise words.

Sometimes hikers who enrolled for a hike didn't want to stay out until the end. Jerry's annual Dogtown hike on Cape Ann in Gloucester was typical of that. Up until recently, the locations of the 32 glacial boulders were not well marked, and the area was known for people finding themselves lost. The boulders were carved during the Great Depression with landowner Roger Babson's favorite admonitions like "Integrity" and "Obey Your Mother" and "Be On Time" carved into them. We'd frequently start out with 20 and end up with six. Bailing out on a hike isn't welcomed by most group leaders; leaving a group can blackball a hiker. Not with Jerry, though. I never saw him complain, just kindly nod in agreement that they could head off if they wanted to, and suggest a good direction.

Another example of how at ease people would feel was a group hike of Mt. Moriah. The summit area is a small treeless rock knob, just right for an informal break before heading down. Michael (who is on the autism spectrum) loves to memorize long verses. On this day he had been practicing "America the Beautiful" to recite. Then a young woman timidly sang "Amazing Grace" which she had just performed at her grandfather's funeral. She was so emotional while heading down the seemingly endless trail and picked blueberries while we each took turns consoling her. When you are with a leader like Jerry, this kindness happens.

One evening Cathy, Jerry, and I arrived at the car after the sun had set and heard an owl in the distance. Jerry called to it and it flew over to see if we were friends or foes. Wooosh, it quickly arrived and left just as soon but I think it would have liked to stay and hoot at Jerry for a while longer.

I know I would have.