Siobhan and I first met Albin Kisarewich at a neighbor’s place, one street over from our Fairfield, Florida digs. He was a quiet man, a soft-spoken fellow who had once been a commercial pilot and a near-professional level tennis player. At the time, he was raising thoroughbred horses like the rest of us and appeared to enjoy the quiet life of a modest horse breeder. Nobody would have guessed he harbored a secret ambition. Albin Kisarewich wanted to walk the Appalachian Trail. All of it.
In case you were wondering, the AT is a mere 2180-mile walk in the woods, extending from Springer Mountain, Georgia to Mount Katahdin in Maine, the longest hiking trail in the world. Most of the trail is in forest or wild lands, although some portions traverse towns, roads and farms through 14 states. Hiking it is not something you get to do on a lost weekend. Anyone likely to make it all the way is advised to be in exemplary shape. In the 1970s, would-be trekker Kisarewich suffered a massive heart attack requiring a long recovery period, not the best qualifications for spending months in the jungle. After such a blow, grandiose feats are discouraged, your wife stands on the apron with a rolling pin when you try to climb into the ring.
Adversities or not, Allen Kisarewich was one tough customer. He trained vigorously for the hike. He planned extensively, learned the pitfalls, got himself in the best shape possible. Then, on his first day on the Trail, Albin broke a leg. Oy vey, maybe this was something that wasn’t meant to be. Perhaps, but Albin considered it only a mild bump in the road. His wife, Gerry, became apoplectic. Come on, Albin, enough is enough! But old dreams die hard and Kisarewich eventually healed and worked himself back into superlative physical condition. Gerry delivered him to Georgia and things went better this time. Albin zipped along, state after state, hill after dale, all the way to the hills of Vermont, less than 100 miles from the finish at Katahdin, where he reluctantly called his wife. “Come and get me,” he said, “these mountains are beating me to death.”
Albin Kisarewich may not be enshrined in The Great Book of Thru-Hikers of the Appalachian Trail, having stopped just short of the mark. We say, Who Cares? The man exemplifies the nobility of the human spirit, old guy courage, grit and determination, and everyone can learn from his trials. Albin is trekking the Big Trail in the Sky now, but we’re not. We may not be gallivanting down a 2180-mile obstacle course, but we can still achieve Great Things. The trick is to penetrate the layers of fear, reluctance and surrender and believe we can do it. If you need a motto, “Albin Lives!” should do nicely.
But No Endorsement Deals With Nike
Having trouble getting out of bed in the morning? Difficulty taking the garbage out, washing the dog, separating galinsoga weeds from the garden tomatoes? Well, Bunkie, we have no sympathy for you because we’re friends of Teiichi Igarashi, who climbed 12,388-foot Mount Fuji every year from the time he was 89 years old. He did it again in 1987 when he hit the century mark, making him the first 100-year-old human to turn the trick. It only took him three days and he didn’t even wear shoes.
“I could make it because of encouragement from all of my supporters,” said Teiichi. Not to mention Grade-A genes. During the climb, Igarashi stopped about every three minutes to rest at the side of the path, drinking no water but choking down raw eggs while he rested. Teiichi 12th conquest of Fuji came nine days after 91-year-old American Hulda Crooks from Loma Linda, California became the oldest woman to reach the summit. How ya gonna keep 'em down on the farm after they've seen FuJI?
The Plunging Pensioner
We’ve never been much for strapping a bungee cord around our ankles and jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge, or even the Tallahatchie Bridge, for that matter. It seems so ligament-insensitive and….well….downright scary. Before this, we could just attribute our reluctance to the ravages of advancing age, but not any more. That’s because Mohr Keet, 96, of South Africa bungeed off the 216-meter Bloukrans Bridge, certified by all-knowledgeable Guinness World Records honchos as the highest bungee bridge in the world. Keet griped that the experience was “too short.”
“Mr. Keet jumped in the presence of a chartered accountant and a registered auditor,” claimed two officials of the Mountain Club of South Africa. “This fulfills the criteria for judging world record attempts. As soon as Mr. Keet’s application is accepted, he’ll have beaten the old record by ten years.”
Mohr celebrated by going river rafting the next day. He was considering another parachute jump, not having had one since age 86. Shut up and take out the garbage.
Minoru Rode The Boat Ashore
It was a slow month, so Minoru Saito of Japan decided to circumnavigate the world. Then, he did it again and again and again, eight times in all, the latest at age 77. Talk about Barnacle Bill the Sailor. The final time, he decided to go the other way, just for fun. That means sailing westwardly against prevailing winds and currents. It took 1080 days, but who’s counting?
Shit happens when you circumnavigate the globe. Saito’s vessel had to stop for repairs several times over the years. In 2009, he was disabled with rudder problems in Cape Horn, Chile. He was towed to the world’s southernmost city, Punta Arenas, where he overwintered and carried out repairs. A second attempt around the Horn was successful, but sail and engine problems again forced a return to Punta Arenas. He started out once more in 2010, had continued engine woes and stopped at Valdivia, Chile for spare parts. People called from Tokyo and asked if he was having fun yet.
While wintering in frigid southern Chile, a habit he was struggling to break, Saito endured an emergency hernia surgery and narrowly missed an earthquake. A year later, an even more devastating earthquake in Japan sent waves crashing into the Honolulu marina where Minoru’s boat was undergoing repairs. While in Hawaii, a motorist clipped him in a pedestrian crosswalk and sent him to an operating room for knee repairs. Sometimes, it’s a day at the beach, now and then the stinging jellyfish attack.
Once out of Hawaii, Saito crossed the Pacific to the Japanese island of Chichijima, where he waited out four passing typhoons. Then a fifth little rascal hit the island, forcing him to spend a solid week on board making sure his lines stayed safely secured to a mooring far out in the harbor. Coast Guardsmen staffing a station on the island were awed by his fearless dedication to his boat. “He’s a miracle,” the awed observers praised. Minoru Saito just chortled and sang his little song. “I’m strong to the finish ‘cause I eats me spinach, I’m Saito the sailor-man!” Still feeling put upon? Zip it and clean out the owl cage.
How’s your balance? Stand on one foot for ten seconds? Twenty? Do you ever use stairs without a handrail? Does everybody in yoga class collapse in laughter when you try your eagle pose? You’re just not trying hard enough, pal. And no whining about the rigors of advancing age, please. Ivy Baldwin would be irked with you.
Ivy was a tightrope walker, a highwire performer of great standing. In his spare time, he constructed handmade balloons, filled them with hot air and ascended to 2500 feet, where he would amuse everyone with some fancy acrobatics. Then, just for the hell of it, he’d parachute to the ground.
In 1898, he piloted a hot air balloon over a battle scene, giving U.S. troops location information on Spanish snipers before the Battle of San Juan Hill. The balloon was shot down and landed in the Aguadores River, but Ivy was just fine, thank you, and shrewd enough to take fragments of the balloon with him. He sold them at subsequent performances, billing himself as “the air hero of the late War.”
Things get a little slow around age 82, so Baldwin decided to celebrate his birthday by tightrope walking 125 feet above a canyon formed by the South Boulder Creek in Colorado. Some of his close friends advised against it but Ivy just smiled. “Relax, guys,” he told them. “I’ve done it 80 times before.” And naturally, he did it again. How about trying another eagle pose.
Gladys Burrill didn’t have it easy. As a child, she contracted polio, a virus transmitted through contaminated water, food or contact with an infected person; if you got it, paralysis was a distinct possibility. Gladys just brushed it off. As if polio wasn’t enough, her Swedish immigrant family was sorely tested through the severe poverty and soul-sapping grind of the Great Depression, putting their disciplined noses to the grindstone and emerging none the worse for wear.
Gladys married Eugene F. Burrill and the couple created one of the largest family-owned lumber businesses in Southern Oregon in the 1960s. In her spare time, she had six children, piloted multi-engine planes, hiked through deserts in Arizona and climbed Mount Hood, then decided to run in her first marathon at age 86. Mrs. Burrill said she had a very good time and was keen to do it again, and she did. Gladys eventually completed five Honolulu Marathons in seven attempts, setting a Guinness World Record for oldest woman to compete when she finished a December 12, 2010 run in 9 hours, 53 minutes and 16 seconds at age 92. Afterward, she was inducted into the Hawaii Hall of Fame by Governor Neil Abercrombie.
Gladys Burrill remained mentally sharp throughout her life. “She was overwhelming, a real force,” said her son, Mike. “She was full of love. Anybody around her who stood still for a moment risked getting a big hug.” He recalled going on walks with her and turning around to see her holding hands with a police officer or stopping to talk to passersby and store owners. Gladys’ credo was simple; “You gotta think positive all the time. It’s so easy to get discouraged, you have to rein it in. Your outlook makes all the difference in the world in how you feel.”
Gladys Burrill spent her latter years in a condo in Waikiki, still attending marathons she could no longer run in. When she showed up, she was always the star of the show. In 2019, she contracted pneumonia, then returned to Prospect, Oregon to join her family. She died one week short of her 101st birthday. “I had a hell of a time,” Gladys always told visitors. “You can, too. Just stay away from the dark side. It’s a waste of time and time is all we’ve got.” Amen, Gladys. You’ve got the mojo.
1n 2018, Wang Deshun paraded across the catwalk in a high-profile fashion show, shirtless and with the musculature of an athlete half his age. After that, Wang was forever “The hottest grandpa.” At 88 years, German native Johanna Quaas is the oldest active gymnast in the world. Think it’s tough going back to school after a few years? Consider Paul Siromoni, who earned his PhD at 90, and Nola Ochs, a Kansas woman who earned a bachelor’s degree at 95, then went on to get her master’s at 98. Nola gets extra credits for actually living in a campus dorm.
How about Sister Madonna Bruder, the biking nun, who has competed in 45 Ironman competitions (a 2.4 mile swim, 112-mile bike ride, 26.2 mile marathon, all in one day), her latest at the tender age of 86? Ninety-year-old Gloria Struck took a cross-country trip on her Harley at age 100. The oldest newlyweds Guinness knows about are George and Dorren Kirby, who married when George was 103 and Dorren 91. Talk about a cradle-robber.
Fred Mack celebrated his 100th birthday by jumping out of a plane. Rosemary Smith, a rally race champion driver in the 1960s, drove a Formula 1 car at 79. Yuichiro Miura climbed Mount Everest at a sprightly 80. And crazy old Jerome Defraitus was still rockin’ his skateboard at 101. So when someone tells you it’s a long way to The Last Tango in Gainesville, that you’re a little long in the tooth to be traveling, smoking dope and rockin’ the night away with a crowd of deranged ex-hippies, simply put your ice skates down, smile and tell them what Lee Ann Womack did:
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance,
I hope you dance….I hope you dance.”
That’s not all, folks….
bill.killeen094@gmail.com
