Angelo Decrisantis

Ken was a true leader. I recall the Bond Traverse in Jan/Feb 2004. There was a bitter cold, sub-zero stretch of weather; the week before a New Hampshire park ranger froze to death near North Twin. Crossing over Mt. Guyot some of us (like me) got behind the pack. There was a strong right quartering wind with a temperature near -12 F. The wind made it difficult to stand up so falling over into the scrub frequently was common. Ken was ahead of the last of us, but he dropped his pack and headed back on the trail to be sure we were OK, that we were going to make it, in spite of him being really cold and tired, and not knowing his face was beginning to incur some frost bite in spots. He herded us along. He felt responsible for our welfare and forgot about his own discomfort and jeopardy. A true leader is someone who will forget himself/herself at a time of great need and care for the needs of others. That was Ken. He was always there when you needed him. He surely will be missed. Peace to you Ken!

Ken Morel

In the year 2000 I decided I needed adventure in my life and wanted to take a leave of absence from work and ride my bike cross country. Ken was my supervisor at the time so I passed it by him thinking he may say ok but I thought no way in hell would the guys above him would ok it. Ken lobbied repeatedly on my behalf and made it happen. He said that he’d love to do the same someday but to do the Appalachian trail. I was able to have the time of my life because Ken appreciated the importance of adventure and was willing to stick his neck out for me. I think of Ken on the trail and I hope he had the time of his life.

Here’s to Ken.

Tim Linehan

Ken,

When we met a decade or so ago at a Wednesday evening AMC rock climb, I had no idea of the privilege that was soon to be mine. You were one of those individuals who was always welcoming and helpful to the new comers. You were always willing to provide a belay. You were always willing to mentor a new leader or a new ice climber.

We became friends and climbing partners. We spent many week-ends together climbing rock and ice in CT, NY, MA, NH, and ME.

At some point during our trips, you told me of your earlier, difficult, fight with cancer – the possible recurrence of which seemed an ever present specter. This explained, perhaps, why, at times, you seemed so… driven. You seemed intent on doing as much as possible with each opportunity that life afforded… to live each day as fully and as completely as possible. When “normal” people might be lingering longer over their morning coffee, we were roping up in -12 degree weather to climb grade 4 ice at Lake Willoughby; when “normal” people were starting their holiday shopping the week-end after Thanksgiving, we were gearing up in 6 degree temperatures, being hammered by 40mph winds and blowing snow, and suffering through -36 degree wind chill to make an early season attempt on Pinnacle Gully; when the rest of our party would be relaxing after the successful climb of a Cascade volcano, you would urge us back to the cars and on to the next objective. There was so much to do… and so little time.

But what I remember most, was the laughter. You could find humor and enjoyment in circumstances and situations that would make most people pale. Your head would go back, your eyes would twinkle, and then you would let roll with a full throated, belly supported burst of laughter. It was that, the laughter, that came to mind when I read the message informing your friends that your time with us was drawing to a close. It is… hard… to reconcile the fact that someone so full of energy and life is gone. It's too soon. It's much too early.

I’ll remember you on each and every uphill “grunt”. Along with the familiar weight of the pack, the familiar crunch of the snow, the familiar bite of cold air nipping at nose and finger, and the all too familiar tired legs and exhaustion, I'll remember that familiar laugh. Thank you for the mentoring and the knowledge shared. Thank you for the good times. And, most of all, thank you for sharing yourself. I, along with many others will miss the reality, and the possibility, of your friendship. Good bye my friend.

Tim