Courtesy of Fred R. Sutor

1946. Bill White, Fred Studer, Bill Barzler and Phil Rumbolt. The backpackers talked about their future the entire camping trip. They had an opportunity to make a living in the civilized world or, kidded Fred, “We could become hermits. We might even make a name for ourselves.”

Earlier visitors described the hermit’s yard as a “pig pen.” It was unjust and false. When Fred Studer and his three college-bound friends approached the entrance to Rondeau’s bailiwick, which had become an almost legendary destination in the Adirondacks down through the years, they first spotted the tall wooden teepees on the horizon, then the tattered banner over the spur trail’s entry that announced Welcome to the City. Iron kettles planted in pansies hung from the center of pole tripods on each side of the proclamation. The man-made beauty on a semi-wooded sand bank aside the edge of a water waste — the flow ground—additionally greeted guests to the municipality. The host extended his typical hospitality. His greeting “had an air of formality.” On first reaching his cabin, the men were asked to “sign my guest register.”

So imagine the excitement of the four backpackers, raised in an urban environment, when they happened upon Noah just prior to his grand media exposure.