Rocky Mountain High, Why Did I Ever Leave?

My third and final response to Logan Silkwood’s Two Truths and One Lie Writing Challenge

I was always an impatient academic nerd. I got out of prep school with a year and a half of college credits under my belt and took a full year’s worth of credits during the Spring Semester of my freshman year. At the end of the Fall Semester of my junior year, I was done. I had a long harbored fantasy of going out to the mountains of Colorado and being a ski bum for one full season. This was my chance. Armed with a brand-new Mazda RX-2 and $750 I had saved from working during the summer, I headed off to Aspen with two college friends in the middle of December after my last exam. When I got there, the first thing I did was to plop down $250 for a season ticket. No matter what else happened that winter, I would be able to ski every day. I knew that the remaining $500 was not enough to last me for the season, so I looked for a side job to supplement my meager savings.

I did a stint as the film projector operator at Snowmass. I saw The Last Run, starring George C Scott, so many times I could recite every line by heart. I was a photographer for Mountain Photography for a while. Every morning I would go up on the mountain and put out my banner inviting the tourists to ski by, and I would take their picture. They would be displayed at the bottom of the mountain later in the afternoon. If people were interested they could buy them — everything from a wallet size photograph to a full sized poster to put on the wall. There was no obligation. It was strictly a commission business. Some days I made nothing. But I loved it when the Texans came to town. They always wanted multiple posters, eight by tens and wallet size pictures for themselves, friends, and family members. I cleaned up on them. I could make $200 in one day on one generous Texan. That was a lot of money in 1971.

The one job I got almost immediately, which I kept for much of the ski season, was as a dishwasher at The Aspen Mine and Commission Company. This was a part-time evening job. I didn’t make a lot of money, but it was an upscale restaurant and I could eat anything I wanted when the diners left. I gorged on steak and lobster and king crab claws and asparagus and baked potatoes. What it didn’t pay for in cash, it more than made up for in fancy meals every night. Skiing is a hunger causing endeavor. I estimate I burned about 10,000 calories a day.

Early one evening while I was washing dishes and listening to the local radio station, an advertisement came on that said that Aspen was looking for six new ski instructors and that there would be tryouts for a week. It gave instructions on where and when to go. At the appointed time I arrived with about 200 other people. We spent the week skiing the slopes and demonstrating our skills, while being taught the techniques the Aspen ski school used to train its students. This was about the time that the GLM method was being introduced, and we were trained in that as well. I have no way to explain it, but at the end of the week I was one of the last six remaining standing. I was proudly awarded my instructor’s parka and added to the staff. I couldn’t have been happier. It was an experience I would never have expected.

I didn’t realize itmediately, but ski instructors were viewed as celebrities. Overnight I became a rockstar. Everyone wanted to buy me dinner and drinks and ask for pointers for their own techniques. They would fight over who could hire me for a private lesson the next day. I could’ve stayed in any hotel or condo I wanted and never paid a dime. Someone was always offering to pick up the tab. And the equipment reps. Rossignol, Hexel, K2, Atomic, Kneissel, Head. Virtually every manufacturer you could think of was throwing their equipment at me. Same with the clothing and eye wear manufactures. They all wanted to give me stuff. The first day I was given 12 pairs of expensive sunglasses. They were worth more than I could’ve made in two months. The rationale of course was that if I was wearing it, my students would want the same thing as well. Good marketing I suppose, but I was overwhelmed by the generosity and attention. I literally felt like a rockstar.

Then there were the women. They were throwing themselves at me. Women who are good skiers are a different breed. They are tan, built, fit and limber in a way the average man would never appreciate. Oh my God. On any given night I could’ve had the pick of the litter, but I had a girlfriend. Linda, piercing blue eyes and long blonde hair, who was born in Aspen, was in the instructor tryouts with me. She also was chosen as one of the six. We hit it off during the week of evaluation, riding together on the chair lift and generally having a good time. By the end of the week she had introduced me to the place she lived and we were an item.

As it turns out, she was married. Her husband was away in India for six months at an ashram. Apparently they had an open marriage. She had no problem at all sleeping with me and living together. And she lived in a large teepee built on a wooden platform up the valley towards Independence Pass just off the river that ran through Aspen. During that time of the year the pass is closed and it was like living at the end of a long cul de sac in the middle of nowhere. There was only one modest house in the area and it was about 100 yards to the east of Linda’s teepee. She had a very long extension cord which ran from the house to give her power for a stereo system and one electric light. In the middle was a pot bellied stove with the flume rising out the crown of the teepee. When fired up, it kept the place nice and toasty even in 0 degree weather. We could wander around nude inside because the temperature was about 80°.

Outside the front door flap, our yard was essentially a large meadow with the Aspen River meandering through it. A pool off the side of it in front of our abode was a natural thermal spring that stayed a constant 105° year-round. It was our private spa. We were the only residents in the area except for the two gay guys who lived in the house 100 yards away. They were friendly, but kept mostly to themselves. It was like having our own little slice of paradise in the mountains. So quiet and peaceful, especially at night with the stars shining brightly. We always looked forward to coming home at the end of a long day on the slopes, aching from chasing novice skiers up and down the mountain all day, and just taking our clothes off and soaking in the spring. It was idyllic. The only drawback was the mornings. When we woke up, the fire in the stove had long since gone out and the inside temperature was the same as the outside. Neither of us had a stitch of clothing on under the warm comforter, and it was always a vigorous debate to decide who had to get up first and restoke the stove so we could get dressed for the day. It was a chilly wake up call.

In the late 60s and early 70s, Nastar was becoming popular. Anyone could enter a slalom competition. Participants included rank beginners and aspiring professionals. Scoring was handicapped and points were awarded. The best skiers attracted a lot of attention and were showered with sponsorships and free equipment. Because Linda and I were essentially professionals, refining our technique by skiing every day, we scored high in lots of events and attracted the attention of the professional scouts. At the end of the season we both got offers to try out for the US Ski Team at their training academy in Utah.

When the Spring melt finally arrived and I was on my way back to Florida, I seriously considered coming back the next winter or moving to the mountains of Colorado. It was tempting and I had several offers. My experience that Winter had been beyond my wildest dreams. I had spent a season skiing every day, met a wonderful woman I will never forget and fulfilled a lifelong fantasy. It was a beautiful and memorable time, but it was time to get on with my life.

Almost five decades later the lifestyle is gone. Aspen has become an urban playground for people with too much money and too few skills. The untouched beauty which drew so many of us is gone. Disneyland has taken over. In 2015 my son and I took a motorcycle trip in late Summer through the mountains. Part of it was along Independence Pass coming in from the north and east. I had never traveled it before because I had always been there in the Winter when the pass was closed. As I rode into the valley, I was surprised to discover that our neighbor’s house was gone along with the teepee. The river and meadow were pristine. Then I noticed an oversized monstrosity of a structure on the west side protected by an imposing wrought iron face and gate. Apparently Kevin Costner had bought the whole area and turned it into his personal private playground. Oh well, nothing lasts forever. At least it wasn’t condos…

So there you have it. The final installment in my response to Logan‘s challenge. Which of the three tales never happened? Or were they all figments of my fertile imagination? Are they all true? Or maybe they are a mix of fact and fantasy. You decide and let me know your thoughts in the comment section. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading as much as I’ve enjoyed reminiscing. I assure you all will be revealed. Stay tuned.❤️