1972 – 1976

The Battle lines drawn, ships at sea and the battle was moments away.  No victory was guaranteed and total destruction was a more likely outcome.  Weeks of preparation had gone into planning for this fateful day.   The battle commanders were all smiling and looking forward to a quick and decisive outcome.  Similar battles in the past had all resulted in the same outcome, no winners, only losers.  Fleets of ships and squadrons of aircraft had been lost.  The sea bed was littered with the wreckages of the ships and planes from previous battles.

These battles played out all summer long.  As soon as the stream in the West End began to flow, the pond in the front yard filled to an astonishing two foot depth.  Just deep enough to float the model ships we had built in the weeks and months prior.  Laden with Sterno, firecrackers and even some black powder we had liberated from my dad’s reloading kits, the battle began.  First the firecrackers blew, barley separating the decks from their hulls, followed by the acrid smoke from the burning black powder.  The carnage started off too slowly for these battle weary commanders and more needed to be thrust upon the fleet lest they escape total destruction.  As the Sterno burned, the plastic buckled but all the damage remained above the water line.  Would these combatants escape to fight another day?  That would be unacceptable.

The rocks along the edge of the pond must be deployed.  The rocks did not have to hit the ships as the waves they created should be enough to finish them off.  One rock, then two, then three, the fleet slowly succumbed to the barrage of granite.  Out of the blue, the combatants learned of their only chance of survival…

Without warning, the biggest of the ships was swept from the water.  He had actually gone for the rock that landed just starboard of the carrier, but in his haste the ship itself was now in his clutches.  The battle commanders took after their new adversary only to chase it around the yard much to his delight.

The events of this day provided a different outcome for the battle weary fleet, total destruction was avoided.  The commanders knew their duty before the next epic battle, “put the dog on his leash!”

1965

Starting in the 1950’s Volkswagen began producing a line of cars that were decades ahead of the rest of the industry.  Now days those vehicles are known as mini-vans; but’ back then they were just called “Microbuses,” “Splitties” or “Transporters.”  The earliest model had a 25 horsepower engine and a gas heater.  Over the next decade my father owned three of those vans to accommodate his growing family.  I remember we went everywhere in them, even trips to Denver which took over 12 hours back then due to the mountain passes, poor roads and lack of horsepower. 

Rather than high back seats or head rests, the seats in these buses had big rubber handles with metal bars inside.  I used to play in the vans for hours even when they were parked in front of our house.  On one occasion I remember taking some rope out and plastic cups to play with.  I strung the rope from handle to handle and then hung the cups off.  I proceeded to pull on the rope like it was a chairlift.  I must have done this for hours not realizing the damage I was doing to the handles.  By the time I was finished there were rope marks all the way to the metal on every handle in sight.  The marks numbered in excess of a dozen.  Upon seeing what I had done, I knew it was only a matter of time before trouble would arrive in buckets.

It actually took a day or two before my damage was discovered and at this point I do not remember the punishment I faced but I am sure it was quick and severe.  We continued to own the bus for a couple more years, scars and all, until one fateful morning.  On that day my father went out to go to work and discovered that the bus was missing; it had been stolen.  My father was quick to report its disappearance and right or wrong we suspected it had something to do with the hippies who had been living in the park across the street for a number of years.

A couple of months went by with no word on the location of the bus.  We had figured it was gone for good.  Late one evening my father received a call from a good friend and mechanic who thought he may have seen the bus.  After the call my parents drove to Basalt to have a look.  Peering through a small window in a garage a few doors down from our friends they saw what looked like their bus.  It was hard to be sure as it had been completely repainted in a floral theme.  Flower power was big back then.  When the police went to check it out, it turned out to be none other than our missing bus.  The man who had the bus was arrested and the bus was turned over to our insurance company.

What makes this adventure mine?  Well, as it turns out, the final item used to identify the bus as belonging to my family was those marks I had made on the handles a few years earlier.

1966 / 1967

When I was seven years old there were no child labor laws.   I remember how my parents also told the kids in my family, “If you want that then go out and earn the money to get it.”  This story is not about how my parents raised me, they were great parents by the way, but why I was working at such a young age.  Not only did I have wants, lots of wants back then, I also had an abundance of energy that needed channeling.  This story is about my first real job, working for the Chart House restaurant, but I do not want to get ahead of myself.

In the late fifties a number of young men, some with families, moved to Aspen with skiing on their mind and with work as an option.  A couple of these young men including Buzzy Bent and Joey Cabell took jobs working for the various restaurants in town at night to help support their families and or skiing habits.  Over time these individuals came to know each other and spoke of their dreams to open their own restaurant some day.  By 1961 that dream became a reality when they opened a small converted diner with just a few tables and bar stools.  Later, these men along with the help of Herbie Balderson took over the space where the Toklat Restaurant stood at the corner of Durant Avenue and Aspen Street.  The Toklat had tables that hung from the ceiling by chains which made for interesting dining especially if anyone was eating food that required a knife.  Over time The Chart House replaced these tables with the traditional “floor mounted” variety.

An interesting fact that few people today know is that this was the first Chart House Restaurant of what later became a chain of restaurants by the same name.  The chain is now owned by Landry’s Restaurants, Inc.

Well, back to my part of the story.  I am not sure how it came up or whose idea it was but I remember Herbie asking me (or one of my parents) if I would come to work for the restaurant.  The job he had in mind was to water the plants.  Little did I know this was a task big enough for three kids not one.  My first day on the job took me about four hours to get them all watered as well as leaving paths from each sink to the nearest plants.  By the end of the summer I had cut that time down to three and one half hours with a lot more precision.  I also spent time visiting with the prep cooks and struck up a friendship with a prep cook from Australia who continued to work there into the early eighties.  Sadly, I eventually lost touch with him.

I remember there was always music on in the background while I worked.  There was one band in particular that was played constantly, but I did not mind as I really liked them.  It was the Moody Blues, Days of Future Passed, which came out that year (1967).  One of my “wants” that forced me to have a job at such a young age was that I wanted a “stereo” which included a record player and the first record (LP) I ever purchased after getting my stereo was that album.  To this day I still listen to that album on a pretty regular basis.  I am also pretty good at taking care of plants.  The restaurant has closed now, its founders have moved on but the town will always be the home for the first Chart House restaurant.

“In loving memory of Herbie Balderson – an artist, a father and a friend.”

1974 – 1979

As teenagers in Aspen, the kids always had something they could do outside.  In the winter there was almost always skiing, snowmobiles, playing hockey and even camping, yes camping.  Summers were filled with 4×4 trips up Aspen Mountain or into the back country.  Many of us also had “mini-bike” motorcycles.  Hiking the 14ers was a staple activity for us as well as more camping.   One of our favorite group activities was spending the day up Independence Pass at the areas known as “The Grottos” and “The Devil’s Punchbowl.”

Anyone who has lived in the Aspen area or visited often knows of “The Grottos.”   Back in the 1970’s access to the Grottos was limited to a small parking lot or along Highway 82 up by the narrows.  To get to the Grottos required a trek up the river’s edge.  This is before the bridge was installed and the Forest Service trail system established, or climbing over and between large boulders down to the river from the highway above.   Not many “outsiders” visited the area back then which left us to our own devices.  We would climb down into the Ice Cave which started out very difficult in the spring, and by summer’s end was a simple climb down a rock wall to the bottom of the cave.  We enjoyed going into the cave each time as the ice was constantly melting making each visit a different experience and adding a new element of danger each time.

With the exception of local teenagers and our guests, the Grottos only other occasional visitors were adults seeking quiet and serenity next to a roaring cascade of water.   They usually chose to spend their time sans clothing which always made for interesting voyeurism and conversations on our part.  We used to slide down the rocks which had water cascading down them into the pools below.  The thrill of this was not only the slide itself but the fact that the water was barely above freezing all summer long; and why not, most of the water was still snow just hours before.

Another favorite hangout was about a mile West back towards town and it was known as “The Devil’s Punchbowl.”   The punchbowl consisted of a waterfall that dropped about 40 or 50 feet into a pool below that drained out the bottom which made getting out of the water as interesting as the dive itself.  Although going over the waterfall was really not an option, there were a number of places on the cliff walls you could climb to in order to jump if you were so inclined.  Unfortunately, hiding just under the surface of the pool were a number of larger rocks that were hard to see but easy to hit if your dive was even slightly off.  Over the years many hit those rocks but I do not remember any of my friends or classmates ever perishing; but, I am sure some may have over the years.   As with the Grottos, as summer went buy and the water flow diminished the risk of diving into the Punchbowl also lessened.  By summer’s end, even the timid considered making the dive.

I remember us chiding each other to jump into the calm waters just above the grottos each spring.  It was safer there but it was also a time of the year when there was as much ice floating by as water.  By the end of each spring visit all of us had taken the plunge but for some it was only after being humiliated or called names that the eventual “dip” was executed.

The place is not the same anymore and new visitors would never understand what it was like back then.  Both The Grottos and The Devil’s Punchbowl have parking areas to accommodate more visitors and due to water projects above, less water flows over the rocks now.  The Forest Service added trails, picnic areas and even a route to the Ice Cave making it easy to access for all ages. 

It is still a beautiful place to visit; but, I doubt it has the attraction for the younger generations of the valley today as it did back then.  We spent many summers up there even during our college years and many fond memories are a result of that special place.

Late 1960’s – Winter

This story unfolded over a two week time period in the late 1960’s but I do not remember the specific year.  I remember my mother and father late one winter getting all of us off to school each day and then heading up Independence Pass to the area by Tagert Lake where the gates are located when the pass is closed for the winter.  From there they went up the pass on their snowmobiles or so I thought, with a trailer full of supplies in tow.  On the weekends the rest of us were invited to join them on their excursion up the pass.

As it turns out, what my father was up to was a feat in itself.  That particular winter Dwight Reeves, the caretaker at Grizzly Reservoir, as he would do every winter as spring approached, set out on the bulldozer to clear the avalanches that were blocking the various diversion ditches that fed into the reservoir.  These paths had to be cleared before the start of the melting season in order to ensure the water fed into the reservoir and not down the valley.  As it turns out this particular year, somehow the bulldozer went off track and slide off a bank.  There was no way for Dwight to get it out on his own and he did not have the luxury of time to wait for the snow to melt to get it out.

My father, who owned a local earth moving company, was contracted to get his equipment up to the stranded bulldozer to get it out.  Well, that was easier said than done and so begins this adventure.

The pass was still months from opening so my father was faced with driving his John Deere bulldozer up from the gate all the way to the reservoir and out onto the ditch to where theirs was stranded.  This was a distance of approximately 12 miles.  The first part of the trip, although time consuming, posed very little challenge or risk.  Once he reached Lincoln Creek Road, that was about to change.  On a good day my father was able to go approximately a mile but as he headed down Lincoln Creek his progress slowed.  The first part of the road got very little sunshine and the snow was extremely deep.  In order to clear his path he would have to make huge piles of snow on both sides of the road.  Once he got a few miles further the snow depths were not as big of an issue but now he faced crossing more than 18 avalanche paths many of which were ready to slide.  The trailer towed behind the snowmobile not only carried a day’s worth of fuel for the bulldozer but it also carried dynamite and a rocket launcher.  My parents communicated by using two-way radios but even that had to stop during blasting. 

After two weeks my father finally arrived at the stranded bulldozer and in less than a day had it back up on the road where it was needed.  The trip out took all of a day and a half.  For me, this meant I had two weekends in a row to do some really fun snowmobiling in an area that we did not often get to go.  The dynamite was fun too, but; my father never let me handle it or help fire it up into the cornices at the top of the paths.  A wise choice on his part, I guess.

Mexico, Spring 1970

As you read many of my adventures, a picture of my childhood begins to take shape.  I was an energetic little boy with more energy than 10 men and feared nothing, with the exception of public humiliation or getting in trouble with my parents.  Unfortunately the things I feared most seemed to be the most common themes of my childhood.  This story is no different.  This one does not involve getting in trouble; so, I will leave it to the reader to know what is coming next.

Most of my childhood vacations took place in Mexico, first in Guaymas and later in San Felipe, Baja, Mexico.  Most of these vacations included my extended family as well as close friends.  Traditionally, we would all drive down to Guaymas and stay in a local RV park on the ocean.  During the day some of us would go out fishing and others would take the time to go explore the surrounding area.  These explorations included going to other nearby beaches and towns.  In 1970 while we were on vacation in Guaymas, they were filming the movie Catch-22 at a nearby beach called San Carlos.  That year we enjoyed seeing all of the vintage World War II aircraft like the B-29’s and B-26’s flying around.  The town was filled with a bunch of vintage trucks and jeeps that were also being used in the film.

That was also the vacation that everybody decided to go to a bay south of town for a big Crab and Clam bake.  This particular bay was known for having crabs and all you had to do was drop a line over the boat with shark meat tied onto the end and the crabs would come up by the dozen.   By nightfall we had enough crabs to go along with all the clams that were dug up on the adjacent beach.  Of course by that time the kids were in full swing playing games, bugging their parents and running around like wild cats.  The parents were hanging by the fire enjoying each other’s company when I approached my mother to show her what I had just caught.  I was 10 at that time and catching bugs and wild reptiles was a favorite activity of mine.  I always thought of my mother and showed her every catch whether she wanted to see them or not.

On this particular evening I had caught a three to four inch lizard and was holding it tightly in my cupped hands.  All you could see was its head sticking out.  All of a sudden like a flash this lizard leaped out of my hands and getting away was not what this guy had in mind.  Upon his departure from my hands he latched onto my chin with his teeth and proceeded not to let go.  In no time I was crying.  My mother was in a panic as she was convinced this was a poisonous lizard; and the other parents who had been drinking for some time now, gathered around offering their solutions to the problem.  Heat was tried as was cold beer and ice cubes to no avail.  If I remember correctly, even a dash of tequila was used but again his grip never released.  If nothing else, this lizard was probably enjoying the free drinks and had no plans to go anywhere.

As luck would have it, one of the guests in the crowd that evening was a local who had befriended our family over the years.  He took one look at the lizard hanging there from my chin and muttered something.  He reached over and grabbed this critter somewhere in the back of the head and it immediately released its hold, dropped to the ground and scurried off.  Our friend also reassured my mother that it was not dangerous in any way and that I would be just fine.

I do not remember much of the rest of that evening but I am sure to this day that catching lizards is best left to the experts, wherever they are.

Summer 1973

When I was 13 years old I often rode my bicycle about six miles up Castle Creek to Conundrum Road.  One of my best friends, Sean Carter, lived just a short distance off Conundrum Road.  At the time they were so remote that their telephone service was still on a “party line.”  For those readers who are not familiar with that it is when all of the homes in a remote area shared the same pair of phone wires.  Although each of these homes had their own phone number, whenever a call was placed to one of the homes on the party line the phones rang in all of the houses.  Each resident learned what their distinct ring sounded like versus the calls made to someone else.  Over time the party line participants learned when to answer and when not to. 

For my friend Sean and his family they lived near two other homes and that was their neighborhood.  Every summer Sean and I would have the run of the woods and could play for hours on end and never bother anyone.  In the summer of 1972, when I was 12 years old a few more homes were going in near Sean’s house.  This was ok as they were still pretty far apart.  That summer another new resident moved into the trees, not too far from a new house which was about a half mile from where my friend lived.  This new resident had lived in the valley since the early 1960’s when Aspen became a favorite hangout for the Hippie generation.  He went by the name of “Mother,” and most everyone who lived in the valley knew him.  He was harmless and actually a very engaging person.  Well, Mother lived out of his van up in the trees and not far away was a very large, redwood tank.  The tank was kept full by a natural spring year round.  We were not sure how Mother came to have this tank, but we drank out of it whenever we passed by.

The following summer Mother moved on but left his tank behind.  For Sean and I this was an opportunity to have a new fort.  As soon as we discovered the abandoned tank we grabbed our tools consisting of shovels, an ax and a saw or two.  First, we drained all the water since a fort full of water would be no fun.  We also removed the pipe, crushed the opening to the spring and when the water kept flowing towards our fort we dug a trench and routed the water over to the road.  Next, we began our modifications, first by chopping a hole in it near the bottom.  Once all the water drained out we made the hole bigger so we could easily go in and out of our new fort.  Then we chopped a few windows in the side at about our eye-level as lookout ports.  The entire carnage took less than an hour as we were on a mission.  By the end of the day we had a pretty nice hang-out. We both agreed that we would be back next weekend.  We even left a few of our tools behind as we were sure they would come in handy on our next visit.

Later that evening, I received a call from Sean and I could tell that something was very wrong when he asked me if we knew about the tank in the woods.  Not knowing the situation at hand, I proceed to itemize all that we had done to it and inquired as to why he would ask such a “dumb” question.  It was at that point that I learned what we had done as his parents were on the phone, too, but I was unaware of that fact.

As it turns out this tank did not belong to Mother.  It was actually the water source for the new house off in the distance through the trees.  We had turned a very expensive tank into junk.  We had also destroyed a natural spring.  At first I thought we were going to be sent to Salida, Colorado, to the youth penitentiary.  Thankfully, the man who owned the tank turned out to be a very nice person and agreed that our thinking the tank was Mother’s made sense; but, we still had to pay for our bad deed.  The home owner agreed to fix everything and in return we had to spend the next couple of weekends stacking wood for his fireplace.  In retrospect, we got off easy.  However, I do find it ironic that years later Sean became a very outspoken member of Earth First.

Winter 1966

Long before all the hotels, condos, valet parking, expensive restaurants or even a nearby residence except for the old farm house, this valley had all the promise of the world’s next big resort.  Every weekend a team of men would drive up this lonely valley to the farm house, unload their gear, lunches and “after work” beverages.  Their job was to take snow depth readings, planning out future trails, chairlift paths and even the “on hill” food and beverage establishments.  They made note of all the wildlife, streams and existing roads.

As a very young boy I was often invited to join the crew.  The average day included riding in the old Sno-Cat, standing on the grooming trailer as the “cat” dove up and down the roads and even skiing on trails and through the trees where no one had ever dared go before.  The day always ended the same, drinks in the cabin, adult jokes and talk of the future.

My parents always made sure my supplies for the day included a gallon jug of wine as an offering to the “gods” of the mountain.  I was always a big hit at the end of the day when I produced the offering.  It was not like they did not know it was there; but, they always reacted with a bit of feigned enthusiasm as the bottle came out.   This went on all winter long in the year 1966.  I must have repeated this great adventure a dozen times; although, they all seem to have melded into one great memory.

These men went on to greatness in the valley and beyond.  Some became mountain managers, ski patrolmen, company management, inventors and much more; but, they never lost their spirit of the mountain and friendship.

Oh, the valley and mountain I am speaking of is none other than Brush Creek and Snowmass Mountain, Colorado.  The farm house still stands, near the bottom of the valley where the gas station and Alpine Bank are now located.  Once home to cattle and sheep ranchers, time may have passed it by, but it stands proud.

Mid-1970’s

During the summer months much of the water from the high country is collected in various diversion ditches, and on Independence Pass these diversion ditches feed into Grizzly Reservoir.  It is then sent through a large tunnel under the mountains and out into the river that feeds the Twin Lakes on the east side of the Continental Divide.  Some of these diversion ditches have tunnels to move the water from the various valleys such as Lost Man or Lincoln Creek.  In the winter the water in these tunnels stops flowing and they run dry with the exception of small puddles and low spots where the remaining water collects.

A little known side effect of these ditches and tunnels going dry in the winter are all the fish that get trapped in the puddles and low spots.  For these fish, the winter means certain death.  There are year round caretakers up at the reservoir to keep an eye on things and perform maintenance on the buildings, gates and tunnels.  In the 1970’s this work was performed by Dwight and Doris Reeves and for them, winter was a very quiet time and their only escape is by making the 12-mile drive through the big tunnel out to the east.  They stock enough food to limit how many times they will make this trip in the winter.  In the 1970’s my family got to know the Reeves and we often took snowmobiles in the winter up to see them when it was safe as the journey up from Aspen crossed dozens of avalanche paths.

I remember one fall in the mid-1970’s; we were invited up for a fish fry.  Dwight had just closed all of the diversion ditches and was making final preparations for the advent of the first big snowfall.  As a teenager in Aspen back then most fisherman had a “Rod & Reel” and the concept of “Catch and Release” was still more of an oddity rather than the norm.  I remember packing up my fishing gear and getting in the back of my dad’s pickup for the ride up to the reservoir.  About two dozen family and friends caravanned up to the reservoir for a day of fishing and eating our catch.  Upon our arrival I remember Dwight telling me that all the gear I brought with me would not be necessary.  He supplied all of us with a bucket and informed us that would be all we would need.  To say I was a bit confused would be stating the obvious.

We all walked out in the direction of the Lost Man ditch.  The tunnel was about a mile from the reservoir and we walked in and along the edge of the ditch.  Upon the first large puddle we came across our host walked into the middle, stuck both hands into the freezing water and came up with a two foot long fish.  Within the first five minutes out on the ditch he had collected three very large Brook Trout.  With that education in hand I realized why a bucket was all that we needed but it would have been nice had we been warned that some warm rubber gloves would have been equally as handy.  We walked the length of the ditch and about 500 yards into the tunnel collecting fish in every puddle or small body of remaining water.  By the end of the day nearly 200 fish had been collected.  I hate to think how many we left behind which faced certain death, not to say the ones we collected had any sort of future ahead of them.

I am not sure if this is still done by the current caretakers but I think I must have eaten fish every day for six months back then.

Summer 1972

Aspen is known for a lot of things both good and bad; but, a little known fact is that Aspen is a favorite locale to film movies and commercials.  In the 1970’s a number of television commercials were filmed in the valley.  Many of them included both kids and adults from the valley as the main characters.   These included McDonalds, Esso (later Exxon), Pepsi, Mountain Dew, Lipton Soup and others.  When the advertisements eventually showed up on television they were usually in nationwide distribution.  Aside from Aspen’s beauty I think the filming crews loved the fact that they could come to Aspen for weeks on end, all expenses paid, and enjoy their time out of the Los Angeles rate race.

In the spring of 1973 a film crew came to Aspen to film a Pepsi advertisement.  Try-outs were held at the old restaurant and club house for the Aspen Golf Course.  Kids and adults of all ages showed up, and over a two-day period the cast was narrowed down to about 20 people. 

I, along with one of my classmates, was selected as one of the few young children for the commercial.  A few days before filming began my parents received a phone call from the production company inquiring about our Winnebago.  It turns out that the theme of this commercial was going to be a big “Family Reunion and Picnic” and they needed to use our RV as a changing room for the females.  The boys and men would have to use the trees as their changing room.  I am not sure how the discussion with my parents went, but in the end we would be getting a new set of tires for the camper.

Day one of filming arrived a week later and we were bussed off to a clearing along the Roaring Fork River just below Gerbazdale and on the south side of the river.  Throughout the first day we were filmed in all manner of activities including tug-of-war games, volleyball, sack races and other relay events.  The next and last day of shooting included more games but also eating, lots of eating.  I remember the bottles we drank out of were all silk screened to perfection.  We never drank any of them down more than a few inches from the top before a fresh one was handed to us.  One of the tricks they used to make the drinks look refreshing even though it was a pretty hot that day was to spray liquid nitrogen on them to give them that cool, dripping with ice cold water look.

After two long days of filming our part of the project was over and we all went back to our normal lives, at least until the next casting call was announced.  I did manage to convince the crew to let me keep one of the bottles which I held onto for years, but eventually its whereabouts was lost.

A few months later we were notified by Pepsi that the commercials would be airing soon but no specifics beyond that were provided.  Sure enough, the following Fall we began to see the advertisements on television.  They had made two versions – one 30-second spot and the other 60 seconds.  Of all the activities they had caught me on film doing the only scene of me in the ads was of me eating a big corn on the cob.  None-the-less, you are paid by the amount of time you are visible in the ad and for me it was enough time to buy some pretty cool toys over the next few years.

This was not my first brush with fame.  Years earlier I had been photographed for a Neiman-Marcus catalog as well as part of my junior hockey team was in an Esso ad that had been filmed up on the ponds of The Elk Mountain Lodge; but, this was by far the most fun.

Years later, I ended up working with a former president of PepsiCo and asked if he knew how to get a copy of that old advertisement.  He did some checking on my behalf but came up empty handed.