Rocky Mountain High

Southern Califonia – 1973

The year was 1973. I had my Bachelor of Arts degree in geography but there was a hiring freeze for full time jobs in the Federal government. I had saved up after my last summer season in Lone Pine and purchased a brand new ’72 Toyota Landcruiser. Color was listed on the sticker as Colorado beige. My payments were $59.03 a month. My personalized license plate read “IM WILD”.

I had mailed out several summer seasonal applications. I knew if I went back to Lone Pine, Ernie would hire me as a GS-04 again. It was time for a change. My old friend Tom Highberger had switched from the US Forest Service to the National Park Service and was telling me I should do the same. The past summer he had worked as a backcountry ranger in Mount Rainier National Park. So I applied to some national parks as well. It wasn’t long until I started getting job offers.

First I received a call from the Petrified Forest National Park in northern Arizona.  I would be on a horse patrol part of the time. I declined. Didn’t want a horse and didn’t want to spend a hot summer in the painted desert guarding petrified wood. Next call was at four o’clock in the morning. I was offered a job with one of the national forests in Florida. I would supervise a youth corps. I declined. Didn’t want to supervise teenagers. Didn’t want the heat and humidity of Florida. Didn’t want the mosquitoes. And didn’t appreciate that the interviewer called so early from Florida not concerned that I lived in California at the time. Then I received a call from Death Valley National Monument (which in 1994 became a national park). Was I being offered a winter-spring job? Nope. Middle of summer. I would be issued a rifle and was to shoot any feral burros I encountered; sometimes from a helicopter. Suddenly northern Arizona and Florida didn’t seem too hot. I declined. And no I wasn’t going to shoot burros in 130 degree temperature. From hot to cool, I received a job offer from Mount McKinley National Park (became Denali National Park in 1980). I would be manning an entrance station for five days a week. Any chance of getting out into the backcountry? None. How about getting out of the entrance booth a day or two? Not a chance. So I declined Alaska.

I was about to tell Tom what I thought about the Park Service when I received a call from North Cascades National Park in Washington. I would be a backcountry ranger. The national park was created in 1968 and my job, in the northern portion, had never had a backcountry ranger patrol. Wow! My reporting date would be mid-June. I would be in a spectacular wild world near the Canadian border.

At the time Tom was working in Yosemite National Park as a ski patrol ranger at Badger Pass Ski Area. When he heard of my offer he congratulated me and told me to head up to Yosemite and visit him for a while. It was March and there was fresh snow. Tom shared lodging with a couple who were also winter seasonal employees.

He had to work during the daytime so I had free time on my hands. I drove up through the tunnel and looked out at Half Dome and El Capitan, striking granite monoliths. I parked my Landcruiser and stood out at the overlook totally stunned to silence. Fresh snow was on the rocks and tree limbs, Bridalveil Falls was plunging water, mist, and ice, and Yosemite Valley spread out before me. No wonder John Muir loved this place!

My focus on nature was interrupted by the sound of spinning tires in the snow of the parking area.  I walked over to a blue Datsun 240Z and rapped lightly on the driver’s side window. A young woman opened the door and got out. She told me it wasn’t her car and that she really needed help. I had a tow strap and four wheel drive.  So I lay down in the snow, hooked my tow strap to the frame of the 240Z, attached the other end to my vehicle’s frame, and pulled her to dry asphalt.

She introduced herself as Kathy Priestnitz and said she was a nurse at the Yosemite Medical Clinic. One of the doctors had loaned her his Datsun so she could drive to the overlook. I told her I was visiting a friend and seeing Yosemite for the first time. We talked a little more and seemed to really enjoy each other’s company. She had to head back to work, but then asked me? “Do you know how to cross-country ski?”

“No I don’t, ” I replied.

“I have two days off and I signed up for cross-country ski lessons tomorrow,” she continued. “Would you be interested?”

After finding where the lessons would be the next morning and promising to be there, I said goodbye and headed over to the ski area to catch up with Tom. When he got off work I sat with him in the ski patrol office while he changed. He told me he felt bad that he had to work while I was visiting. I just smiled at Tom and said, “No problem.”

Maybe it was my smile, or the way I said it, but Tom stopped pulling off his ski boots and stared at me.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Well I met this nurse today at the El Capitan overlook and we’re taking cross-country ski lessons together tomorrow morning,” I casually explained.

“What! You dog!” Tom said laughing. “And I was feeling bad for you!”

The next day I met Kathy and we joined about eight other novices and an instructor and learned the basics of cross-country skiing. It was a lot of fun, a lot of falling, and all in one of the most beautiful spots in the world. After our lessons she had to fill in a few hours for another nurse at the clinic. But we planned to meet again the following day around noon.

Yosemite Valley with fresh snow is unspeakably beautiful and dramatic. At times I would stop, look up at the surrounding landscape, and be overwhelmed with the rock, the waterfalls, the trees. We spent the day together talking, walking, and laughing as we threw snowballs at each other and made snow angels.

I  told her about my life so far at the age of twenty-three. My beliefs in nature. How I had decided to go back and work on a masters degree if I could afford the cost. I had applied to the University of Montana, California State University at Chico, and the University of Idaho.

I then told her about my upcoming job in the North Cascades. I was excited but as I talked with Kathy I realized I did have some concerns. First, this would be my second season in a row when I couldn’t take Smokii with me. No dogs are allowed in the backcountry of a national park.  Second, when I was offered the job I asked about my living quarters when on my days off. The ranger said that I didn’t have an assigned room or even a bunk. And third, I had just started growing a beard and the ranger said there were grooming standards. A mustache was allowed as long as it did not go below the corners of your mouth, but no beards. And your hair had to be kept trimmed and couldn’t go beyond the top of your shirt collar.

Kathy told me that one of the reasons she got into nursing was the ability to work anywhere as everyone needed nurses. I then asked her how she ended up as a nurse in Yosemite Valley. When she spoke I could hear the sadness and bitterness in her voice. She told me she’ d been a nurse in Arizona. The man she lived with deeply hurt her and she realized she had to leave. She saw the job opening in Yosemite Valley and here she was. She was starting a new life getting away from him and the memories.

We had pizza and wine together. Since it was late she invited me to stay in her small studio apartment.  I  was a perfect gentleman. She slept on her bed, me in my sleeping bag on the floor.

I left Yosemite Valley and a week later found myself in Death Valley. After three nights camping in Texas Springs Campground, I discovered my friend, James Q. Brown, from my Lone Pine days in 1969 and 1970, had been camping the last three days in the same campground. We had driven by each other in the early morning hours without realizing each other was there.

“Have you ever heard of the Kofa Mountains?” Jim asked.

“No I haven’t,” I answered.

“Would you like to see some desert bighorn sheep? Can you go next week?” he replied.

So in March I went from Yosemite Valley to Death Valley. Then in April I found myself with Jim camping in the Kofas just north of Quartzite looking for bighorns. He told me Kofa stood for the King of Arizona Mine. I didn’t realize at the time how all these trips would somehow mesh together.

We set up our camp and hiked up into the hills. It had been a wet winter and spring and the wildflowers covered the hill slopes. Jim looked back at our camp and just stared. “There’s another vehicle down there parked next to yours,” he said. He pulled out his binoculars, looked, then handed them to me. It looked like someone was bending down near my rear tire.

Jim stated, “I think we’d better hike down there.”

When we arrived at our camp and my Landcruiser, parked was an old International Scout. An older man got up from his folding chair and smiled at us as we walked into camp.

“My name is Bob. Bob Bosshard,” he said holding out his hand to shake. “I actually have these mining claims here, but I don’t mind you camping here. Also, I noticed some broken glass under your tire. I scraped away most of it and it doesn’t appear your tire has lost any air.”

We both felt a little foolish for previously thinking he was vandalizing my vehicle and now even more so finding we were camping on his mining claims. He got out a map and laid it on the ground.

All three of us got on our hands and knees and started looking at the topographic features. Suddenly, a black, curly haired mongol of a dog walked onto the map. Then a shadow blocked the sun. I looked up and saw a silhouette of a woman haloed by the sun.

“Nancy!” Bob called out. “Jon and Jim. Meet my daughter and her dog Mogul.”

We ended up camping all together. Bob and Jim talked about mining and rocks and the history of the Kofas and were having a great time. Me, I was having a great time talking and getting to know Nancy.

I learned that she had grown up in Southern California with her mom and dad and went onto college.  She had been an airline stewardess (now called flight attendant) for Continental Airlines. Nancy said that after a while she was getting tired of the job and feeling lost and uncertain what she wanted for her life. The best time she said was when they brought the soldiers back from Vietnam. One day she met a young woman who told her about a wonderful place in the Colorado mountains. Nancy left the airline and moved to Aspen where she did bookkeeping and more importantly, downhill skiing.

I told her about my forthcoming job in North Cascades National Park. I also mentioned a few of my misgivings just like I had told Kathy Priestnitz.

“Why don’t you come to Aspen and work? Nancy asked.

I told her,”I didn’t apply to Aspen and now it’s too late.You have to apply the beginning of the year for a Forest Service seasonal job.”

Nancy and I hiked in a wash and talked long into the night. There was a full moon, so as we hiked the moon would disappear behind a higher hill, then reappear once again. We got to watch a dozen or so moon rises in one night that way. Nancy told me she would be in Southern California for a few more weeks. I told her I would like to spend some more time with her after this Kofa trip.

The next day we said goodbye to Bob and Nancy and Jim and I played around the Kofas for a few more days. Never saw any desert bighorn, probably because there’d been so much in the way of rain, water was not scarce. But I enjoyed hiking into the palm canyons and seeing all the saguaros, barrel, ocotillo, and cholla cactus. I dropped Jim off at his house and headed home to my parent’s condo in El Toro, California.

When I drove up into the carport, my mom and dad walked out through the back gate and met me. Smokii ran up and greeted me wagging her curly tail. My parents had smiles on their faces.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You had a phone call while you were gone,”answered my mom.

“Who called? Where was it from?”

“Colorado”.

“Where in Colorado?”

“Aspen”.

I had forgotten. I applied to the supervisor’s office of the White River National Forest based in Glenwood Springs, Colorado. The Aspen Ranger Station was part of the White River. My mom gave me the phone number and said I was to call District Ranger John Burns tomorrow morning.

I was nervous next morning. What kind of job would I be offered? Other than the North Cascades job, all the others were uninteresting to me. Only one way to find out. I dialed the number. Very few times does one sit though a phone call which gets better and better. This was one of those calls.

John said the job was a Wilderness Ranger in the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness Area. I would be backpacking ten on with four days off each pay period. This was way before GOOGLE so I didn’t realize the significance of this wilderness. I just knew it was Colorado and it was based out of Aspen. Without even asking, John said my first season would be a GS-04 and if I returned, he would guarantee a GS-05. I thought now I should ask.

“Would it be possible to bring my dog. She’s a Norwegian elkhound.”

“I wouldn’t go anywhere in the wilderness without my German shepherd,” John replied.

“Is there housing on my day’s off?” I asked.

“Yes. You’ll have access to a trailer in Difficult Campground. It’s about five miles out of Aspen.”

Now I thought to myself. Shall I risk it and ask? “What are the grooming standards?”

John continued, “I don’t care if you have long hair. And if you have or want a beard, just as long as it’s trimmed is all I ask.”

I was floored. I was being offered a Wilderness Ranger position in one of the most spectacular areas in the wilderness system. Seven peaks topped 14,000 feet. Being slightly west of the Continental Divide, these lands were known for incredible wildflower displays. And as District Ranger John Burns described the job and amenities, I asked one last question.

“When would you like me to start?” I asked keeping in mind that my reporting date for the North Cascades was mid-June.

“I’d like you to start mid-May. So what do you think? Would you like a couple of days to think about it?”

“No,” I quickly replied. “I mean yes I want the job, no I don’t need time to think about it.”

I thanked John and told him I looked forward to working for him. I hung up the phone and immediately called the ranger at North Cascades. He was not happy with my decision. I decided after the call I’d probably best not apply for a Park Service job for a long time.

I then called Nancy and told her the news. She was ecstatic for me.

My parents and I went out to dinner that night in celebration. Don Jose’s Mexican restaurant. I ordered the combination with cheese enchiladas and a chili relleno. I was twenty-three so I had my first margarita.

As we were driving home a song played on the radio. It sounded like John Denver was singing to me as he sang”Rocky Mountain High”. At that moment I knew exactly what the song was about. I was high on life. I was going to the Rocky Mountains. I was, “coming home to a place I’d never been before”.

Smokii and I were packed up and close to ready to leave for Aspen, but I received another phone call. It was from Idaho. At first I thought it was another seasonal job offer. Didn’t think anything better could happen after being offered the Wilderness Ranger job in Aspen. I was wrong.

I realized I was talking to Dr. Sam Scripter, chairman of the geography department at the University of Idaho. Not only had I been accepted into their graduate degree program but I was offered an Idaho Bureau of Mines and Geology full fellowship that would pay my tuition, room and board, and a monthly stipend. Not only would I have a paid summer job in the spectacular Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness Area, but would have my Master of Science degree in Geography fully paid. Plus it would be fun to be able to tell people I attended graduate school in Moscow (Idaho of course). Dr. Scripter suggested that I might use my seasonal job in the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness towards my masters thesis.

Quite a year 1973,  and it was still only early May.