The Summer of ’75

Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness, CO – 1975

I had a lot of life changing lessons and experiences in 1975, in what would become my last season as a wilderness ranger in the Maroon Bells-Snowmass Wilderness Area.

My first two seasons, I was the sole ranger. This season the Aspen Ranger District hired a second wilderness ranger. His name was Lon Ayers.

Lon had worked at Grand Canyon National Park previously. Our schedules were such that we’d mostly work opposite ends of the wilderness and rarely overlap. I liked Lon and he seemed to fit in with all the other seasonal employees.

Dick Cerise, who was our boss, sent us up West Maroon Pass on a day hike to check on the snow conditions. On the way back down the trail we chatted about various subjects. Lon was presently married to Jan, a nurse at the Aspen Hospital, and they owned a studio condo in the town of Aspen.

“I left Arizona and the Grand Canyon after a really bad breakup,” Lon told me. “It was all my fault. I was a real jerk. Her name was…”

“Kathy Priestnitz,” I blurted out.

Both of us stopped dead in the trail. Lon just stared at me incredulously.

After several seconds of silence, “How did you know?” he asked.

“I don’t know why I said her name. It just came out without thinking.”

And then I told him how I had met Kathy in Yosemite Valley and how she had gone there to get away from a horrible relationship with an “asshole of a boyfriend”.

“That would be me,” said Lon.

In a few days, Cerise sent us out our separate ways for our first of the season ten day patrols. I was given Conundrum Hot Springs.

The Conundrum Valley was beautiful and an idyllic setting for a hot spring. But a hot spring drew people and a different kind of people who often could care less about the wilderness experience. Many hikers I met were not into the ethics. It was the one part of the wilderness I often had to collect litter. I often found willows with “blooms” of toilet paper.  Of course willows meant the water table was almost on the surface so guess where the human waste ended up? Wildflower patches were crushed flat or damaged by illegal campfires. I was also constantly battling illegal campers who tried to have me look the other way.

My first trip to Conundrum Hot Springs each season was the worst. I’d have to replace the regulatory signs that had been torn down. Once I reached the hot springs I’d always find a camp set up illegally.

The first trip that summer of 1975 was no exception. I learned a valuable lesson that I carried with me later in life. One that I later taught other rangers.

On this trip I arrived at the Conundrum cabin and dropped off my backpack. I then headed the short distance to the hot springs with my daypack and ticket book. There were three people soaking in the hot springs and two tents set up.

It always amazed me the different reactions I received when I wore a uniform that represented authority. To the majority of people, they enjoyed seeing me and knowing someone was out patrolling. And even more so when Smokii was wearing her dog pack with Forest Service emblems.

But other times, when someone violated a law or regulation, the reaction to my entrance was as if I’d stepped in fresh cow manure. One of the men in the pool, who was traveling solo, had the “oh shit” look on his face. The other two, a couple, were from Tucson. The man also had an “crap we got caught” look. The woman however was openly defiant in her cold, hard stare she gave me.

I sat down and addressed all parties. Essentially what I said was,”This is my first trip of the season and I hate starting off in a negative manner. I’m willing to give you a break. First option, pack up your tents and gear, set up your camp a mile away, and all you’ll get is a verbal warning. Second option, stay here, I’ll issue you a citation, and then you’ll still have to move. What is your choice?”

The solo hiker apologized to me and said he’d pack up and move right now.

The couple didn’t budge and the woman continued with her hateful stare. Then she spoke, “There is another option.”

“And what is that?” I asked.

“You can just let us stay here.”

I told her that was not one of the options and replied, “I’m going back to my camp and will return in one hour. It’s your choice.”

I returned in two hours. I always tried to give people more time. I reached the hot springs and found both tents were gone. Problem solved, or so I thought.

The following day I day hiked to Conundrum Pass and around the basin. When I returned back down to the hot springs I saw the three people from the day before, plus another group of backpackers all soaking. There were no camps set up nearby.

The solo hiker spoke to me as I sat down, me being the only person wearing clothes. He again apologized and told me that he’d thought about what I’d said regarding the fragile nature of the area around the hot springs. Also what I said about the enjoyment of others by not seeing tents surrounding the springs. He agreed with me and told me he found a good camp a little more than a mile away. I told him I appreciated what he told me.

I felt a shadow and turned towards it. Standing directly in front of me, stark naked with her pubic hair at my eye level, stood the woman from Tucson.

“Well I still think you’re being a jerk about this whole thing,” she said. “There is no reason you couldn’t have let us stayed.”

I lost my temper. I stood up and told her I wasn’t going to argue anymore. I know when I spoke next I should have fought it back.

I turned to her husband/boyfriend who was still soaking in the hot springs and said, “Don’t you have anything to say? Do you let her do all the speaking for you?”

I then said that I was not going to discuss this matter any further with a naked woman in my face.

I left and went straight to the cabin. I learned another valuable lesson. Do not end your day with a bad encounter. Years later if I had a miserable situation with a violator, I’d try to find a nice family or group to drop in and chat. When I left I’d always feel better. Like getting a bad taste out of your mouth.

At the end of my ten days I hiked out of the wilderness. Usually another seasonal would be my ride out. This time Dick Cerise was waiting for me. I had a bad feeling.

“What the hell happened up there?” Dick started out on me. “A couple from Tucson drove all the way to Glenwood Springs and personally complained about you to the forest supervisor. He wanted to fire you! So tell me what happened.”

I told Dick my story and he just sat and listened. Then he asked me, “Why did you tell them you were Bob Lawton?”

“No!” I said. “I had my name tag on my shirt. I told them they could talk to you or Bob Lawton (Bob was a full time forester in the office). I didn’t say I was Bob Lawton.”

Then Dick asked me if I’d given them a ticket for illegal camping.

I told him I hadn’t and my reason why and the options I had given them.

Dick held his head in his hands then looked back at me, “Shit. If you give someone a ticket then it’s easy to understand why they’re mad at you. But if you didn’t, why would they still be so mad as to try and get you fired? Jon, I believe you. But next time you meet someone like that, make sure you give them a ticket.”

That was a big lesson I learned. Non law enforcement supervisors have a problem understanding why someone would complain about a ranger if they weren’t cited. I always felt it was as if someone was going after a weakness. If a violator could get off with a warning, they could take it a step further and try and penalize an officer. A few times later in my career I gave some people breaks, that later came back to haunt me.

Dick told me that George Morris, the district ranger who replaced John Burns who had been promoted, stood up for me and kept me from being fired. But the rest of my Federal career, when ever a supervisor said they needed to talk to me, it always felt ominous. Even though most of the time it was just to discuss things or even give me a compliment, it was hard not to think the worst.

So the conundrum, or puzzle I faced at Conundrum Hot Springs, seemed quite appropriate.