In the fall of 2001, I lost my job at Peterson Pacific Corporation in Eugene. Their orders for industrial grinders had plummeted in the wake of the World Trade Center attacks. Within a month, they called the entire engineering department into the conference room. On the tables were lists of names spread out. The director of engineering announced that if your name was not on the list to go back to work. My name was on the list. I decided the best thing to do was pack up my snowboard and head to Colorado.
My brother Travis and his wife Michelle lived in Avon and both worked for Vail Resorts at Beaver Creek. It took me 22 hours to drive there from Oregon and by 9:30 the next morning, I had a job as an equipment operator for the resort. Clyde Schlegel was in charge of the Beaver Creek Village Metro department. We were responsible for maintaining roads and infrastructure on the resort and clearing snow in the winter. We used big Freightliner and International dump trucks with a plow, wing plow, and sander on them. I had a commercial driver’s license since my time in the service. This made all the extra testing and expense over the years to maintain it worthwhile. The metro department was split into two crews and each crew worked four days, 10 hour days per day. Both crews were on duty Wednesday so we could do the big jobs in the middle of the week when there were not so many guests. My week was Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday from 5AM to 3:30PM. If we got all of our work done early, I could clock out at three and get up on the mountain for a few runs. I'd catch the last lift up at 4:30 and head out to the Happyshack.
Travis built the Happyshack in the summer of 2001 in the woods behind the Spruce Saddle Lodge on the mountain. It was tucked into a steep stand of trees that was a secret stash of powder between the main intermediate areas of the mountain. It was constructed of 3 inch diameter lodge pole pine logs nailed vertically to stringers. The stringers were lashed to trees that made up the four corners. Since the slope was so steep, Travis excavated the back wall and made a bench and floor from flat rocks inside. There was a small ramp going up to the roof on the back side with railings lashed to the trees forming a nice deck on the roof. Inside, a cooler was lashed to the tree with a lock. Inside, we a kept propane stove for heat and some walkman speakers for music. During the day, the cooler actually served to keep the beer warm and protect it from freezing.
I started moving snow down the hill to form an outdoor patio soon after arriving on the mountain. On my days off, Travis and I would ride together in the morning. It was an interesting to experience the mountain opening up for the season. As more snow arrived, the expert terrain would begin to be opened to the public. Of course, since we partied with all the ski patrol, we knew when and where the ropes would drop on the goods. On the day that they opened Cataract and Spyder, Travis and I were on the Rose Bowl lift riding up. We saw the crowd go through the gate and were pissed that we were stuck on this old double chair. We finally got to the top, tucked the upper part, and sailed past the ski patrol through the doorway sized opening into 4 feet of fresh pow. I ate it and nearly tomahawk chopped his head off with my snowboard. A week later Royal Elk Glade opened for the first time.
At the end of the day, the crew would assemble at the Happyshack and consume the rest of the beer. We had corrupted the entire mountain staff and were allowed to stay at the shack past closing. Eventually, we would gather up all the trash and ride down to the Coyote Cafe in the village for Après' cocktails. Last one down the mountain buys! One day I was riding down with a sack full of Budweiser cans and decided to go through the terrain park. I hit the big kicker and bit it on the landing, spreading hundreds of cans across the area. I had to pick every one up, crush it down, and tie it up in the tatters of the bag they were in. Man, was I late.
By Christmas, the Happyshack had a snow glacier for a side porch so people could roll in and take off their gear when arriving. Everybody would hang on the porch. We had a small grill and charcoal for Bar-B-Que on Sunday and Wednesday. Some of the employees would bring food from Spruce Saddle and there was always plenty of beer and bud. One day, my next door mate from the Tarnes came hiking down to the shack after his shift. Travis asked "where is your board?" So Bob produces this inflatable tube from his pack and announces that he is going to ride it down Latigo. Latigo is a STEEP pitch at the top and we were sure he was crazy. Sure enough, around sunset, the whole crew lines up along Latigo to see the spectacle. The mountain is closed and it is just us on the hill. He gets on the tube and takes off like a frigging rocket on crack. Travis couldn't even keep up with him on skis. Toward the bottom of the first pitch, it levels out and rounds a bend. He just kind of banked it around the corner and ended up in the middle of the run. Unbelievable.
Anyway, I spent one season out at Beaver Creek and went back to Oregon to make another attempt at life with Mayela out there. I eventually moved back east to finish school at RIT, but made annual trips to the Beave' to ride and visit Travis. The next winter, the Forest Service came in and blew up the Happyshack with dynamite over Presidents Day weekend when the local’s passes are blacked out. They made a real mess out of the area and Travis had to go in there and clean up the debris. The floor is still there today. Travis was so pissed that the next year he decided to rebuild higher on the mountain. The crew picked out a spot in Goshawk Glade. It is really just a steep piste of trees and granite between Upper Centennial and Goshawk. I was headed east that summer in the houpdy. It died in Utah, so Travis rescued me and I spent a week or two at Beaver creek helping him work on the Loveshack. When I got there, it was little more than a pile of granite. They were making a wall to form the back with mortar and granite. I started using my Mountain Yetti instinctive skills to move huge hunks of granite into place on the wall. Then, after backfilling with smaller stuff, I'd move another boulder into place. Every day we would load up the mountain bikes in the 'burban and put mortar and water in our packs. Travis would bribe the lifties with donuts and we would leave the bikes at the top to hike up into Goshawk Glade. Each day I would try to carry more mortar. Finally, I was up to a whole 80 pound bag in my pack. I'd sneak into Travis's pack and add about 10 more scoops to his bag as well. By the time I left. We had a 6 foot wall in the back that extended part way along the sides. The little piggies had the stick house blown down, now we were making one from stone--and puffing all the way.
I came out that winter for mountain opening and we went to see the shack for the first time since he finished it in late summer. He sent the Mountain Yetti in first to evict any potential hibernating bears. Fortunately, there were none. The love shack had a great view and was really quite nice. The following summer the Forest Service blew that one up too. At first they didn't bring enough explosives, so all it did was fuck it up real bad and blow the door off. A week later, they came in with 9 pounds of liquid dynamite and vaporized it. The mortar blew into the back wall and cut the rocks into a nice fitting pattern that is still there today as a nice level picnic area. The two giant trees that formed the corners of the front wall were just gone. All that was left was the back wall, the floor, and a lot of splinters.
It was never about permanence, rather, the experience and the friendships. Good times were had and the story of the Happyshack and the Loveshack will live forever in people’s heart. Good times.