Let the Sunshine In

Happy Thanksgiving. I hope everyone is enjoying family and friends today. May you find peace and joy and that you are seeking the light. Let the sunshine in your life. Our beautiful sunflower was in the window of our ranch and my Appaloosa came up and bit the top. He was quite a character and brought great joy to our lives. Snowy was a pure white bundle of happiness.  You just never knew where he would show up. My wife, Kathy Duncan discovered that if you put a bottle of beer in his mouth he would raise his head and chug it. They had a contest one afternoon, Guess who lost?
A Song to the Sun.                              

"Pablo Cruise, A Place In The Sun"

Lazy Days

The last lazy days of Buddy and Sage. Buddy a quarter horse who's lineage was traceable back to being a great grandson of Poco Bueno. A true foundation quarter horse. Koda Rookie Page. He came from Winter Hawk Outfitters and was the Mountain King. It was his job to pack out the mountain lions and elk from the  remote hunting camps.
Our girl Sage was a rag a muffin and she came to the rescue ranch from a barn that had Miniatures. Unfortunately she was left in a dark stall for most of the time and never saw the light of day.
They both had very bad arthritis issues and found life very difficult in the winter month's of Colorado. They however enjoyed the warm lazy never ending dog day's of summer next to the creek. "Raja or Boobala Raja as Kathy called him was a true gentleman and a very gentle soul. He and Sage fell deeply in love and became inseparable in their later years. Ever wary he knew how to maneuver around the Big Mountain Cat that often visited our ranch to feast on our kittens that made their home under our cabin. The ranch cabin was a 110 year old log cabin that had been retrofitted by a Sears kit home in the early 1930's. A true Western Mecca that served as the water source for all the other ranchers on Dry Hollow. Ha hence the term "Dry Hollow." I miss the Lazy hazy days of dry hollow as much as I miss the open snowfields of the Mountains I skied in my youth. Their love affair was truly a moving tale. A passing of time and harmony with nature.

A Song By Robbie Robertson

Somewhere Down The Crazy River

The Valley of the Blue

The view from the parking lot of A-Basin into the valley over the Dillon Reservoir passed the Corinthian Hills. The Continental Divide to the rear of the photo up Highway 6 overlooked by the Seven Cornices and the wonderful all seeing Professor with her endless open snowfields far above the timberline. The origin of unimaginable full moon night ski adventures. Looking at the valley your back is to Lenawee Mountain and its massive ski bowl above the Land of the Giants and  across to Pallavacini.  Trails indelibly etched into the recesses of my mind body and spirit. A celebration to the soaring spirit of youth. Youth is invincibility. Age is the knowledge of the folly in that belief. Wisdom is the healing.
Healing is Freedom.

A Song of Wisdom.


"Mr. Mister, Broken Wings"

Yogi Beau-isms

Leave room in your intimate space for others.


















Ask the Universe for what you want.


















Have close friends, you might need uppy-go.

Acknowledge your friends when you see them.


















Claim your space in the world.

















Make friends with all species.

















When you you have exhausted your grandfather. Take a nap with him.

Enter Murphy's Law.

Stay close to your siblings.
Beau and Murphy


















Enjoy time with your family,


Sing of Love.

Enya - How Can I Keep From Singing?

The Wisdom of Yogi Beau

Yogi Beau

I was a tiny bug. Now a mountain. I was left behind. Now honored at the head. You healed my wounded hunger, and anger, and made me a poet who sings about joy. RUMI

Today's Wisdom: Choose a song for every season.

My favorite fall song that set my feet on the road to the Ski Area's of North America was White Bird by It's A Beautiful Day.

Coming Soon: Letters to a Chela (desciple, pupil)

Aspen Summertime Blue

You know the saying, "We came here for the winters, but we stay here for the summers." It is a point well taken. Some of the most incredible outdoor experiences I have ever had have been in Colorado in the summer. While I no longer live in the Vail Valley and the great expanse of the Gore Range, I remember fondly climbing Mount Holy Cross, a fourteener there. The many all day bike rides up Vail Pass down in the Red Cliff and into Minturn and back to Vail, or just riding my mountain bike up to the top of Vail (Benchmark) and traversing the trails before dropping into West Vail. Yes, I did find lost lake up on the way to Piney Lake and no, I never could find it again after that day. It was pure joy in the fall to bike up to the meadows above Piney Lake and to traverse down in the late afternoon in the sunshine into the massive stands of Aspen's with their golden leaves forming a treacherous yellow brick road leading into the gut sucking steep downhill into West Vail. It helped me tremendously to be surrounded by young enthusiastic outdoors people in the summer. Although I remember leaving Vail for Aspen and saying that I was tired of the steep enclosed Valley and the Valley Fever and how it would be great not to be the oldest person on an outing. I do miss the view of Vail from the top of the Gore Range or walking across the Covered Bridge on a full moon night and listening to the rushing waters of Gore Creek heading toward the Eagle River.

It brings me to the somewhat more sublime photo of Ajax (Aspen Mountain) and the summertime blue. I first came to Aspen for a film and screenwriters conference and made my mind up then to move back here. It was where I thought I would actively pursue my writing career. Yes I have written some great things here. All the beautiful early morning love letters to my adorable wife, which helped me to win her hand. So I suppose that must be considered my best writing although some of those were pretty steamy and did get me in trouble for leaving them in her desk at work where any of our coworkers could have found them. Yes I have managed to publish “Of Mountain and Men” my book of poetry and I have finished, “The Lure of the Mountain King and Other Stories.”

The best thing about that and my writing is that some day I will be able to say to a publisher that the Olympics come every four years to a great mountain of the world and my writing can be published in almost all the languages present at the Olympics and if I am extremely lucky my work could become the book or books read around the world. In the meantime as I work in my plumbing and heating company in Aspen I often stop and step out on the porch of one of my client’s houses and am confronted by a scene such as this photo. The beautiful greens of the grasses and evergreens against the deep blue of the Aspen sky washes away all of my worries and doubts and reminds me that my six month plan to make it to Eugene, Oregon and a lovely house on Friendly Street with a cabin up the McKenzie and a condominium at Driftwood Shores in Florence at the ocean isn’t that far out of line. I just need to get publishing my e-books. Next will be “All God’s Horses,” then “Arapahoe Basin, The Legend,” and finally, “Out of America.” Until then whenever I get the Aspen Blues I will step out side and smell the pines and gaze at the Grandeur of my office.

The Last Train To The Coast

Now you know that I have set a side my worn out Strohlz jet foamed ski boots. They were a Christmas gift from my High School sweet heart. It has been forty years since I decided to take a year off from the pursuit of an Engineering Degree to spend a winter skiing in America. During those years I have watched the sunset and the snows come to almost every major mountain range in North America and worked at every possible job that would advance that goal. I have lived in converted railroad box cars that were made into sleeping bunks on the desolate plains of Wyoming, to multi-million dollar log homes on Missouri Flats in Aspen Colorado for the sake of the next steeper run filled with that precious white gold, powder snow.

This year as the snows and Winter Olympics come to Sochi, Russia, a place where I would have never ever dreamed of skiing nor imagined ever being able to visit, I am beginning what I hope will be the culmination of my life long dream of pursuing mountain tops. The dream is to write about them. I have recently completed a course on self-publishing e-books. After many false starts of writing and compiling a collection of short stories that are worthy of publishing, the day has arrived. The stories have been edited and assembled in a collection titled “The Lure Of The Mountain King And Other Stories.” It is my goal and dream to move forward and be able to finally tackle the greatest challenge of my life. I hope to move from being a writer as a hobby to being a writer making a living at it. Just like the obsession of pursuing the Mountain King, I am possessed by the desire to write about my time on the Mountain King, Arapahoe Basin. There have been many false starts and outright failures on my part to move toward this accomplishment. I can only equate those to the times that I spent skiing first green circle trails (easiest), then blue box trails (more difficult), then black diamond trails (most difficult), to finally climbing out of bounds all day to ski trails where there aren’t even any names or boundaries.

In their infinite wisdom grandmothers all seem to understate the obvious not only did my grandmother tell me "(Albert), word’s ... they are the key." She always said you have to crawl before you can walk. How very fitting for someone who grew up being a part of the instant gratification society, having recently lived through a “Great Recession” that turned the equity in my home, (that I was planning on using the proceeds for moving to the ocean in Oregon and walking on the beach while writing my short stories and novels), to being a commander of a submarine, (my beautiful Stonewood Grande), in Parachute, Colorado.

The greatest lesson that I have ever learned has been at the knees of my grandparents who lived through the real great depression. The lesson is to dream and if you are going to dream, why not make them big dreams. When song writers dream and write about salvation, they always seem to write about their salvation as a train. You know the great gospel songs about trains. One in particular titled “People get Ready.”  The lyrics are “People get ready there's a train a - coming, you don’t need no ticket, you just get on board. All you need is faith to hear the diesel’s humming. Don’t need no ticket, you just thank the lord.” Hell, even Dylan titled an album “Slow Train Coming.”  I guess that is why I titled this piece, The Last Train To The Coast. It is my last big dream to be at the ocean and writing about my life in and on the mountains.

I have started what I hope will be the very last vehicle and business to get me there. Capitol Plumbing and Heating, named after the second highest peak in Colorado. Here is to big mountains, big dreams, and walking hand in hand with my beautiful wife on a big beach next to the big ocean.