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.

Merry Christmas Everybody!

The Razor's Thin Edge

There is a razor’s thin edge of existence in life. I have seen it in the mountains. A place where you know if you jump into a couloir to ski it your first few turns are the most critical. If you miss any of them and lose your balance you will most definitely fall to your death. It seems that the younger you are in life, the farther beyond that edge you step.  There is nothing like the exhilaration, the adrenalin rush, the sheer thrill of pushing the envelope just beyond that edge.

When I was twenty five and skiing at Arapahoe Basin in Colorado the edge blurred into reality for me. Arapahoe Basin was then the highest lift serviced mountain in America at 12,500 feet in elevation. The main lift brought you to the top of the mountain, and you could traverse into Lenawee Mountain and climb higher to get great powder shots. You could also drop over the backside into Montezuma Bowl and ski incredible vertical terrain and deep out of bounds powder, but you would have to hike out. Looking across Route 6 at the awesome Professor with its seven cornices would orient you toward the Pallavicini, on your left and the infamous Wall, the Wall was at the same elevation as the summit except that  there was an incredible vertical drop down from the summit with a steep incline back up to the cornice. The prevailing winds would race across the giant top of the wall and create a massive wind blown hanging cornice. It was always unstable and could fracture and avalanche at any time. Often it grew to enormous proportions and would be a twenty to thirty foot drop to the steep vertical slope below. On cold winter days it was always more stable and provided and excellent platform for launching into thin air before landing on the steep lower terrain. The lower terrain vertical was such that if you were not acutely aware of bringing your arms forward and keeping your elbows tucked in you might drag your arms on the slope behind you throwing off your balance.

One particular winter day I took the leap of faith and hit the deep powder successfully. I was just starting my second critical turn when another skier, who had not seen me jump from the cornice traversed across in front of me. I narrowly missed a collision but the tips of my skis caught the tails of his. My skis stopped abruptly. I was launched into a tip roll, a somersault on skis. Skiing with my bindings cranked down tight did nothing for easy release. The motto of the day was “Deliver us from premature release.” Every time I came back up on my skis I would again roll over and bury my head and neck in the snow. I was sure that this time my neck would break and I would die, or worse be paralyzed for life. This went on for what I thought was an eternity. It was then that my right shoulder caught a boulder. My shoulder dislocated and my ligaments and tendons were torn. It however had arrested my forward tumbling. I was unable to move my neck and it took months for both my shoulder and neck to heal. I said in the brashness of my youth, someday I will get a plastic socket. Through the pain in my later years, the prospect of a major operation does not intrigue me.

It brings me back to the fine line of existence in life and the mountains. I had realized my mortality. I was no longer an immortal God as I had thought in my youth. I had experienced near death. I never again skied with such reckless abandon. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I pushed the limit, even in my later years. I however possessed fear, a good healthy dose of it. It is detrimental when you love and play in the mountains to be afraid. Fear is healthy but you lose some of your edge. If you hesitate before turning on a steep slope or performing a feat while climbing or mountaineering it can be disastrous. I lost some of the thrill, to some degree, I had been conquered by nature instead of conquering it. I am saddened today by it, but it is as the world is.

I feel today like I am again standing on that wind blown cornice. I am more than twice that age now. The sky is azure blue, the wind gently rushes through my thinning hair, the snow is deep and the sun is shinning brightly. It is up to me to take the leap. What in the world am I talking about?

I have always wanted to pursue my writing career, but I always chose the safer accepted route of a business career in the private sector. The thought of contacting agents and editors and publishers has come and gone often. I even tried self publishing with out any great success. Always like a giant Goliath, the fear was in front of me, taunting me, calling out my name. It is time to slay the giant.

Today, I welcome you to Sun Moon Books. Look us up at www.sunmoonbooks.com. Our new blog. We will soon be publishing ebooks. My collection of ski short stories “White Dreams” will be available in mid to late February. I have another collection of horse short stories and two novels in the works for the next several years. Standing here on the cornice wondering if I should jump into that couloir full of snow snakes and conquer nature or be conquered by it, I am reminded of a quote that is attributed to the ages but no one sage in particular. “Leap and the net will appear.”