Memories of Bill and Lynn Kieser
(and Gramps)
Ernie met Lynn and Bill over a half-century ago, in the Spring of 1962, just a few months after he arrived in Colorado, at a showing of a John Jay* film. Lynn was selling tickets at the door, and Bill was the impresario. They arranged for me to crew on Bill Garrow’s Star at Carter Lake; that’s how Bill and Lynn made me a Star sailor.
Sandy met Bill and Lynn through Ernie, about 1965, and Lynn immediately took a shine to Sandy. She very kindly invited Sandy to stay in her home and spend Christmas 1965 with the Kiesers, as Ernie was away and the dorms at the University of Colorado were closed for the holidays. Lynn, with her kids, welcomed crippled Sandy home at the Denver airport in 196?, after Sandy had crashed and severely broke her leg.
We did lots of things with Bill and Lynn, including an overnight backpack to Black Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park when Kristie and Thor were barely big enough to carry their clothes in their backpacks. On the way, we encountered lots and lots of ripe blueberries along the trail. We picked them and incorporated them into our pancakes next morning. Bill was going to show us how to make pancakes, but he forgot to put an egg in the batter, and it just adhered itself to the pan without cooking properly. After razzing Bill unmercifully and scouring the frypan with lake sand, we had wonderful blueberry pancakes.
Bill and Lynn were kind enough to trust us with the care of their kids. When Thor was in high school, Ernie took him up the east face of Long’s Peak, Thor’s first big-mountain climb. And neither Bill or Lynn ever cursed Ernie for setting Thor’s feet on the adventurous paths that he has pursued ever since.
Bill and Lynn and Kristie and Thor came to the Hildners’ wedding in Boise. Kristie and Thor – all dressed up in a summer frock and coat and tie, respectively – had a good time, as did Bill and Lynn.
* John Jay then was to sailing what Warren Miller later became to skiers. He filmed the great events, and bloopers, of the year, then in the snowy months took the film around the country to get sailors’ juices flowing for the upcoming season and raise money for sailing clubs.
Sailing
We had a lot of fun with Bill and Lynn, sailing and partying at Carter. Kristie and Thor were young then, and enjoyed roughhousing with Ernie on the dock and on the beach. The sailing was fun, and the post-sailing parties at the Kieser cabin were memorable. Gramps Kieser presided, making sure that no one ever saw the bottom of his or her glass of highly-alcoholic “lemonade”. Sometimes, Kristie and Thor were recruited to sneak around behind groups and pour more lemonade into the glasses of those who were deep in conversation and were not sufficiently alert to refuse more booze. It’s a marvel that no one got hurt driving home after those parties! Lynn was a saint to host them. Often, a slip led to a spill and a sticky floor, with particles of chip and dip ground into it. But Lynn never complained and seemed to enjoy hosting all the tipsy sailors.
Bill, with Lynn crewing for him in the early years, was clearly the fastest sailor on Carter Lake. Ernie remembers slowly crawling up to near Bill’s transom, Bill looking around, Bill making a few adjustments and sailing away for the win. Bill was always generous with his knowledge, and sincerely wished to help other sailors get better, but this occasion epitomized the kind of advice one sometimes got. “So, Bill, what did you do to make your boat go faster, when I almost caught up to you?” “Well, I pulled on this string and that until it looked and felt right.” Thanks a lot, Bill. But this is truly the way he sailed. For him boatspeed was a matter of feel, not careful, calculated, measured adjustment. And his intuition, of course, was great!
In the early days, we hadn’t worked out a slick way to launch the Stars – down the dirt ramp – so we left the (wooden, no flotation) boats in the water on moorings, and we dinghied out to them. The launches and recoveries were so problematical that a better way was sought. I think it was John McGann, with his construction expertise, that urged the Fleet to buy a crane. Well a 1940s vintage (as I remember it) crane on caterpillar tracks, that nobody else wanted, was found, bought cheap, trucked to Carter Lake, and Bill learned how to use it to launch Stars. The idea was to drive it down to as close to the water’s edge as the mud would permit, pluck a Star from its trailer higher up the beach, swing it around, and drop it in the Lake. At least that was the theory. At first, the crane worked more smoothly than its rookie operator, but after a few years of being used only a half-dozen times a year and sitting out all winter, the clutches and parts got rusty and worked roughly or even intermittently. Launch and haulout was a group activity. Sometimes Bill asked for the participants to carry big rocks alongside the crane, so if he couldn’t make the crane turn, we could put a big rock under one tread to slow it and turn the crane that way. One time the brakes wouldn’t hold the crane as it was headed down the beach toward the water, and Bill shouted for rocks to be put in front; the ploy succeeded, but not without much excitement and adrenalin. Several years, the crane got mired in the soft beach near the water and was left there for a month or so, waiting for the Lake to go down and the area around the crane to dry out so it could be driven away. Bill in the driver’s seat, horsing the levers and pedals of that crane to force it into submission, to make it do what he wanted it to, is an indelible memory.
We were visiting with Lynn at the cabin one time when Bill showed up looking a little flustered. He said he had been getting his Star ready for winter storage. So why the fluster? “That’s the last time I’ll ever take down my mast by myself!”, he said. Apparently, at near 70 years of age, he successfully got the mast out of the boat, but just narrowly averted disaster. Most of us wouldn’t try to take the mast out by ourselves at age 30!
Bill went to national Star regattas. At a Silver Star (national championship) regatta in Seattle, the fleet was drifting about near the starting line, waiting for the breeze to fill in so we could start the race. Crews and skippers up on the side decks, hollering and talking trash to other boats, generally having a good gam. Then somebody spied some black shapes coming down the course towards us and pointed them out. Killer whales, a pod of them, on the surface, coming directly toward us. It got amazingly quiet as the killers got closer and we could see the dorsal fins 6 feet out of the water. One by one the skippers and crews slipped into their cockpits and sat on the sole so just their eyeballs were exposed (to the whales). The whales, some longer than the boats we were in, maintained course and speed, went right through the middle of the 50-boat fleet on the surface, and kept on going without even slowing to say, “Howdy.” Amusing to see all the macho skippers and crews pull themselves back out of the cockpits and onto the decks again, but there was no trash talk about who got into his cockpit first.
Others have talked about how Bill, Dillon Yacht Club Member #1 was a driving force behind the short-lived but interesting Ski-Yachting event, with skiing at Arapahoe Basin one day and sailing on Dillon the next. One year the Stars started a race in such light breeze that it was difficult to get across the start line near the town of Dillon. But an ominous cloud was coming over the dam. Ernie looked around to see that Bill was taking down his sails, but Ernie and Sandy left sails up, planning to luff through the squall. Suddenly, Bill and his crew, less than 50 yards away, were completely obscured by the squall’s white wall of water, it got very noisy, and we were in deep trouble. No control whatever, visibility maybe 20 feet, wind blowing the tops off the waves so solid water was flying horizontally, so much noise Sandy and I – 5 feet apart – couldn’t shout to each other successfully, and all the time the fear that Bill, upwind of us when the squall hit, would come flying down on us out of the murk on collision course, to sink both boats and throw all four of us into the 32 degree water. The wind was so bad that for the only time in his 50 years in Stars, Ernie was hiking out with one foot on the bulb of the keel, and when the mast broke, it was an enormous relief as the boat came upright and green water no longer flowed into the cockpit. Bill later said that he got the sails down at the last instant, and when the wind hit, his boat immediately jumped onto a plane, under bare poles. He wasn’t at all sure whether he would run out of lake before the wind released its grip. The onset was sudden (classes were starting at 5 minute intervals, and the class after the Stars never started), but the squall only lasted maybe 20 minutes. Some folks who went into the water had to go to hospital to be treated for hypothermia, and it’s remarkable that nobody was killed. The Ski-Yachting event didn’t last long after that year.
Bill and Lynn introduced us to the first family of sailing at Casper, WY, Nat and Norma Fowler and their kids. For years we all went to Casper for their regatta and they came down to Carter for ours. And Kiesers, Fowlers, and Hildners had good times skiing together in Aspen.
Africa
In 1999 (?), we were graciously invited to join the Kieser family trip to Africa. Ernie well remembers a training trip with Bill up 14,000 ft Quandary Peak, Phil doing business and solving clients’ computer problems on his cell phone as we hiked. It was windy and cold at the summit, and we huddled in the shallow rock shelter as we readied ourselves for the descent. Bill was strong, due to his daily walks, but not fast. Afterwards, down in hot, sunny Breckenridge, Bill celebrated and enhance the good mood when he bought everybody ice cream. In other training, Thor attempted to rejuvenate Ernie’s rock climbing skills by taking him climbing in Eldorado Canyon, to get him ready for Mt. Kenya. Thor and Ernie went for Mt Kenya before others arrived, but very consciously decided not to carry their clumsy ice axes up the very steep and visibly snowless rock climb to the summit ridge. When they topped the ridge at about 10 a.m., they laughed and gave up, because the short distance to the true summit was all steep ice, completely unnavigable without the equipment left below.
Bill, Ivo, Kristie and Phil, Thor, and Ernie and Sandy assembled to climb Kilimanjaro with Thor-arranged guides and porters, via the standard Marengu route. Climbing roughly 3000 ft per day, with porters carrying all our gear and cooks feeding us (thanks for the corn flakes at breakfast, Thor!) was not too hard, though harder for Kristie and Sandy, who got ill at 12,000 ft. Because Bill and Ivo were both around 70 years old, the guides called them “babus”, and we started to refer to ourselves as the “Babu Expedition”. Bubu is a Swahili word meaning, roughly, “honored grandfather”. Last day was tough, 3000 ft up steep, loose scree, starting about 3 am, temperature well below freezing, pitch black, following the twinkling fireflies of the headlamps of climbers ahead of us, looking back down at the twinkle of headlamps coming from below. Bill and Ivo were slower, so one guide, Phil, and Thor stayed with them, while the rest went on, pausing from time to time to let still-sick Kristie and/or Sandy walk beyond the pool of headlight illumination to drop drawers and get rid of some sickness. When Bill and Ivo got to the volcano rim at Gilman’s Point around sunrise, Bill was cold and took a thick down parka from Sandy. Ivo got to the rim, lost his footing and pitched over backwards the way he had come, head downhill, on his back. Fortunately he slid only a little way, self-rescued and regained the rim, but it was a frightening incident. Eventually, the non-babu members of the Babu Expedition got around the rim to the Uhuru summit at 19,300 ft, retraced our steps, slid down the scree field (Sandy and Kristie so recovered that Ernie could not keep up with either their rapid conversation or rapid descent), got lunch, changed clothes, and headed off in shorts to the night’s camp, catching up to Bill and Ivo just before reaching it.
Long days coming down, skipping every other of the camps at which we stayed on the way up, everyone happy and well. When we got to the park entrance, we all dropped packs and waited on the lawn for our transport. Thor had arranged, and we had pooled, tips for our guides, porters, and cooks, to be distributed by the head man. But one of the Africans, correctly, sensed a soft touch in Bill, who gave him some money. So then Bill was repeatedly asked for a tip by others. Finally, Thor suggested that if Bill wanted to tip the guys, he should give money to one of the Africans to go to the little store nearby and bring back a case of liter bottles of beer for everyone. Which he did. THAT lightened the mood wonderfully, and we gringos got a couple of renditions of the “Kilimanjaro Song” sung to us enthusiastically by our tipsy staff, thanks to Bill.
Ivo departed, Lynn and her sister and nephew joined us, and we went on a very successful safari with Thor-vetted guides. The tracks were very, very rough, so Lynn got the front passenger seat, Babu Bill got the next best seat, and the rest of us rattled around in the back like dried peas in a thoroughly shaken pod and had the bruises to prove it. Saw lots of game as the dry season had caused the animals to congregate around the sparse water. At one place we got out of the Land Rovers to see a water hole full of 20-30 hippos. Bill either didn’t hear or chose to ignore the guide’s admonition to stay back from the water’s edge; he went up close and personal and was so happy he yodeled at the hippos. The yodel scared some and they stampeded away, climbing over each other and throwing water and mud everywhere in a fine ruckus, but the yodel made one angry, and it started for Bill. Hippos can move surprisingly fast when they have a mind to, but we discovered that Bill could be pretty quick, too. Bill didn’t turn around to see that the hippo had just made a quick lunge and stopped, until he was quite a distance from the pool and our laughter was ringing loudly in his ears.
Another incident that is strong in memory is arriving at the airport to fly home, only to have the airport lose electric power and go almost completely dark. We cleared security using flashlights and were put in a waiting lounge. We could see the lights of incoming747s orbiting the airport, one of them supposed to be our plane out of there. But at the end of a long flight from Amsterdam or Rome, they couldn’t hang about for long and still have enough fuel to divert to another airport safely. Please, please, get the electricity turned back on. It came on long enough for the planes to land, we boarded our plane with flashlights, they got enough lights on the runway to take off, and the Kieser family, plus Hildners, headed home after a wonderful trip.
Skiing
Bill and Lynn were active in Copper Mountain Ski Area’s Over the Hill Gang, and in 1986 suggested to Sandy that she might like to be a guide with the Gang. Thus commenced 21 years of guiding and associating with all those folks passionate about skiing, the members, the other guides (especially), and area management. Bill was a role model for many in the Gang: he was a good skier, but beyond that he had an infectiously good time on the hill, and one never knew when a yodel or two would ring forth to bring smiles to everyone within earshot. Ernie skied with him in a group when it was a particularly fine day, conditions were good, and Bill was feeling it. He would let the group, not a slow one, ski ahead and then come swooping past, turning smoothly next to the trees, and Ernie remembers thinking, “Man, he’s fast and smooth and he’s an old guy! I hope someday I can ski like that!”
Bill was still a skier when Kristie celebrated her birthday at the bottom of Copper’s A Lift just a few years ago. It was great to see Bill on the boards that day, sliding around, clearly having a good time on snow in the company of his kids and Phil and friends.
Ernie and Sandy Hildner
2012 April 22