No Skimpin’ on the Ski Hill
Memories of Early Days at Red Lodge Mountain
Red Lodge, Montana
Written by Stu Hoefle
Photography contributed by the Hoefle family
Winter issue - 2026
COLD!! I knew it was going to be a cold day. It was February. The house was cold, so I burrowed deeper under my quilts and thought about the day to come and the separation from my warm nest.
My family was at our “Red Lodge House” for the weekend to take advantage of a fresh dump of snow on the Mountain. We lived in Billings but spent most winter weekends in Red Lodge.
Mom and Dad started skiing there in the 50’s when the ski area was further down the mountain from its current location. Dad told us about the old ski hill and said it was pretty primitive. A rope-tow took you to the top of the hill, about 300 feet up, kind of a “hang on and hope,” situation. There was no chair lift, or lodge and you picnicked out of the back of your station wagon.
When the idea of moving the ski hill to its present location started to circulate among the ski crowd, Dad bought lifetime season passes for Mom and himself. When one of the old banker houses on North Houser came up for sale, he bought it, knowing that’s how he wanted to raise his family in the winter.
Dad started my brothers and me skiing when we were each about five-years-old. Sometimes it was begrudging because it seemed like we were always cold.
A SKI ADVENTURE – LONG AGO
Back then our equipment consisted of skinny wooden skis, cable bindings, leather lace up boots, and ineffective thermal clothing. The skis were always about two feet longer than we were tall. But Dad had a great vision, and skiing became a way of life as he led us on many ski adventures through the years.
On that February morning I knew Dad was going to roust us out of bed early because two feet of new snow had fallen overnight. Yes, it would be cold, but I also knew the day would be spectacular. The promise of hot pancakes at the Red Lodge Café before heading up the hill lured me out of bed. Dad wanted to be the first in the lift line so we could make the first tracks down “Lazy M,” so we got ready in a hurry.
I was 10 at the time but I already had five seasons of skiing behind me. It was Sunday morning, and it had already been a great weekend. We skied on Saturday and then Dad treated us to dinner at Piney Dell, one of his favorite spots to take his family.
At night there were about three things for us boys to do in town besides dinner: go ice skating (we’d actually skate down Hauser to the ice rink), hit a movie at the Roman or play pinball at the soda fountain shop. Our folks let us roam because they knew we wouldn’t get into too much trouble; or so they thought. The television only picked up one station, and it was always miserably cold at the house, so we were constantly scampering around looking for ways to entertain ourselves. But the days were all about skiing.
JUMPING FOR JOY – WHAT FORM!
Grizzly Peak had just two chair lifts in the early 60’s, and as planned, we were first in line that morning. We jumped on the lower lift, anxious to get to the upper lift and the top of the mountain. As we skied off, an unmarked blanket of new snow stretched out before us. Dad led the way down “M” floating through the snow, showing us how it’s done and making the first tracks on that beautiful morning. We eagerly followed. My brothers and I had a lot of days like that. Skiing was a great part of our lives, and Dad always had an adventure in mind.
When I turned 14, Dad signed us up for the infamous Red Lodge International Summer Racing Camp held in June. Best known to the locals as the Headwall Race Camp on the Beartooth Pass. He thought it would be a great way to improve our skills and keep us occupied for a week.
That was a challenge! We thought we could ski, but we had no idea. After a week under the coaching and instruction from Billy Kidd, Eric Sailer and Pepi Gramshammer, all former Olympians from the 60’s, we really learned how to ski.
BROTHER STEVE (BACKGROUND) AT RACE CAMP
The industry had also advanced by then to buckle boots, shorter higher performance skis and much warmer clothes. Just a few years prior, the standard length for skis was measured by standing tall and raising your arm over your head. Then you picked out a pair of skis that went from the floor, up to your extended wrist. For me, a tall kid, I was skiing on boards over seven feet long. Thank goodness for shorter skis and warmer boots and clothes. Better equipment meant better performance.
Race camp and far better equipment led to an entirely new level of skiing and exhilarating episodes on our weekends in Red Lodge. The 70’s were filled with high school friends and Mom and Dad took them in happily. Some knew how to ski, some didn’t, but that soon changed. By then, if I wasn’t flying down the hill myself, I was teaching someone else to ski. Teaching friends became one of my favorite endeavors. I’d explain the basics to them; the motions of balance, shifting your weight, positioning on the skis. But mainly I just told them to follow me and do what I do. And it worked. That was the best way - get behind me and just do what I do. Of course I was shouting a little advice too.
Those years were some of the best as we skied in packs and we were fast. Half the time the ski patrol was chasing us to get us to slow down, but they could never catch us.
At night, there still wasn’t that much to do in Red Lodge, but the house on Hauser was always full of boys on the weekends and Saturday nights became known for the big spaghetti feeds Mom cooked. She’d serve upwards of a dozen kids or more and no one went hungry.
I HAD IT ONE DAY!
My ski days slowed down through college, mainly because Dad no longer paid for my lift tickets since he wanted me in class. I had skipped enough school to ski or fish or do something fun. Thankfully I did make it through and graduated.
Before I knew it, I had a family of my own. I wanted to get them on skis as soon as they were old enough and pass on the adventure that was so generously given to me.
Since we lived in Billings, my old stomping grounds of Red Lodge Mountain became their learning ground too. And I had a foolproof method. Starting when the kids were small, I held my ski poles in front of me like a monkey bar and positioned my skis in a snowplow, with the tips together and the tails wide apart. I’d fit my little skier into the space, in front of me, also in a snowplow position. We’d then push off together with our skis parallel to each other, my skier holding on to my ski poles. I told them to hang on, and off we’d go.
MEL’S FIRST DAY – OFF SHE GOES!
After one run they’d get the feel of it. After two runs, they gained confidence. After three runs, they wanted me to drop the monkey bar so they could try on their own. At about the fourth, I’d open up my plow and off they’d go. All three of them learned that way and have been skiing since. We went on to build a lot of memories of our own as a skiing family.
Looking ahead, it won’t be long before I’ll qualify for a Senior Pass up at Red Lodge. It’ll be a great part of turning 70, as the cost of ski tickets has kept me off the slopes for a few years. I was once buying a season pass for the same price as a day pass is now. But the timing might be perfect. My grandsons will be just about old enough and the right size for me to work my magic on them and expose them to the slopes.
That’s what life has been for me; passing on what was passed to me and enjoying the memories.
MY FAMILY CELEBRATING A SKI ADVENTURE