GOTHIC, Colo.—The sky was a crisp blue high up in the West Elk Mountains of Colorado, and the plows had cleared the road to Gothic of fresh snow.
The day began with a bone-numbing minus 8 degrees Fahrenheit on Nov. 20—but billy barr was aware of that. He meticulously recorded the temperature and other crucial weather indicators on his computer, as he has been doing for years.
In the beginning, keeping track of the weather was a way to pass the time and learn about nature’s ways and patterns.
“It was something to do,” said barr, 74, who prefers to spell his name with lowercase letters out of a sense of humility.
“When did the first birds and the first animals arrive” in the spring? “It was like, ‘Oh, the first robin is here.’ I'd write it down. Year after year.”
Half a century later, barr celebrated his 53rd winter living like a real mountain man—a term he finds perplexing.
“I live in the mountains. I am a male. But I don’t know what the people mean by mountain man—and that’s the problem,” barr says with a grin.
He cuts wood, goes cross-country skiing, but he also knits and bakes.
“It just doesn’t make sense” to some people, he said.
In 1972, the New Jersey native decided he'd had enough of cities and crowds and living like everyone else.
He was just 21 years old and wanted to find peace away from the stresses of modern society. At the same time, he hoped to get married and have a family, but things didn’t turn out that way.
He realized he didn’t have the temperament to meet people and socialize.
“I really was not doing well where I was,” said barr, who lives in a wood frame cabin he built near the Rocky Mountain Biological Lab on the way to Gothic Mountain.
“It was just so bad that I wanted to get away from problems, and so it was not that difficult to come out here.”
The switch from city to solitude was easy, he said.
“I just wanted a break from all the social stuff. I just wanted to be left alone in peace. I wanted to live my own life. I didn’t want to be judged by other people. And so I got out here and got to live my own life.
“It’s funny because I’ve done different kinds of jobs. I fought forest fires for five summers. I’ve done plumbing.”
When you live in a big city, there are many people around you and it’s hard for a “passive person” to fit in, barr says.
“I was not an alpha male macho-type person. Obviously ... I’m small at 120 pounds. I was 5-foot-8 then. I think I’ve shrunk.”
His long white hair and beard, paired with a green thermal sweater and brown corduroy pants, give him the air of a senior academic sitting next to the wood-burning stove in his cozy cabin.
His first cabin was an 8-by-10-foot former mining shack that had no insulation but the driven snow. He lived in the cabin for eight years.
“It was terrible,” barr said. “If you think about it, it was small. It was so small that when the snow got deep enough it would cover it.”
Plans Change
The idea was to work at the Rocky Mountain Biological Laboratory for one year and finish his studies in environmental science and public health.Since 1928, the lab has been using the former town buildings to study high-altitude plants and animals.
“When I got here, I wanted to stay for one year. That carried over,” barr said. “After a couple of years, I decided maybe I would stay here for a while.”
He went back to New Jersey for a brief period, worked at a factory, and returned to Gothic the following year.
“At the time, I wanted to do it for one more winter. After a couple of years, I started to write around to people looking for private land to acquire. Most were mining claims owners who wouldn’t answer back,” barr told The Epoch Times.
Eventually, barr met a rancher who owned land in Gothic and bought 1.5 acres where he built his wood-frame cabin, with help from friends, for only $45,000.
The cabin features breathtaking views of the aspens and spruce and snow-covered mountains, a greenhouse, a second-floor bedroom, and an entertainment room with a large projection screen and a huge DVD movie library.
He keeps an eye on the daily temperature, wind, and snowfall from his weather station outside the cabin.
He first started keeping a weather log using standard notepads because he had a lot of free time between chores.
“So I started writing down things, which is mostly what was around me—which was the weather and the animals.”
Each daily entry would include the average high and low temperature, the amount of rain and snow on the ground, and water content in the snowpack.
He would then make a monthly average and report with all the information.
Early to Rise
He starts each day by gathering weather information to enter into his computer before 7 a.m. He then transmits the data to the local avalanche center or weather bureau, which may want an early report.“I don’t sleep much,” barr said. “I’m usually up around 3:30 or 4 a.m. I lay in bed and listen to old-time radio shows that I downloaded. I used to listen to the news. I can’t right now.”
It’s always bad news, he said.
After breakfast, he heads to the lab, where he’s a part-time accountant.
The longtime weather-watcher said the data he gathers is accurate and sound.
The two distinct trends he noticed are that the snow is wetter and stays on the ground eight to 11 days shorter on average than when he first arrived in Gothic.
Where the Cold Wind Blows
The hardest part of being a mountain man, he said, is the wind; the short, cold winter days; “and the wind.”“It makes everything freezing cold.”
The mile-long ski trip to the lab and the three-mile trek to the bus that takes him to Gunnison to get supplies become more challenging.
There are 16 avalanche runs between his cabin and the main road to Crested Butte, a secluded winter getaway spot eight miles downslope from Gothic.
“When an avalanche comes,” barr said, “chances are you’re in real trouble. I got caught in one really big one in 1988 where I really should have died. I got tumbled around a few times before I popped onto the surface.”
The physical challenges of mountain living are manageable, he said, so long as you “don’t get stupid.”
“If I ski a half mile up the valley and fall and break my leg or twist my ankle and can’t move, I’m dead,” he said.
Where billy barr lives, there is no cell service available in an emergency.
“The physical part people worry about is not that hard. Like I said, you want to survive out here; don’t be stupid,” barr said. “The mental thing is totally different. If you can’t live alone, you'll go nuts quickly.”
As he gets older, barr admits that life in the mountains isn’t getting easier. Since 1972, he’s skied up and down the mountains and valleys at least 35,000 times.
He had both hips replaced recently. Before, he would ski nearly 1,000 miles each year.
“I didn’t go to town once last winter. Everything I have is here,” he said. “I chose this way of life. I have to take the good with the bad.”
“You know what? I learned my lesson with these hips and my recovery, which was not simple. I don’t know. Right now, I’m pretty healthy.”
His way of living is very self-sufficient. He has a composting toilet, an underground spring, and solar power. He doesn’t pay for electricity, sewer, or water.
Could Be a Lot Worse
The worst part of living alone is when he gets sick with a cold or the flu. Then he’s on his own with few visitors.“In order to live alone this long, you have to do certain things that make living alone extensively easier to do. If they become easier to do, it becomes routine,” he said.
“It could be a hell of a lot worse,” said barr, whose status as a local legend often precedes him.
The lab’s wear-and-caretaker, Travis Guy, has known Barr since 2021 when he started his job.
“I knew billy before on the internet as this important person of climate work and snow,” Guy said. “He’s really down to earth. He’s funny. He’s got a great sense of humor.
“He jokes that any year could be his last. I think he'll stay as long as his health is good.”
At Elevation Hotel and Spa in Crested Butte, the owners thought barr’s reputation deserved special recognition. So they built a new bar on the second floor and named it after him.
The “billy barr” opened in 2023.
“Who better than Mr. barr?” said front desk manager Avery Maxwell, standing behind the bar.
The irony is that the bar’s namesake doesn’t drink.
“When we approached him about naming it after him, he was like, ‘Sure,” Maxwell told The Epoch Times,“’but you'll probably never see me there.”
Of course, there’s a billy barr menu, Maxwell added, “and people love locals—love them.”
Sometimes, barr thinks about love, his life, and whether the path he chose was worth it.
He wishes some things had turned out differently.
“I wanted to be the one to get married, but I was so socially inept I couldn’t even talk to someone. It just got worse and worse,” barr said. “I am so set in my ways, but I do wish I was with somebody else. I’ve always wanted to be married and have kids. And I regret not having that.
“But I have a lot else. There’s more in life than just one thing.”
Every night after dinner, he reads, knits, and watches a movie on the big screen. He enjoys romantic comedies to escape from his daily routine. He turns off the TV and radio news to avoid the chaos in the world.
“The world is too advanced at killing itself,” he said. “It used to be you could disagree with somebody.”
The world has changed.
The world always has problems.
But out here, in the sacred wilderness, billy barr has the mountains.
