Written by Madeleine Mason
The bar was named after a fat cat who was tasked with curtailing the prolific field mouse population from the neighboring Softball Field as a rodent bouncer-of-sorts. The longtime owners, Larry Lamb and Hank Edwards, brought in a gray Tom Cat who, after one night on the job, was found cowering in the corner, appearing traumatized after likely realizing he was in way over his head. The cat’s name was Tugboat and so begins the legend of the Tugboat Saloon, an iconic Steamboat restaurant and bar that stood its ground for 39 years.
It was a witness to the steady growth of the Steamboat Ski area, starting when Mt Werner Road was still dirt, when Torian Plum had not yet broken ground, and when lift tickets were between $5 and $10. In the early days, horses were parked outside waiting for riders to finish their beers and would occasionally be ridden into the bar by the likes of loyal patrons. One of those patrons was the local character and 1948 Heisman Trophy winner, Doak Walker, who was spotted on horseback one night as he left his high camp in search of a cold beer, a warm meal, and the familiar faces of the Tugboat staff.
The Tugboat was a gathering place, a spirited place, a place of connection and celebration, sometimes a tad unsavory, but always an anchor, a center point, a trusted place. It smelled of seasoned 70s wood, fresh beer and good food. Really good food. In fact, their green chili recipe was in Bon Appetit! Tugboat kitchen staff over the years recall days of cooking 100s of breakfasts, lunches and dinners and, in the early days, because of an event on the mountain, The Tugboat served 1000 meals in one day. It was nominated as one of the Top Ten Favorite Bars in the September 1997 edition of Snow Country Magazine.
There are a multitude of stories from The Tugboat; some heartwarming, some hilarious, some tragic and others are never to be spoken of (If you know, you know). Many anecdotes begin with “My first night in Steamboat was spent at the Tugboat where I met my now husband/wife/best friend.” This includes Larry Lamb who met his wife, Becky, at the Tugboat in 1973. Relationships were started, relationships were ended, lifelong friendships made. Many employees bonded behind the Tugboat Bar or in the kitchen and are still friends today, decades later.
When the old Stagecoach Gondola was the only way up the Mountain and there were weather delays, The Tugboat was where workers and skiers went to have breakfast and wait it out. Gondola operators knew to call The Tugboat to give everyone a half hour warning to pay their tabs as the Gondola would be running soon. This ignited a flurry of the gathering of hats and gloves and jackets and paying bills and dashing back to the Gondi for another fabulous day on the Mountain. They went from home to home.
While every day at the Tugboat brought revelry, St Patrick’s Day was “The celebration of all celebrations” according to many who were there year after year. There was a parade in the unofficially closed off Ski Time Square. There were skydivers and flaming skis and a downhill race called Ball Hooter Classic where people stopped at Shot Stations along the way dressed in costumes, (or nothing at all), to see who would make it down first. There is a story about the bouncer, Big Kid, jumping out of an airplane and landing in Ski Time Square dressed in a gorilla suit with green flares tied to his shoes. I’m told this may not be entirely true, but such is the life of a Legend like the Tugboat. Stories and rumors rise up to match the energy of a place and its people. However, there were in fact skydivers, and Larry Lamb was one of them. There was an actual gorilla suit, and it’s possible Big Kid jumped out of an airplane. We may never know the real story, but that’s how people choose to remember it and want to tell it.
There was the night Sonny Lubick, the Colorado State University head football coach and his family came in for dinner. Sonny’s son suggested his Dad donate the game ball from when CSU beat the University of Colorado in a longstanding rivalry. Unwilling to give up the game ball, Coach Lubick promised to send the Tugboat something. A little while later a package arrived with a Rams helmet signed by Coach Lubick.
The photos and memorabilia on the walls were legendary themselves. Visitors wanted to be on the walls and often sent items like the Time Magazine cover sent by Skeeter Werner from her Olympic year, signed head-shots from various actors and photos and items from military members. There was a group from a Chicago fire station who visited every year and sent a photo in front of a burning structure that looked very similar to The Tugboat as an homage.
A tail hook that now hangs in the Lamb’s home was originally hung from a Tugboat roof beam in memory of the breathtaking story of the miraculous Pardo’s Push during the Vietnam War. Two American planes had received fire and one was losing fuel so quickly they were sure to crash into enemy territory. Instead, the pilot in the other plane, Bob Pardo, first tried to push with the nose of his plane until the nose started to collapse. He told the other pilot to drop his tail hook (meant for landing on aircraft carriers) and was able to use his windshield to push the plane all the way to Laos and out of enemy reach. Bob Pardo gifted the lifesaving tail hook to Larry and it shepherded over the Tugboat for 20 years.
These few items don’t even begin to illustrate the gallery of gifts, memories and comedic content that adorned the walls. They were a treasure chest of history and have been described as a “museum of local sports and culture.”
It seems everyone has a Tugboat memory of some kind. I met a woman recently who came to town and was told to go to The Tugboat for free beer on her birthday, only to discover the name of the band that night was Free Beer. Back in 2001, former Tugboat bartender, Mike Coy, stopped at the Tugboat for a beer before going home to sleep off a gnarly crash on his snowboard that left him sore and bruised. He bellied up next to Julian, a friend and EMT, and recapped his day on the slopes, crash and all. Julian quickly assessed the situation and sent Coy to the ER. Upon arrival, he was rushed into surgery for what turned out to be much more serious than the broken ribs he thought the injury might be. He had burst his spleen in the crash and, had he gone home and laid down, he would not have woken up. One could argue the lure of the Tugboat saved his life that day. Okay, maybe that’s a stretch, but we’re gonna roll with it because it’s very possible The Tugboat saved some lives.
Candice Jones remembers “Meeting my now husband, then walking from Cornice Rd on lovely, snowy nights, hand in hand, for a night cap and listening to great local bands. “I have fond memories of the Tugboat. . . The Lambs were and are awesome. The memories are emblazoned with warmth and a strong heart.” Another says “It was “THE Place” to be. It was festive and fun and where everyone went. I made lifelong friends there. We had an absolute blast” Larry Lamb says the Tugboat was more than a structure, “It was the history of the customers and employees and the mountain.” When asked if he had a favorite moment, he replied “Every single day was a favorite moment.” He may not be lying, but his 40th Birthday party where he bungee jumped out of a hot air balloon with his bundled up wife and several bikini clad Budweiser Girls might top the list of extra favorite moments.
The Tugboat attracted types from all over. It drew in diverse demographics with different bands playing all kinds of music and kept them there with good food, booze, interesting company and a “what’s going to happen next” vibe. No one could have anticipated the guy who, after being thrown out of the bar by Big Kid, would launch himself full speed through a plate glass window behind the stage while the band was playing. In true Tugboat fashion, the band did not miss a beat and kept on playing with the lead singer casually leaning into the mic to say, “Big Kid, you may wanna call the cops.”
Opening the restaurant the day after Mardi Gras, employees were greeted with bras, bras and more bras hanging from every possible spot. Water Wars between Tugboat staff and the neighboring Dos Amigos staff kept everyone on their toes and made work more exciting.
I’m told the sign of a true Tugboatian was being caught dancing in one’s ski boots at 12am. “Everyone did it at some point. The mountain to apres ski to The Tugboat without taking off your ski boots.” The booze would flow, the band would start playing, the ski boot dancing would commence and, as one past-patron asked in a 2013 Steamboat Pilot article, “How many times did a tipsy dancer fall into the drum set during yet another rendition of Rocky Top?”
While we may never know how many ski boot clad patrons took tumbles on the dance floor or if there truly was a skydiving gorilla, one thing remains certain: the Tugboat was a pillar of the Steamboat Springs community. It was not only a place of debauchery or a pit stop on the way home from a long day in the Champagne Powder. It was a family to many, with open arms welcoming every celebrity, ski bum, tourist, and anyone else that crossed the threshold of its thick wooden doors. The Tugboat is much more than a memory for those whose lives it touched, and while the stories may not all be clear, the feelings they evoke will never be forgotten.
Continue Reading Part Two of The Legends and Lore of the Tugboat
For more stories about the history and impact of The Tugboat, listen to our Common Folk in the Boat podcast, presented by Billo Premium Cannabis, featuring Larry Lamb.
