“Service at Sam’s … a breeze and a pleasure,” the Snowmass Villager wrote on Feb. 27, 1969. “Nine-thirty a.m., bacon sizzling on the grill, the cook cheerfully frying eggs over-easy, cut grapefruit, steaming coffee, fresh orange juice: perfectly ordinary restaurant events except that the manager and his wife (the Wirths) arrived at 7 a.m. in a snow-cat; the customers have to don skis to get there and the place is perched on a mountain called Sam’s Knob, 10,000 feet up.”