Joe Peak remembers the first time he walked into the Snakepit. A jewel-bedecked woman tended the bar. Paintings and posters and Western memorabilia covered the walls and hung from the ceiling. Smoke filled the air. It was January 1978, “The bar was three deep with loggers and miners,” Peak said. “It was surreal, it really was. A pretty rowdy bunch.” Weeks later, he owned the place. But for the first time in forever, the future of the Snakepit, est. 1880, is in doubt.
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