Last week I went on an East Side writing trip, to the front of the mountains between Rogers Pass and Swift Dam. I’ve always liked that country, starting with family hunting and camping trips when we lived at Malmstrom Air Force Base.
But the real deal was sealed for me when I worked harvest in the Golden Triangle in the early 1980s. One example: Picture yourself covered in grain dust, parched and starving, attacking a big spread on a red checkered tablecloth held down with rocks. The machines are all silent, and the ongoing debate over rock-and-roll versus country has reached temporary stalemate.
We’re alone with our thoughts yet together as the sky becomes a massive vault of orange, red and blue. We silently nurse dessert as an excuse to watch the sun tuck behind the far mountains as the wind stills. Then, on the remaining zephyr, just a kiss now, comes a whiff of pine.
That was the finest supper I ever had in my whole life, no reservations necessary. Best of all, I got to share it.
I guess you could say a connection was made. It’s a connection I try to keep, not just with a wonderful landscape, but more importantly with some wonderful people. So every chance I get, every excuse, I hit the dirt for more Montana treasure.
We’ve all heard the blather about having a “society to match the scenery” or a “sense of place” – usually from people talking in the abstract because they’ve never grasped the reality.
This time of year, Montana is nothing but green grass and a crystal sky, just like you see in the tourist brochures and coffee-table picture books. But in three months, it’ll be so hot and dry you can get a steak dinner just by opening your mouth and chewing the mosquitoes that swarm in. In six months, it’ll be 32 below, the road gumbo under ice, and the cows need fed. Then it starts all over again with the first free water in the spring, season after year after decade.
Folks who spend a lifetime doing that develop a rather substantial sense of place and match their “scenery” just fine, thanks. They’re just as much a part of Montana as the rocks, trees, wildlife and sky, and worth getting to know.
So, now that you’re just itching to score some of Montana’s real treasure for yourself, here’s some suggestions for a safe and productive trip:
First, when parking outside of town, always park into the wind, or at least sideways. You’ll understand why the first time you don’t.
Second, keep at least one hand on the steering wheel above the dash and be ready to wave. If you’re too busy to wave, maybe you need to back off the throttle a little.
Third, there’s no such thing as fast food. Real, yes. Fast, no. For locals, going to town to eat out is a special occasion to be indulged in. Relax, indulge them, and yourself.
Fourth, the further you are from pavement, the nosier people get. Let them be nosy. In many parts of Montana, east and west, time spent jawboning is never, ever wasted.
Fifth, the best tour guides don’t charge you a cent. My late friend, Denver Post columnist Ed Quillen, understood this, writing that he preferred exploring places where folks care nothing for what is in your wallet – they’re just glad for your company.
Sixth, be ready to rough it. Not every town has a motel, and even if there is a motel, it’s probably not rated in the Michelin guidebook.
Seventh, forget scheduling. Just go. Aim yourself at whatever looks most interesting, and see what comes at you. If you skip something because you are “behind schedule” – you probably won’t get a second chance.
Last, but certainly not least, travel prepared. Take excellent maps, roll on prime rubber with spares, bring tools, water and food. If you break, get stuck or just do something stupid, odds are someone will be along to help. Or not. Be ready for not.