Our Week in Montana

“As the moon lingers a moment over the bitterroots, before its descent into the invisible, my mind is filled with song. I find I am humming softly; not to the music, but something else; some place else; a place remembered; a field of grass where no one seemed to have been; except a deer.” — Norman McLean from A River Runs Through It.

Montana has a rugged and restless romantic draw. The wild openness, the big sky, the harshness of winter, the wide rivers tumbling over rocks, the rolling golden hills and the almost surreal high reaching rocky crags of its mountains stretching towards that big sky.

On our westbound trip back to Colorado, we detoured northward and into western Montana for a family reunion and a week in her warm embrace.

Bozeman. We began in Bozeman: a good choice. Bozeman reminds me of two other cities I’ve loved. I fell in love with Burlington Vermont in the 1980s. I loved its waterfront (though that came later, as it was revitalized), its downtown pedestrian mall Church Street, its bars and restaurants and its laid-back vibe. Later, in the early 2000s, I fell in love with Denver Colorado for its diverse neighborhoods, classic old Denver square and larger Victorian era homes, small neighborhood retail and restaurant areas, and its western appeal. In Bozeman, I felt a similar draw.

The presence of Montana State University gives it a youthful energy, its Main Street offers many bars, restaurants, galleries and shops and its charming neighborhoods reminded me of what I first loved about Denver and of Colorado: the unique ruggedness and individualism of the American west.

While we didn’t do much but walk around Main Street and the college campus, do a little shopping, and take the “College M Trail” up to the Montana State “M” on the hillside, we just felt at home among the friendly people, their well landscaped and maintained homes and the merchants of Main Street.

Bozeman’s College M Trail. There are several options to make your ascent. The longest, and easiest path, winds up the hill over a 1.5 mile mostly wide path at a relatively moderate slope. The shorter options cut straight up the hill at a much steeper incline. Wanting more steps, I chose the long way. It was a weekday morning, yet I was not alone, but I was alone in being the only one without a dog, or nearly so. The path provides great views of Bozeman and the surrounding hills and was well worth it.

Then, it was off to the north: to Flathead Lake.

Gallicano’s Pizzeria in Anaconda. We stopped en route to visit an old college friend and former co-worker in Butte and then visit her pizzeria in Anaconda where her husband made us delicious New York style pizza in the heart of Montana. In these old western towns which have the feel, to this day, that the cavalry might ride in at any moment, the small businesses keep them vibrant and alive and Gallicano’s Pizzeria in downtown Anaconda is one of those places. It was busy on a Tuesday afternoon and for good reason. If you’re in Anaconda, stop in for a slice and tell Billy we said hi.

Flathead Lake. Melissa used to come here often and stay at a friend’s house on the lake. She’s been wanting to return for years. And while I’ve driven past and around it on my way to Glacier Park from Missoula 30 years ago (yikes, 30 years) I’d never stayed on the lake. So, this was a new experience for me.

In the evening, the sun slowly set across the lake and cast muted soft, wildfire smoke enhanced hues of red, pink, orange and blue. In the afternoon, boaters and water skiers skim its surface. And in the early morning, its calm waters lap against the rocky shores with a pleasant silence and solitude as a few fishing boats punctuate your view.

It was here we chose for the reunion. A rustic but comfortable cabin above the lake housed the lot of us, a pack of ten, for nearly a week.

Before the full family arrived, we made it out to a dinner at East Shore Smoke House where the Lithuanian waitstaff served up delicious barbecue and the locals inside “entertained” us with terrible, but enthusiastically delivered, karaoke.

Glacier Park and Whitefish. Then the next day it was off the Whitefish for lunch and a shortish drive on part of the Glacier National Park’s “Road to the Sun” which winds between majestic, steep craggy peaks and alongside the Flathead River and Lake MacDonald. We didn’t climb up the steep and winding alpine road, turning before it got too high as we hadn’t reserved a spot and couldn’t enter until after 3pm, but did stop off at the MacDonald Lodge, built in 1914, on Lake Macdonald.

On the way home, we visited The Raven bar and grill, a lakeside tavern and local institution just north of Big Fork.

Most of our time on Flathead, though, was spent enjoying the company of extended family playing games and guitar, floating on stand-up paddle boards and kayaks, diving off the dock and swimming when the late summer sun had warmed our bodies, and a cold refresh was needed. Nights were spent cooking large meals, making s’mores and cementing lost bonds and making new ones. It was a great beginning of a new biennial (we hope) family tradition.