Big Sky Journal Summer 2024

Vintage Bikes on Montana’s Backroads

The OTO: Montana’s

Oldest Dude Ranch

Antler Madness

Of A Place: Pianist

George Winston

SUMMER 2024

LIFESTYLE IN THE NORTHERN ROCKIES

Exclusive brokerage for Moonlight Basin, Spanish Peaks Mountain Club, Montage Residences Big Sky, and One&Only Moonlight Basin.

PHOTOS BY: GIBEON PHOTOGRAPHY

photo by Jim Westphalen

ISLAND DAYTON, MONTANA

With 348± acres and three miles of shoreline, Cromwell Island is the largest private island in freshwater west of the Mississippi owned by a single party. Includes a 45,000± square foot Frenchinspired villa and a five slip boat dock.

$72,000,000

GREY WOLF LODGE

SEELEY LAKE, MONTANA

229± acres substantially surrounded by Lolo National Forest. Lodge facility with two commercial kitchens and bar, plus several additional residences. Ideal for hosting events, gatherings, or short-term rentals. Full liquor license available.

$9,000,000

SITKA RANCH EMIGRANT, MONTANA

Located in Paradise Valley, this 2,971± acre ranch has a beautiful, remodeled owner’s residence, cattle facilities, outstanding wildlife, borders national forest, and has a location that is second to none with world-class fishing nearby.

$26,500,000

FIDDLE CREEK LIVINGSTON, MONTANA

Scenic Shields Valley, 593± acres traversed by Fiddle Creek. Abundant water rights for two Valley pivots and 414± total irrigated acres. Beautiful building sites with sweeping views just 15 minutes from Livingston.

$4,900,000

Situated in the foothills of the Sapphire Range, the 4,667± acre Bitterroot Mountain Retreat provides world-class accommodation in a mountaintop setting with some of the best elk and mule deer habitats in western Montana.

$16,250,000

BEARTOOTH FOOTHILLS RANCH NYE, MONTANA

686± acre mountain ranch near Nye with a mile of USFS border. The ranch consists of 135± acres of hay meadows and the balance is foothills pasture, live water, and timber creating high-quality ranching and wildlife habitat.

$3,900,000

CROMWELL

BITTERROOT MOUNTAIN RETREAT CORVALLIS, MONTANA

210 MOON SHADOW DRIVE

Luxury living meets Montana’s breathtaking beauty in the prestigious Springhill Reserve neighborhood. This offering, comprising nearly two acres of elevated property amidst the majestic panoramas of the Bridger Mountains and a fabulous 4100+/-sf home with separate shop space will inspire the most discerning home buyer. $3,198,000.

DOWNTOWN NEBO LOFT

This modern interpretation of the urban row house in the heart of downtown Bozeman offers a wonderful location with stylish, contemporary finishes. Enjoy all of the charm and amenities of historic Bozeman from this beautifully appointed home that sits one block from Main St. Snuggle up in the second story living area with fireplace or enjoy a meal in the large chef’s kitchen. 3 bedrooms, 3.5 bathrooms, attached two car garage.

$1,379,000

LOT 30, WINTER LANE

Comprising 17 acres of pristine forest, live water, and meadow backing to US Forest Service and Cross Cut Nordic Ski Area, this gated estate lot in the prestigious Bridger Park community represents simply the finest northern Rockies land offering of it’s kind.

$3,647,700.

20 ACRES, LOVE LANE AND DURSTON ROAD

Adjacent to the legendary Black Bull Golf Club lies a remarkable 20-acre parcel offering spectacular views, a gentle elevation change, and a meandering creek. Zoned for Mixed Use, this property presents an unparalleled opportunity for creative developers or the visionary looking to build a showpiece estate.

$3,900,000.

3116 SOURDOUGH ROAD

This truly spectacular, fenced and gated 1.2 acre estate boasts an incredible hillside location with sweeping views just 5 minutes from downtown Bozeman. The custom craftsman home is enhanced with distinct European accents and is surrounded by inspired outdoor spaces. The uniquely elegant floor plan offers 4 bedrooms, 3.5 baths and a gym or library off the master bedroom. $2,689,000.

BOZEMAN | BIG SKY | JACKSON | GRAND JUNCTION | SALT LAKE CITY

Summer

FEATURES

88 TOUR DE FLATHEAD

On vintage bicycles, and with a flair for both style and the absurd, throwback riders bring touches of Tuscany and the French Alps to dusty northwest Montana

Written by Andrew McKean

P hotography by Nick VanHorn

100 THE OVERLOOKED SECOND CHAPTER

The Libbey years at the OTO, Montana’s oldest dude ranch

Written by Jeff Moore

112 CATALOGING THE UNTRAMMELED

The Great Bear Wilderness of Montana

Written by Michael Garrigan

124 WIDE-EYED WONDER

Missoula’s Butterfly House & Insectarium spreads its wings

Written by Sneed B. Collard III

P hotography by Tiffany Folkes

136 ANTLER MADNESS

Searching for the ineffable near Wyoming’s National Elk Refuge

Written by David Zoby

P hotography by Natalie Behring

148 THE LOOKOUT CAT

Finding belonging within the forest

Written by Austin Hagwood

I llustrations by Carol Ann Morris

154 A LIFE AND JOURNEY SUCH AS THIS Pianist George Winston and the music he made

Written by Rick Bass

COVER: Going-to-the-Sun Road in Glacier National Park, photo by Zack Clothier THIS PAGE: Yellowstone National Park, photo by Dave Shumway

DEPARTMENTS

44 Dining Out

Heart and Soul: Hops Downtown Grill in Kalispell, Montana

serves up passionate flavor brought about with fresh local ingredients and consistent preparation

Written by Christine Phillips

Photography by Aaron Agosto

48 Images of the West

The Right Time and Place: Capturing the aurora borealis in Yellowstone National Park

Written & Photographed by Daniel J. Cox 54 Western Design

Sight Lines: A couple positions their new Montana home on Lake Blaine to align with natural wonders outside and in

Written by David Masello

Photography by Karl Neumann

62 Outside

Taking Aim in the West: An essay on place

Written by Al Nyhart

68 Artist of the West

Ancestral Ties: Reestablishing a connection to nature with artist John Potter

Written by Halina Loft 74 Local Knowledge

Cowboy Ethics: Montana longhorns play a role in one ranch’s regenerative vision

Written by Brian Birdwell

Photography by Kyle Stansbury

History

Roosevelt’s Flask: And some good advice from a friend

Written by Dan Aadland 176 Back 40 Driving the Backroads of Montana

Written by Charles Finn

FROM TOP: From “Images of the West,” photo by Natural Exposures/Daniel J. Cox; from “Western Design,” photo by Karl Neumann; from “Local Knowledge,” photo by Kyle Stansbury.

Our passion is helping travelers discover new adventures.

As Big Sky’s largest locally owned vacation rental company, we help thousands of travelers every year experience big-time adventure with a small-town touch. Featuring a wide selection of high-end properties and the most personalized service in the area, we ensure each guest experience is free of hassle and full of memories. Give us a call or visit our website today and discover a better way to vacation.

406-995-2299

info@twopines.com

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Volume XXXI, Number 3

Josh Warren publisher | advertising director

Jessianne Castle editor in chief

Jessica Byerly associate editor

Jeanine Miller art director

Elaine Leonardi Dixon advertising design

Christine Rogel copy editor

Jared D. Swanson advertising sales

Clayton Humphries advertising sales

Owen Raisch office manager | accounting | advertising sales

field editors

Rick Bass, Marc Beaudin, John Clayton, Michele Corriel, Seabring Davis, Jeff Erickson, Chase Reynolds Ewald, Andrew McKean, Melissa Mylchreest, Aaron Parrett, E . Donnall Thomas Jr., Carter Walker

field photographers

Lynn Donaldson, Gibeon Photography, Audrey Hall, Craig Hergert, John Juracek, Whitney Kamman, Heidi Long, Melanie Maganias, Karl Neumann, Janie Osborne, Erik Petersen, Ryan Turner

artists / illustrators

Jesse Greenwood, Jason King, Parks Reece, Fred Thomas, Bob White

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Carol will be participating in the Artist Workshop Weekend at the award-winning, world-class Triple Creek Ranch in Darby, Montana, October 24-28, 2024.

She will be instructing in oil painting along with artists Greg Kelsey (sculpture) and Shalese Sands (graphite and scratchboard). Reservations are required for this one-of-a-kind western art experience set in the heart of Montana’s Bitterroot Mountain Range. For more information on this Signature Event and space availability: triplecreekranch.com Charter Member

carolhaganstudios.com | chs@carolhaganstudios.com | 406-860-7532

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| JESSIANNE CASTLE

On a Delicate Day

DURING SUMMER AFTERNOONS in the Northern Rockies, it’s nearly impossible not to ponder what writer Rick Bass calls “the power of spaciousness.” Cumulus clouds shift within a cerulean sky, their shapes illuminated by gentle rays of sunshine, casting darkened shadows on the ground. Somewhere, a t hunderhead gathers, swells, and forebodes, but for now, those gossamer clouds soar, propelled by a breeze that still knows winter’s touch as it slides over snow-capped mountain peaks.

On a day like this, blades of grass made tall and wide by cloudless skies are already amassing, practicing the united sway that will become an amber wave by August. Here, in a place so defined by the four seasons, the moments of yesterday are clearly woven into the presence of today. Snow melts into rivers that nourish the roots of trees where birds and all manners of life take refuge — grow, become — before moving on with the season’s shift. These, as Bass describes in “A Life and Journey Such as This” (p. 154), are the “delicate days that exist between the four seasons,” the interludes between the goodbyes and anticipations.

A cloud obscures the sun, and a gentle shadow moves across the meadow. The change of light is nearly indiscernible but the brightening that comes in the cloud’s absence, as its shadow passes on to blanket the trees downwind, alights my skin in a euphoric glow. It’s a momentary opening up, a beckoning and becoming rush of all that’s beloved of the summer season.

In this issue, many writers explore what it means to be in and of a place. What does it mean to exit in a moment? What does it mean to belong? What do you hang onto, and what do you leave behind? These storytellers draw from the nostalgia of old photographs, reminisces of an earlier era, handwritten letters. They observe. They listen. They feel.

A lingering break in the clouds, and the grass is illuminated, brilliant in its youth. Somewhere, a bee buzzes in the calm until its hum becomes the whisper of the wind as it, once again, propels the clouds across the blanket of blue sky.

ZACK CLOTHIER

Nestled within one of the last undeveloped sites in historic Bozeman, BG Mill is situated a mere block away from Main Street. A masterful creation by architect Larry Pearson, this development consists of only nineteen residences. Discover a world of luxury behind the floor-toceiling windows, boasting open floor plans that seamlessly integrate kitchens, wet bars, and living areas with gas fireplaces. BG Mill elevates the standard of living with building concierge services, offering 24-hour support, car shuttle service, cleaning, maintenance, outfitter rental, and an array of amenities. Residents enjoy access to a modern gym, an entry lobby, an interior parking garage, private lockers, and individual storage spaces. For elevated entertainment, a 4,000-square-foot rooftop terrace with a fully equipped kitchen awaits, providing a luxurious backdrop for social gatherings.

CAMAS CREEK CATTLE & SHEEP COMPANY

With 36,621± total acres, over 2,000 irrigated acres, and capacity for 1,800± animal units, this unique production ranch is situated at the headwaters of the famed Smith River. This perfect blend of agriculture and recreation represents the pinnacle of Montana ranch ownership. Change of Ownership for First Time in Over a Century

CRAZY P RANCH

With lush fields attracting abundant wildlife, and panoramic views of the Big Horn Mountains, the 1,749± total acres with 1,429± deeded, feature an exquisite main home and equestrian facilities. With its stunning scenery and abundant outdoor activities, Crazy P Ranch represents a rare luxury investment.

BAR MZ RANCH

$12,250,000

The stunning 1,800± acres offer a serene ambiance with a majestic 100-year-old barn, expansive meadows, year-round creek, and natural springs. This perfect combination of tranquility and recreation makes it an ideal retreat for those seeking a harmonious blend of nature and history. Stunning Historic Montana Ranch

MCGUIRE SPRING CREEK RANCH

Nestled in a private valley, this ranch is ideal for recreation, a small ranching operation, or an executive retreat. Spring Creek feeds a trout-filled reservoir and meanders for 3+ miles through the lush meadows. Abundant ranching, hunting, and fishing opportunities. Under two hours to Bozeman.

Ranching, Recreation or Retreat

BEAVERHEAD ROCK SANCTUARY

This pristine sanctuary with live water, mature trees, and immaculate improvements offers access to notable fishing, abundant year-round wildlife, and a breathtaking setting with native landscaping and spectacular gardens. Ready for immediate occupancy by the next fortunate owners.

Exceptional Riverfront Improvements

FIVE POINTS RANCH

This 523± acre undeveloped gem offers abundant, early priority water rights as well as incredible development potential with highway frontage. Or build your dream home in one of many private and stunning building sites. With a blend of accessibility and seclusion, the diverse topography offers prime habitat for a myriad of wildlife.

Prime Location & Excellent Water Rights

STILLWATER VALLEY OVERLOOK

This stunning Montana property is privately situated on 20± acres with panoramic views of the Stillwater River Valley and Beartooth Mountains. The meticulously crafted custom log home featuring luxurious interiors and multiple mountain-view decks, blends seamlessly with its natural surroundings.

Privacy, Views & Mountain Luxury

Round Up

NEWS AND EVENTS FROM AROUND THE NORTHERN ROCKIES

Bozeman’s Ambassador to the World

Dancer Julian MacKay returns to his home state for the Yellowstone International Arts Festival

WRITTEN BY CLAYTON TRUTOR

FOR MORE THAN a decade, Julian MacKay, now 26 years old, has been Big Sky Country’s de facto cultural envoy to the world, hustling his way into the most storied spaces of dance. His vocation has taken him across Europe a nd Asia, as well as North and South America. He’s achieved prestigious accolades: He is the first American to graduate from the lower and upper schools of Moscow’s Bolshoi Ballet Academy, now in its 250th year. >

Julian MacKay and Anastasia Smirnova dance in an outdoor performance during last year’s Yellowstone International Arts Festival along the banks of the Yellowstone River in Paradise Valley.

He was the first American soloist at St. Petersburg’s Mikhailovsky Ballet. In 2015, he won the Prix de Lausanne in Switzerland, the world’s most significant competition for aspiring professional ballet performers. In 2016, he became the Royal Ballet of London’s youngest featured performer.

On July 21, MacKay will perform in his home state of Montana alongside his three siblings, ballerinas Maria Sascha Khan and Nadia Khan, and Russian-trained dancer Nicholas MacKay. This performance, known as Stars on the Yellowstone, is a part of the Yellowstone International Arts Festival, which is produced by MacKay’s mother, Teresa Khan MacKay, and is held outdoors along the banks of the Yellowstone River, north of Gardiner, Montana.

MacKay’s dancing is a golden mean of athleticism, artistry, and emotion. He adds refreshing expressiveness to a craft that sometimes seems cold and calculating. “Coming from Montana and falling in love with classical ballet is not something that happens that often,” MacKay says, speaking after a full day of training at the Bavarian State Ballet in Munich, Germany, where he has been the principal dancer since 2022.

Training lasts from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m., six days a week. It is physically and mentally taxing. But he remains strikingly pleasant, thoughtful, and composed.

No matter where he goes, the Big Sky side of MacKay is present in his mind and heart. “Knowing who you are and where you’re from gives you strength to go to new places and do new things,” MacKay says. “It helps keep me grounded.”

As a child growing up in Bozeman, Montana, MacKay played soccer and Little League baseball. He tried tennis and fencing but found his passion in ballet, as did his younger brother. Their two older sisters were well on their way in careers as prima ballerinas by the time the boys caught the dance bug. “I started dancing because of my sisters,” MacKay says, adding that he spent his preschool years imitating their moves in the driveway. “I wanted to see what that world was for myself.” The stunning leaps performed by male dancers particularly inspired him.

M acKay admits that dance didn’t come naturally to him, so he pursued it with great vigor to s ucceed. That desire to perfect his craft continues

FROM LEFT: Julian MacKay currently trains six days a week at the Bavarian State Ballet in Munich, Germany. • Montana-born Julian MacKay, who began training at the Bolshoi Ballet Academy in Moscow at 11 years old, stands for a portrait in his home state.

to inform his vocation. “I learned a lot from my dad [Gregory MacKay] about hard work,” MacKay says, crediting his father for imparting a strong sense of determination in him.

At just 11 years old, MacKay was invited to the Bolshoi Ballet Academy in Moscow, and soon his brother joined him. The t eachers were exacting and demanding but that suited MacKay’s personality. “I am very grateful for all the people along t he way that have made this a good experience,” he says, citing as disparate influences as the Russian grandmothers who told him to wear a winter hat to keep from catching cold to Loren Bough, the Big Sky-based real estate developer who served as a patron to both MacKays during their time in Moscow. While Russian students attended the state-run school for free, foreigners faced a steep tuition bill. For MacKay and Nicholas’ f irst two years, the family footed the bill and relied heavily on Gregory’s frequent-flier miles to transport the boys back and forth from Russia. Then, Bough stepped in, ensuring that the MacKay brothers could complete their training.

In all, MacKay spent six years at the academy before launching his international career as a professional dancer. In addi-

tion to his work on the stage, he has partnered with Nicholas to l aunch MacKay Productions, a Montana-based multimedia production company focused on fashion and dance, with clients like Armani and Victoria’s Secret.

A capstone, of sorts, to MacKay’s international travels, his return to Montana each year is a tender opportunity to perform with his family in an intimate, outdoor setting. “We have this beautiful big sky that gives this feeling of endless opportunities,” MacKay says.

Teresa, executive director of the Yellowstone International Festival, notes that each of her children has their own s trengths, interests, and approaches to dance, but together, they share a unique language and set of experiences, which makes the night on the Yellowstone River a particularly powerful event that is radically expanding the cultural offerings in t he Bozeman area. It’s one not to be missed.

For more information about the Yellowstone International Arts Festival or to purchase tickets for Stars on the Yellowstone , visit yellowstoneinternationalartsfestival.org.

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Hopa Mountain

Nurturing citizen leaders and fostering hope in rural and tribal communities

WRITTEN BY JESSICA BYERLY

FOR THE PAST 20 years, Hopa Mountain has cultivated social, economic, and educational resilience in rural and tribal communities throughout the Northern Rockies. The Bozeman, Montana-based organization invests in “citizen leaders” — adults and youth active in developing their respective communities — to support historically underserved populations. In turn, these leaders return to their communities with innovative outreach programs, improved services, essential resources, and education.

Here, Hopa Mountain co-founder and executive director Bonnie Sachatello-Sawyer shares the vision that inspired the nonprofit’s success and the hope that drives all that lies ahead.

BIG SKY JOURNAL: Tell us a little about the history of Hopa Mountain.

BONNIE SACHATELLO-SAWYER: “Hopa” is the Old English word for “hope” and, at its foundation, Hopa Mountain has an unwavering conviction that hope is a fundamental prerequisite for positive change.

Founded in 2004, Hopa Mountain invests in rural and tribal citizen leaders who provide that fundamental hope by improving their communities. Citizen leaders step forward when they recognize that their community needs help. When we offer these leaders training, mentoring, networking opportunities, and financial resources, Hopa Mountain advances the health and well-being of the entire community. Sustained community improvements lie in the strength, innate wisdom, and creativity of local people — in their relationships with each other and with the land — they know their communities’ needs and, thus, have the most plausible and practical solutions.

All of our initiatives are generational, long-haul investments in rural and tribal local leaders. They are designed to support citizen leadership and civic engagement. Today, 20 years since Hopa’s inception, this support is particularly timely and necessary as these leaders work tirelessly to provide essential services, such as food, healthcare, and family educational resources.

FROM LEFT: Students gather important information, get questions answered, and orient themselves to campus life during a college prep retreat at Montana State University in Bozeman. • Hopa Mountain’s Medical Mentorship and Health Scholar of Promise programs provide a range of support services to students pursuing careers throughout the healthcare industry and related fields.

BSJ: What are “citizen leaders,” and how do they factor into Hopa Mountain’s mission?

SACHATELLO-SAWYER: Citizen leaders are active community members to whom others naturally turn for help. There is a growing recognition of the importance of citizen leaders in underserved communities, many of which are home to ethnic and racial minority groups historically marginalized from institutionalized education, leadership roles, and cultural, environmental, and healthcare systems.

Essentially, citizen leaders are the frontline and the future. Hopa Mountain currently serves 16,000 people each year through mentorship and leadership programs — including Strengthening the Circle, Scholars of Promise, and the Medical Mentorship Program, among others — that invest in both established and evolving leaders as they prepare to succeed in college and serve their communities.

In response to COVID, Hopa Mountain reorganized all of its programs to invest in the immediate needs of rural and tribal nonprofits, food pantries, and clinics. Launching Local Food for Local Families expanded access to healthy Montana-grown food through food hubs and pantries, helping to meet the needs of rural and tribal families.

Together with our project partners, we are working to implement a range of support services to fill in gaps in our food-system infrastructure and support the health and wellbeing of regional families. Approximately 1 in 10 Montanans struggle with hunger, and nearly 37,000 children live in food-

Offered in partnership with the Washington, Wyoming, Alaska, Montana, and Idaho (WWAMI) Regional Medical Education Program, Hopa’s Medical Mentorship Program provides minority undergraduate students pursuing a career in the field of medicine with mentorship support.

COURTESY OF HOPA MOUNTAIN

insecure homes. And while Montana produces substantial volumes of locally grown food, half of Montana’s 56 counties include food deserts — areas where at least 500 people, or 33 percent of the residents, must travel more than 10 miles to the nearest supermarket.

BSJ: How have Hopa Mountain’s foundational programs impacted the communities they serve?

SACHATELLO-SAWYER: Hopa Mountain’s goal is to contribute to the health and vitality of rural and tribal communities across the Northern Rockies and Great Plains. By encouraging citizen leaders’ ideas using strength-based approaches to individual and community change — and linking them to additional resources, including regional and national networks — we are enlarging their bases of support while contributing to the long-term vitality of their respective communities through reduced poverty, access to healthy food, improved economic conditions, and increased graduation rates

All of Hopa Mountain’s core programs are generational, collaborative efforts. For more than 18 years, Strengthening the Circle has helped build the capacity of experienced and emerging Native-led nonprofit organizations working to improve economic development, education, and social services on or near reservations through coordination with key program partners, including Seventh Generation Fund, Generations Indigenous Ways, Artemisia Associates, and WolfStar Productions.

Hopa Mountain’s Scholars of Promise partners students, parents, school counselors, administrators, college support staff, and

generous funders to match scholars with the colleges for which they are best suited. Working together with rural and tribal communities, we help young people successfully prepare for college while building a network between them, their parents, appropriate mentors, and higher education institutions.

Mission West Community Development Partners, Western Montana Growers Cooperative, Livingston Food Resource Center, Community Food and Agriculture Coalition, and the Montana Food Bank Network are all engaged with us in the Local Food for Local Families initiative. By working together, we build upon our distinct organizational strengths, increase efficiencies, improve local food security, and expand market opportunities to realize a Montana-focused food system that benefits local growers, producers, businesses, and families.

BSJ: What do you envision for Hopa Mountain’s growth and impact over the next 20 years, and how can people get involved in realizing that vision?

SACHATELLO-SAWYER: Over the past two decades, Hopa Mountain’s board and staff have made significant progress with our short-term goals, which involve training rural and tribal citizen leaders and organizing gatherings in support of Native nonprofits, food security, and youth development. Additionally, staff has worked to increase the number of resources available to regional Native nonprofits and leaders’ access to regional networks and funding resources.

The longer-term goals of improving access to quality community education, increasing food security and economic resources to decrease high poverty rates, and improving overall health and well-being are still to be realized. These generational goals require extended education and support to fundamentally restructure opportunities in rural and tribal communities.

We want to encourage people everywhere to think critically about our region and the growing economic and educational inequalities. We want to encourage everyone across the Northern Rockies region to actively engage in community vitality initiatives, to work for a better future for all.

For more information about Hopa Mountain’s programming, or to support its important work throughout the region, visit hopamountain.org.

Through support programming geared toward both individuals and organizations, Hopa Mountain invests in rural and tribal citizen leaders who are improving education, ecological health, and economic development in their communities and beyond.

COURTESY

A Reflection on Rivers

Expressionist Ben Miller’s fly-rod art comes to Bozeman

WRITTEN BY BSJ STAFF

THIS SUMMER, ARTIST Ben Miller’s abstract works will be on display at the newly opened Oxbow Gallery in Bozeman, Montana. Curated by Gary Snyder Fine Art, Endangered Rivers features Miller’s paintings of important waterways in the U.S., including four rivers in Montana’s Jefferson Basin, Montana’s Gallatin River, and the more urban Chicago, Hudson, a nd Hackensack rivers.

Miller, known for depicting bodies of water on transparent plexiglass with the stroke of a fly rod, works in partnership with water stewardship organizations like Riverkeeper, Save Wild Trout, and the Gallatin River Task Force to produce many of his works. These collaborations elevate efforts to conserve life-giving waterways.

According to a press release from Gary Snyder Fine Art, “Miller’s Endangered Rivers series expresses the idea that small parts of the world can hold our deepest attention and that by looking closely, we heighten awareness of our environment.”

Sometimes compared to Cody, Wyoming-born abstract expressionist Jackson Pollock, Miller works in the tradition of flinging paint and partnering with gravity to create a kind of wildness in his art. In addition to a fly rod, Miller uses what he calls a “fly brush” — absorbent material that he puts on the end of his fly line — which he then casts some 2,000 times to make a 3- by 4-foot painting.

Miller’s work will be displayed at Oxbow Gallery from June 16 to September 29. For more information on the exhibition, visit oxbowgallery.art, benmillerartist.com, or gsfamt.com.

Dragons, Unicorns, & Mermaids: Mythic Creatures

May 24, 2024 – January 5, 2025

Immerse yourself in the origins of legendary beings worldwide, unveiling a mesmerizing showcase of imaginative models, captivating paintings, and rich cultural artifacts. From the mythical Creatures of Water to the majestic Dragons, each section promises a breathtaking adventure. Encounter awe-inspiring, larger-than-life models like the 17-foot dragon and 10-foot unicorn.

Mythic Creatures is organized by the American Museum of Natural History, New York (amnh.org) in collaboration with The Field Museum, Chicago; Canadian Museum of History, Gatineau; Australian National Maritime Museum, Sydney; and Fernbank Museum of Natural History, Atlanta

For more information please scan the QR Code or go to museumoftherockies org/creatures

LEAD SPONSOR: Chris McCloud and Stephanie Dickson Charitable Fund

SIGNATURE SPONSOR: Sheehy Family Foundation –Richard and Denise Sheehy

SUSTAINING SPONSORS: Wellness WORx / Walk-In Chiropractic Hohbach Family Foundation Cole and Abbi Roberston

CONTRIBUTING SPONSOR: In Loving Memory of Liam Prorock

406.994.2251 | 600 W Kagy Blvd | museumoftherockies.org

JON DODSON

Titles for Aficionados

Books inspired by the West

WRITTEN BY BSJ STAFF

Wild Sugar: Seasonal Treats Inspired by the Mountain West

BY LINDSEY JOHNSON WITH CHASE REYNOLDS EWALD

Wild Sugar: Seasonal Treats Inspired by the Mountain West is a welcome addition to the kitchen bookshelf. Artist, interior designer, baker, and photographer Lindsey Johnson of Freedom, Wyoming — a long with writer Chase Reynolds Ewald — shares detailed instructions, decorating tips, and hints so that any home baker can embrace their sweet tooth and indulge in flavor profiles inspired by the mountains, wildlife, and wildflowers of the West. Johnson is known for her inventive wedding cakes and artful baked goods. With more than 50 recipes and additional directions for frostings, fillings, and toppings, her cookbook will help home cooks prepare showcase-worthy cookies, pies, cakes, and sweets, all while savoring Johnson’s stories of inspiration.

$35 | 224 pages | February 2024

Gibbs Smith

Most Trout Don’t Read: Lessons from Time on the Water

WRITTEN BY SCOT BEALER

PHOTOGRAPHY BY LEA FRYE

Fly-fishing instructor and author Scot Bealer and wildlife photographer Lea Frye craft an engaging guide to fly fishing in the Northern Rockies in Most Trout Don’t Read: Lessons from Time on the Water. With often humorous narration, Bealer shares invaluable lessons learned on the water during his multiple decades angling in the West. Currently an instructor for Montana Fish, Wildlife & Parks’ Hooked on Fishing program, Bealer reveals the importance of curiosity, patience, and a keen eye for detail, and readers will learn — with the help of Frye’s illustrative images — the value of spending quality time on the water.

$19.95 | 184 pages | January 2024

Sweetgrass Books

Grizzly 399: The World’s Most Famous Mother Bear

WRITTEN BY TODD WILKINSON

FOREWORD BY ANDERSON COOPER

PHOTOGRAPHY BY THOMAS

D. MANGELSEN

In Grizzly 399: The World’s Most Famous Mother Bear, renowned nature photographer Thomas D. Mangelsen shares a rare glimpse into the d aily life, livelihood, and tribulations of Grizzly 399, the bear he has b een tracking for the last two decades throughout Grand Teton National Park and the surrounding region. Paired with environmental journalist Todd Wilkinson’s speculations on A merican grizzlies’ struggles to successfully navigate ecosystems that are i n constant flux due to issues both political and environmental, this volume is intent on motivating readers to engage in the fight to keep the wild, wild.

$60 | 240 pages | September 2023

Rizzoli

DINING OUT |

CHRISTINE PHILLIPS

Heart and Soul

Hops Downtown Grill in Kalispell, Montana serves up passionate flavor brought about with fresh local ingredients and consistent preparation

PHOTOGRAPHY BY AARON AGOSTO

DROP INTO HOPS Downtown Grill in Kalispell, Montana, and you’ll see a small, chef-owned restaurant that’s big on food, fun, and family. The atmosphere is cozy and welcoming, filled with people celebrating a range of life experiences — first dates, family dinners, birthday celebrations, and in our case, warm respite from a wet bike ride.

The bar is my favorite seat in the house. Six stools wide, with an eclectic mix of old record albums hanging on the wall, it’s a lively and inviting spot guaranteed to spark conversation.

Chef and co-owner Tim Phillips describes Hops as “upscale casual. We do put nice dishes together. Every day is a new challenge, and that’s what I like.”

Indeed, others do, too: Hops has earned a following that has people lined up at the door at 5 p.m. sharp. The small, 48-seat restaurant does not take reservations and fills up fast. And patrons love it for a good reason. Tim, a from-scratch chef who purchased Hops with his wife, Dana, in 2017, puts a lot of heart and soul into doing things differently.

Ask a regular what their favorite item is on the menu, and they’ll probably tell you “the Chef’s Special.” It doesn’t really matter what the Chef’s Special is; people love to experience the unique twists that Tim and his team

FROM TOP: Regulars at Hops Downtown Grill love the unique twists chef Tim Phillips and his team take on the Chef’s Special. Pictured here is one such dish, a rib eye steak brûléed with applewood-smoked blue cheese. • Guests line up outside of Hops in downtown Kalispell, Montana at 5 p.m. sharp.

take. “When it comes to creating the Chef’s Special, I like to consider, ‘What can we do with it? How can we make it different? How can we make it Hops?’” says Tim. “Sometimes, I’ll even ask my regular guests, ‘What would you like me to make?’” Tonight, the Chef’s Special is a rib eye steak brûléed with applewood-smoked blue cheese, served with mashed potatoes and seasonal vegetables. It’s pretty easy to love.

It’s also easy to love the restaurant’s commitment to their family, friends, employees, a nd community. At Hops, everyone is special. “I enjoy making food that other people interpret, that’s outside the box,” Tim says. “But don’t just give me credit, I’m working with my team back there. The success of this restaurant is largely due to my amazing culinary team — both in the front and back of the house. We really are a family.”

Having grown up working in the restaurant industry — starting as a dishwasher and then becoming a large corporation’s food and beverage manager — Tim wanted to take a different approach to running a restaurant. “I don’t see myself as a typical chef,” he says. “I spent the first couple of years working in more of a teacher or mentor role. Today, I’m on the line, cooking side by side with my co-workers. It’s important to me that my chefs share in and apply their passions to the dishes we create. Even if it’s sometimes out of my wheelhouse, I’m willing to give it a try.”

Over the years, Tim and his culinary team have offered their own twists on the Chef’s Special, playing off themes such as Vietnamese n ight and Cinco de Mayo.

Rather than attend culinary school, Tim worked and trained under experienced chefs, starting with his mother. “My mom was an amazing cook,” he says, adding that he went on to study formally under established chefs in New Orleans, Portland, Oregon, and Italy. Tim favors fresh ingredients, quality over quantity, simplicity, and the pleasure of cooking and eating together. “I think I take an Italian approach to cooking,” he says. “But we’re not an Italian restaurant.”

And, as experimental and interpretive as his specials may be, Tim aims for consistency, high

quality, and value for everything on the menu. “In the winter, we cater to our local customers, with an emphasis on hearty, homestyle dishes,” he says. “In the summer, we’ll change up the menu to serve a broader range of guests — both regulars and tourists. Regardless, the focus is on freshness. I want everything to be as fresh as possible.”

Now in its 27th year, Hops was first conceived as a soup restaurant. It later morphed i nto fine dining and then a casual dining restaurant known for having the best burgers and an

•

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP: Chef Phillips particularly enjoys making food that’s open to interpretation, challenging typical approaches and applications. • The elk bratwurst and ale house pretzel appetizer is a favorite among guests.

Now in its 27th year, the restaurant’s decor is an eclectic mix of old and new.

impressive selection of beers and wines. Today, it is all of the above, offering something for everyone. “I wanted to diversify the menu and provide a broader array of fresh, delicious homestyle, home-cooked dishes at different price points. Sure, you can still get a great burger here, but you can also get seafood, pasta, even a crimson lentil and quinoa burger. Plus, we get to have a little fun experimenting. It never gets old. For me, it’s more about balance,” Tim says.

Wild protein is a sweet spot for the Hops culinary team. Be it the elk bratwurst and ale house pretzel appetizer, the elk bolognese lasagna, or the Spring Brook Ranch yak burger — the Hops menu certainly has unique protein offerings. But it also features other appetizing and unexpected dishes, including seared ahi with tempura vegetables, chicken parmesan, and the ever-popular griddled meatloaf. “It’s only five ingredients — including local Montana grass-fed beef and pork — but it’s what we do that makes it special,” Tim says. “We griddle it and top it with a bacontomato jam. And, of course, it’s served with mashed potatoes and gravy. It’s our most popular dish.”

“We make all of our sauces and dressings inhouse,” he adds. “Tomato jams, soups, gravies, fresh vegetables — everything is coming from scratch using traditional recipes that we’ve created.”

Hops’ desserts are equally inventive and appealing. “In the summer months, we offer a house-made mascarpone cheesecake,” says Dana. “And a variety of crème brûlées. Our most popular is Mexican chocolate with ancho pepper, but the kitchen likes to have their fun with it — we’ve even made a Froot Loops flavor before.”

What’s evident, too, both in the food and the service, is the genuine thoughtfulness that goes into every aspect of the restaurant. The Hops family takes pride in serving great food and putting smiles on people’s faces; they t ruly care about their customers.

“Before we bought Hops, the kitchen served burgers with potato chips,” Tim says. “I wanted to serve fries, and some of our guests had a fit. On the other hand, some people really loved the fries. The answer to the conundrum became Sidewinder Fries, a uniquely cut fry that i s crispy on the outside and light and fluffy on the inside — it holds its crunch and seems to keep everyone happy.”

Collaborating with and supporting local producers is also a huge part of the Hops’ approach. The restaurant sources yak from Kalispell’s Spring Brook Ranch, one of North America’s premier Tibetan yak breeders. Farm to Market Pork & Beef, a family-owned butcher in Kalispell, cuts pork chops for them every week. Tim counts on Flathead Fish & Seafood Co. for offerings from the ocean, and Lower Valley Processing Co. supplies the elk and bison. “We use a local beer — Bias Brewing’s Scotch Ale — to make our gravy and caramelized onions,” Tim says. “It’s kind of unexpected.”

The couple even collaborated with the owner of another (no longer operating) restaurant to evolve their seared ahi with tempura vegetables appetizer.

FROM TOP: At Hops, comfort foods reign supreme, including the ever-popular griddled meatloaf topped with bacontomato jam. • Hops, complete with its original apostropheincluding sign, is located on Main Street, in historic downtown Kalispell.

“Originally, that dish was mostly ahi tuna — and it was great,” Dana explains. “But she taught us new techniques that inspired us to take that dish to a new level.” Ceres Bakery, also downtown, makes the restaurant’s bread, and Cravens Coffee supplies a unique blend of coffee beans prepared just for Hops. Dana regularly partners with Brix Bottleshop, the beer and wine store next door, when selecting spirits for the menu.

Originally from Oregon, Dana’s family spent a lot of time venturing to different wineries and pairing wines with food. “We try to get unique offerings of wine and beers — ones that celebrate and spotlight the Northwest — that you can’t just buy in the grocery store,” she says.

The trappings, too, are a beautiful, eclectic mix. Vinyl albums tiled together at the bar lend a classic feel. Blondie, Bowie, Bob Dylan, and B.B. King hang alongside an antique bear mount, a yak skull marked and blessed by a Tibetan shaman, and vintage window panes. “Most of the decor is the same as when we first bought the place,” says Dana. “We changed some of the artwork and background music to better reflect our personal preferences, but we kept many of the elements that are uniquely Hops.”

“The records bring history to the place,” says Tim. “For many, they bring back special memories — I myself have gone to a num-

ber of concerts with the bands featured on the wall. And yes, with the exception of one album, all of the actual records are hanging up there, too.”

One thing they did change was removing the apostrophe from the original name of Hop’s. “We always thought the name Hop’s was in reference to beer hops — given the restaurant’s history for burgers and beers,” says Dana. “A former English major, I couldn’t wrap my head around why there was an apostrophe there.”

It turns out, the original owners named the restaurant after their family’s pet frog, Hop. Hence, the punctuation. “We don’t have a pet frog,” she says, laughing. “So, we opted for just Hops.”

Christine Phillips is a freelance writer based in Whitefish, Montana. She enjoys writing about art, architecture, design, health, and outdoor recreation. When not playing with words and working with her clients, she loves hiking, biking, snowboarding, taking care of her two little dogs, and teaching Pilates.

Aaron Agosto is an editorial, commercial, and fine-art photographer living in Bigfork, Montana. His work focuses on stories and slices of life in the American West.

The Right Time and Place

Capturing the aurora borealis in Yellowstone National Park

AS THE BLUE light of dusk faded to an obsidian black, I gathered my gear. Upon opening the door of my camper van and stepping into the night, coyotes broke the silence and began to sing — or so it’s described by numerous Western authors. I never felt the sound of coyotes was all that melodic. Add their screechy yips to a pitch-dark hike in Yellowstone National Park, and it’s easy to see why the hair on the back of my neck stood on end.

My headlamp pierced the dark, lighting the paved walkway to Castle Geyser. I was on a mission to capture the northern lights dancing above the billowing steam. I chose Castle because it wasn’t all that far of a hike, and the trail ran alongside its southern edge. Setting up on the pathway, looking toward the geyser, I was sure to be pointed north.

All the science was in place to have a spectacular showing. NASA has found that northern lights are dependent on

“magnetic storms that have been triggered by solar activity, such as solar flares (explosions on the sun) or coronal mass ejections (ejected gas bubbles).” Solar storms are known to blast those charged particles into space, where they eventually find their way into the Earth’s atmosphere. It’s hard to believe, but science’s beauty is the ability to unravel the unknown. Equally beautiful is the appearance of streams of reddish or greenish light in the sky — northern lights or aurora borealis.

Four days earlier, I had heard on national news that a solar storm was en route from the sun. Wednesday was supposed to be the day it collided with Earth’s atmosphere and, thus, the day the show would begin. The Geophysical Institute of the University of Alaska Fairbanks’ aurora prediction website confirmed what I heard on the news. The solar storm was so intense that the auroras’ visibility was predicted in the Northern U.S., an event not overly common. I’ve done most of my aurora photography in Alaska and northern Canada, so thinking there might be a chance to see them close to my home in Bozeman, Montana was beyond exciting.

I looked toward the north as I made my way down the trail to Castle Geyser. When I got to the geyser, the darkness was dense. My watch read 10:30 p.m. as I set my tripod up and waited. The clock ticked by as Castle Geyser continued to do what it’s been doing for 15,000 years. No significant eruptions took place, but a constant plume of steam kept rising from its cone: one hour, two hours, three hours, then four. Eventually, I had to give in, and at 2:30 a.m., I returned to my van. No northern lights tonight.

The next night came along, and I decided to change my plans. Previously, I had watched from afar as Old Faithful erupted in the beautiful warm glow of lights from the lodge. Since it was after the predicted peak of the solar storm, there wasn’t much chance for auroras, so I concentrated on Old Faithful and its starry sky backdrop.

I set up in front of the visitor’s center. Old Faithful kept to her regular schedule, giving me several opportunities to capture her portrait against the night sky. When I reviewed my pictures on the back of my camera, I was frustrated by the colored lights I saw on the horizon.

FROM TOP + OPPOSITE: Beehive Geyser in Yellowstone National Park erupts just before the sun begins to set. • An unidentified hot spring gives off steam as the sun drops in the Western sky. • Old Faithful takes a steamy rest between eruptions as northern lights dance across the horizon.

I cursed Gardiner, Montana, the only explainable source of such remote light pollution. After two eruptions, and at about 2:30 a.m., I had an epiphany. The lights I saw were red and green. These weren’t from light pollution; these were the northern lights.

It sounds unbelievable that I had gone to the park to shoot the northern lights, and when they appeared, I had no idea what I was looking at. By way of explanation, you should know that I could not see them with my naked eye. I have found that often the auroras can only be seen with digital capture. Additionally, they were on the horizon. I’ve only seen auroras on the horizon once, when I photographed them over Lake Superior near my boyhood home in Minnesota. All other northern light experiences have taught me to look virtually straight up in the sky. That’s where they typically appear in the Alaskan and Canadian Arctic. But, here in the Northern U.S., they appear on the northern horizon.

All in all, it was a great shoot. Seeing two of the world’s most exciting natural phenomena and capturing both in the same frame was its own reward; the images were as priceless as the experience.

Daniel J. Cox has been documenting the world of nature and conservation for four decades. His publications include two National Geographic cover stories, hundreds of magazine covers, and a dozen books. In 2013, he was awarded the North American Nature Photographer Association’s (NANPA) Outstanding Photographer of the Year. In 2023, he received NANPA’s Environmental Impact Award for his Arctic Documentary Project for Polar Bears International. When not on assignment, Cox teaches photography via his company, Natural Exposures Invitational Photo Tours, with his wife, Tanya; naturalexposures.com, @danieljcoxne.

Initially mistaken for light pollution, the subtle magenta hue of the northern lights shines just above the horizon behind Old Faithful.

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Welcome to your dream home in a sought after South Bozeman neighborhood! Surrounding views of the Spanish Peaks and a convenient location near MSU, the hospital, and miles of trails nearby means you won’t need to go far for almost anything you may need. The main floor of this home was built to entertain while conveniently keeping the living space separated. The updated appliances are a home cooks dream while they enjoy mountain and valley views. Between the three car garage and closets throughout there is no shortage of storage space to keep your home uncluttered. Enjoy the incredible views and mature landscaping surrounding the home from your spacious patio off of the living room. Don’t miss out on the chance to own this incredible home!

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Sight Lines

A couple positions their new Montana home on Lake Blaine to align with natural wonders outside and in

PHOTOGRAPHY BY KARL NEUMANN

THERE ARE TWO sights to behold in this particular home in northwest Montana, ones that stay in place and never fail to inspire the homeowners and their guests: views of Lake Blaine backdropped by its 7,200-foot-high namesake mountain, and a collection of color-filled Montana landscapes by the late painter Cliff Potts.

For homeowners Cristin and Darren Meznarich, the natural landscape that unfurls outside their windows provides a source of art that changes with the seasons but retains its scale and grandeur. “One of my goals when having this house built,” says Darren, an executive in the liquified natural gas industry, “was to be able to immediately see from the entry all the way through the house to the

FROM TOP: An inviting inclined walkway bridge leads to the glassed front entrance of a new house on the shores of Lake Blaine in northwest Montana. • The vaulted great room features a staircase that links the home’s three levels.

mountains that are framed like a giant picture. The architects [Robert Gilbert and Michael Donohue of Stillwater A rchitecture] oriented the house in such a way that we think we have the best possible view of the lake, the mountain, the way the sunlight plays off the ski runs on Whitefish Mountain, and on occasion, even a display of the northern lights.”

The pictures inside the home, those circumscribed by actual golden frames, are by Cristin’s father, an artist world famous not only for the landscapes he rendered but also for the challenges he faced in making them. Although there are numerous documentaries, YouTube videos, and articles that reveal Potts’ obstacles as a life-long quadriplegic (the result of a boyhood case of polio), there is nothing that compares to seeing his works hanging throughout the home. Their presence offers a constant acknowledgment of his talents and his reverence for the wild Montana landscapes in which he grew up. “In his days,” explains Darren, “the polio vaccine had

CLOCKWISE FROM LEFT: The architects wanted the gas fireplace to be both a visual and physical centerpiece in the home and to have its materials echo those on the home’s exterior. • Interior designer Carol Merica worked with local fabricators and craftspeople to fashion a custom walnut dining table. A painting entitled East Rosebud, by the late Cliff Potts, adorns a wall in the dining room. • Kitchen materials include natural stone countertops, a quartzite backsplash, and walnut cabinetry.

made it into the towns but not out to the kinds of rural communities and ranches where Cliff lived.” Despite his health challenges, Potts married, fathered four children, and upon recognizing that he could paint, embraced it as his lifelong profession.

“My starting point, when I first met with Cristin, was the artwork by her father,” says Carol Merica, a senior designer for Bozeman-based Design Associates, who was commissioned to furnish and finish the rooms throughout the home’s three floors. “Those bright-colored artworks ended up setting the tone for the interiors,” says Merica. “They’re so vibrant and beautiful that we decided to limit colors in the home to the paintings and select fabrics, keeping to an otherwise neutral backdrop. The some dozen paintings in the house by Potts emerge in full wherever they appear.”

The site for the house that architect Gilbert and builder Steve Burglund had to work with was an especially challenging one: steep, narrow, and on the shores of Lake Blaine, which meant that the structure needed to feature a strong stone retaining wall and remain distanced enough from the tidal lake to keep it safe while adhering to strict environmental codes. Burglund, owner of Great Bear Builders in Kalispell, says that the residence fills a full two-thirds of the available land. He commissioned, worked with, and oversaw some 30 companies, from suppliers to craftspeople, to construct the home. “Building a house this complicated is a passion for me,” says Burglund. “I look at myself as a problem solver.”

The challenges for this build included demolishing a derelict house on the site, keeping an existing garage but recladding and integrating it into the new home, and finding a way to install monumental windows, some measuring 8 by 6 feet. So tight was the site that Burglund bought a new machine to handle the job — an Italian-made mini telehandler (a specialized forklift). Despite its diminutive 6.5-foot length, the telehandler has a crane arm capable of reaching up to 30 feet, making it possible to insert the windows. Elsewhere, Burglund had to erect an array of 10- by 10-foot steel columns to support an expansive outdoor deck. For that task, he hired cranes and operators to haul the heavy items over the alreadyroofed house and drop them into precisely positioned con-

crete foundations on the other side. Using spotters on the roof, radio transmission, and some luck, Burglund describes the day as “a satisfying one” once the columns stood tall and plumb. Aware of the difficulty this home’s construction would pose, Berglund hired a videographer, complete with a drone’s eye view, to document the entire process.

Given the number of houses Gilbert and Donohue have designed since establishing their firm, Stillwater Architecture, they knew what the site needed and listened to the homeowners’ desires. As is typical of their approach, Gilbert and Donohue distilled all the Meznarichs’ preferences into a massive Word document. “Most architects, frankly, design what they like,” says Gilbert, “but Michael and I really embrace a variety of styles, which, selfishly, is great for us because it means we can have fun and be creative, and it’s great for the clients because we’re designing a house that answers their needs and wishes. They get what they want, and we have creative fun getting there.”

The resulting contemporary home assumes a variety of identities, especially when viewed from the road-side front and lake-side rear. An alluring entry sequence traverses a bridge and leads to the front door. From here, the sight line continues to a glass wall that Darren reverently gazes through every time he visits the house. (His main work is in Houston, so he commutes to this secondary Montana home as often as

FROM LEFT + OPPOSITE: An island in Lake Blaine, connected by a causeway, is one of many sights to be enjoyed from the expansive outdoor terrace. • Another Cliff Potts painting, Yellowstone Falls, is positioned on a stone wall; glass shelves on a column serve as plinths for small sculptural items. • The three-level house assumes a strong presence on the lake shoreline.

possible.) Exterior portions of the house incorporate expanses of a vigorously textured stone veneer, warm-toned cedar siding, durable dark-gray fiber siding, and unpainted steel.

Those same materials appear inside, notably in the 30-foothigh great room. Gilbert and Donohue designed a decidedly contemporary fireplace that not only partially divides the space, but also serves as a grounded visual focal point with materials that echo those found on the exterior. “By using those same materials, we blur the lines between the outside and the inside,” says Gilbert, adding that with its horizontal emphasis, the fireplace assumes a more “contemporary ambience.”

As for the alternating roof lines — some flat, others pitched, some overhanging — Gilbert points out that a flat surface works to hold snow in place, whereupon the buildup acts as natural insulation, something even the earlier pioneers in the region understood when cobbling together their timber structures.

“Pitched roofs make sense, too,” he adds, “but in the West, a roof that slopes too much poses a problem. Snow can slide off, creating a hazard below and large drifts at entry points.”

Responding to the site’s steep downward slope, the house is configured with a vertical emphasis in such a way that the entry floor is composed of the public living areas and a guest bedroom,

the upstairs features the primary suite and home office, and the lower level contains the children’s bedrooms, exercise room, and family room.

Despite each floor’s different functions, Merica carefully chose finishes that would harmonize throughout. F or instance, she had a large dining table made of walnut accented by chairs upholstered in digitally printed fabric that hints at both abstraction and a design evocative of an

icy, watery landscape. Elsewhere in the room, a long credenza features an etched decorative design that is also both a bstract and realistic. “The design looks like a series of long, intersecting tree branches,” says Merica, who commissioned the item from a local furniture maker. “The pattern is more about whatever you wish to see in it. Since the r oom is oriented southwest, the wood and design play with, and respond to, the changing light.”

Although the homeowners and their three children were living in Australia (Darren’s work took him there for years), as the house was being designed, built, and furnished, Zoom conference calls allowed for constant progress. “Cristin was on site some of the time, and we would look at various materials and finishes together in my office,” Merica recalls. But w hen the home was complete, Merica says Cristin gave the design team a day to get everything set up “so that when she walked in, all would be done. When we opened the door for her, to her new home, she got tears of joy. And I knew right away that she and her family were going to create many good memories in the home.”

As Darren adds, “I grew up on the other side of the mountains that we now see from the house, where it was colder and windier. I’ve always wanted to live over here, and now we do.”

David Masello writes about art, architecture, and culture for many publications, including Milieu , of which he is the longtime executive editor. He has written three books about art and architecture, and many of his one-act plays and monologues — which he often performs — have been produced by theater companies in New York City and Los Angeles. He is on the board of New York City’s National Arts Club.

Karl Neumann has been specializing in architectural photography for commercial and high-end residential, development, and resort projects, as well as advertising, editorial, and studio work for 30 years. Working alongside Karl is his wife, Lisa, who is responsible for stock photography, public relations, and marketing. When they’re not working, the Neumanns enjoy spending time outdoors with their two children and dog, Gunnison.

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CARISSA PAULSON 406.539.3285 WILSON CREEK GALLATIN GATEWAY, MT

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Taking Aim in the West

An essay on place

In memory of Rick Nyhart (1949 – 2024)

SOMETIMES WE GO back and see ourselves at a different time and place. We go back and look at where we started. Like the earth we inhabit, we evolve, age, live out our stories, fall into the arrangement of things, some dark mysterious order surrounding us. Sometimes the mountains have the last word.

IN 1953, AT the start of the Eisenhower years, my family and I lived in a 36-foot Spartan house trailer in Shoshoni, Wyoming. My father was a “tool pusher,” working for a construction company that was building a 125-foot-high water tower on the Wind River Indian Reservation a few miles outside of Shoshoni. He’d worked for Chicago Bridge & Iron Company since graduating high school in Killbuck, Ohio in 1948, the year he married my mother, the year I was born. I don’t remember a lot about living in Shoshoni, but I do recall the black-andwhite photographs my mother took on her Kodak Brownie camera. After dinner, my brother and I would often sit with her at the small kitchen table and

Our 8- by 42-foot Commodore JOPLIN, MISSOURI | 1955

help paste the pictures into a red leather photo album she received as a wedding gift. The photos were mostly of the different towns and places we’d lived in for a few months before my father hitched the Spartan to the back of his GMC pick-up, moving us to start work on the next “tank,” usually in another state.

The interstate highway system was just coming in then, so many times my father had to drive, trailer in tow, through the center of a town or city while my mother, driving her car, ran interference in front of him — driving slowly through a green-light intersection so my father could make the wide turn with the trailer.

There were photos of Wisconsin Dells; the Mackinac Bridge in Upper Michigan; the Ozarks in southern Missouri; the Iron Ore Range near Hibbing, Minnesota, where my father and his crew worked in 30-below-zero temperatures; a small town in southern Illinois where my fourth-grade teacher marched the entire class through our trailer to show them what it was like living in a mobile home — such was the novelty of life on the road during the 1950s. There were photos of the men my father worked with, their wives, and young children, friends my brother and I played with while the women got together in one of the trailers, sipped cream-and-sugar coffee, smoked Raleigh cigarettes with coupons on the back of the packages, and discussed the latest soap opera while a parakeet chirped at them from its cage in the corner.

COURTESY OF AL NYHART

God Bless Our Mortgaged Home DENVER, COLORADO | 1956

But the pictures I would go back to, looking at again and again, were the ones taken in Wyoming: the job “out West,” where my mother spent half of my father’s paycheck at a department store in Thermopolis buying all of us Western-style clothes — cowboy hats and boots for my brother and me, as well as bright-colored wool shirts with faux pearl-snap buttons, leather belts with large silver buckles decorated with shiny turquoise stones, and a leather purse for herself with a galloping mustang stitched on the flap. There was a photo of my father taken somewhere near the Tetons. In it, he is standing sideways, legs spread wide apart, right arm extended toward the mountains. He is gripping a longbarreled pistol, though most of it is obscured by the brilliant flash from the gun’s muzzle. My mother snapped the picture at the exact moment he’d pulled the trigger. Had he hit his target? No one ever said. I’m sure he did; he didn’t miss much in those days. Next to it was a picture of my brother and me standing in the middle of a swinging bridge spanning the Wind River, just below the dam and canyon. The look on our faces shows how frightened we were, holding on tight to the steel cable railing, s winging high above the river.

LAST SUMMER, MY wife and I took a short road trip to Wyoming from our home in White Sulphur Springs, Montana. After spending the night in Cody, we drove south from Thermopolis on Highway 20. Before we entered the first of three tunnels cut into the Precambrian rock mountains of Wind River Canyon, I pulled the car over a nd walked across the highway. I climbed up an outcrop at the base of the mountain. A small stream of water trickled from a crack in the rock. Brushing my hand over the hard surface of the 2.5-billion-yearold mountain, I felt that this was something I would keep, some mysterious rising that started here. I climbed off the rock, got back in the c ar, and drove through the mountain. As we exited the last tunnel, I looked to where I believed the swinging bridge had been years prior. It was gone, of course, but my wife pointed out the rusted relics of a few wire cables still embedded in the wall of the mountain.

I stopped the car, and we walked down to the river to get a closer look. I thought of my father then, working up high on that water tower, wondering if it was still there on the reservation. I thought of him stopping off at the Dam Bar after work to have a few beers with some of the crew and my mother waiting in the trailer at home for him, late again for dinner. I thought of Wyoming and the West and how, after billions of years, the mountains still speak to us, so that what I remembered — a trailer house parked on a barren lot in Shoshoni — was in the face of the Wind River flowing below us.

Al Nyhart’s first book of poetry, The Man Himself, was published by Main Street Rag Publishing Company in 2019. He lives with his wife, Cheryl, in White Sulphur Springs, Montana.

Home in the West SHOSHONI, WYOMING | 1953

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ARTIST OF THE WEST |

Ancestral Ties

Reestablishing a connection to nature with artist John Potter

FROM AN EARLY age, Montana-based illustrator and painter John Potter has treated the world — the land, the animals — as family. “The trees feel like relatives, the mountains like grandfathers,” says Potter. “That’s how I look at the natural world.” Growing up, his mother would complain that he was raised by wolves. “And I’d respond, ‘I wish I were!’”

Today, as an artist capturing scenes of the American West, Potter’s familial ties to the landscape infuse his paintings with layers of emotional depth, all tying back to the a rtist’s Ojibwe heritage. “I try to approach my subjects and my work through the eyes and stories of our ancestors,” says Potter. “I’ve spent so much time in the natural world in a different way, observing nature and relating to it instead of disrupting it. I never feel like I’m painting a subject — what I paint are family portraits.” The resulting works are charged with color, beauty, and questions for the viewer. What is your own relationship with nature? What role do you play in protecting this beauty?

Potter’s story begins in the Midwest. Born in 1957, the artist grew up splitting time between Chicago and his family’s home on the Lac du Flambeau Ojibwe I ndian Reservation in northern Wisconsin. His love for drawing began at an early age: “My mom and stepdad gave me a sketchbook for Christmas, and that was

Spirit of Our Nation

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it,” says Potter. He spent his days in the woods, sketching the region’s hills and lakes. “I would just sit down somewhere and be quiet.” Soon, the animals would acclimate to Potter’s presence and emerge. “After a while — weeks, months, and years — I began recognizing some of the same animals. I got to know their kids and their grandkids. They were like friends and relatives that I got to hang out with.”

Potter’s human family further enriched his art education. His mom’s main hobby was painting, especially impressionistic landscapes. “She was such an inspiration,” says Potter. On the reservation, he grew up watching his uncle paint scenes on buckskin hides, lacing the finished works to birch sapling frames. “I saw him painting and just thought, that’s what I want to be doing. So, he taught me,” says Potter.

Despite his love for art, Potter was discouraged early on from pursuing it professionally. His high school art teacher was critical of his skillset, warning him that he’d never become an artist. “I took her at her word. To me, she was an elder, even though she wasn’t Native,” says Potter. “She was an elder, and she was giving me life advice.”

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It was enough to make him put his sketchbook away and focus on his second love, the natural world. Potter enrolled at Utah State University to study wildlife science. The new direction didn’t last long. “I realized pretty early on that the only trouble with wildlife science is that there’s science involved,” Potter jokes. Besides, without art, he felt like he “couldn’t breathe. I gave up art for two years, but I realized I couldn’t live like that.” Luckily, the university also had a great arts program. Potter switched his course load, redirecting

h is studies to illustration and fine art.

“Back then, conventional wisdom said that if you wanted to be a working artist, you needed to be an illustrator: get a steady paycheck, health insurance, all that stuff,” says Potter. However, after graduating from the university, the artist initially resisted pursuing opportunities as an illustrator; job offers came from a greeting card company and an animation studio, but he turned both down. “I realized I would be just another artist in a conveyor belt, drawing puppies and rainbows,” says Potter.

Instead, following a stint at a bentonite production plant in Greybull, Wyoming — “one of the most grueling, physically demanding jobs there is,” says Potter — he joined the Billings Gazette , the largest newspaper in Montana, as an illustrator. “I was a one-person art department, d rawing everything from courtroom sketches to portraits of politicians to editorial cartoons.”

Potter spent the next two decades with the Gazette. But, ultimately, he knew painting was his life’s purpose. When he was younger, his uncle gave him advice: “I remember him telling me, ‘You need to do your art. You need to educate the world

about who we are as a people, who we are now, and who we can all be together if we can get back to our relationship with the natural world.’” Potter switched his focus solely to his personal art — and he hears his uncle’s words with every work he creates. “I want to inspire people to see the natural world not as something to have dominion over but to reestablish our reverence for the land.”

“John loves nature and brings it to life on canvas, creating a timeless work of art,” says Michele Couch, executive director of Santa Fe Trails Fine Art, which represents Potter. His paintings capture the world with reverence and intention, shar-

ing scenes that draw significance from h is culture. Consider Ancestral Ties, an oil-on-linen work depicting a pair of wolves diverging at the edge of a snowy forest. Potter explains the importance of his people’s relationship with wolves and their creation story of how man and wolf became brothers. “The creator sends the original man a wolf to keep him company. And he instructs man to walk the earth alongside the wolf, name everything they encounter, and establish a relationship with all they see,” Potter recounts. When man and wolf finish their task, the creator tells them to separate and establish t heir own families but leaves the pair with

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a warning to never forget their relationship as brothers. “‘Always remember that whatever happens to one of you will happen to the other,’” says Potter. “And that’s what happened in the 19th century … the wolves were almost wiped out, [Native Americans] were almost wiped out.” The story steeps Ancestral Ties in new meaning, asking the viewer to reconsider the composition of the wolves; the pair seem to be joined at the hip, a moment away from separating completely. The painting is a reminder of humans’ and animals’ interwoven fates, the survival of one dependent on the other.

Another painting, Home’s Embrace , holds a dear place in Potter’s heart. The painting depicts a group of buffalo against a stunning mountain backdrop. The group is taking tentative steps forward in a field of wildflowers — at the forefront, a calf seems poised to leap forward. Inspiration

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for the painting came from a photograph taken by Potter’s friend and Vice Chairman of the Blackfeet Nation, Lauren Monroe Jr. “The photo was taken [last year], moments after buffalo were brought back to and released on the Blackfeet Reservation,” says Potter. “My friend Lauren, it was his dream for years to reintroduce buffalo to the reservation.” The herd chosen for release are descendents of the very animals Blackfeet were in rela-

tionship with centuries ago; as a part of Euro American settlement, the herd’s ancestors were rounded up from land used by the Blackfeet and sent to live in Canada’s Elk Island National Park. About 100 animals were transported back to the reservation for reintroduction. Sharing Monroe’s experience, Potter recalls that when the door to the buffalo’s pen opened, none of them took off — t hey were unsure of what to do, uncertain of their freedom. “And it was a baby, a calf, who took the first steps,” says Potter. “It blew my mind that the younger generation was leading on the old, showing them a new way.”

Halina Loft is a writer and editor based in Bozeman, Montana. Before moving west, she worked as an arts editor for Sotheby’s in New York City.

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Cowboy Ethics

Montana longhorns

play a role in one ranch’s regenerative vision

PHOTOGRAPHY

BY

KYLE STANSBURY

BRIAN BIRDWELL

MOST OF US have at least a passing familiarity with the Texas longhorn. You could probably draw one right now if you had to. You or your kids may have had photos taken with one at a county fair or local rodeo. The unmistakable silhouette of those enormous, almost comical horns inspires curiosity and awe, immediately conjuring up dusty images of the Old West.

The iconic longhorn’s ancestors were first brought to the Americas from Spain in 1493, where they spent the next few centuries essentially feral, ranging the prairie and evolving the natural characteristics that ranchers would e ventually come to value, including disease resistance, the ability to forage on marginal pasture, and an independent disposition. They proved to be highly adaptable survivors. By the mid-1800s, longhorn herds were thriving in Mexican summers and Canadian winters alike.

Doing what they do best, a few of Montana Longhorn Co.’s cattle graze on wild forage that provides a variety of nutrients that contribute to high-quality grass-fed beef.

However, as the open spaces of the American West were increasingly fenced in, and as new breeds with faster maturity times and heavier carcass weights were popularized, the longhorn dwindled away. The U.S. Forest Service is credited with s aving the breed from extinction by setting aside a refuge near Lawton, Oklahoma in 1927, and ever since, a diverse group of dedicated enthusiasts has preserved the longhorn’s once-prized genetics and cultural legacy.

Building on this legacy since 2015 in Montana’s Flathead Valley, the passionate crew of the Montana Longhorn Co. is preserving these remarkable animals while pioneering innovative practices in regenerative agriculture, embodying a forward-thinking approach to ranching and stewardship that respects heritage and sustainability. Their work, rooted in the timeless values of cowboy ethics, is more than a profession — it’s a testament to a life lived with courage, perseverance, and an unwavering commitment to quality and community.

Founder Jeremy Myers sees the longhorn as the central part of a system that elevates soil health, nutrition, and local food production. “Looking back historically, most families could have sustained

CLOCKWISE FROM LEFT: Owner of Montana Longhorn Co., Jeremy Myers sets off with some of the ranch hands to start the round-up before moving cattle to the next range. • Myers is as hardworking as he is passionate about his commitment to providing quality food for his community. This commitment not only stands out in the ranching world, but clearly translates into his company’s end product. • The details of cowboy life in northwest Montana are as uniquely striking as they are necessary.

themselves and their extended family on 40 acres,” he says. “Realizing that made me ask a lot of questions. I started reading lots of books and listening to lots of podcasts, and [a regenerative approach] started making sense.”

He began implementing regenerative techniques t hat focus on building topsoil, increasing biodiversity, improving water cycles, and strengthening environmental resilience i n order to produce more nutritious food through a system that is also healthy for the environment over the long term. And it didn’t take long for Myers to see results. “When you look at the soil as a living being, you see how you can improve its microbiome by doing little things: rotational grazing, planting cover crops, raising bees on the land,” he says. “You can create more biodiversity within the soil that acts like a sponge.

Now the land is more drought resistant, more flood resistant, and pastures produce more grass and better legumes.”

He acknowledges, though, that there are plenty of challenges for producers interested in transitioning to a regenerative approach. “It’s really hard to get off the path of doing what you’ve always done. And you do have to spend the time and money to do it.” Still, Myers says, the results have been worth it.

The longhorn’s resilience and rugged durability make it uniquely suited to Montana Longhorn Co.’s regenerative vision. The beef is lean compared with other breeds and grain-finished beef. A Texas A&M study showed that grass-fed longhorn beef is exceptionally nutrient dense, with high protein and lower cholesterol and fat than even chicken and turkey. As a product, this, in some ways, makes longhorn more comparable to bison or elk than other beef on the market.

“Longhorns don’t require vaccines and all the yearly boosters that other breeds do because of their disease resistance,” Myers says. “You can produce nutritionally superior beef without injecting them full of hormones and steroids.

CLOCKWISE FROM LEFT: Myers pushes a group of longhorns into trailers in preparation for harvest. He works to keep his cattle as stress free as possible before hauling them to a local processor.

• Part of the Montana Longhorn Co. mission is to preserve and encourage the ranching lifestyle. Each summer, Myers opens his doors to the local community to witness and take part in a branding event with the hope that he’s able to expose and inform those interested in this dynamic experience. • Travis Brown, a ranch hand for Montana Longhorn Co., sorts cattle during the round-up to move them to their winter feeding area.

I don’t want to put those things in my product, so they were a clear choice for me. I’m not here to tell anybody that longhorns are better, but they work better for my program.”

This holistic perspective on the relationships between land, animals, and products extends from the Montana Longhorn Co. ranch to the customer and the local economy. “People are growing more skeptical and untrusting of their food sources these days, and for health-conscious consumers who want to see those animals raised here, grazed here, and processed here, we want to be the option for them,” Myers says. “Honestly, whether you buy from me or the guy down the street, my hope is that you support the local ranchers in your community.”

Beyond the regenerative practices and lean beef, the ethos at the heart of Montana Longhorn Co. lies on a bedrock of cowboy ethics. A poster on the wall reads:

Live each day with courage

Take pride in your work

Always finish what you start

Do what has to be done

Be tough but fair

When you make a promise, keep it

Ride for the brand

Talk less and say more

Remember that some things aren’t for sale

Know where to draw the line

These words are a blueprint for life and business for Myers and his wife, Des. “I think every one of these shows up a little differently in how we build our business, how we raise our k ids. It’s all intertwined,” Myers reflects. Cowboy ethics aren’t just an abstract pining for a romanticized past. They’re a living roadmap for every decision, obstacle, and triumph. “For example, with our kids, we have to teach them to live each day with c ourage and do what has to be done. … Sometimes, you don’t want to go move cows when it’s snowing, but you have to,” he shares, highlighting the day-to-day reality of ranch life. This isn’t just about cold mornings; it’s about teaching resilience, responsibility, and the deep satisfaction that comes from hard work well done.

“Take pride in your work,” Myers says. “Our work is something I’m putting in my kids’ mouths. It’s feeding my family, i t’s feeding my neighbors, it’s feeding my friends. As a rancher, you don’t have the option to fail. … It’s just not an option.”

Myers embodies the determination that fuels Montana Longhorn Co.’s commitment to tradition, innovation, simplicity, and authenticity in a world often dominated by slick mar-

keting and pretense. Clearly, the product they’re creating and the way they go about it is a source of inspiration.

The ranch managers also do their part to share their values and inspire the next generation. To connect with people w ho live in urban areas or may not have experience with ranching, Montana Longhorn Co. holds educational and hands-on e vents like “cowboy clinics,” and hosts a summer branding and youth rodeo. “Everybody likes to dress up and play cowboy,” Myers says. “Now, if I could just get people as excited to help mend fences!”

Brian Birdwell grew up on a ranch in Texas and came to Montana as quickly as he could.

Kyle Stansbury is an editorial and commercial photographer tucked away in northwest Montana. He’s known for unfolding the layers of Western culture through his passion for authentic storytelling and connection with his subject. His client list ranges from USA Today to the D iscovery Channel, and quite a bit in between.

MONTANA LAND & LIFESTYLE PROPERTIES

Roosevelt’s Flask

And some good advice from a friend

SOME 12 YEARS before Theodore Roosevelt’s rapid rise to the U.S. presidency, he experienced a bear hunt that was more troublesome than most of his earlier expeditions. As related in Roosevelt’s book The Wilderness Hunter, he engaged a guide named Griffin, an old man skilled in locating game but “an exceedingly disagreeable companion on account of his surly, moody ways.” Decrepit physically and contemptuous of “tenderfoot clients,” particularly those who wore glasses, the guide left camp chores to Roosevelt.

Theodore Roosevelt poses for a portrait on horseback near New Castle, Colorado.

Roosevelt may have tolerated these deficiencies, but the last straw came when Griffin failed to appear one morning, and Roosevelt, suspicious, rummaged through his bedroll and found his own whiskey flask (“which I kept purely for emergencies”) quite empty. Rather than continue to share a hunting camp with a thief, Roosevelt set out by himself with minimal equipment on a gentle mare, killed a large grizzly, and struggled to pack its heavy, slippery hide back to civilization.

In Theodore Roosevelt: An Autobiography, Roosevelt tells the tale with considerably more detail: a confrontation with rifles occurred, Roosevelt “getting the drop” on the guide, taking the man’s rifle, and promising to leave it by a twisted pine a mile down the trail. For the first couple of nights, fearful the old miscreant might follow, Roosevelt slept well away from his campfire. Reference to his flask in this version is also dismissive, and perhaps slightly defensive. “I had also taken a flask of whisky for emergencies — a lthough, as I found that the emergencies never arose and that tea was better than whisky when a man was cold or done out, I abandoned the practice of taking whisky on hunting trips 20 years ago.”

It seems clear that Roosevelt’s whisky flask was indeed a standby item, not used for sipping around the campfire but perhaps conveying a sense of security. All this might be judged insignificant were it not for the simple fact that the extended Roosevelt family was replete with individuals who were terribly devastated by alcohol. Roosevelt’s brother, Elliot, father of Eleanor Roosevelt (yes, the first lady and FDR were both Roosevelts and distant cousins), succumbed to alcoholism and opiate addictions. One of Roosevelt’s sons, Kermit, who accompanied his father on their 1909 African safari and also the nearly fatal trip to Brazil’s River of Doubt, served in both world wars but eventually died of the effects of alcohol at a military post in Alaska.

The reputation for alcoholism within the greater Roosevelt clan was used against Theodore during the 1912 presidential race, in which, as

the third-party candidate of the Bull Moose Party, he unsuccessfully challenged William Howard Taft and Woodrow Wilson. Tired of refuting the accusation that he was a drunkard, Roosevelt sued George Newett, editor of the Iron Ore newspaper, who had published cartoons depicting him as a drunk. Roosevelt paraded a number of prestigious men through the witness stand, all of whom vouched for his sober nature. Roosevelt won the suit, though he waived financial retribution, instead settling for a public apology.

But before becoming the ultimate “straight arrow,” the Roosevelt we know through history as steadfast morally and physically — as president, conservationist, patriot — did experience a portion of his life in which alcohol played a role. The picture of Harvard University in the late 1870s rendered by historian David McCullough in his book Mornings on Horseback: The Story of an Extraordinary Family, a Vanished Way of Life, and the Unique Child Who Became Theodore Roosevelt refutes any thought that “party school” is a modern phenomenon. Wine, beer, and hard liquor flowed freely, and McCullough writes that a large segment of the student body was far more interested in the perpetual parties than in acquiring an education.

That was not true of Roosevelt: he was a stellar student throughout. But there’s evidence he occasionally succumbed to the atmosphere around him. And that’s where t he influence of a caring, compassionate, and bluntly honest friend may have come at a key point in Roosevelt’s life.

Henry Minot was Roosevelt’s best friend at Harvard. Indeed, after Minot’s departure for law school, Roosevelt

FROM TOP : Roosevelt’s love of bear hunting continued into the years of his presidency, including this memorable bear hunt into the Colorado mountains with Jake Borah and John Goff in April 1905. • Roosevelt is pictured here at the close of his sophomore year at Harvard.

lamented that he had few, if any, close friends at the university. Minot shared his interests, especially in ornithology, and the two joined in various scientific quests. After Minot’s departure from Harvard, the two stayed close, writing frequently.

In her article “Letters from Teddy” (The Montana Pioneer, January 2020), Karen E. Davis relates the fascinating history of the Minot family, New England blue-bloods, and Henry Minot himself, one of its most accomplished members. Equally interesting for Montanans is a local Minot family connection: Brad Greenwood, an artist and artisan who creates custom furniture, is a Minot descendant living in Paradise Valley, south of Livingston. Through the Massachusetts Historical Society, Greenwood became aware of boxes of letters generated within the Minot family, a trove containing extensive correspondence between Henry Minot and Roosevelt, revealing their devoted friendship. Greenwood is to be thanked for making this treasure available to Big Sky Journal. A thorough study of this correspondence could provide ample fodder for a graduate school dissertation.

Davis wisely pinpoints a particular letter written in December 1879 by Minot to Roosevelt. Minot begins, “Dearest Ted, After much hesitation, I am going, for once, to write to you seriously.” After that rather cautious beginning, Minot explains that the moral atmosphere at Harvard was one he could no longer stomach and was a reason for his departure from the university for education elsewhere. But the rest

of the letter is one of the most direct, harsh, and thorough dressings-down one will ever read of a friend to a friend. Minot throws Roosevelt’s behavior at a particular party back into his face. He charges him with engaging in a silly argument, in gross talk in front of a woman, and judges his friend to have been perhaps not actually drunk but “alarmingly far gone.” He brings Roosevelt’s father, who’d passed away two years earlier, into the mix, perhaps the unkindest cut of all for Roosevelt idolized his father (who was, in fact, an incredibly impressive individual). Much of Roosevelt’s distress and occasional depression while at Harvard can be attributed to worries he could not live up to his father’s example.

This is a letter of tough love in spades. Minot begs forgiveness for “attacking … as severely as you, unconsciously, have wounded me.” Bluntly put, Minot says in this letter that if Roosevelt continues down a particular avenue, the two will no longer be friends.

When someone receives such a thorough and candid negative critique from a friend, it seems all too likely that the friend on the receiving end would terminate the relationship in anger. It’s difficult not to become defensive when criticized in such harsh and personal terms, and even if some of the proffered advice is taken, friendship and trust are likely to cease. However, it is testimony to Roosevelt’s character that such a defensive reaction did not occur. The two remained friends, though geographically distant ones. When Roosevelt

MELANIE MAGANIAS

MELANIE MAGANIAS

FROM TOP : Brad Greenwood, a descendant of the Minot family, and his wife, Lorraine, are Paradise Valley residents who provided fascinating correspondence between Henry Minot and Theodore Roosevelt. • Greenwood holds a piece of the treasure trove of family history discovered with the help of the Massachusetts Historical Society.

experienced one of the greatest traumas and sorrows of his life — the death of his mother and wife in his home on the same day — Minot wrote to him with tender sympathy (just as he had done years earlier when Theodore Roosevelt Sr. passed away).

Roosevelt replied to Minot, calling him fondly by his nickname “Hal,” on February 21, 1884:

Dear Old Hal,

Your loving and heartfelt words of sympathy were very welcome to me, for my heart was nearly breaking. As yet I can scarcely bear to be long with anyone; but in a short time I shall wish to see much, very much, of you, my dearest friend.

Yours ever, Theodore Roosevelt

Did Minot’s letter of criticism cause an immediate change in Roosevelt’s behavior at Harvard? Not completely. McCullough writes of occasional fits of depression, often related to his father’s death, in which drinking was involved. During one such episode, Roosevelt wrote of being little worthy of his father, feeling “a hopeless sense of inferiority to him; I loved him so. … But with the help of God I shall try to lead a life such as he would

have wished …” The next page of the diary contains lines heavily blotted out but reveals the discernable, “angry at myself for having gotten tight …,” indicating shame at having come under the influence.

But this we know: Roosevelt, unlike so many in his extended family, never let alcohol control his life and eventually became a near “teetotaler,” one who partook while in the White House an occasional mint julep as a rare and enjoyable indulgence. It would be historically and intellectually dishonest to claim the harsh but loving critique sent to him by his friend Minot caused a major change of direction in Roosevelt’s life. We have no hard evidence of that. But we know that a close friend’s honest appraisal is never taken lightly. And we can be thankful that Roosevelt received one at such a critical juncture in his life.

Dan Aadland holds a doctorate in American studies from the University of Utah and is the author of ten books, including In Trace of TR: A Montana Hunter’s Journey and Sketches from the Ranch: A Montana Memoir. He and his wife, Emily, raise horses and cattle on their historic ranch near Absarokee, Montana.

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FROM LEFT: This rider has just negotiated the final hairpin turn and is on the steepest part of the big descent into Nirada after Day 1 lunch. Sullivan Hill, aka Suicide Hill, has been known to blow tires, eat brake pads, snap seat posts, and vaporize chainring bolts. • Mandy Mohler rides a customized vintage Fuji Del Ray, which she nicknamed Lana Del Ray, complete with her own hand-stitched leather bags.

Tour de Flathead

On vintage bicycles, and with a flair for both style and the absurd, throwback riders bring touches of Tuscany and the French Alps to dusty northwest Montana

WRITTEN BY ANDREW MCKEAN PHOTOGRAPHY BY NICK VANHORN

STILL HAVE THAT OLD CANARY-YELLOW Schwinn

Varsity bicycle hanging from the rafters in your parents’ barn? You know the one: the steel-framed groaner whose tires haven’t been inflated since the Carter administration. Pull it down, grease its chain, tune its brakes, and see if those time-cracked tires will hold air. Maybe even wrap the rusty handlebars with fresh cloth tape.

You can further give it new life this September by joining riders of all sorts of similarly vintage bicycles in Montana’s Flathead Valley to celebrate the golden age of two-wheeled touring, classic continental food, and fellowship.

These are the participants in Cino Heroica, a two-day, 110mile bicycle ride along graveled backroads from the small northwest Montana town of Kila to the equally small town of Hot Springs, and back again. This year’s running — September 14 and 15 — marks the 16th ride of the Cino (pronounced “chee-no,” like

the pants), but it’s less of a race than a celebration of stylish bikes, good French wine, and an outlook on life that values the experience just as much as the destination.

Th at outlook can be summed up in the event’s name. “Heroica” is an homage to one of the world’s original bike tours, L’Eroica, that wends through the Italian countryside, with riders stopping frequently to eat memorable food, sip rustic wine, and recall the heyday of Europe’s touring bike culture, in which style and companionship counted for more than performance.

I n the Flathead rendition, “Heroica” also means fully embracing the spirit of the race, wearing vintage Italian bike jerseys, stopping frequently to enjoy the ride or to help a fellow rider, and acknowledging and embodying the idea that pedaling 110 miles over bad roads on old, stiff, creaky bikes is improved when you savor a glass of wine at lunch.

The “Cino” half of the event’s name is also an homage — to the

FROM LEFT: This classic fixed-gear bicycle sports a vintage cork-stoppered water bottle.

• Reed Gregerson, known as the godfather of Cino, is the man who started it all.

legendary Italian bike racer Cino Cinelli, who founded the eponymous bicycle company and whose panache defined a certain era of bike and rider from the decades before televised races, milliondollar sponsorships, and performance-enhancing drugs.

The Flathead event borrows from the early European grand bike tours and the French word randonneur, loosely translated to “ramble” in English. The name and the idea behind it are “rooted in the spirit of self-supported long-distance riding at one’s own pace,” says David Cummings, who, after years of organizing the event, is stepping down this year into an emeritus role that he describes as “spiritual director.”

Don’t ride the Cino to set speed records. Ride the Cino to enjoy sweeping views of northwest Montana’s high sage and timbered basins, and to spend two afternoons leisurely pedaling with fellow Francophile bike riders who enjoy the finer things in life, including itchy old wool racing jerseys.

TUSCAN ORIGIN STORY

“WE CALL THE FOUNDERS OF Cino Heroica the ‘godfathers.’ They include Reed Gregerson, who went to Italy to experience L’Eroica in the early 2000s and came back to the Flathead thinking it would be fun to try to replicate it here,” says Cummings, who inherited organizational chores from the godfathers. Cummings is a teacher at Kalispell Montessori Elementary School, and t he Cino is a fundraiser for the school. “The first year, it was really just the godfathers and a couple of friends. The second year, it doubled, because each of them told someone else; then it doubled again for the same reason. It morphed into an annual thing that, at its height prior to COVID, had over 150 riders.”

The event has been capped at 165 riders, though it’s rarely swelled to that limit. Instead, it’s more frequently ranged from 50 to 100 bikers, who travel about 60 miles the first day, overnight at Hot Springs — normally camping on the lawn of

FROM LEFT: A collection of vintage bicycles and their riders display their Heroica stamps on their race numbers.

• Though everyone starts together, cyclists spread out as the day progresses over the gravel roads and low passes of the Flathead.

Alameda’s Hot Springs Resort, though a limited number of rooms are reserved months in advance — and enjoy a candle-lit catered dinner, auction, social time, and soak, often a required remedy for bruised posteriors. The second day sends riders back to Kila over an intimidating grade. By the time they return to their starting point, most participants are already formalizing plans to return the following year.

This year, the Cino is moving to September, pushed back from its traditional summer weekend to take advantage of cooler weather and lower off-season prices for everything from airfare to hotels in Glacier Country. But what remains is what Cummings calls the “ride through time in a corner of Montana that t he world forgot.”

Nearly every rider brings a bike that time, indeed, forgot. One of the defining elements of Cino Heroica is the single-speed, twospeed, and vintage multi-speed bikes that are lovingly restored

and brought out for special events like the Cino. Participants come mainly from the West Coast, though every year, a rider from the East Coast or even Europe shows up.

A CELEBRATION OF VINTAGE BICYCLING

“THE REAL BIKE NERDS PULL out all the stops and bring their coolest bikes,” says Cummings. You’ll see Cinellis, Masis, and Bottechias (all post-war Italian bikes that readers or the author may or may not be familiar with). You’ll ride alongside Schwinn Varsities and Suburbans. You’ll see tubular tires, steel frames, white socks, and vintage leather bike helmets. There’s equal parts cosplay and genuine affection for the gear of a simpler time.

You’ll see “iron men who do Cino with a fixed gear and a prayer,” standing on their pedals and straining as they climb the graveled grades, notes Cummings.

And about that gravel… “A lot of Cino rides are from the 1960s

CLOCKWISE FROM RIGHT: Riders approach the hidden waterfall that graces the Day 1 lunch spot. • The original energy drink: wine. • Vintage leather padded gloves offer some comfort from shellacked cloth handlebar tape.

and ’70s, dating from the big bike boom of the 10-speeds,” says Cummings. “Those bikes could handle larger-sized tires — 32 and 38 millimeter — and they are well built to handle the roads we go over. Our inspiration is the European grand tours in the days before paved roads. You have to remember that they were riding over graveled mountain passes in the early versions of the Tour de France.”

What about riders who bring modern mountain bikes and carbon-fiber rides to Cino Heroica? “The tradition and spirit of the r ide revolves around vintage bikes,” reads Cino Heroica’s website. “That said, we welcome all non-electric bikes and their riders.”

But bring a modern bike at your peril. You can expect to be teased, chastised, and reminded that the bike — and, by extension, the biker — isn’t nearly as heroic as those riders who suffer t he washboards, fist-sized cobble, and flat tires of the route on a bike that was built when Lance Armstrong was a toddler.

“I wince a little when people call it a race,” says Cummings.

“We do give an award for performance; the first man and woman who get to Hot Springs get their dinner paid for. But this isn’t a race. It’s a ride. We’re there to enjoy the scenery, enjoy the camaraderie, and enjoy the bikes.”

Cummings says the idea behind stressing vintage gear is to strip away all the advantages and distractions of technology. “If you pace yourself, and you stop and smell the flowers, and you enjoy the rest stops, you’re going to end up fine.”

And don’t expect energy drinks or protein gels at the occasional (and changeable) rest stops. Instead, you’re more likely to be handed a hunk of good bread, cheese, and a glass of wine.

EMBRACING FAILURE

CUMMINGS SAYS VETERAN RIDERS EXPECT to budget time to fix flats and repair bikes. “If you can think of a bike part, we’ve had it fall off,” he laughs. “We’ve had saddles fall off, brake pads

CLOCKWISE FROM LEFT: Don Hickerson completed the Cino at 80 years of age. • A sit-down dinner in Hot Springs is a welcome end to a long day’s ride. • A post-lunch nap offers a rejuvenating pause before the final half of Day 1.

just disappear, and chains disintegrate. One year, we had a rider who towed another rider after he broke a crank, so he had only one pedal.”

“We’re almost entirely on county roads, and you don’t know from one year to the next what shape it’s going to be in, depending on when the county gravels it and what they decide to gravel it with. There are baby heads in the roads, washouts with ruts, and one year I swear it was paved with river rocks.”

Cummings says the most common malady is flat tires. “If you don’t h ave your pressures up high enough and you hit a rock or a rut flat-out, then you’re going to get a pinch flat,” he says. “It just goes with those tires and those tubes. For years, the record number of flats was seven, but then a year or two ago, we had a husband and wife show up on a vintage tandem bike with 25-millimeter sew-up tires that you have to glue on — old school — and I think they had seven flats in the first half of the first day. They went through every tire they had and had to catch a ride in. Now, that’s heroic.”

So is the Cino Heroica’s website, which provides possibly exaggerated descriptions of the event and its ethos, including altered quotes like that of John F. Kennedy as he called Americans to support the exploration of space: “We choose to ride the Cino on bikes older than a decade, and do the other things. Not because they are easy, but because they are hard.”

That pretty much sums up the vibe of this classic continental bike tour, heroically translocated to the picturesque (and rough) backroads of northwest Montana.

Summer is the perfect time to rediscover everything Bozeman. Revisit nostalgic favorites that have welcomed Bozeman visitors for years, or check out what’s new, including restaurants, shops, hotels, and entertainment options. One thing remains the same, even with all the new and exciting things happening here, time in Bozeman is time well spent.

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THE OVERLOOKED

SEC OND CHAPTER

THE LIBBEY YEARS AT THE OTO, MONTANA’S OLDEST DUDE RANCH

WRITTEN BY JEFF MOORE

THIS PAGE + OPPOSITE : The OTO

experience i ncluded riding, roping,

and pack trips

•

dude ranch

relaxing,

into Yellowstone National Park.

This family portrait from a 1930s OTO brochure features Chan T. Libbey, his wife, Mary, and their children, Chandra and Chan II.

SK ANY AUTHOR, HISTORIAN, OR cowboy with an eye for the great Old West, and they’ll credit Dick and Dora Randall as the heart and soul of the OTO, Montana’s first dude ranch.

Situated along Cedar Creek in the Absaroka Mountains, 10 miles from the north entrance to Yellowstone National Park, the OTO is a picturesque example of the dude ranch paradigm and is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

As visionaries with carny mentalites, the Randalls founded the ranch in 1898. They began attracting city folk from Boston, Chicago, and even Europe to come to a mountainous Montana ranch and enjoy an authentic, yet temporary, cowboy lifestyle.

The ranch legacy lives on today despite ownership changes that eventually led the U.S. Forest Service to acquire the property from the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation in the 1990s. For three decades, the U.S. Forest Service has stewarded modern preserva-

When Chan and Mary Libbey (pictured) bought the OTO in 1934, they envisioned continuing the dude experience of the previous owners, Dick and Dora Randall.

tion efforts at the ranch, and last year, the agency partnered with True Ranch Collection to host guests for the first time in 80 years as part of a pop-up ranch stay that generated funds to restore the site further.

The original OTO “dude” experience of the late 1800s and early 1900s included horseback riding steep trails, packing into Yellowstone National Park for hunting and fishing, learning to rope, and simply enjoying the open range from the Big House porch. It was defined by true Western accommodations and hospitality — all for about $50 to $90 a week.

For “Pretty Dick” Randall, it was quite the celebrated — almost legendary — life wherever he traveled, culminating with sharing the podium with President Roosevelt at Yellowstone National Park’s arch dedication in Gardiner in 1903.

Eventually, though, as things go, Dick and Dora began to feel their age, and the days of actively attracting dudes to Cedar Creek began to take a toll. By the early 1930s, the ranch was showing

its years as well, needing many renovations, roof repairs, and the installment of a new convenience: indoor plumbing. Thanks to the Depression, 1931 was the OTO’s worst year, forcing some family members to work at Yellowstone’s Old Faithful Inn for summer employment.

Fortunately for the Randalls, Chan T. Libbey arrived. A tall, introverted, 21-year-old man of great inheritance, Libbey had visited the OTO three times during the previous decade. He was a buttoned-down New Englander with a smile, checkbook, and blind willingness to take what the Randalls had accomplished and improve it. Libbey, along with his wife, Mary, was m ade for Montana: hardworking, resilient, and — while not an astute businessman — enthusiastic about the possibilities of the 3,500 acres.

So, after sharing ownership with the Randalls’ son for a year, Libbey became the sole proprietor of the OTO in 1934, paying $100,000 for the land, buildings, 160 horses, and 30 cows.

Thus began the second chapter of the OTO dude ranch: a confluence of contradictions. Or described even more succinctly today by son Chan Libbey II — one of the last remaining Libbeys from that era — “Well, it just didn’t go as planned.”

NEW FURNITURE AND A NEW ATTITUDE

LESS HAS BEEN WRITTEN ABOUT this period of the OTO than any other. So, if you’re going to start writing, why not start with the furniture?

“The first thing my pop said was, ‘We need new furniture.’ That’s the way Dad was,” recalls Chan II or “Channie,” who, at age 86, sits on a turquoise Molesworth chair in his home in Paradise Valley.

The new owner undoubtedly wanted to make people comfortable, so he set off to upgrade the OTO. New furniture was made. Buildings and roofs were repaired. The large shingle house was built. Technologies such as copper plumbing and fixtures were incorporated and generators were installed. New, experienced employees were added to the staff of old-timers. Libbey even began buying Arabian horses from California to impress all who came, and he endeavored to breed a heartier stock for the rough mountains lining Paradise Valley.

Despite all his efforts, Libbey is widely remembered today for the furniture, his most immediate and lasting contribution to the OTO’s legacy, which was handmade by Thomas Molesworth of Cody, Wyoming. Durable and overbuilt, with burls, leather

A mere 10 miles from Yellowstone National Park, the property consisted of 3,500 acres to ride and roam.

fringes, and Western motifs, these pieces refined OTO’s rustic, authentic decor.

Outfitting the OTO was one of Molesworth’s first major commissions, and the furniture maker quickly became friends with Libbey as his Shoshone Furniture Company started turning out more of the sturdy, Western-themed tables, chairs, and beds. OTO patrons enjoyed the cushy sofas in the Big House, seated among bear, elk, and game bird mounts. They slept in beds with headboards featuring carvings of pistols and the OTO brand.

The alliance was so strong that Molesworth asked Libbey if he wanted to invest in his company as it expanded a nd acquired more prominent clients, such as the Northern Hotel in Billings and Coca-Cola’s Robert Woodruff’s Trails End Ranch in Cody. Libbey provided the funds, but later regretted not getting a piece of the company.

REESTON FE

REESTON FE

M

c r e a t i v e c r e a t i v e

REESTON FE

ARCHITECTURE - INTERIOR DESIGN

REESTON FE

REESTON FE

M

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“Molesworth speaks to the West, and his success was making comfortable furniture,” says Terry Winchell, author of Molesworth: The Pioneer of Western Design and owner of Fighting Bear Antiques in Jackson, Wyoming. “Bigger than that, though, he did not just sell furniture. He sold roomscapes, which meant he also sold Native American rugs and a rtifacts to his clients. So, an Easterner dude coming to the OTO really experienced that feeling of the West, just as Teddy Roosevelt probably did when he stayed there.”

DUDES NO MORE

REESTON FE

REESTON FE

ACCORDING TO THE DUDE RANCHERS’ Association , dude ranching’s heyday occurred during the Roaring ’20s. Yet, as Chan and Mary Libbey took the reins of the OTO in 1934, the Depression had already affected their business. Despite

ABOVE + OPPOSITE : This Molesworth bed headboard was made for the Libbeys in the ‘30s. • Chan and Mary Libbey saddled up in front of the Big House at the OTO. During their ownership, the property transitioned from a dude ranch to a

JEFF MOORE

its notoriety, renovations, new furniture, and promotions, dude visits became less and less frequent. Certainly not as flamboyant or creative as his predecessor, Libbey, with his early lack of business acumen, ran the OTO at a loss for the remainder of the decade.

Historians note that 1939 was the last recorded year of dude guests at the OTO. All the new makeovers were frozen in time as the Libbeys transitioned the dude ranch into a working cattle and horse operation. That is until unforeseen events interrupted even those dreams.

For two years, Libbey served in Europe as a radio field operator. More important than how he entered World War II was how he returned to Montana. His son says he was never the same. “Shell-shocked” was the diagnosis of the era; today, it’s known as PTSD. As soon as Libbey walked through the door of his Livingston home in 1945, his family knew it would be a long recovery. “When he did come back, he spent a lot of time up at the ranch,” Channie says. “But he was shell-shocked, depressed, and endured shock treatments. So interest waned.”

In 1943, just four years after the transition, while living with Mary and their two kids in Livingston, Libbey received the final nail in the OTO: a draft letter. His son recalls that Libbey facetiously said, “I must have a friend at the draft board ’cause they don’t want too many 30-year-olds.”

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Adding to the drama, a mountain slide and flood took out the bridge behind the Big House and ruined the barn; desire to reboot the dude ranch was forever gone. With all the energy finally knocked out of him, Libbey looked for a new owner. And, in 1946, he found a Mrs. Jesse Shields of Columbus, Montana,

COURTESY OF THE

GROWING UP ON THE OTO

Days of Roy Rogers radio, secret caves, and pet coyotes

“OF COURSE, I WAS JUST a kid, but I always wanted to stay my whole life up there.” Such was the mindset of Chan “Channie” Libbey II, son of Chan T. Libbey, proprietor of the OTO Ranch from 1934 to ’49. As a boy, Channie’s OTO wasn’t much of a dude ranch. By then, it was a working ranch full of colorful cowboys, tall characters with a full-on desire to tease and torment the precocious, open-eyed Channie.

With his older sister, Chandra, as his fellow explorer, Channie found the OTO’s 3,500 acres to be a mystery in all directions. They had not a care in the world — Montana’s version of Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer — trying to find hidden caves, petrified wood, arrowheads, fishing creeks, and beaver pond swimming holes. Filling the wood box and finding coal were their only chores. Ice and ice cream were delights. Hot water was a gift.

“My sister and I quite often were the only kids up there,” Channie says. “We did a lot of stuff together.” Chandra adds: “Now let’s face it. You’re a little kid, and there are 186 horses … what’s not to love?”

In fact, the more you ask what childhood was like for these two octogenarians, who today live around Livingston and Paradise Valley, the more they exchange the vivid details of the ranch, one story at a time.

They owned a pet coyote named El Kiote, that someone had captured out of the den. “That thing bit me!” says Chandra, who admits she was “prey-sized” at that time. “The coyote used to sit on the porch of the Big House and steal the brown Pendleton OTO blankets off my baby brother’s buggy. And he’d howl when any cowboy would play the harmonica.”

“We always played in that Big House,” Channie says. “And there was this trap door in the ceiling down this one hall. Always wanted to get up there. And I don’t know how we managed it … maybe a ladder or something. We got up there, and there were 30 or 35 McClellan saddles.”

While their days were full of horseback adventures, their nights were busy listening to old radios and wind-up victrolas in the pool room. If the devices worked, the kids played Roy

Rogers episodes, Joe Louis fights, and such songs as “Keep Your Skirts Down, Mary Ann” and “Henrietta’s Wedding.”

It’s safe to say, it was a playground of dreams. Cargo planes landed. Trail drives came through. Old Yellowstone stagecoaches stopped by. Bears, moose, wolves, and rattlesnakes were dangers to avoid.

Each textured event etched big memories into the children’s minds.

“One room had a polar bear skin on the floor alongside a Navajo rug,” recalls Chandra. “You could sit on the bear’s neck, hold its ears, and ride to the moon. During World War II, the Air Force used the valley as a practice bombing run. The great planes swooped out from behind Castle Mountain, and we would dance with ecstasy.”

“When I walk up the hill and stand in that great emptiness, I know every rock and tree,” Chandra says. “I see my young self, rushing over the land on feet shod with joy.”

Channie’s best times rest closer to home. “Seeing my dad laughing with his friends or sitting on the porch carving a piece of wood. Those are the best memories.”

Such is life through the eyes of a child, when everyone else is too busy being a cowboy.

Free to explore and discover, siblings Chandra and Channie Libbey were often the only kids at the OTO.

who bought the ranch in 1949, ending the Libbey Era and Montana’s prime dude ranching experience for good. From there, a series of sales led the property into the ownership of the U.S. Forest Service, which remains the owner today.

THE LEGACY OR LAMENT

ACCORDING TO JAYE WELLS OF Tuscon’s True Ranch Hospitality, a former preservation architect who has worked on restoration at the OTO, “The Libbey story is often ignored compared to the Randalls’. Theirs was a hard act to follow.”

“I think it’s a little unfair,” he adds. “When the people did the historic application [for listing on the National Register of Historic Places], they were all about Dick Randall. It’s a shame they cut off the historic time in 1934, when he sold it. One of my goals is to get the register amended so it includes everything through 1939.”

By all accounts, Chan and Mary Libbey came to OTO at the ideal time, and their vision was not short-sighted. They added hallmarks of American craftsmanship and art, and provided fundamental preservation efforts that kept these build-

FROM TOP : The Big House at the OTO featured an inviting selection of burled Molesworth furniture. • The OTO pool room, in particular, was always a popular attraction at the end of the day.

ings standing today, all while running a dude ranch during a tumultuous era.

St ill, fingers of failure often point at the man himself. Sometimes, good intentions cannot overcome youth and business inexperience. It’s an accusation that Chandra, Channie’s sister, took a resounding exception to in the summer of 1994. In a spirited response to a Livingston Enterprise article on the Randalls’ reign, she wrote: “My father loved Dick Randall. I thought he was a neat man, myself. But just as Dick Randall didn’t cause the Crash of ’29, which set off a downward slide of the dude business, neither can Chan Libbey be blamed for World War II and the travel restrictions that finished it off.”

In the end, a grand vision turned into a crumbling reality, similar to many dude ranches across America. And yet, the OTO lives on at Cedar Creek. With preservation efforts still underway, only time will tell what’s in store for the site’s future. For now, you can still see where Molesworth’s chairs and tables stood. It’s a place that embodies the lifestyle embraced by many men and women, not just Chan T. Libbey. They longed to live as cowboys, wild and free.

Like any cowboy, Chan T. Libbey came to the OTO with dreams. Unfortunately, the dream of running a successful dude ranch was, at least in part, overrun by world events.

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“SOLITUDE IS NOT SEPARATION.”

—THOMAS MERTON

Great Bear Wilderness, bordering the southern edge of Glacier National Park, is part of the Bob Marshall Wilderness Complex. Over 280,000 acres, Great Bear is home to a variety of plants and animals, including grizzly bears, wolves, mountain goats, fir trees, and pines.

CATALOGING THE UNTRAMMELED

The Great Bear Wilderness of Montana

WRITTEN BY MICHAEL GARRIGAN

IHIKE IN THE DUST of Morley, my one-eyed mule guide, with each step taking me deeper into the wilderness. He saunters up the trail, slightly swaying under the weight of my food. His deliberate and practical rhythm slows my anxiousness and excitement into contented observation and awareness. These are new woods to me, thick with old larch that survived the last burn 100 years ago, standing tall above brushy huckleberries. The larches still hold those scorched scars, resilient reminders of survival. Purple clematis gathers around their bases.

I fall into Morley’s rhythm, watching him gracefully trample along the trail. As dirt settles on my face, I ask him to show me how to hike this trail, how to be in and of this place. He does so in his slow commitment to every step and deliberate pauses to bite the fiery heads off clusters of Indian paintbrush.

Morley is the last of the mules, guided along by the lead rope hanging from his jaw, but it’s tied with a loose knot, and he easily breaks away from the pack. He doesn’t do this to annoy the rest of them or as an affront to their unity; he does this because he smells something interesting, because he is hungry, because he wants to. He never runs away into the woods — he just goes at his own pace while he is free. Every so often, Frank gets off his mule, walks back to Morley, and reties him to the pack string. Morley nods and stays tied until he decides not to be.

Morley knows where he’s going; I do not. He’s been down this trail before; I have not. He poops on the trail; I do not. He isn’t afraid of grizzlies; I am. His four legs quicken his pace; my two legs strain to keep up. He eats whatever plants grow along the t rail; I search only for huckleberries. He does not get to c hoose who he is tied to; I do. He cannot tie himself back to the pack string; I can. When he breaks free, he is truly free, unencumbered; when I break free, I have to work to stay unbound, to not tie myself back to the narrative string I was just part of.

I’ve driven over 3,000 miles across eight states to get here, living out of my truck and sleeping wherever I end up after long days of driving. I’ve broken the string holding me to the rest of my life, and no one is here to retie me. Untethered, I’m hiking along the Big River Trail deep into the Great Bear Wilderness as part of an artist residency with the Bob Marshall Wilderness Foundation and Flathead National Forest. My only goal is to gather whatever I can and write some poems, catch a few westslope cutthroat trout, hike up some mountains, and not succumb to loneliness or go completely feral.

SPRUCE PARK

SITUATED A FEW HUNDRED FEET from a steep ledge slowly crumbling into the river, Spruce Park is a utilitarian-style cabin built with dimensional lumber — no old-school notches, no logs. It’s eyed with clunky s hutters on each wall, and a wrought-iron door does little to keep out horseflies. There is no doorknob, just a string tied to a metal rod that, when pulled down, lifts the inside latch out of a makeshift grooved coupling. The cabin was built to be used only for a few years before a proposed dam would have drowned the valley and shot the river under the mountains into the Hungry Horse Reservoir, but, thanks to the Wilderness Act, the dam was never constructed. Spruce Park is a totem of the legacy of conservation that has shaped this 1,500-square-mile wilderness complex.

T he meager structure holds a wood stove, a table by the window, one mouse-proof aluminum cupboard, drawers filled with duct tape and dead batteries, a sink with no running water, a gas stove that you should never bake in unless you want the cabin to smell like burning rodents, and a couple of beds and bunks.

Spruce Park is enclosed by a lumbering lodgepole pine fence opening to a ledge overlooking the Middle Fork of the Flathead River. There’s an old corral and a tool shed with one large pack rat living in it. White tufts of pearly everlasting grow throughout the meadow along trails that mules and people h ave made. When I lie down in bed I look out a torn screen into the night sky and watch constellations I never see back home. I fall asleep to skittering mice and wake to the occasional snap of their necks in the traps. I feel bad, knowing that this is more their home than it’ll ever be mine, but they don’t seem to know how to keep the peace.

I hike the Big River Trail and climb mountains and wade in the river, but I never leave this ravine of billion-year-old belt rock, trying to notice everything I can and learn all the names of the wildflowers, hoping to eventually become something more than just a traveler passing through. When we become of a place, the gap between visitor and local is closed through an awareness of all the interconnections that exist without us, thrive without us, live without us. Every day, I t ry to sink a little deeper into this ancient sea, to get tangled in the web of connections that my own solitude enables me to explore, to drown in the wildness of this place.

MICHAEL GARRIGAN

THIS PAGE + OPPOSITE : Morley stands ready to be unloaded. The Bob Marshall Wilderness Foundation uses experienced packers and teams of mules and horses to help with trail work and volunteer trips into the backcountry. • The mountainous Flathead National Forest is full of wildflowers during the summer months. Spruce Peak, Vinegar Mountain, and Mount Baptiste mark the high points of the Great Bear Wilderness.

DON JONES

The Great Bear Wilderness has one of the highest densities of grizzly bears in the lower 48 states.

TROUT, MOUNTAIN WHITEFISH, AND BEARS

I CAST A CADDIS, TRYING to land my first westslope cutthroat trout, but instead a mountain w hitefish grabs it and darts downstream, jumping a few times before diving. I’m in my sandals, w ater up to my knees, the sun slowly setting, with the river brushing whitefish scales off my hands as I release the fish into the current. They are feisty, and I fall in love with their monochromatic shades of white and gray, a palette c leanser to all the brightness I am surrounded by. I start catching cutthroats when I move into faster water. They are just as feisty, but instead of diving down into the pool, they shoot across the water, away in all directions. They jump, they turn, they refuse to stay still. They are streaks of light cascading and slicing; they are fierce in their love for anything floating on the surface that might be food.

I wouldn’t be able to be here alone for two weeks without these fish. They are constant companions. I talk to them while I sit on the rocks and watch the water, skipping stones over their heads, trying to teach them a code of patterns, a Morse code, a language for us to speak. They only respond when I throw something light that floats. I accept this and speak their language as well as I can. Each day, I learn a few more phrases — at the head of riffles, skitter caddis in sunrise, purple foam in wildfire haze, slow down, dip hat in water to cool down, cow parsnip in the peripheral, deadwood scripture, rock liturgy, river theology. With each phrase, I feel closer to them, closer to being accepted by them, closer to the woods that shade them, closer to the water that feeds them.

I’m in the middle of a cast when I see a puff of dust on the scree slope 50 yards upstream of me. I stop and watch a grizzly clamber down the loose escarpment, boulders and stones rolling from its lumbering, until it reaches a little copse of pine that has somehow taken hold. It doesn’t notice me as it digs around the roots.

I stand and stare at the bear even though I should be walking back to my pack to put my hiking boots on and be near my U.S. Forest Service radio and hiking poles. I should be hiking downstream before it notices me, but instead, I just watch, and when the wind shifts at my back, immediately the grizzly pokes

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Lakisha Sweat Lodge Woman, Apsáalooke, Crow Nation

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its head out from behind one of the pines. It sniffs and stares at me standing in the water in my sandals, fly rod in hand, fly line pulling downstream, and I think I finally understand what Buddhists mean when they say that awareness is the ultimate existence, that, when your ego dies, you do not lose yourself, you just become t he world around you, you connect to the quotidian sacredness. There’s freedom in the presence of something that could easily kill you. There’s freedom in knowing that you wouldn’t be found for days, that your life would linger until your death is acknowledged. A bardo of the in-between. Our awareness is like the water to these mountains. Without water, these mountains would not exist. They would not be. Without awareness, our world does not exist, our life does not linger, and our death does not approach — we are merely functioning.

The grizzly and I stare at each other, neither of us moving. I don’t know what to do, so I ask the bear what its favorite Tom Petty song is. It says “Even the Losers,” and I say “Walls,” and we both agree that E cho is an incredibly underrated album. I start singing “You Don’t Know How It Feels,” and just as I start the “let’s roll another joint” line, the bear grunts, turns, and lopes upstream, slowly making its way back up the scree slope and into the thick grove of aspen, into the old burn.

THIS PAGE + OPPOSITE : Spruce Park Cabin, listed on the National Register of Historic Places, is a rustic cabin that is now used by backcountry rangers and artists in residence. • This well-worn book belonging to the author is, indeed, full of notes from the field: meanderings, sketches, parts of poems, and the beginning of this essay.

MICHAEL GARRIGAN

A LEDGE AND A RIVER

EACH MORNING, I TAKE MY coffee and sit on the ledge as first light touches Red Sky Mountain and slowly makes its way down to the river u ntil the sun is high enough to cast fortress-dark tree shadows across everything. I watch the bald ridge, looking for any signs of movement, waiting for words to come.

Each evening, I take my drink and sit on the ledge as last light fades behind Red Sky Mountain. The shadows reach up instead of down, the w hole valley lifting out of itself for a few liminal moments until it’s too dark for me to write, and bats start swooping across the ravine.

It seems that gods appear on the edges and ledges of this world, and for me to reach the sacred, I need to find the everyday ecotones — where water meets bank, where hand touches huckleberry, where light touches ridge, where paw meets mud, where pen meets paper, where mouse meets trap.

For 30 years

MICHAEL GARRIGAN

The Middle Fork of the Flathead River is part of the National Wild and Scenic Rivers system and traverses through the Great Bear Wilderness, where it is home to native westslope cutthroat trout, bull trout, and mountain whitefish.

Each afternoon, in the heat, when time stretches and loneliness lays across everything like wildfire haze, dimming all the colors, I go to the river, strip to my boxers, and slowly, methodically walk into the deep pool behind the cabin. I step until my waist is wet and splash glacial water onto my chest and head, acclimating to it. I do this for 15 or 20 minutes, staring into the river, sometimes closing my eyes and letting the everythingness become a nothingness that unravels itself into an awareness.

I swim across the river and sit on a long ledge of rock. Before swimming back to shore, I pick up rocks rounded smooth by thousands of years of water — a slower form of becoming — and think that perhaps this is the transubstantiation I believe in, a slow shaping of ourselves by this world until we are smooth enough to glide across the skin of the river to the far bank, where we rest and gather and become, together.

WHAT’S LEFT BEHIND

SOMETHING IS LEFT BEHIND ON every journey, and in that space, something is created. Trout, when they break the surface, leave the security of t heir river home and return as another fish, their pursuit for what is above shifting them into another life that knows wildfire smoke and dry light. Elk walk until they can’t, and they fall and wait for the river to take them, leaving behind antlers that gather stone and tufts of hair that eagles use to soften their nests. Huckleberries are plucked, and in that space, another leaf grows.

On day 15, Morley returns, all my gear is packed onto the mules’ backs, and Frank leads us to the trailhead. I pick wildflowers on my way out as I fall into Morley’s rhythm, and when I get back to my truck, I’ll tuck them into a collection of Thomas Merton essays, hoping that when I find them years later, I’ll catch a faint scent of this valley and somehow return to it.

I can’t help but wonder what part of me was left behind, sitting on the ledge watching the river, wandering further into those stands of pine and tamarack and deep pools of emerald water following Morley’s steady oneeyed gaze into the dusty last light. I pray the marks of that separation grow with me like the larch holding those burn scars, becoming another graft of skin across my chest I can feel with each breath.

Oil on Canvas

A golden longwing, originating from the neotropics, feeds on the nectar of a coral porterweed plant. In the evenings, longwing butterflies communally roost and rest together on the undersides of leaves and branches or on vines.

Missoula’s Butterfly House & Insectarium spreads its wings

ON A RAW DECEMBER DAY in western Montana, several dozen visitors enjoy a welcome dose of the tropics thanks to the grand opening of the state’s new educational attraction: the Missoula Butterfly House & Insectarium. Inside the main exhibit area, visitors of all ages eagerly peer into terrariums and aquariums full of fascinating critters, from blue crayfish and massive water bugs to hissing cockroaches and a giant tarantula. A couple of college students sit enthralled as museum educators place giant millipedes and grasshoppers on their arms.

WRITTEN BY SNEED B. COLLARD III

PHOTOGRAPHY BY TIFFANY FOLKES

It’s when they walk through an airlock system of two separate doors, however, that visitors gasp with delight. There, they come face to face with hundreds of tropical butterflies flitting and fluttering through a mini tropical paradise of green plants. The butterflies represent at least 30 species, from smaller Heliconius butterflies with orange and black wings to giant owl and blue morpho butterflies swooping like wind-up flying toys through the sky-lit atrium.

Despite the flurry of insect activity, the atmosphere imparts a sense of calm fascination. This remarkable new space for exploration and enchantment is the culmination of two decades of vision, commitment, fundraising, and hard work.

HATCHING

THE MISSOULA BUTTERFLY HOUSE & Insectarium is the brainchild of executive director Jen Marangelo and her husband, development director Glenn

Marangelo. The two were married in 1997, while Jen finished her undergraduate degree in wildlife biology at the University of Montana (UM) in M issoula. After graduating, Jen eventually went to work for UM professor Doug Emlen, who, among other things, researched the evolution of extreme insect morphologies. Grant-funding agencies required the Emlen Lab to provide educational outreach, so Jen began taking live insects into schools to teach children about bugs. These experiences got her thinking about insects not only as fascinating animals but as tools for education.

“Jen noticed that when you go into a classroom and take live insects, you’ve got every kid’s attention right off the bat,” Glenn says. “And with the variety of insects, there were many different biological concepts and science topics that you could dive into by looking at insects and their life stages.”

It wasn’t until 2003, however, when the couple visited the butterfly house and insect exhibit at the Pacific Science Center in Seattle, that the idea for Montana’s own insect education facility really hatched. The Pacific Science Center was the closest place to Montana with a live-insect exhibit, and Jen was so impressed by it that she turned to her husband and said, “I want to do this in Missoula.”

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT + OPPOSITE: The extraordinarily long, strong front legs of male long-armed chafer beetles are used as weapons when battling other males for females. • The Missoula Butterfly House & Insectarium was the brainchild of Jen and Glenn Marangelo, shown here next to the atrium arbor — a favorite perching spot for the facility’s butterflies. • The butterfly house’s main atrium not only helps visitors learn about dozens of butterfly species, it provides a soothing, peaceful respite from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. • The name of these neotropical postman butterflies, sometimes called red passion flower butterflies, stems from their repeated visits to their favorite food sources.

LARVAL STAGES

DESPITE JEN’S ENTHUSIASM, THE CONCEPT had to grow through several stages — much like insects themselves. “We started from nothing,” Glenn recalls. “In fact, the organization didn’t even begin right then because Jen went back to school to get a master’s degree in museum exhibit design and curriculum development. She graduated in 2008, and it wasn’t until early 2009 that we officially formed the Missoula Butterfly House & Insectarium.”

For the next several years, the insectarium functioned as a volunteer project and operated out of the back of a car — literally. “Missoula luckily has festivals every weekend from May until October,” Glenn says. “So, every weekend we were setting up tables, bringing terrariums of animals that l ived in our house, and talking to people about the different animals that we had on display — tarantulas, scorpions, and all these things. But we were a lso starting to present the vision we had for doing a tropical butterfly house and insect museum.”

CLOCKWISE FROM LEFT: A staff favorite, this 18-year-old Chilean rose hair tarantula was one of the first additions to the Missoula Butterfly House & Insectarium’s live collections back in 2010. • The atrium’s innovative design allows visitors to witness the emergence of the 250 butterflies that arrive at the butterfly house in the chrysalis stage each week. • An orchard swallowtail, which originates from Africa, takes a break in the butterfly house atrium.

During these years, the organization steadily gained both popular and financial support, and in mid-2015, Jen, Glenn, and their board of directors decided it was time to rent their first official facility above the SpectrUM Discovery Area on Front Street. Their new digs didn’t have room for a butterfly house, but they could start hosting school field trips and open their doors to the general public. “I think we used that space really well,” Glenn recalls. “We were able to get the permits to have all these animal species that we normally wouldn’t be able to have — and that just really expanded things.”

Still, in Jen and Glenn’s minds, renting that first space on Front Street was not the end stage of the insectarium’s development. More was still to come.

CHRYSALIS

IN MID-2018, AFTER A GOOD run at their Front Street location, the insectarium board received notice that the lease would terminate when it expired at the end of August 2019. That gave Jen, Glenn, and their team about a year to decide what to do next. They had already been looking at locations where they might finally build a bona fide butterfly house, but so far hadn’t found a perfect fit. They had been building positive relationships with Missoula County, however, and one day, Jen and Glenn met with Bryce Christiaens and Jerry Marks of the Missoula County Department of Ecology & Extension.

“Jerry had this glimmer in his eye,” Glenn recalls, “and he said, ‘You know we’re in the process of starting our planning for building a new facility out at the fairgrounds. Why don’t we see if we can do something bigger together to make this a collaborative education facility?’”

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The idea was for the Missoula Butterfly House & Insectarium to share a new building with the Missoula County Department of Ecology & Extension. The catch? The insectarium board would have to raise the funds for its part of the facility — a whopping $4.7 million. Undaunted, the insectarium team plunged right in, launching a capital campaign to raise the money. Meanwhile, they closed the Front Street facility and bought a vehicle they dubbed the BugMobile so they could take their educational programs on the road and into classrooms.

Then, COVID hit.

Ironically, for all the global pain it caused, the pandemic boosted the team’s fundraising efforts. That’s because many other nonprofits chose not to fundraise during this time — perhaps not realizing how many people were stuck at home looking for something to get involved in. That lack of competition helped bring more support for the capital campaign, including several generous cash donations. The pandemic also inspired the insectarium to launch extensive live remote video programs, expanding its educational reach to every part of Montana and beyond, which boosted the insectarium’s profile even more.

The result? By the end of 2023, the brand new Missoula Butterfly House & Insectarium stood poised to spread its wings.

Insectarium

THE MISSOULA BUTTERFLY HOUSE & Insectarium opens at an important time for insects. Although exact figures are hard to quantify, vast numbers of insects and species are disappearing around the globe. Major causes include the widespread use of home and agricultural pesticides, the spread of invasive species, habitat loss, and climate change. Average citizens, however, can do a lot to turn things around. How? They can stop using pesticides and replace lawn space and exotic shrubs with native plants that support insects.

“Planting native plants doesn’t have to be a broad landscape-type thing,” says Glenn Marangelo, development director for the Missoula Butterfly House & Insectarium. “You can have little pockets where there’s good habitat, and it does help. Our house is right in the middle of town. We slowly, over the years, replaced almost everything with native vegetation, and every year I see new things that I’ve never seen before that are coming specifically for those plants.”

A short list of Montana native plants that are beneficial to insects — not to mention birds — includes buffaloberry, golden currant, maple sumac, various coneflowers, bur oak, aspen, bee balm, and more. You can find and purchase native plants for your area by visiting your local plant nursery or using the Audubon’s database at audubon.org/native-plants.

EMERGENCE

AT 8,900 SQUARE FEET, THE new facility occupies about five times the square footage of its old residence on Front Street. This has allowed for much-needed office space, a containment laboratory, gift shop, and classroom space for school field trips and demonstrations, among other things. The insectarium also shares a conference room, outdoor classroom, and greenhouse spaces with the Missoula County Department of E cology & Extension.

In the 2,300-square-foot exhibition area, visitors enjoy educational and live animal displays about various insects and other arthropods. Some, such as the tarantula, scorpion, rhinoceros beetle, and praying mantises, elicit oohs and ahs . Others, such as cockroaches and grasshoppers, highlight the importance of arthropods in the planet’s nutrient c ycles and food webs. Some are just downright astonishing, such as giant water bug dads that schlep around eggs and young on their backs and sunburst diving beetles that carry bubbles of air underwater.

Two exciting exhibits will open this summer. A large window to the outside will be “plugged” with a functioning honeybee hive where visitors can watch the fascinating operation of this globally important species. And, a few feet away, a giant terrarium will reveal the complex workings of a colony of tropical leaf-cutter ants. Different chambers connected by pathways will show the ants harvesting leaves, carrying them home for processing, and feeding their young the resulting fungus they grow.

There are educational wall displays throughout the exhibit areas, and there’s even a cozy room in the corner for parents and kids to take a break with interactive toys. For most visitors, however, the star of the operation is — and will remain — the butterfly house itself.

The new home of the Missoula Butterfly House & Insectarium sits on South Avenue West, next to the Missoula County Fairgrounds, and was designed by the Missoula-based architectual firm A&E Deisgn.

WINGED MAGIC

BESIDES ITS SHEER NUMBER OF butterflies, the giant 2,500-square-foot atrium showcases our planet’s extraordinary butterfly diversity. The Missoula Butterfly House & Insectarium has permits to exhibit about 120 species but isn’t allowed to breed the butterflies, so it receives weekly shipments of chrysalises from licensed breeders. These are gently pinned to boards inside a see-through glass case so visitors can watch the adults emerge and dry their wings. Two or three times a day, chief horticulturist Rob Taylor examines the newly emerged adults for any parasites or other problems. Then he releases healthy specimens into the main butterfly house.

“Every week, we plan on receiving 250 chrysalises,” Jen explains, walking around the atrium.

“ This is actually one of our biggest expenses — having them shipped here every week — so we’re starting with 250, just to see how it feels.” The number of chrysalises is so high because the adult butterflies live only a matter of weeks. As Taylor waters and

monitors the hundreds of plants in the atrium, he constantly looks for those that have expired.

Visitors must also keep an eye out — not for dead butterflies, but for live ones perched on the walkways. While many butterflies chill out on the atrium’s arbor or hanging garden, quite a few sit on the cement sidewalks, gleaning salts and sugars from spilled fruit and other substances. Looking out for these bugs is not necessarily a bad thing. The need to watch your step encourages visitors to move at a slower pace, which is more conducive to fully appreciating and observing the wonderful nature surrounding them.

MEETING MULTIPLE NEEDS

FROM THE MOMENT IT OPENED, the Missoula Butterfly House & Insectarium began filling multiple needs for Montanans. One is education. In addition to adding space to host programs for visiting schools and other groups, exhibits are designed to increase public interest in learning more about insects and other invertebrate animals.

“We designed some of our exhibits to show that insects do some of the exact same things that we do,” Jen explains. “They just do them in a very different way. We hope that creates a more personal connection with visitors. There are many insects, for instance, that take care of

their kids. Of course many insects just drop their eggs and are gone, but many don’t. They provide some sort of parental care.”

The new facility also helps meet a pent-up demand for family activities in Montana. Especially during the pandemic, many popular recreationally based businesses closed, leaving a huge need for fun, engaging things to do. Families can come and enjoy the facility anytime t hey wish with a year-round pass. “The Butterfly House itself is a very pleasant healing environment,” Jen adds, “so I think people will be a ttracted to it for that reason. To come in, feel

the warmth and humidity, feel that air, and see the butterflies and the light. … Having that time, I think, will be a nice resource for the community.”

How do the Marangelos feel now that their dream has come to fruition?

“We gathered some people together — our staff and one of our key donors — to help release the first butterfly in here,” Glenn says. “It was pretty emotional. It was pretty incredible.”

Jen adds, “It has been amazing to walk through the butterfly house and realize we actually did it. But nothing is better than watching people come in for the first time. Their wide eyes and a look of awe — that’s why we did this. It makes us feel like it was worth it.”

Even those who experience the facility for the tenth — or hundredth — time are sure to agree.

A great Mormon butterfly (left) is accompanied by two common morphos at one of several atrium feeding stations stocked with rotting fruit — and a kitchen scrubby soaked in Gatorade.

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May 1, 2023, opening day of the shed hunt near Jackson, Wyoming, dawns clear and cold.

ANTLER MADNESS

SEARCHING FOR THE INEFFABLE NEAR WYOMING’S NATIONAL ELK REFUGE

WRITTEN BY DAVID ZOBY PHOTOGRAPHY BY NATALIE BEHRING

TETON COUNTY SHERIFFS AND PERSONNEL from the National Park Service, U.S. Forest Service, Wyoming Game & Fish Department, and U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service — essentially, most of the heat in western Wyoming — have coalesced along the gravel roads adjacent to the National Elk Refuge near Jackson Hole in the early morning light. Far off, a convoy of trucks towing horse trailers gnaws up the road. Bedfuls of camouflaged men squat in fishtailing pickups. With my binoculars, I watch three “shed bulls” — bull elk that had recently dropped their antlers — graze along a high, wind-swept ridge.

Editor’s Note: Retrieving antlers on public land remains a balance between opportunity, access, safety, and conservation. Last year, the Wyoming Legislature created a resident-only season on select public lands during the first week of May, with nonresidents who purchase a conservation stamp allowed after May 7. This story details an experience during the opening day of 2023 before this legislation became effective in 2024.

May 1 is the opening day for shed hunting near Jackson, Wyoming and in many public land areas within the state. The opener is a muchcelebrated event — a grassroots festival with no analog — whose arrival marks the end of winter and the beginning of better times. The slopes adjacent to the elk refuge wear a patchwork of snowfields and islands of knotty sage that appear purple at first light. The reason for this frenetic activity — the law enforcement and the motorcade — is what lies among the trees and along the creeks: Owing to its proximity to the refuge, this area is replete with antler sheds.

Reacting to a crash in testosterone, male moose, deer, and elk drop their antlers in late spring and immediately begin to regenerate their next set. For varying reasons — some financial, some atavistic — people collect fallen antlers as trophies or talismans of another year in the books. Some sell them to brokers, give them to friends, or store them in chilly garages. They become chandeliers, lampstands, and dog chews.

My companion for the day is photojournalist Natalie Behring. As she wanders near the roadside with her camera, the phalanx of trucks arrives in a cloud of dust and spraying gravel. In unison, the shed bulls I had been watching above lift their heads and snap out of sight.

The lead truck in the motorcade, which drivers must register for a month in advance, sports Idaho plates and carries six camoclad shed hunters in the bed. The bearded man driving looks to be 10 years my senior. And he appears worried. He hesitates for a second, not sure where to go.

“Just park, Dad!” cries one of the men from the bed.

Before the vehicle has come to a proper stop, men leap overboard. They hit the ground running to the north with no clear destination. Red-faced and anxious, they fan out in the sage and run into the shadows of the Gros Ventre Range as if their village is under attack. The driver pulls on his empty backpack and breaks into a stride particular to his advanced age, suffering at first, but loosening up as he goes.

Most of what happens over the next 15 minutes remains fuzzy. It is a loud, dusty event. The impatient banging of horse hooves against trailer walls, the trailers fishtailing in gravel as the drivers maneuver, park, and jump out. People in full cowboy regalia — chaps, hats, and pistols — throw open their doors and race to free their already saddled horses. The wide-eyed animals charge out into the biting Northern Rockies air. I’m nearly trampled by a woman leading a nervous pony. She couldn’t see me standing there snapping photos — how could she? — with all that is at stake. On her face is a pained, harried expression that I diagnose as antler panic

CLOCKWISE FROM LEFT + OPPOSITE : A man on horseback returns with some sheds on the opening day in the Bridger-Teton National Forest. • U.S. Forest Service officials guide cars into the shed-hunting area past the National Elk Refuge. • A shed hunter roams the ridge in search of an overlooked quarry. • The 2023 hunt is on: A convoy of cars headed to the Jackson hunting area emerges from the early-morning mist as a part of a registered motorcade that begins at daylight.

“Stay on the road!” bark men from the U.S. Forest Service — or are they from the Sheriff’s Department? It’s hard to tell who is in charge. Platoons of men in light backpacks scuttle their vehicles along the road. They descend the moderately steep banks of Flat Creek, but they’re still on the National Elk Refuge. The reprimands are harsh. Law enforcement herds the men up the road, keeping them legal; the possibility of running afoul of the law is substantial.

I’M HERE TO REPORT, BUT if I happen to stumble upon a dandy “brown,” then so be it. Browns are elk antlers that have recently dropped and have not been whitened by exposure to weather and sunlight. Hard whites have spent some time in the elements and are, therefore, less coveted. But, in the hierarchy of shed hunting — and hunting is used inadvisably here — a deadhead, the intact skull and rack of a winter-killed bull elk, is the ultimate prize.

The parking area empties, and we find ourselves in the company of law enforcement and a Berkeley researcher who is studying the economic impacts of shed hunting in Western states. We travel down a two-track pocked with old elk sign and fresh horse nobs. I don’t think we’ll find anything since the first wave of hunters thoroughly trounced the area. They appear off in the distance, traveling with difficulty in the leftover snow crust. Natalie photographs the horsemen silhouetted on the ridge crests, but they’re too far off. Despite their haste and hard-charging

ponies, they have nothing to show for their efforts so far. Their panniers sag open and empty. If guys with horses are coming up empty, what are the chances of two journalists finding an armful of browns or even some hard whites? I’ve never wanted an antler so badly in my life.

What pagan forces had come over me? Despite my efforts to resist shed hunting — I’ve been a Wyoming resident for 25 years and never once considered taking up the hobby — I find myself caught up in the energy and reckless, unbridled enthusiasm of the morning.

When you hold a pair of elk antlers in your hands, you notice that they are cool, like the mountains they come from, almost as if they have recently been dipped in a brook-trout stream. They seem to glow from within. A closer look reveals the individual character, the chips from fighting other bulls, and the dark pitch from being rubbed against fir trees. Anachronistic and substan-

Hunters on horseback carefully scan the ground in search of well-camouflaged sheds.

tial in a world of increasing fluff, one can see how elk antlers take hold of people. I can forgive someone for simply wanting to have them because they are beautiful.

Their architecture is familiar, like a spider web or the arc of a leaping salmon. Once you recognize them, you notice them everywhere. In fact, one of the defining characteristics of downtown Jackson Hole is its iconic arches made entirely of sheds. Tourists line up to have themselves photographed beneath the arches, all day, all year long. As you are reading this, someone is having their photo snapped beneath one of the arches, and they are grinning.

AS WE COMB THROUGH THE sage, I want nothing more than a brown six point. I manage to find a perfect, untouched roll of gray duct tape, shed, no doubt, by one of the more enthusiastic antler collectors as he rumbled out for the horizon. I put it in my backpack.

My discussion with Natalie turns to collecting and acquisition. Why all the hype? We have conflicting theories about why g rown men and women give up rationality and cast off their regular lives, not to mention a fair amount of financial investment, i n the pursuit of antlers. Natalie compares this shed-collecting

event to an “Easter egg hunt for adults.” She suggests that early man found antlers beautiful and symbolic, and that our desire for them is a vestigial impulse. I counter her, saying that nomadic hunters traveled lightly; they didn’t collect anything that didn’t contribute to their day-to-day survival. The antler craze is a fairly recent phenomenon brought on by late-stage capitalism’s indiscriminate, winner-take-all competition.

Perhaps we are both wrong. We struggle to understand why over 800 vehicles and thousands of people have descended upon this otherwise peaceful valley. Kevin Simpson, a sports psychologist who studies neuropsychology, explains collecting this way: “For me, there’s a reflection of identity in this chase — it’s what psychologists called the ‘endowment effect.’ The objects we collect, be they coins, knives, stamps, or garden gnomes, can extend our identities to the world around us.” Simpson connects this behavior with a part of the brain called the cingulate gyrus (behind our f rontal lobes, the seat of our rationality), which “fires like crazy” when we engage in behaviors that yield rewards.

We encounter a fit man on a mountain bike. Like the others, he’s covered head to toe in camo. A brown six-point antler, his only reward so far, is strapped across his back. Dan, a Jackson

MICHAEL G. BOOTH

MICHAEL G. BOOTH

MICHAEL G. BO

MICHAEL G. BOOTH

“McDonald Creek with Buck” Canvas Assemblage 42” x 44”

“McDonald Creek with Buck” Canvas Assemblage 42” x 44”

“McDonald Creek with Buck” Canvas Assemblage 42” x 44”

“McDonald Creek with Buck” Canvas Assemblage 42” x 44”

“Pure Paints,” original acrylic, 30” x 40” (limited-edition canvas giclées available)

“Pure Paints,” original acrylic, 30” x 40” (limited-edition canvas giclées available)

“Pure Paints,” original acrylic, 30” x 40” (limited-edition canvas giclées available)

“Pure Paints,” original acrylic, 30” x 40” (limited-edition canvas giclées available)

GALLERYOF ARTIST, MICHAEL G. BOOTH

GALLERYOF ARTIST, MICHAEL G. BOOTH

GALLERYOF ARTIST, MICHAEL G. BOOTH

Near Glacier National Park 9100 HWY 2 East, PO 190187

Near Glacier National Park

Near Glacier National Park

GALLERYOF ARTIST, MICHAEL G. BOOTH

9100 HWY 2 East, PO 190187

9100 HWY 2 East, PO 190187

Hungry Horse, MT 59919, (406) 897 -4663

Near Glacier National Park 9100 HWY 2 East, PO 190187

Hungry Horse, MT 59919, (406) 897 -4663

Hungry Horse, MT 59919, (406) 897 -4663

E mail: artistmichaelbooth@live.com website: https://michaelgbooth.com

E mail: artistmichaelbooth@live.com website: https://michaelgbooth.com

E mail: artistmichaelbooth@live.com website: https://michaelgbooth.com

Hungry Horse, MT 59919, (406) 897 -4663

E mail: artistmichaelbooth@live.com website: https://michaelgbooth.com

native, reluctantly agrees to an interview. When asked for his last name, he grimaces: “Dan,” he repeats.

Dan has been collecting antlers for years and recalls the good ol’ days when the annual hunt was a more leisurely, social event. He worries about poaching. “The sport has gotten pretty crazy over the years, and the people that do [poach] — t hey just figure they need to get out there before everyone else,” says Dan.

As shed hunting popularized — as the intrinsic, aesthetic, and monetary value of antlers multiplied — legislatures in states like Wyoming codified the seemingly simple practice of collecting cast-off antlers with its own season and regulations. They had to in order to keep human activity minimal in areas where wildlife overwinters.

ARRIVING BACK AT THE ROAD, just as the first shed hunters emerge from the slopes with their heavy packs, my colleague and I roam among them. One family from Utah has made the most of the morning. The children are red-faced and sweaty after having to keep up with their father and mother — both camo-clad — but it was worth it, they claim. Everyone in that group found at least one brown.

Men toil under the substantial weight of antlers as they cross Flat Creek and return to their trucks. The atmosphere along the road is celebratory. The hard part is over. The sun rises over the Gros Ventres, and the horses, unsaddled and watered, are tied to the trailers. Antlers are spread around the vehicles as groups recount the morning. One man lays in the sunshine and dozes like a prophet, a dozen browns arranged around him like pupils.

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: Members of a local youth organization comb the National Elk Refuge for sheds to be auctioned at a spring benefit. • A shed hunter loads antlers on her truck. • Tailgating offers camaraderie and a bit of respite after the morning’s excitement.

Hunter Rackham says her group found about 50 sheds this year, a huge number given that they were skunked last season. “We are all Idaho residents,” she says. “We actually live on the Wyoming/Idaho state border, so our mailbox is in Alta, Wyoming, but we live in Driggs, Idaho.”

Like many out-of-state hunters, this is a nostalgic day for Rackham’s group. They lament that new legislation will cut them out of the opening-day shed hunting next year. They have had an adrenaline-filled morning, complete with a rolled horse and broken cinch.

L aw enforcement of various stripes trolls the road as more and more shed hunters emerge from the slopes. But the intensity has vanished. No one is going to jail or even being ticketed. Everyone has behaved themselves, more or less.

Two ultra-runners do well by simply outrunning the others. Some people talk about the dumb luck of it; you sort of stumble upon sheds as you press up the slopes,

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A father carries heavy sheds found on the National Elk Refuge as his kids participate in the search.

they explain. You walk by and miss some. Sometimes, they are where you imagine them to be. One taciturn man comes back from the sage with a deadhead over his shoulders. The skull is wrapped in a plastic bag, and the man marches to his truck, speaks to no one, and drives off with his prize.

We mingle with the shed hunters — the skunked and the wildly successful. We ask more questions about the value of antlers. Is there an antler buyer poised on the road who would buy these sheds for $20 a pound, or is that just a rumor? Someone reports a single gunshot. Did anyone else hear it? We ask all these questions, but never the one I really ponder: Why does someone risk life and limb (and sometimes prison) for antlers when they’re not at all rare? What is it about them that helps us?

After our interviews are complete, Natalie and I head our separate ways. I have to drive four hours to Casper, so I refill my gas tank and hit the road.

As my vehicle climbs out of Jackson, I see them: a herd of cows, calves, and shed bulls pressing north toward Yellowstone and the Thorofare. People have pulled onto the s houlder of the road to photograph them. I pull over, too. Families drift from their cars and venture 40 yards into the sage. Holding their hands up to their faces to shield their eyes from the brilliant sun, they watch and whisper as if their reverence for the great beasts might make t hem stay. But the animals push on in no real hurry, as if we are not there, as if, despite the proximity, we are in separate worlds.

The calm after the storm: This enthusiast rests his eyes after a successful morning hunt.

The Cat

Lookout Cat Lookout

Finding belonging within the forest

WRITTEN BY AUSTIN HAGWOOD

ILLUSTRATIONS BY CAROL ANN MORRIS

U.S. FOREST SERVICE FIRE LOOKOUTS have one of the loneliest occupations on earth. Perched atop remote peaks across the West, we spend summer days in monk-like observation, eyes roaming timbered landscapes, watching the horizon for impending storms and wisps of smoke. When I was 24, the singular role and solitary life were what attracted me to the work, but during fire seasons in the Bitterroot National Forest in Montana, companionship still emerged from unexpected places.

BEFORE I LEFT FOR MY first summer on Hell’s Half Acre Mountain, a friend warned me: “Take care of yourself. You’ll meet angels up there. But you’ll meet some demons, too.”

It wasn’t hard to find the angels. Before slopes turned the color of straw and withered under midsummer heat, before the lodgepole browned with d rought and clung to each drop of moisture like crabs to sea cliffs, before lightning cracked overhead, it was easy to stay occupied. These early days were my favorite — snow melting into mountain streams, daily hikes to the spring, returning to the tower at sunset, and crunching through ice that was stained pink by the setting sun. Weeks passed on the catwalk, where I viewed the wilderness through binocular lenses, catching a hawk aloft on thermals, a mule deer descending a canyon.

The only demon was isolation. I was one of the few lookouts in the Bitterroot without a pet or spouse, and midway through fire season, simply living in the tower meant keeping company with only myself. Alone in a 14- by 14-foot room, I watched ballistic bolts of lightning flare into flame, conjure a frenzy of firefighting, then smolder back to inevitable silence. I waited in vain for the U.S. Forest Service to deliver mail. I studied the movement of ants on the windowsill.

In the mornings, I tried walking to look for signs of neighbors. Undisturbed for eight months, the last mile of the road to Hell’s Half was shaded under trees on the north-facing slope. Tracks appeared in the glittering ice like cave paintings, traces of creatures

living and dying in a white tapestry: a snowshoe hare with its hind legs landing in long ovals, hand-like prints from ground squirrels skittering across the powder, cloven hooves of elk and deer.

One afternoon, I tried a new trail curving through ankle-high grass and a burned-over forest before it descended toward the river. I followed the path past nameless meadows, a patchwork of wildflowers draping the slopes with glacier lilies and their petals of gold.

When I reached the river, pushing aside a knot of low-hanging branches to see the emerald water echoing in cataracts around the canyon, other voices chattered. A cluster of green tents came into view. The tents belonged to the Montana Conservation Corps trail crew, and they beckoned me up from the water toward a pot of simmering pinto beans.

There were six of them: a woman from Alaska, another from Montana, a man from Connecticut, and three Midwesterners looking to swap cornfields for cross-cut saws. We shook hands, and Mark, the crew boss, gave me a cursory nod over their campfire smoke. Layla, a Montanan with close-cropped hair, stepped nearer and asked what brought me to the river.

“I’m the lookout,” I said.

“Oh, you’re Hell’s Half,” she said. “We heard your voice on the radio all week and made up lots of stories about you.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. You’re married and have at least two children. We can tell by your voice.”

“Spot on.”

“Am I?” she said, smiling.

I told her she wasn’t. Over the next half hour, Layla and I talked about the lookout job, and I learned she had grown up in Missoula. I told her it was a solo gig apart from the occasional day off and the company of books.

“Well,” she said. “Do you like cats? You sound like someone who likes cats.”

“Cats?”

“Cats,” Layla said. “I might have one for you if you’re interested. She’s my sister’s, but we’re both on trail crew this summer, and we need someone to look after her. I thought a lookout would be perfect.”

Layla told me the cat would make an ideal lookout pet. She was sure her sister, Olivia, wouldn’t mind, and anyway, the cat was 16. She deserved a quiet retirement home with a view. Could I go to Missoula tomorrow and pick up the cat?

I considered her for a moment. How would I bring bags of cat litter up to the tower? After a spell of solitude without human or animal company, did I want a companion up there who would not leave until I returned her in October? Then I remembered mice darting through the meadow, the nooks and perches around the lookout ideal for a cat’s roost. Other lookouts had dogs. Maybe a cat wouldn’t be so bad.

“I’d love to,” I said.

THE NEXT DAY, I DROVE four hours from the tower to Layla’s house near the University of Montana in Missoula. Dust breezed off my 4Runner as it entered town and cruised between neat rows of trees. I knocked on the door, and Olivia — slightly taller than Layla and with curlier black hair — answered. She led me into a living room lined with green wooden floorboards. Oil paintings and pop posters decorated the walls. Then Olivia stepped aside and pointed to the floor.

“This is Kiki,” she said.

I stared at the small mound of mottled tortoiseshell fur she indicated. Then, a round head with wide g reen eyes emerged from the mound. Kiki meowed.

“She likes you,” Olivia said.

The cat stood like a garden gnome and looked up at me, mouth creased in a slight frown. I knelt and scratched her head. On closer inspection, one of

Kiki’s ears was torn, and ridges of ribs stood out against her loose folds of skin and hair. Her mouth stretched back as I ran a finger under her chin — a front tooth was missing. I wondered how it would feel to call Layla from the lookout and deliver news that her cat had died, an uncomfortable image of digging a grave in the nearby beargrass already forming in my mind. It was a long way from Hell’s Half to the nearest vet.

Olivia carried out an igloo-shaped litter box and placed it on the floor beside 50 pounds of cat litter, two bags of food, and six cans of Fancy Feast.

“She likes the wet food best,” Olivia said. “But the dry food will last longer.”

We loaded the cat supplies into my 4Runner, and I folded the seats down to make room for a sleeping bag before my drive back to Hell’s Half the next morning.

“Does Kiki have a carrier?” I asked Olivia.

“No, but don’t worry. She’ll just sit on the seat next to you,” she said.

After a final grocery trip to buy a dozen more cans of cat food, I drove back to Layla’s, unstuffed my sleeping bag, and rolled an old sweatshirt into a pillow. Cracking the windows to ease the chemical smell of cat litter, I fell asleep on my side, wedged between a bag of Kibbles and an old chainsaw.

I WAS SCHEDULED TO CHECK in from the tower at 8 in the morning. If 4 a.m. felt early to me, it must have seemed like an abduction to Kiki. She rode on my shoulder from the house to the car, meowing loudly in the predawn quiet, and she kept up an i ndignant growl after I placed her on a pile of towels spread across the passenger seat. Pinned under my windshield wiper was a note from Layla, who had arrived home for a day off during the night. She wrote about how happy it made her to think of Kiki “living her best life.”

As we drove, Kiki didn’t sound like a cat living her best life. Halfway down Highway 93, she climbed over the parking brake and dug her claws into my thigh; her face upturned in a glaring, green-eyed accusation. The meowing grew louder.

“I’m sorry,” I told her. “It’s going to be okay. Not much longer now.”

We were 10 miles from the tower when the vomiting started. As the 4Runner hit washboards and jarred against the pitted road, Kiki gave a sudden jerk, her neck elongated, and I had just enough time to brake before she retched on my jeans.

Check-in would have to wait. Stopping the car, I set Kiki down at the edge of the forest, under the cool shadows of ponderosa pines still damp from the morning mist. She lapped a few mouthfuls of water from her dish, and I hovered over her like an anxious parent watching a toddler totter toward the stairs. She let out a raspy meow and coughed.

“Almost there,” I told her. “Not long, and then no more car rides for another three months.”

The ride improved. Slowing the car to 5 miles per hour and coaxing it over each bump, I watched as Kiki sat up on my lap and peered out the window in silence with wide, owlish eyes. Maybe it was the change of scene from highway to wilderness, or maybe she had expelled all her energy along with last night’s dinner, but she quieted and continued to sit there, looking out the window at the endless wreckage of old burns. It was the first time I’d shared the drive all the way to the lookout with anyone. And, mile by mile, as we inched up the

road and approached the tower, the little being in my lap was beginning to lift the loneliness.

WE SOON DEVELOPED A DAILY routine. Since Kiki was almost weightless and needed help staying warm, she would growl at sunset until I lifted the edge of the comforter high enough for her to curl up under the blankets and raise a small lump in the bedspread. Without any spring left in her legs, she would wobble down a small ladder of books I stacked beside the bed in the mornings. Then, she meowed at the front door until it opened, and she could pace the catwalk, stopping to sit like a sphinx in a square of sunshine bathing the east-facing boards.

Around lunchtime, she walked through the meadow, her brown and orange back disappearing beneath the beargrass, her tail a question mark moving between flowers while her small nose inspected butterflies. I stood close by to ward off eagles and hawks. Afterward, she fell asleep for hours.

When she awoke, she would take a few arthritic steps up the book ladder — Trout and Salmon of North America , Modern Explorers , The Lookout Cookbook — one hop at a time. She settled on the south-facing windowsill to begin her turn on watch, a feline lookout, her thin tail twitching as a Clark’s nutcracker flew from branch to branch on the pines and a hummingbird flitted between wildflowers.

I learned her favorite flavor of Fancy Feast (chicken and liver) and, on frosty nights with the wood stove lit, she would sit as close to the warmth as she could without singeing her hair on the hot iron.

After the last rays of sunset faded from tangerine to lilac, a blue darkness fell, our view devoid of artificial light. Overhead stars glimmered to life in their millions, stars numerous enough to overwhelm memory. Thousands of worlds whirled above in a blackness broken only by white meteors streaking across the atmosphere. When the moon was full, soft light slanted through the tower windows.

We would watch it together, the two of us, imagining the vastness of the void and how many mysteries it holds. Then, Kiki curled up, started to snore gently, nestled against me between the comforter and top sheet, both of us where we belonged.

Where

A Life and Journey Such as This

PIANIST GEORGE WINSTON AND THE MUSIC HE MADE

WRITTEN BY RICK BASS

HE WAS THE QUINTESSENTIAL MONTANAN, I think. That is to say, the landscape shaped him, as it shapes all of us fortunate enough to be here in this eyeblink of time.

Sometimes his music sounded like the first crack in an ice dam — that first tap of the jeweler’s chisel — and no matter whether the dam opened to the delicate filigree of a tiny thread of a creek back in a forest, or to an enormous inland sea filled with strange fishes and with all other manners of life — desire — inhabiting that sea, his music spoke eloquently to the dynamics of seasonal change.

What I hear in his notes is a singular exploration of the territory between contentment and desire, and those two conditions in the spaces and timing between the notes. Upon which side of that divide was he most comfortable? Perhaps he liked best the view from the ridge, looking down and seeing both sides. The view of the world.

To see George Winston in concert — whether in a smalltown basketball gym or renowned symphony space — was to witness an artist in love with sound and generosity in the delicate timing and emphasis of his notes.

In Montana, we know this feeling well: the exalted views from the high country, but also those delicate days that exist between the four seasons. The goodbyes, and the anticipations. Like the paintings of Russell Chatham and the poems of Richard Hugo, the music of George Winston helps us better see (and hear and know) our state. So often, humility accompanies true greatness. And he was certainly that. He would s hamble out onto the stage with barely a glance at the audience. Mostly, he had eyes only for his beloved: the piano, or, before carpal tunnel syndrome began to interfere, the guitar.

BORN IN HART, MICHIGAN IN 1949, Winston grew up and lived in two of what I think are the most iconic of American places — the Hiline of Montana and the Deep South of Mississippi — landscapes powerful and direct in their a bility to evoke emotion. Montana’s wide open spaces and — forgive the cliché — canvas of big sky authorizes in us emotions of similar amplitudes. Imprint those responses upon our brainpans long enough, and with enough repetition a nd force, and landscape will become character. That is to say, if we’re lucky, we become the place we live. This can take a long time, and I think

Winston loved all of America with the passion of a gourmand — San Francisco, New Orleans, Mississippi, New York — but he loved Montana and her wide open spaces, the Hi-Line most of all. An aficionado of farm country, it seems fitting that he devoted so much of his career to supporting small local food banks.

in Montana, we all know instinctively to defend this smithy of ironworks where, to crib from James Joyce, our consciousness, spirits, and souls are formed. Mississippi, likewise, with its lush bounty of vegetative uproar and the delicacy of social mores — hospitality overlying the veneer of (like much of America) a culture built on violence — has shaped so many artists. Atop such history, who wouldn’t crave gentility, manners, peace?

I’VE LOST MY HEARING IN one ear: shotguns, chainsaws, and standing in front of 10-foot-tall speakers with my daughters at a Dierks Bentley concert. Extreme attentiveness has been described as a form of prayer, and I will say that the absence of sound in one ear has created a delight for that which I can still hear in my other. It seems sometimes I can see or feel — as much as hear — the sound waves. Different tones sink lower and bend, wrapping around corners in a room, even as other registers of sound move like unseen herds of animals through higher levels and strata, traveling faster and

Self-taught and hugely influenced by American blues music, Winston found in the landscapes and seasons of rural America the time and spaces to experiment and grow: a master who went his own direction, with grace.

bouncing off one another rather than sliding around the contours of things. The delicate and the emphatic. The sublime and the exclamatory.

An interviewer, speaking to the delicacy of Winston’s piano notes, was reminded by Winston that t he piano, despite being stringed, is “a deeply percussive instrument,” requiring significant force to elicit a ny note. What Winston did not point out was the paradox and challenge: playing something delicate and nuanced that has been trained to be pounded. His hands were his voice, his hearing, both composer and composition. He did everything he could to teach the strings subtlety. While playing with his right hand, he would reach into the maw of the piano to calm if not shush them. He would use his fingertips, even fingernails, to elicit sounds from certain k eys. It is said one of the qualities of love is patience, and he was both hungry for yet patient with the sounds — the music — that he shared with us — created — all his life.

In W.S. Merwin’s poem “Berryman,” the poet writes, “… his lips and the bones of his long fingers trembled / with the vehemence of his views about poetry.”

JANIE OSBORNE

JANIE OSBORNE

It must have been lonely at times, to be so in love with the ineffable, but genius must also have made the most divine company — again, as much as the landscapes that dazzled him. The poet Mary Oliver’s words from “The Swan” come to mind: “… Said Mrs. Blake of the poet: / I miss my husband’s company — / he is so often / in paradise …”

If we’re lucky, we become the place we live. This can take a long time, and I think in Montana, we all know instinctively to defend this smithy of ironworks where, to crib from James Joyce, our consciousness, spirits, and souls are formed.

Regarding the patient timing of his notes — the pause and spaces between things, and then the way they rejoin and rush together: His sense of time seems perfectly attuned to the seasons. For a long time, I have had the fanciful notion that we a re so very wrong with our estimations and perceptions of time. Because we are thinking about a thing, an abstraction, which therefore can’t even really exist, how can we possibly get it right? Like trying to define the boundaries and advance of “beauty,” or any other abstraction. Maybe there is just the physical material of the world, which undergoes erosion, disassembly, reassembly — and we are trying to figure out how to box that disarray and reconsolidation into seconds and minutes. But wouldn’t it make sense for time, if it even exists, to be a physical force, like wind or water or fire? Like everything else that is real in the world. Another way Winston was a quintessential Montanan is that he was composed of the four seasons. The deeper into the burning we go, the further and farther we drift from that

JANIE

homeland, that assurance, of change. The seasons’ movements, and therefore the world’s, often seem spastic, whip-like, so that I wonder if there’s been some crack in an ice dam somewhere — an ice bridge of time — and that, in this time of great burning, we are all tumbling into a territory our species has never inhabited before. In his music, however, we hear the sky and the meadows and snow and rain and the rivers that then tumble in snowmelt, and we know that the seasons are always coming back.

ANOTHER ATTRIBUTE OF GREATNESS,

I think, is generosity.

The list of benefits he played around the state, and the country, seems endless. Each year Winston came to Libby, Montana to play for the food bank. His website (georgewinston.com) is endearing for its wonkiness, footnotes, and deep-dive explorations of the arcane and the minute: snapshots of how sublime he found the things that others typically do not hear or see. There’s little preamble in his essays; instead, he just gets right down to it, as if taking transcription from the gods.

That such an unassuming and unambitious soul should have known such extreme commercial success makes him seem all the more from a different time, which — with time moving so

quickly these days, I guess he was. Five Grammy nominations, a Grammy award, and over 15 million albums sold.

Physicists tell us that sound waves are the only of the five senses that are not repackaged in the central nervous system of the brain — the other four senses becoming, essentially, a kind of metaphor, in that processing — like this, unlike that. Physicists also remind us that the vibrations of sound waves — the t rembling they set up in the bodies of the objects that receive them — no matter whether the animate or the inanimate — resonate forever, even if in frequencies so diminished we can no longer hear them. But we feel their echoes, forever.

I think of Winston and his music sometimes when I am in a colony of aspen. Quaking , we call it. Quaking with joy, or — that word — yearning. Trembling aspen. The rush and clatter of the sound, in each of the four seasons. Fire summons aspen. They never leap so exuberantly as after a fire — they have been waiting, in the roots, the one-root, one-organism, that is the through-line of any aspen colony — the underground colony of joy. They have been waiting to hear the fire rush over and past, and for the sky to open up, and to leap up into it and into the flames of the four seasons, the flames of the brief living. (Like humans, aspen rarely live to be more than 100 years old.)

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NIGHT, WE CAN TEND TO forget, sharpens the day. I think every artist begins their journey with the touchstone of another’s work. The touchstone reassures the beginning artist, You are not alone , and yet jolts the artist into the understanding that there can be a territory previously sensed, but never seen or known; a landscape where a slightly different logic exists, where even the rules of physics may be bent and re-shaped to abide by the beginning artist’s aesthetics. For Winston, the jazz piano of Professor L onghair was a foundation — Winston writes about this with great enthusiasm on his website — and so, too, was The Doors’ 1967 album, Light My Fire . As a young man, Winston attended a Doors concert and wrote how moved he was by the delicacy with which Jim Morrison sang the

TOP :

was fond of reminding people that the piano is a percussion instrument. • It’s perhaps impossible to separate the sensibility of Winston’s music from that of the four seasons. The enormous power of spaciousness informs many of his compositions, with Montana’s singular qualities guiding them.

JANIE OSBORNE

FROM

Winston

title song, giving emphasis only to the word “fire” in “Light My Fire.” It was for Winston a simple lesson of proportion — the quietude sets up the coming roar — though when I think of Winston’s etudes and nocturnes, it seems to me his intent, no matter whether subconscious or conscious, was to attenuate the quiet — the rill and run of a diluted storm’s slow approach — for as long as possible, until somehow — how can this be? — the storm has passed on not with Morrison-esque drama, but has instead been absorbed, modified, by that artful attenuation. Embedded in beauty.

What a calm he must have known at times, being able to tame storms. Not silencing them, but sculpting them into something else — spring rains, falling snow, wind in dry grass. Converting them into a more sustainable beauty. Wrote Eudora Welty, regarding the absence of storms, “A quiet life can be a daring life.”

For Winston’s mentor, Jim Morrison, thunder and lightning cleaved the earth as well as the soul; it seems fair to say Morrison perceived life as possessing a stone wall that must be broken through to reach the transcendence of the other side. Kafka wrote famously of the pen being an ax that could break

open “the frozen sea within.” But for Winston, night was not the enemy of day, but its own treasure and delicacy. “The night has many colors; they’re just more subtle,” he wrote. “And I am nocturnal.” His last album, Night , presents a world that doesn’t exist on a 24-hour clock, but instead only between midnight and 7 a.m. In addition to the night possessing its own beauty, there is beneath and within his album the physical and spiritual grace in his depiction of what he called “solitude and uncertainty.”

His family, writing on his website after his death, described Night as “a portrayal of Winston’s place in a chaotic world — his compositions extend solace with an idiosyncratic grace.” Night celebrates “solitude and uncertainty,” they write. “Yet it is also a world, or a condition, where each passing hour brings a traveler closer to dawn.”

S ometimes the names of things matter, and other times they do not. Self-taught, he called his style, his sound, folk piano, rural folk piano, stride piano, jazz piano. Yes . All of it. As large a spirit as the landscape and the world allows.

Most musicians come to their art through studying a classical canon. Comparison, it’s been said, can be the thief of joy —

but if one did have to choose, say, between the study of what came before — the classical tradition — or the study of what is going away — the web of natural grace and seething, clamant diversity of the natural world — the pull of tides, migrations of cranes, pulse of seasons — what’s called genius loci, the spirit and genius of place across time so deep we need a different kind of clock to even think about it, with all living things becoming riders on the storm, struggling for the grace of mere existence and sometimes, for a moment, perfect or nearperfect fittedness, like one note played with the right hand, enriched by the different note being played with the left hand… Well, if one did have to make a choice — if, say, time was short — who among us would not choose to travel Winston’s route? His path was not so much a repudiation of structure and tradition, but instead an embrace of a greater complexity. There is a wild vitality to such curiosity. To such a journey. To such a life. How could we not, upon hearing such music, lean in closer and listen?

TODD V. WATTSON

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Reading the West

DAVE CARTY CAPTURES the spare poetry of Montana landscapes, specifically the Shields River Valley, in his poignant novel Red is the Fastest Color (Guernica World Editions, $18.95). He takes the reader through the seasonal changes that dominate life in this region, and those mirrored in the lives of his characters as they face a coming winter that seems to have no spring.

The trio of characters — Mona, her husband, Ben, and her brother, Jamison — are brought together by Mona’s decline into the ravages of Parkinson’s disease. Jamison reluctantly leaves his life in Minneapolis to move into a cabin on Mona and Ben’s land outside of the fictional town of Aden — fictional in name but familiar enough to anyone driving Highway 89 north of Livingston. Mona asks him to uproot himself and come assist her and Ben, the latter of whom “won’t ask for help, he never will.”

Once there, the outsider slowly transforms into an insider as Jamison

learns to accept this rural community and its ways of approaching life and death. He and Ben slowly find commonality and brotherhood, even as the person who binds them together fades into nonexistence. His life is re-created as he finds himself while losing a beloved family member.

Against this backdrop of looming death, the lives of these characters take on a bold joy and deep purpose, like fresh paint strokes added to a mural fading into the worn brick of a small-town bar. As readers, we can be grateful for being invited to witness the renewal life can find in the midst of sorrow.

CRAIG JOHNSON TAKES readers back to Walt Longmire’s pre-law enforcement days in First Frost ( Viking, $30). This new installment of the big sheriff’s wildly popular mystery tales is, i n essence, the hero’s origin story — examining the early events that forged a consummate puzzle-solver and lawman out of a Western kid who reveled in California’s college football a nd surfer scenes before heading off to Vietnam.

On the way to the recruitment center, Longmire and his best friend, Henry Standing Bear, find themselves stranded in the unwelcoming locale of Bone Valley, Arizona — a town with a dark past kept hidden by an equally dark present. A roving pack of menacing characters threatens their every move as they find themselves drawn into a mystery centered on the site of a former World War II detention camp for Japanese Americans in one of America’s darkest moments: the racially motivated and baseless imprisonment of over 125,000

people, two-thirds of whom were American citizens, in the wake of the attack at Pearl Harbor.

With the Longmire series, Johnson continues to spin compelling and exciting tales of mystery and the dark sides of humanity. But it is his passion for social justice and honoring t he struggles of the downtrodden that elevates his books beyond ordinary fiction. Whether the horrors of Native A merican boarding schools, victims of corporate malfeasance, the epidemic of missing and murdered Indigenous women, or, now, the unconstitutional and unconscionable crimes committed by our government against Asian A mericans, these novels grapple with important issues that leave the reader better informed, more compassionate, and, one hopes, moved to action, a ll the while never slipping into a hint of didacticism that would remove the reader from the spellbinding and heartracing story that unfolds with a superb mastery of the craft.

First Frost is a welcome addition to the Longmire canon.

Dan Bailey’s strives to promote responsible recreation within the greater Yellowstone ecosystem by providing resources, education and industry-leading knowledge of the surrounding area.

Of Note

RICK BASS OFFERS his insights into the multifaceted aspects of the natural world — including the human animal, either in sync or at odds with this world — in his new collection, With Every Great Breath: New and Selected Essays, 1995 – 2023 (Counterpoint, $28). With the eye of a scientist and the heart of a poet, Bass examines our place on the planet with precision, empathy, and a richness of spirit that will invite comparisons to Aldo Leopold, Annie Dillard, and Lewis Thomas. With this book, he further cements his legacy as one of the most important nature writers of the generation and beyond.

POET HENRIETTA GOODMAN explores all the mythic and mysterious places of her inner world in Antillia (Backwaters Press, $17.95). The title of this intoxicating collection refers to a 15th century phantom island. In each of these poems, Goodman gives voice to myriad ghosts of memory, family, love, and pain, with prose crafted through the instruments of the heart, mind, blood, and bone. Readers of this collection will have a hard time shaking the image of Antillia from

the horizon of their thoughts, and they will be grateful for the haunting.

MONTANA’S PAST AND present take an unexpected twist through the skilled lens of Richard S. Buswell in The Quest: A Montanan’s Photographic Journey (Montana Historical Society Press, $29.95). Every page of this beautifully wrought book invites the viewer to see the familiar in a striking new way. From a rusted coffee can to dashboard instruments, from details of old machinery to the toe of a boot, Buswell’s black-and-white, hyper-realist photographs reveal the magic in the mundane and the delight in the discarded vestiges of the West.

NORMAN MACLEAN’S A River Runs

Through It and Other Stories is one of a handful of books that defines Montana for many readers. Now, the life of this beloved

storyteller is immortalized in Rebecca McCarthy’s personal remembrance, Norman Maclean: A Life of Letters and Rivers (University of Washington Press, $29.95).

As a child visiting Maclean in Seeley Lake,

Artisforeveryone.

Exhibitions | Classes | Local Art Shop | Events

Montana and as a student at The University of Chicago, McCarthy was taken under t he writer and professor’s wing, where he nurtured her toward becoming the writer she is today. McCarthy’s portrait expertly blends personal recollections with a journalistic examination of the correspondence

and other writings that Maclean produced throughout his life and career. Readers will find a wealth of insight into the creative output and encompassing world of this acclaimed author.

IN GERALD WAGONER’S collection of poetry, When Nothing Wild Remains (Broadstone Books, $22.50), one finds the silences and distances of memory spread out on the open landscapes of Montana and eastern Oregon. Each poem is like a small painting one might find tucked away in a dead relative’s attic or hanging above the bar in a single-stoplight town. Wagoner brings these painted relics into the sunlight, and we see that their colors haven’t faded in the least despite all the years they’ve been patiently waiting for us. It’s impossible to read these poems and not utter the name “Richard Hugo.” That great chronicler of the rural West has a kindred spirit in Wagoner.

Marc Beaudin is a poet, theater artist, and bookseller based in Livingston, Montana. He has contributed to numerous publications, written three books — These Creatures of a Day, Life List: Poems, and Vagabond Song: Neo-Haibun from the Peregrine Journals — and his work has been included in anthologies dedicated to environmental and social justice.

JOHN PEPION

SHOWING THIS JULY

Rick Bass lives in the Yaak Valley of northwest Montana, where he is cofounder of the Yaak Valley Forest Council (yaakvalley.org) and The Montana Project (montanaproject.org). He is currently working to help defend the ancient forest at Black Ram and planning Climate Aid 2024, to be held i n Montana later this fall.

Natalie Behring is a freelance photojournalist based in Victor, Idaho. Behring has worked for major publications throughout the world for decades, and recently returned to Idaho to be close to her family. When not taking photos, she can be found hiking in the mountains with her border collie and hanging trail cameras in trees.

Sneed B. Collard III is a popular speaker and the author of more than 100 books for children and adults, including his forthcoming adult release Birding for Boomers—and Everyone Else Brave Enough to Embrace the World’s Most Rewarding and

Frustrating Activity and his recent travel title FirstTime Japan: A Step-by-Step Guide for the Independent Traveler. His articles have appeared in Bird Watcher’s Digest, Montana Outdoors, and dozens of other magazines; sneedbcollardiii.com.

Charles Finn is the former editor of the literary and fine-arts magazine High Desert Journal and author of Wild Delicate Seconds: 29 Wildlife Encounters and On a Benediction of Wind: Poems and Photographs from the American West, which was the 2022 Montana Book Award winner. He is also co-editor of the textbook/anthology The Art of Revising Poetry: 21 U.S. Poets on Their Drafts, Craft, and Process and the forthcoming poetry anthology We Are All God’s Poems His second poetry collection, The Folding Chair of Now, will be out from Chatwin Press in 2025. Finn lives in Havre, Montana with his wife, Joyce Mphande-Finn, and their two cats, Tija and Rilke.

Tiffany Folkes was born and raised in the foothills of the Cascades in Washington state. She pursued her passion for storytelling by earning a degree i n multimedia journalism from the University of Montana. Currently based in Missoula, Montana, Folkes finds inspiration in

the beauty and solitude of the outdoors, which influences her personal and professional endeavors as a video editor and freelance photographer.

Michael Garrigan writes and teaches along the Susquehanna River in Pennsylvania. He is the author of t he poetry collections River, Amen, and Robbing the Pillars and was an artist in residence for the Bob Marshall Wilderness Foundation; mgarrigan.com.

Austin Hagwood is a writer, fly-fishing guide, and former fire lookout based in Missoula, Montana. He received a Master of Fine Art in nonfiction from the University of Montana, and his work has appeared in River Teeth, Appalachia , The Drake, and the National Geographic online newsroom.

Andrew McKean writes about hunting, conservation, and wildlife management from his home in Glasgow, Montana. The former editor in chief of Outdoor Life magazine

and the current hunting editor, McKean is the author of How To Hunt Everything. He also contributes to a number of national publications.

Winner of the Montana Book Award for On a Benediction of Wind with collaborator Charles Finn and Best of Photography at the Wild and Scenic Film Festival in California for her series Fire On Every Mountain, Barbara Michelman’s work is exhibited both nationally and abroad. She lives i n Missoula, Montana; michelmanphoto.com.

Jeff Moore is a writer and photographer from Livingston, Montana. He shoots and writes about outdoor subjects across the West, and returns inside to shoot food and product photography, including expensive guitars, duck decoys, and top-notch steaks; jeffmooreimages.net.

Carol Ann Morris is a fly-fishing photographer, speaker, videographer,

and artist/illustrator. She partners with her husband, fly designer and author Skip Morris, on his fly-fishing books, articles, and instructional videos. Her work has appeared in most of her husband’s 23 fly-fishing and -tying books, as well as in magazines and books such as Gray’s Sporting Journal, Fly Fisherman, Yale Angler’s Journal, American Angler, Fly Fishing & Tying Journal, and America’s Favorite Flies

Nick VanHorn left the hustle and bustle of Fort Collins, Colorado after college in search of wideopen spaces. Since landing in Montana, VanHorn has worn a variety of hats, from ski patroller to bike mechanic to broadcast television professional. Whatever the task, VanHorn can be found with a c amera in hand to document the journey.

David Zoby is a freelance writer from Casper, Wyoming who has been writing and publishing essays a nd stories for over 20 years. His work regularly appears in Gray’s Sporting Journal, The Drake, and The Sun Magazine; @davidzoby.

Clean your gear and watercraft. Remove mud, water, and vegetation after every trip. Use a brush and water, there is no need for chemicals.

Drain water from your boat and equipment at your access point. Pull the drain plug. Use a sponge for items that can’t be drained.

Dry your equipment thoroughly. The longer you allow waders and other equipment to dry out between trips, the better.

CATASTROPHE

AT CUSTER CREEK

In 1938, the Milwaukee Road’s Olympian passenger train crashed into Custer Creek, southwest of Terry, in Montana’s deadliest train wreck. Bozeman writer and historian Ian Campbell Wilson recreates this disaster in this book, recently published by the Montana Historical Society Press.

296 pages, 1 map, 27 black-and-white photographs, isbn 9780917298783, softcover, $26.95

Berkshire Hathaway - Bozeman - House 73

Berkshire Hathaway - Bozeman - Ami Sayer ... 16-17

Berkshire Hathaway - Bozeman - Kristen Hoell 52

Berkshire Hathaway - Jean White 175 BG Mill - Boundary Development -

Billings Logan International Airport 63, 171

Blackbird Diner.....................................................170 Blue Ribbon Builders, Inc...................................... 57 Bozeman Convention Visitor Bureau 96

& Depot Gallery ... 170

& Völkers - Western Frontier - Kelly Rigg 87

& Völkers - Western Frontier - Sue Fortner 134

& Völkers

CUSTOM BUILT LOG

CHARLES FINN

Driving the Backroads of Montana

For Martha Scanlan

Driving the backroads of Montana

Gravel unspools to the horizon

Fields of wheat and mountains surround me

I’ve got all the good day long left to drive.

My dog is asleep beside me

There’s a creek up ahead that I know

Where cottonwoods and trout lounge in the shadows

Good a place as any to lie down.

But I’ve stopped to lean on a rail fence

A horse walking toward me out of the fog

It nuzzles my coat pockets for apples

Warm alfalfa breath on my neck

The ache and loneliness of living made bearable I pat the horse’s neck and it knows.

BARBARA MICHELMAN

Photo by: Dave Pecunies, Yellowstone Winter Bison Herd