“You’re going where? Where is that?”
“Are you planning to go horseback riding?”
Where in the world is Montana anyway?
These are some of the responses I received when I told people I was going to Montana.
I also wasn’t sure exactly where it was. I knew it was out West, and it did make me think of horses.
Montana is the fourth largest state in America. There are more cattle than people in Montana and the word Montana comes from the Spanish word for mountain. There are lots of gorgeous mountains. It’s cold even in August. It’s also the only state with a jewel (a sapphire), included in England’s Crown Jewels.
I love outdoor activities and nature, but I’m not the adventuresome type (unlike my husband who is, baruch Hashem).
There were lots of adventures ahead. My husband signed us up for whitewater rafting. He and I thought it would be a fairly gentle ride this time of the year with low water levels. I anticipated a calm scenic tour down the river.
I didn’t feel any cause for alarm when the guide distributed helmets and spoke about what to do if you fall out of the raft. My first mistake!
He shared that the rain and hailstorm the night before added a lot of water to the river. I didn’t connect that fact to the rapids. My next mistake!
As we glided down the Flathead River, all eight of us on the raft dipped our paddles into the still glassy water. Fine, I can do this! I thought.
After a few minutes, our guide announced that we would be navigating the first rapid. It was called the “Bone Crusher.”
My neck muscles tightened. I didn’t like that name!
“Lean to the left so you stay on the raft!” Our guide yelled as we approached the roaring rapid.
All of a sudden, our raft careened and whirled over the rapid. Water poured into the raft as our raft tilted to the right.
We paddled against the current. Then we paddled away into calmer water.
Before I could catch my breath, the guide announced, “Lean left. We’re heading to the “Squeeze.”
“Squeeze.” That sounded terrible.
“You guys on the left are getting it the worst,” he said.
Naturally, I was seated on the left.
I tried to get my husband’s attention. He was seated next to me, paddling on the right. I wanted to protest that we weren’t supposed to be going over these types of scary rapids. When would the rapids be finished?
Before I could catch his eye, we paddled over the “Squeeze,” which must be called that because I squeezed my eyes shut and squeezed the rim of the raft boat for dear life.
We traversed through six more named rapids. I was soaked and relieved that we had finished with the rapids when the guide announced, “Let’s paddle back and do the “Last Chance” one more time. That okay with Y’all?”
“No!” I yelled very loudly.
I was outvoted and back we went for a more terrifying glide over the rapid.
Afterwards, I turned to my husband. “Uh, I thought it was supposed to be––”
“Yeah, I don’t know what happened. It was fun, though, wasn’t it?”
“Uh.”
The next day, we hiked the High Line, which unlike the High Line in Manhattan, is literally a high line on the edge of a mountain. It’s a 12-mile hike if you traverse the whole thing. We planned to do six miles. Six miles! Yikes! We took a shuttle through winding mountain roads to Logan Pass to the trailhead.
I tend to get seasick on buses and boats. I tried staring at one nonmoving object in the bus. It didn’t help.
When we left the bus, a blast of arctic air stabbed at us. “Too cold!” I shivered.
My husband led the way to the gift shop. “We have to buy you a sweatshirt,” he said.
I agreed.
The only one close to my size was a green one with a front zipper. It was too big, but we bought it anyway. My husband ended up wearing the sweatshirt as it fit him better, and I wore his windbreaker which had a hood to cover my frozen ears.
The trailhead started with a short walk down a hill and then you found yourself on the edge of a mountain. I decided not to look down and to just hug the wall. We inched along for around ten minutes. “Is the whole trail like this?” I called to my husband, dreading his answer.
He didn’t answer because he was busy hugging the wall, too. Then, the trail merged into a regular trail with trees and a gorgeous view of the mountains.
I let out my breath. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath the whole time, and we continued on.
That’s when we saw something strange. At first, my husband said, “Hey, someone is walking a dog.”
That didn’t make sense, since no dogs were allowed on the trail. Also, it was a one-way narrow path. That’s when a hiker approached us and pointed. “That thing is stalking me!” he said.
Behind him was a full-size beige colored elk with huge antlers leading the way down the path with a line of hikers behind, who were keeping their distance. My husband and I backed away and watched the elk pass. (See photo.)
It stayed on the path and stopped a minute to nibble at some yellow wildflowers. Then it continued on as if it was one of the hikers.
I wondered if it would stop at the gift shop and then wait in line for the shuttle bus.
We took an awesome video of the whole thing.
The next day, we went on an all-day kayaking tour of Flathead Lake, which stopped at Wild Horse Island for a three-mile hike. We hiked to the top of a butte that provided a magnificent view of the lake and mountains. We kept hoping we’d see wild horses, but I guess they were on vacation because we didn’t see any. We did see grazing elk and a family of deer.
Our kayaking guide told us she’d visited New York once and she’d cried at JFK when she observed all the people yelling and the hustle and bustle of the airport. “It was all too much!” she said.
Compared to the quiet and serenity of the mountains, I understood what she meant.
Our last hike required a long, long drive down unpaved bumpy roads. We were in the middle of the forest, and I worried that the gravel road would puncture a tire. Then, we’d be stranded in the middle of the wilderness.
We made it to Bowman Lake, a beautiful lake shimmering in the sunlight, surrounded by mountains.
When we arrived at the lake, the trailhead had a rather ominous sign. “Mountain Lion spotted in the area.”
I pointed to the sign. “Maybe we should skip this hike,” I suggested.
“It’s very unlikely,” my husband said. “They stay away from people.”
I want to stay away from them!
Next to the mountain lion sign there was a sign that said, “You are entering Grizzly Bear Country. Grizzly Bears Frequent the Area.”
“I really don’t think this is the hike for us,” I said.
We did take the short hike near the lake. However, we soon saw upon the trail a huge deposit of animal manure.
I said, “It’s from a family of bears or the mountain lion! I’m leaving!”
We prudently decided to head back.
Northwest Montana is really a beautiful place. It differs a lot from New York or other places on the East Coast. It’s called the Big Sky State for a reason. At night, there’s a full globed starry sky with more constellations than I’ve ever seen before.
It’s a place of wide-open spaces with horses and cows moseying around farmland. The Rocky Mountains rise in the distance. At sunset, a peach glow drapes the mountains. Evergreen trees reach so high, you have to crane your neck to see the top. Nature trails are covered with soft pine needles and a woodsy scent wafts through the air.
There are mostly pickup trucks and cars with four-wheel drive due to the heavy snowfalls in winter. There are fewer vehicles, and they zoom. There are no streetlights, so you have to drive at night using your brights.
Despite the higher speed limits, it’s a slower pace of life and a place to connect to nature and Hashem’s wonders. Baruch Hashem, Hashem created such a magnificent world for us to enjoy. We also had some incredible Jewish encounters and experiences that I will tell about in the next article.
I highly recommend a trip to Montana. I’d suggest, however, skipping the whitewater rafting and any hikes with mountain lion and grizzly bear warnings.
By Susie Garber
