Editor's Note: We all have our secret spots — those undiscovered special places that offer a full and intimate experience. And as more and more recreationists venture into the outdoors, some places inevitably feel the pressure. While crowds risk changing the character of a place,...
Tucked into the cozy down sleeping bag in my vintage 1977 Toyota Chinook micro-camper, I yawned, rolled over, and pondered morning coffee. My awakening consciousness was startled by loud clawing outside the camper. I looked out the open window. A grizzly bear’s moist snout was...
On the coldest of winter days, when the Montana sky is at its crispiest, palest blue, there’s nothing better than setting out for a morning of cross-country skiing. Maybe that sentiment doesn’t immediately resonate with you. At face value, strapping on a pair of skinny skis...
When I was stationed as a medical officer on the Fort Peck Reservation 50 years ago, I fell in love with the prairie but missed trout fishing. I found a few farm ponds with stocked rainbows, but that didn’t satisfy my need for dry flies...
Hardcore cutthroat bums roaming Western backroads with their fly rods, waders, and extra gas tanks know the marquee water, like teenagers with nose rings and spiky hair eagerly touting their favorite punk bands. Vagabonds chasing westslope cutts often head for Montana’s upper Flathead, Clark Fork,...
I wound across western Wyoming’s isolated Bighorn Basin in my indefatigable 1977 Chinook micro-camper, 260,000 happy miles under the Toyota’s hood. Summer heat waves shimmered and danced like Sahara mirages over the arid landscape. Miles away, a truck pulling a horse trailer into the backcountry...
My first backcountry ski lodge experience was back in the late 1990s when some friends and I rented an old yurt two blocks off Main Street in Cooke City, Montana. We paid $5 for a snowmobile ride from town up to Daisy Pass in the...
Moisture rising from the little spring-fed pond overnight had condensed, frozen, and crystallized on the willows lining the bank. The December sun didn’t offer much warmth, but it made the hoarfrost sparkle brilliantly in the clear morning air. The temperature was so cold that I’d...
The trout-filled limestone canyon of Montana’s Smith River — twisting through the Big and Little Belt mountains — would have made a magnificent subject for America’s best Western landscape painters and photographers, visionaries like Thomas Moran, Albert Bierstadt, William Henry Jackson, and Ansel Adams. And...
I put down my walnut pipe and inky zinfandel, rose from our blazing sage campfire, and scanned the horizon for emerging bats. As the western sky melted into a psychedelic watercolor of pink, purple, and orange, last light washed over the highest limestone towers above...