Big Welcome at Big Sky

“Welcome to Bozeman, Montana, folks. The time is 3:00pm and the temperature is 94 degrees.” Wait. What? I may have packed the wrong clothes.

Our arrival into Bozeman, Montana was mostly uneventful aside from the violent coughing coming from seat 30-E that prompted three of us to wrap our sweatshirts around our faces. That, and the roller-coaster turbulence about 20 minutes prior to landing made it necessary to practice deep breathing and meditation. Do you know that United no longer places vomit bags in the front seat pocket?

Cousins on the plane!

At first glance it appeared we didn’t arrive at the Bozeman Airport. Instead, it seemed as if we taxied to a Bass Pro Shop with a side business in paleontology. Gaelan could have completed his trip then and there and been satisfied with what he’d seen.

Do yourself a favor and go to Bozeman just to see the cozy lodge/museum that doubles as an airport terminal.

We exited the air-conditioned into the same heat we thought we had escaped in Baltimore. We found our bright blue Dodge Caravan and began a spectacular 1-hour drive from Bozeman to Big Sky.

Large, open expanses of farmland gave way to mountainous peaks on either side of the one lane road that follows the path of the Gallatin River. The green here is unique to the west. There’s a formality to the color – a stoicism that is made more evident by the rows and rows of evergreens that grow tall and straight along the angled ridges.

Big Sky oozes picturesque charm and moneyed taste while still managing a down-to-earth vibe. We pulled into our home just as the Wednesday Farmer’s Market was in full swing. We parked at our cozy lodge straight out of “The Great Outdoors“ with antlers as decoration, large hewn tree trunks for pillars, and rocking chairs on the front porch.

We unpacked our things and walked the 200 yards into town to get a glimpse of artisans who make everything from resin river rock cutting boards, organic jams, pickle lemonade (yep, you read that right), watercolor landscapes, and handmade turquoise jewelry…all at a price that quickly shows what type of clientele they’re accustomed to.

We’d “bearly” been in Big Sky for 4 hours when, on our walk back from the Farmer’s Market, a man shouts from his pick-up truck, “Hey, there’s a baby black bear down the road. Just wanted y’all to know.” And, just as he said it would be, roaming around the front yard of a rancher, we saw our first bear. If this one was a “baby” I can’t imagine what a grown bear must look like.

Initially, it was approximately 50 yards away. But, in a matter of seconds, it closed the gap significantly as it barreled toward us. Quinn’s face went white, and Kip grabbed his arm, dragging him backward. At about 25 feet away, it suddenly veered right and ducked into a group of pines that led directly to our back yard.

In those milliseconds while you brace for impact, you wonder how much of the information you’ve learned in the course of your lifetime about bears black bears vs. grizzlies is actually accurate. How to tell the difference between black bears and grizzlies Do you scream at it? Do you run? Do you lie down? Do you make yourself large? Do you climb a tree? Which ones can climb? In our case, we did none of the following. We froze and hoped for the best.

Of course, as scared as I was, I managed to get a couple of photographs once it turned its gaze from us. Clearly, it’s my instinct to document.

The buzzing excitement brought all the neighbors out onto their porches, exchanging introductions and bear stories. Because of our experience, we were a little fearful of our planned 6-mile hike for the next day, so we were given bear spray handling tips and some assurance that all would be well and that our brush with death was actually very rare.

That night, the soaring temperatures plummeted and gave way to more “typical” Montana weather. This sudden change required Quinn to don a black robe which he continued to wear for the duration of the trip.

Turns out, we didn’t need to be fearful at all of bears. There were no sightings. And, if there had been, I would have surely been the slowest one in the group, and therefore, the first eaten.

We got to the trailhead around 9:45am, armed with two canisters of holstered bear spray, enough water to feed a village, and some snacks. We hadn’t gone the first mile of the six, when I rolled my ankle and heard a pop. I’d like to say it happened while traversing a rock wall or jumping over a stream. Alas, I rolled it while taking a break for water while simply standing on a triangular rock when my ankle gave out. However, I still had 2 miles until the summit and then a further 3 miles back down to the car. I wasn’t about to be responsible for cutting the hike short for the rest of my crew. So, I pushed on, limping away while the kids sang, played hiking games, and whistled in order to keep bears away. The hike itself was worth the extra mileage on my ankle. Our hikes on the east coast are typically dark affairs, deep in a treed forest with a healthy dose of underbrush and the legitimate threat of poison ivy at every turn. However, Beehive Basin Trail was Sound of Music meets Hobbiton with wide views and broad trails flanked by purple, yellow, and pink wildflowers. With the peaks in the distance, some bits of snow still clinging on at the top, we hiked to the lake. Climbing an elevation of 1650 ft, the hike possibly ranks as one of the steepest we’ve done. It was made more so considering we (okay, me) hadn’t quite adjusted to the 10,482 ft altitude at the top. The older boys could have done the hike in half the time, but they stayed with the group as our motto became, “No Mom left behind.”

About 3 hours later, we were back to the car, foot elevated, and ready for a well- earned rest.

So, what I haven’t mentioned is the reason for this trip: Kip’s family reunion. As one of five, all 28 of us descended on Big Sky from Hawaii, Maryland, Florida, and Massachusetts. We met up for the first time at the Music in the Mountains Festival in the center of Big Sky. Thirteen adults and fifteen cousins added a significant body count to this small town.

At 6pm, residents gathered in the park with their blankets, coolers, and snacks. Food trucks lined the edges of the square while Indie-folk/country music rang through the mountains. What a view for a festival!

By 9pm, after a raucous Puerto Rican band finished out the set, people began to gather their things and walk home. We felt part of this little community for a short time. The wholesome nature of this area is really something. We watched the kids play card games on the grass, join pick up volleyball bump circles with other kids, and play frisbee on the lawn. Big Sky, in addition to having everything else going for it, has one more adjective to tack on: Friendly. I wish we could all take a page from Big Sky’s book.

Our final Big Sky activity was a white-water rafting excursion on the Gallatin River. Now, we had every intention of making it there on time. In fact, we left early. But, a missed turn, a bit of back tracking, no cellphone reception, and dead stopped traffic due to construction on single lane road left our nerves absolutely shattered as we approached the rafting company 25 minutes late and hoping with all our might that they hadn’t left us. We were waved in and our family went to work, taking the kids under their wing, handing out safety gear and keeping us moving. After throwing on booties, life vests, and helmets in record speed, we boarded the bus for the put in. I could breathe again, but just barely.

A sparkling expanse of water, the Gallatin, is famed for the setting of the movie A River Runs Through It Brad Pitt. And, it’s no wonder. It’s perfectly romantic. Fly fisherman dot the river all along the way, their lines looping and curling in the air before flicking and snapping back. I really want to like fishing. Truly, I do. It feels like a wonderful way to pass time. Meditative. In harmony with nature. And, yet I‘m sad to say, I just prefer to watch them.

While Gaelan was with Aunt Brooke, Mollie and John, my raft had the dream team: John, Jennie, Finn, Dylan and Onora. God love her heart, Onora isn’t my most adventurous child. So, when the guides gave the safety talk about death and destruction on the river, it might not have helped her nerves. But, as soon as we were out there, she took in the views, and relished in the excitement of the tumbling water and take-your-breath-away cold. CJ, our charming guide from Mississippi, with a southern accent that could charm the socks off the most hardened soul, couldn’t have been more fun as he read the river flawlessly down the Gallatin. On the burbling calm stretches of water, we spent time marveling at the scenery, asking CJ questions about his life and experiences in Montana and back home in Mississippi, and enjoying the moment. We cruised past the house Brad Pitt bought after making A River Runs Through It, darted through Class 3 rapids, cruised over bumps and jerks from the rocks underneath, and had splash battles with other boats in our path.

Big Sky isn’t our final destination. It’s just the beginning. We will all caravan to a house on Henry’s Lake just across the Idaho border from Yellowstone National Park for a week to visit a Grizzly and Wolf Sanctuary, see a rodeo (or two), spend time in the park, and spend time together as a family. Stay tuned.