MONTANA AND BIG SKY: WORTHY CLASSROOMS BY ROBERT HALL
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hen I ventured out to Roscoe, Montana, in 1979 for a summer job, leaving behind my childhood home just west of Chicago, I was totally unaware Montana was so timelessly memorizing and would later become such a substantial component of my life. It was during that summer that I worked on the Lazy EL ranch as a cook (their bad luck!) and ranch hand. My learning curve was steep that summer—riding fences, fly fishing and cooking grub were novel experiences for a young mid-Western urbanite. As expected, the cowboys loved to give it to me. When I wore shorts, they suggested “whole” pants. I wanted to ride Pokey, a real plug of a horse, but they put me on a mercurial Pistol and kindly referred to me as “city boy.” Yes, my fly cast was lousy, the cowboys were tough and my riding was worse, but after a few weeks I caught a few rainbows, figured out how to settle into a Western saddle and at least the cowboys knew I worked hard (just not smart). Leaving Montana that summer after a full-scale crash course in the lifestyle and culture, I knew I would be back. I just didn’t know it would take 25 years. As a father of three ski racers, and with a wife who is a reformed Vail ski bum, we collectively grew a bit tired of our quaint Pennsylvania ski hill, opting for an annual pilgrimage to the West for a ski trip. We hit the classic, obligatory checklist: Vail, Aspen, Jackson and most of Utah. No doubt, they were all great spots, but Vail was a bit like Disneyland, Aspen, well, glitzy for starters, and Jackson, despite those incredible Tetons, never seems to ski well in late March. For those reasons, among others, none of the destinations really grabbed us for repeat visits.
BOB AND THE HALL CLAN HITTING THE SLOPES—A PRIME MOTIVATOR IN PUTTING DOWN ROOTS IN BIG SKY. PHOTO COURTESY OF ROBERT HALL
we never saw a stitch of Bogner and a fancy lunch was a perfectly grilled bratwurst.
HALL GETTING IN SOME TOURING IN THE NATURAL, WINTER-WONDERLAND BEAUTY OF BIG SKY. PHOTO BY KENE SPERRY
In 2002, our family visited Big Sky for the first time in the midst of a warm spring. Until that point, we never knew what “chicken heads” were and learned, quickly, what “slide for life” meant. Though the conditions weren’t ideal, we loved the terrain, the lack of lift lines and picked up on the Montana vibe. Simply, we were intrigued: Everyone seemed to be on fat powder skis,
The next spring our family made a repeat visit, during which we were blessed to receive several inches of cold powder and discovered the earliest days of a love affair with the steeps of Lone Peak. We relished watching our kids transform into big mountain skiers and, with our PIEPS handy, will never forget those first tracks on North Summit Snowfield.
In July we came rushing back to glorious weather, endless hiking opportunities and, wouldn’t you know it, that hard-earned fly cast came back in full. That summer, we were lucky enough to meet several of Big Sky’s gritty locals; as it turns out, they were approachable and friendly, and we quickly figured out that the fishing guides,
50 | Summer 2020
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