It was August 10th and snowing.
I hadn’t seen snow in well over a year, let alone be in it. But here I was, snaking along the Beartooth Highway near the state line of Montana, driving in a hail-like snowstorm.
We turn into a pull off and quickly run out into the elements. I feel like a child who has just seen snow for the first time as I stick out my tongue and try to catch the clean, white flakes. The tiny crystals look like magic and smell like winter is near. What a lie.
A week ago, I was lying on a sandy beach in the middle of the Florida Keys.
Today I am in Montana, catching snowflakes on the tip of my tongue, remembering what it is I love so much about the cold and how it makes me feel wild.
I hadn’t felt this wild in a long time.
I had always wanted to go to Montana. The name of it sounds intoxicating as it rolls off your tongue easily. Montana. A state full of mountains, big sky, and vast land.
When I was trying to decide on where I wanted to go for my summer vacation, the word Montana crossed my mind. My best friend from high school, Zane, goes to college at Montana State University in Bozeman and had been begging me to come out and visit her for years. I had not seen her since the winter of 2014 and our patience was dwindling on when we would see one another again.
It was perfect.
She was finishing up her summer internship in Washington state and I had a vacation to somewhere set aside for 10 days.
It was decided; I would go to Montana.
I booked a few flights, pulled a few strings and packed only the essentials to avoid a checked bag fee. I would later realize I did not pack enough warm clothes, but yet again I was living in Florida and didn’t have many.
I was off. I met Zane, around midnight, at the Pasco, Washington airport and the journey evolved from there.
The first day of this westward adventure we spend in Washington. It is Zane’s last day of work and I am left to sleep in and play catch up with my jet lag. Zane’s parents live in Richland, the heart of the Tri-Cities area located in the southeast corner of the state. Zane’s mom and I visit Goose Ridge winery, sipping away at the delicious local wine. I become a giddy tourist quickly, skipping and smiling through the lanes of the vineyard. Later, after my wine buzz has dissolved, Zane and I load up the kayaks and head to the Yakima river. The river is still like the mud we bottom out in. We decide to hop out and go swimming. We have homemade risotto and brownies for dinner. The sunset from their balcony is dyed a bright red.
The next morning, we pack Zane’s Honda Pilot and begin our trek to Montana. I buy coffee at a gas station along Route 90 East and notice a few bugs floating along the rim of my cup. I think I still drink it. We listen to Awolnation, describing our boyfriends in detail and talking about our cats. We pass through Idaho, speeding up and over the mountain passes, and around the sublime city of Coeur d’Alene. We meet David, Zane’s boyfriend, in Missoula where we have local beers and Pad Thai for lunch. We park and stash Zane’s car at a Walmart outside of the city and cram into David’s Jeep Liberty. We listen to reggae music and cruise three hours north, heading straight towards Glacier National Park. We camp at the southwestern end of the park, near Hungry Horse Reservoir. I don’t sleep at all in the tent they let me borrow. I’m afraid a Grizzly bear might smell my Chapstick and tear me to shreds.
We spend a total of three days at Glacier. We cruise up Going to the Sun road every day with Zane taking amazing pictures and hopping out now and then to capture that perfect image. We hike a 10.4 mile loop up Siyeh pass and truly understand why Glacier is known as the “Crown of the Continent”. We pass Sexton Glacier and can feel the coldness before we see it. We travel to Two Medicine Lake on the east side of the park, where we see a triple rainbow. We camp at different camp sites every night. One night we camp along a clear lake, one night near the woods, one night we have a fire. I begin sleeping with them the second night and finally calm down about the grizzlies. We swim in a nearby lake to wash off our dirt and sweat every day. One night, as Zane and I are wading into the cold water a thin crescent moon rises over the southern mountain range. It fits my definition of a perfect moon. I close my eyes and make a wish.
After soaking up all that we can of Glacier, we drive back to Missoula where Zane and I hop into her Pilot and follow David due east. We pass through the heart of Big Sky country where the mountains are one long continuous chain. They never stop rolling. We eventually arrive at Zane and David’s yellow apartment in downtown Bozeman where we unpack, take showers, and play with Tevia, their black and white cat. We eat out every day, hitting their favorite breakfast nooks, Indian cuisine, and the restaurant where Zane used to hostess. We take day trips to nearby swimming holes and rivers. David jumps off a 30-foot cliff and I can’t bring myself to look over the edge. We hike Sacagawea Peak, the highest mountain in the Bridger Range that borders Bozeman. We see mountain goats at the top and I collect remnants of their white fur. We swim in Fairy Lake located near the trailhead and float on our backs, watching as the growing moon creeps up and over the barren peak. One day we decide to float down the Madison river. We gather a group of people, take two cars to park at the input and output locations, blow up our tubes and designate the largest one to be our beer cooler. We attempt to make a sail out of our tent fly and fail horribly. We laugh so hard I never think we will stop. I easily learn to navigate the streets in town and take early morning runs up Pete’s Hill and around the college campus. Bozeman feels like a home I never had, but someday will. Without a doubt.
In my last string of days, we drive south towards Wyoming. We take a steep cruise up the Beartooth Highway, pausing at the top of the pass to take in the 360-degree view of the West settlers dreamed about. We soon pass into Yellowstone National Park and I see wild bison (buffalo) for the first time. We stop at the boiling river, where the current is strong and the water sometimes scorching, to take a quick soak. That night we head to Red Lodge, Montana, where my best friend from college, Alyssa, is working on Aspen Ridge Ranch for the summer. Alyssa leads us through the horse barns and pastures; she invites us to stay the night in her Lincoln Logged cabin. We get dolled up like we used to in college and head out for margaritas and Mexican in town. When we come back, Zane and David head to bed, but after a beer or two, Alyssa says, “Let’s go outside.”
We pull on our boots and head out into the night. The once thin crescent moon is thicker now, casting a golden glow onto the open pastures. Alyssa opens a gate and walks into the field full of horses. I hesitate, not sure if I should follow.
“Aren’t you coming?” She asks as she begins to close the gate. I hurry in and stay behind her, uncertain if my sudden movements will cause a stampede of unbroken horses.
“It’s okay,” she says, “They won’t hurt you. See,” She runs up to every horse, combing back his or her mane and whispering you’re a good boy in every other one’s ear. She is a natural; every horse worships her and follows her lead.
“Okay stay right there, right where you’re standing,” She says as she begins to run ahead of me.
“Wait why?” I yell up to her, wanting to follow.
“You’ll see,” She becomes engulfed in the darkness and I lose sight of her. Here I am, alone, standing in the middle of a pasture of horses. They are like stars littering the field and their eyes twinkle between blinks. All is silent and I turn to find the rising moon, understanding that at this moment there is no other place I would rather be than here. Suddenly the ground begins to move beneath my boots. There becomes a rumble in the earth and it begins to move towards me. The noise growing, the breaths, the stomping, the hooves, a herd of horses running towards me at full speed. I don’t know if I am scared or ecstatic as the horses make their way around me, their tails whipping against my bare legs and a cloud of dirt forming across the field. I smile and hold my head back in laughter, like I am about to howl at the moon. Alyssa runs by and grabs my hand, joining me in the chase. We gallop together, side by side, trying to catch up, following the rage.
I lose a piece of my heart that night.
The part that ran away with those horses into the moonlight of a Western sky.
The part that will forever be, forever wild.