Wintertimes

We had some snow here recently.  In fact, we had enough snow that the county declared a snow day.  Schools were closed for two days straight.  To put this in prospective, I've spent the entirety of my educational career in Montana school systems and never ONCE had a snow day.  I've seen more snow than I know what to do with, but none of it kept me from school.  This is Montana and that's just the way it is.

Now where did I leave that bike again?

Of course Hooters wasn't closed.  Snow may stop school, but it doesn't stop wings.  We're like the U.S. Postal Service only with different uniforms and alcohol.  Snow or more snow Hooters doesn't give a shit.

So enjoy these pictures of the snow.  These were taken at about the halfway point of the storm on a night of "totally sober" fun.  That's the beauty of living three blocks from downtown, you can go out when cars have been asked to stay off the road.  I call that appropriate planning.  By the way, blizzards don't keep bars closed either.  That's some valuable knowledge, my friends.

Normally a busy, main street.

Shit happens in the snow.

And don't forget to enter my Shoes for Crews Giveaway!  You could win a pair of shoes of your choosing.  And lets be honest, free is good.

Just submit a picture of your shoes and let me know why you need a new pair.  Enter by EMAIL or submit your photo via FACEBOOK!

CLICK HERE for more information on the giveaway.

Oly's Story

This is a true story.

Oly is reunited with his family.  CREDIT.

Oly, a welsh corgi, was an avid skier.  Or rather, Oly’s owners David and Kerry Gaillard were avid skiers; Oly just liked to go along for the ride.  Unfortunately for Oly and the Galliards, winter was rather late getting to Montana.  Usually a skier’s paradise, the early season had brought more rain than snow in most parts of the state.  Resorts usually busy by early January were struggling to keep even a handful of runs open.

So Oly’s owners did what many truly devoted skiers would do and went looking for the snow.  Generally, this means backcountry skiing, which doesn’t involve the luxury of lifts or cozy lodges.  Instead, skiers hike into wilderness areas to enjoy pristine powder and more advanced terrain.  It’s for the love of the snow.

 

This search is what brought David, Kerry and Oly to Hayden Creek just outside of the small town of Cooke City, Montana on New Year’s Eve.  They were all bringing in the New Year doing what they loved.  David and Kerry skied and Oly was close behind.

But backcountry skiing is dangerous and things can change in a hurry.  Without notice, an avalanche broke bringing snow hurtling down the mountain toward the small group.  Kerry, who was on the edge of the avalanche, managed to grab onto a tree to avoid being swept away by the charging snow.  David and Oly hadn’t been so lucky.  Kerry began searching, but after three hours was unable to dig her husband or her dog from the deep snow.

Returning with help, David’s body was located using his avalanche beacon – a necessity for any backcountry skier – but Oly was never found.  The task of finding a rather small animal beneath all that snow was impossible.  David was taken home, but Oly stayed on the mountain.

Days passed and plans were made to hold services for both David and Oly.  It was right about that time that the Galliards received a call from the owner of the hotel the couple had stayed at in Cooke City.  Oly was at the hotel and the owner was personally going to bring him home.  It had been four days since the slide and miraculously the corgi had been patiently waiting right in front of the room where his owners had been staying.

Curious about what had happened, a few members of the search team return to the site of the accident to look for evidence of what had happened to Oly.  There, a few hundred feet below where they found David was a hole that hadn’t been there previously.  Filled with fur and the marks of pawing, it is where Oly spent days buried deep in the snow only to survive, dig his way out and walk himself back to town.

Even in tragedy, Oly is a glimmer of hope.  If a corgi, a dog that stands a foot and a half tall on stubby little legs, can survive an avalanche for four days I’m pretty sure I can do just about anything.  I'm an Oly.

Here is the video taken of the area where the avalanche occurred and evidence of Oly’s survival.

Ole's Story - A Video Documentary from Blackmore Media on Vimeo.

Wintertime Adventures

I alluded to the fact that I spent my holidays in and around Yellowstone National Park this year. Though I have visited Yellowstone many times, this is my first real visit to the park in winter.  I present you now with select pictures from my winter adventures.  

Before Yellowstone, we stayed at Chico Hot Springs.  Chico is located north of Yellowstone and features naturally heated outdoor pools.  It's a favorite of cowboys and celebrities alike (Dennis Quaid and Jeff Bridges are regulars).  The accommodations range from turn of the century, more rustic rooms to well appointed suites and guest cabins.

The resort also features an AMAZING gourmet restaurant that is easily my favorite meal in the state of Montana.  Every meal I've had there has been finished with a flambéed orange.  The orange is hallowed out, lined with chocolate, filled with orange zest ice cream and topped with meringue.  When brought to your table the orange is doused in alcohol and lit to toast the meringue into gooey goodness.  I've had it countless times and it's still impressive.  And effing delicious.

At the north entrance of Yellowstone, just outside Gardiner, Montana, stands the Roosevelt Arch which was dedicated by Teddy in 1903.  The top of the structure is inscribed with words from the original act of congress that created the park, "For the benefit and enjoyment of the people."

Originally, this was the primary entrance to the park when trains were used to bring visitors to the park where they would enter in carriages.  Today cars still enter under the arch when arriving via the northern park entrance.



After entering the park, we stayed at the Mammoth Lodge.  Due to heavy snow in the winter, only two lodges are open to guests and only Mammoth - a few miles inside the north entrance - is reachable by car.  The Winter Lodge at Old Faithful is also open, but is only accessible by tracked vehicles.  The following pictures were taken in and around Mammoth. 

Mammoth is home to thermal features consisting of terrace like steps on a hill of travertine. Overtime, spring water that is rich in calcium carbonate is cooled and the deposits create natural, steplike terraces.

My parents wandering the boardwalks around Mammoth Hot Springs.  Yellowstone uses boardwalks in most of its thermal areas and geysers basins as a way to both keep visitors safe and to protect the delicate nature of the environment.  While the danger of thermal features might seem apparent, people are often ignorant of their power and delicacy.  In fact several geysers and hot springs throughout the park have been changed or even rendered extinct due to human interference, especially in the early years of the park.

Yellowstone in winter boldly contrasts from summer visits.  The landscapes are often stark and cold, but lend themselves to truly appreciating the heat emitted from thermal features and simply the ground itself.

The remaining pictures were taken on excursions outside of Mammoth in both the Lamar Valley - an area for prime wildlife viewing - and on a trip to Norris Geyser Basin.  Norris, while perhaps less known than the Old Faithful basin, is home to the world's largest geyser, Steamboat.  Steamboat reaches a height of over 400 feet during eruption (nearly four times the height of Old Faithful), but is unfortunately very unpredictable with intervals between four days and fifty years.  Steamboat's last eruption occurred in May of 2005.

A lone elk rests in the Lamar Valley, which - like the rest of the park - has significantly less snowfall than usual.  Generally the area will be covered by several feet of snow by late December.

A snowcoach (a tracked vehicle) tour to Norris Geyser Basin took us through Swan Lake Flats and offered us glimpse of the Gallatin Mountains.

To the left, a view of the tracks left by snowcoaches.  While the roads are groomed to make for a less bumpy ride, the majority of Yellowstone remains unplowed through the long winter months.  On the right, a snowy trek into Norris Geyers Basin.



So how was your holiday season?

Arizona vs. Frost

One reason why Montana, winter and I are friends.

It’s November and the snow has begun to fly in Montana.  Winter is here and likely will be here for the next four or five months.  Or it could be really awesome again this year and snow in May, drawing the whole damn thing out to six glorious months of ice, cold and overcast skies.  Now for the record I’m only partially complaining.  I like winter.  Winter lets me ski, wear cute sweaters, cuddle, buy boots and have an excuse to shave my legs less often.  I just don’t need to do those things for the half the year.

A lot of people don’t share my love for the colder part of the year.  With Montana being full of transplants from warmer climates – specifically California – real winter can be a bit of a shock to the system for some.  Suddenly they’re faced with lots of real, bone-chilling cold.  They have to deal with snow.  And then they realize they actually have to function in it.  Because in Montana life doesn’t stop for two inches of snow.  Or two feet.

Once upon a time, we had a Hooters Girl who had recently relocated from Arizona.  Just barely eighteen, she had followed her football-playing boyfriend who had accepted a scholarship at The University of Montana.  While he spent the day in classes and practice, she worked at Hooters.

And then one fall morning it was actually a little cold.  I say a little cold because there was no snow and the sun was shinning, but there was frost.  Trees, grass and windshields were all covered in a delicate layer of crystalized white.  After a little scrapping and a bit of a defrosting, I made me way to work ready to open the store.

Cleaning tables, the clock crept closer and closer to eleven.  At 10:40 one of the two eleven girls made her way into the store to ready herself for her shift.  Minutes ticked by and Arizona, our second eleven o’clock, was nowhere to be found.  10:40 became 10:45, which in turn became 10:50.  With eleven imminent, the phone rang.

“OhMYgod, there is something all over my car and I can’t get it off!”

Arizona was panicked on the other end of the line.

Arizona: “There is white stuff on my windows and stuff and I tried to like wipe it off with my wipers but it’s still there.”

Sauce:  “Do you mean the frost?  You need to scrape that off or turn on your car and let it heat up.”

Arizona:  “Well when I called my dad he said I could push the button with the wavy lines and that it would go away.  But I did that and it’s still there!”

Sauce:  “Well did you wait a little bit?”

Arizona:  “No, shouldn’t it just go away?!”

For a moment I was at a total loss for words.  I explained that no, it wouldn’t go away instantly.  She would have to wait – because of course she had no windshield scraper.

A few minutes passed, the frost cleared and Arizona let us know she was on her way.  It was very, very apparent that winter and Arizona wouldn’t be getting along very well. 

And of course I was right.  After just a couple months of snow, Arizona packed her things, shipped them back home and hopped a plane back to the sunshine.  Some people just aren’t built for Montana it seems.  Neither are rear wheel drive sports cars.

My Alma Mater Rocks My Face Off

Welcome to where I spend the vast majority of my time, the University of Montana.  I'm probably a horribly biased person, but I think it's pretty damn awesome.  You should totally visit.  Or start a college fund for your kids so you can start saving for horribly overpriced out of state tuition.  Don't worry though, they'll save you tons of money by subsiding on Ramen and PBR (unofficial-offical beer of hipster, Montana cool kids).



I'm sure they are currently reediting this video to include the fact that they gave an undergrad degree to one totally cool blogger.  I'm hoping my turn comes right after Jeannette Rankin.  Or the professor with the fireball.  Everyone loves freaking fire.

And Rolling Stone is totally a leading publication on higher education.  Totally.

Later

I'm going here tomorrow.  This is Paradise Valley, home of Chico Hot Springs.  Chico is easily my favorite place in Montana and features the best restaurant in the history of eating (and this is coming from a girl who dined on the top of the Eiffel Tower).  You should go there.  Seriously.  Both Dennis Quaid and Jeff Bridges met their wives there.  That's how you know it's good.

You're totally allowed to be jealous.

This is Where I Live

Yup, I live here.  As you can see it's a really ugly place.

Snow Day!

Happy Holidays from Hooters Montana!  Oh wait, Christmas and all that shit is over.  Well happy snow.

Whatever.

And no, I'm not in this.  I was the only one good enough with the camera to actually capture jumping.

Receipt Art: September 12, 2010

I love football.  I love college football.  I love University of Montana college football.  But more than I love Griz football (which is a whole hell of a lot), I love our mascot, Monte.  Monte is quite possibly the most legit mascot ever.  He breakdances, crowd-surfs, streaks, rides horses, hits goal posts at a full sprint, enters the stadium on a Harley and does a million other amazing things that take him from regular mascot lame to totally freaking awesome. I mean one of our past Monte performers is now Benny the Bull.  As in Benny the Bull of the Chicago Bulls.  That's just a sampling of how utterly legitimate Monte is.  I adore him.

Clearly I had to dedicate a receipt art to my beloved little Monte.  It's a decent first attempt.  And yes I know he has a weird leg deformity of some sort going on.  It's ok, I still accept him.

I apologize for the fact that I was apparently drunk when I took the picture causing the strange left side blur..  Unfortunately I was at work when I took it which means the I wasn't apparently drunk.  I was ridiculously sober.  I guess I just suck at taking pictures.  Note to self, photography is not a future career path.

Oh and the Griz lost.  To Cal Poly.  Dear University of Montana, welcome to no longer being #1 in the nation.  Sad face.  Then again if you didn't play like douches you'd still be on top.  I take back my sad face.  Reality says hello!

More important than that crap, Monte is nominated for the Capital One Mascot of the Year.  Again.  He's won twice.  Please go to Capitalonebowl.com and vote for him.  Love you long time.

Sauce Goes on Mountainous Adventure

I hiked a mountain on Tuesday.  No, seriously.  I hiked an effing mountain.  Two of my best guy friends and I decided to tackle Lolo Peak which tacks in at just over 9,100 feet.  You can go ahead and discuss how awesome I am now.  A thirteen mile roundtrip trek, I felt like Lewis and Clark exploring the wilds of Montana.  Of course being that I was with two dudes I guess I'd technically be Sacagawea.  Whatever.  I'm tired of Lewis and Clark anyway.  They beat that shit into your brain from a very young age in the state of Montana.  I am Lewis and Clarked the eff out.

The North Summit of Lolo Peak.  At the time I thought this was where we were going.  I was entirely mistaken.  We were going somewhere taller and more awesome.

Carlton Lake, located below Lolo Peak's South Summit.  About five miles into our hike.

After bushwhacking our way around Carlton Lake we got a pretty sweet view.  I say bushwhacking because there was no trail around the lake.  There were however LOTS of mosquitoes that were immune to even the densest clouds of bug spray.  And I found out I can still do the splits when my legs are forced to do so by two opposing, sliding rocks.  That was a painful realization.

Also painful were my Keens.  While they were initially awesome - and designed for hiking might I add - they ended up producing a plethora of blisters in areas my feet do not appreciate.  I count six blisters.  On one foot.  It was brutal.  Almost as brutal as hobbling around on all those blisters the next day at Hooters.  At least my guests thought I was a badass.  Oh and for the record I really am a badass.

Home Sweet Home

I took this just outside of where I was born.

I love Montana.

Welcome Back

After a few days of traveling the roads of northern Montana I find myself back at home in my little studio apartment.  I have been back in town all of two hours and I've already managed to stop by Hooters.  It seems I can't stay away.  Well really I had to stop to put in a schedule request, but whatever.  I still went there.  Back to the real world it seems.

So lets see, what happened on my journey?  Well I played some sweet tunes and I rode on motorcycles and shot guns and did other northern Montana type of things.  You know, redneck stuff.  Now I'm sure most of you have never been to northern Montana.  We call it the Highline and basically the Highline is a fancy name for "there is not an effing thing out here."  Ok, think about Montana.  GO!  Mountains, right?  You thought mountains.  That's all good and great and epic, but that's not most of Montana and that's certainly not the Highline.  The Highline is rolling plains and what not.  Lots of small towns, lots of cows, lots of farmers, very little civilization.  But you know, that's cool with me.  My mom comes from a ranching family.  I know how to be redneck if I have to be.  It's a gift.

Now while I've probably made the Highline sound super exciting, it really is a pretty amazing place.  While I love the mountains of western Montana, there is something to be said for the vast plains and gentle hills of northeastern Montana.  It's the sort of area where you really grasp the whole "Big Sky Country" nickname thing; the sky really does go forever.  I also count the smell of sagebrush among my most favorite scents so it all gets along with me just fine.  I highly suggest it, even if it is on the way to see all those fabled mountains.

Yup, so I'm back.  Back to work on Wednesday.  Back to blogging now.  More to come momentarily.

P.S.  Dierks Bentley's new CD, "Up On The Ridge" is the perfect roadtrip CD.  It's a marriage of contemporary country and bluegrass that is both innovative and deliciously intoxicating.  I most highly suggest it.  Go.  Buy it.  Now.

Of Fields and Guitar Strings

It's a Montana fall.  The type of fall that slips into winter before the leaves even find the time to change colors.  The type of fall that leaves summer behind in one effortless motion.  It's the type of fall the doesn't melt the seasons into one another - its motion is far more extreme.  This is a Montana fall.

So in this cold, a recent snowfall struggling to melt, I stand in a field.  It's just me, my guitar and the mountains closing in behind me.  My guitar is my life.  My Montana is my soul.

Oh Wait, What Are Our School Colors Again?

Tomorrow marks the first college football game of the season. This is a huge deal. Missoula, Montana is love-drunk with the University of Montana Grizzlies. Here, football is king and fall Saturdays are everyone's favorite day of the week. In the stadium, over 25,000 fans will gather in a city home to less than 80,000 people. It is loud and amazing and if it were a city it would be Montana's seventh largest by population. Montana football is not just a sport, but a way of life.

I won't be in the stadium cheering the Griz to (hopefully) yet another National Championship game. I won't even be watching the game on TV. No, I'll be at Hooters watching other people watch the game. I'll watch you cheer and get excited and when you get really loud I'll know to look up from catering to your every need to catch the score. You're welcome for that fifth beer and oh hey, we're winning. Sweet.

Now generally I do enjoy working a football Saturday. Yes, I'd rather be at the game roaming aimlessly from tailgate to tailgate and attempting to avoid death by trampling in the student section, but overall working is not so bad. Football games mean drunk people and drunk people generally forget when they're spending money. Thanks for the 50% tip! In addition to lose wallets, Griz games mean I get to wear my favorite uniform top. When you wear the same thing every effing day you have to appreciate the shinning moments of variety. It's like watching a Family Guy episode where they get dressed up. Oh hey, Stewie is wearing a little tie! How delightful!

Of all my Hooters tops the Griz top is easily my favorite. The glaring orange across my chest is replaced by a pleasant maroon and the owl even gets his own cute, little Griz football helmet. The slogan "Big Sky Country" becomes "Griz Nation" while "Delightfully Tacky, Yet Unrefined" becomes "Go Griz" across my back. I love this top all the more because it black and, as noted earlier this week, I love a black uniform. Basically, this uniform top is pure, freaking sexy.

Unfortunately, all my excitement for my very favorite uniform has been replaced by dread. You see when my manager went to order more tops for the new girls she forgot one all-important request. She forgot to tell them to use maroon. So Hooters did what Hooters does best and used orange. The logo is orange, the helmet is orange and "Go Griz" is orange. Of course, since Hooters Girls all have to look like little clones of each other this means I can't wear my old top anymore. Since I can't wear my old top I am forced to purchase a new top. Essentially, here I am paying for someone else's mistake. Needless to say I am very excited about this prospect. Please note the sarcasm in the preceding sentence.

I realize that a top will only cost me $5.95, but since I already have a perfectly good, much cooler looking Griz top, I'm none too happy about forking over six bucks of my tips tomorrow morning. I'm sorry you forgot to request what is probably the most crucial part of the uniform. Let me go ahead and pay for that for you. After all, I love spending needless money on things I'm going to wear less than ten times almost as much as I loving wearing a sports team top featuring the colors of a rival team. You just have to appreciate the irony in that. I love the orange color of the Griz jerseys, oh wait, that's Idaho State. Oops!

So stop on in and see me in my unGriz Griz top tomorrow. I'd love to explain why I'm wearing orange while you get shitty drunk. Oh, and to add insult to injury I'll be wearing my orange shorts too. Yes, with a black top. Fashion faux pas are so awesome.

From Montana with Love

Today was spent on Flathead.  The largest freshwater lake west of the Mississippi, Flathead Lake is big enough to produce its own weather patterns as well as rumors of a mythological lake monster.  Home to locals and movie stars, vineyards and cherry orchards, the lake comes alive as the weather warms.  Boats enter the water at countless docks and marinas dotting the lake's 160 mile shoreline, but over the vast expanses of water they rarely cross wakes; friendly waves are simply exchanged over great distances as is the boaters' code.

Bordering the east side of the lake are the Mission Mountains.  Named for the missionaries who who sought to bring the Christian faith to Montana's native populations, the Missions provide  a backdrop for historic mission churches and teepees put up to attract tourists alike.  Abruptly emerging from the lake, the jagged peaks still capped in snow provide a sharp contrast to the smooth, glassy surface of the lake.Today Flathead was notably calm.  Usually, the water moves swiftly in choppy waves making one feel as if they are sailing the ocean rather than cruising a mountain lake.  Our boat cut through the water effortlessly, allowing us to travel over thirty miles from one side of the lake to other while taking time to explore coves and bays housing hidden mansions amongst towering evergreens.  The calm of the water was accompanied by the frigid temperature of a lake feed by mountain snowmelt early in season.  Of course being Montanans through and through, we couldn't resist the allure of the water on a warm day and we swam and wakeboarded in short spurts, quickly returning to the safety of the boat and warm, fuzzy towels.

As the evening drew over Flathead we returned to dock tired and varied shades of red.  The ride home was quite as we watched mountains, fields, and road construction through tinted windows as we drove south.  Occasionally we laugh about something said, but mostly we think about next weekend and the new adventures Flathead will hold.  Perhaps we will journey to see the namesake of Wild Horse Island or an attempt to figure out which house belongs to Howie Long or Oprah.  Perhaps we'll simply sail along and enjoy the beauty that is a Montana summer, from Montana with love.