Montana Misadventures

We just returned from a week long visit to Montana where my brother and his lovely bride got married Missoula style (see photos below). 



Roasting the Pig.  The catering crew actually camped out overnight so they could baste this baby every hour



Love that the bride wore this beautiful sage green Etsy.com creation--handmade in New Zealand.  The groom is wearing jeans (as is the best man) and low cowboy boots



Appetizers and drinks were available before the ceremony

It was a fantastic trip and it was the first time Bud was able to experience the Big Sky of Montana.  We went hiking for a couple days in the Bitterroot Valley, staying in a US Forestry Service cabin, which I highly recommend for some simple living.  Below is a picture of the East Fork Guard Station which is on the East Fork of the Bitterroot River.

The cabin is about 15 miles up a mountain in Ravalli County, which means it's 15 miles from the nearest public phone, 30 miles from the nearest town center, 100 miles from Missoula, and about a day's drive from Billings.  I tell you this because of the misadventure which occurred while we were there.

Wednesday evening, I had to go out to our rental car to get a shirt for my darling husband from our "non-camping" suitcase.  Mission accomplished without drama or bear sightings, and the happy family went to bed.  The next morning, my darling husband asks "Where are the keys?"  "I put them on the table," I replied.  Except that they weren't there.  Or anywhere in the cabin.  No, they certainly couldn't be locked in the car!  Or could they?  Darling husband wasn't so darling (rightfully so) at the moment, and once I realized that our identification, money, and food was all in the car I began to panic a little bit.   It was also drizzling out.  With little choice, the three of us set off up the road to try to find a neighbor.  No luck.  After walking a mile, we turn around and walk the other way. 

At this point, I should remind you that we are in Ravalli county which, as my brother mentioned right before we departed Missoula, is the militia capital of Montana (and hence the country?).  A mile down the mountain we spot a small community of camps and there is a VFW sign at the road.  We walk up a ways and it is completely desolate although there are trucks in driveways.  Darling husband asks if we should knock at any of the doors, but it's difficult to even determine where the doors are.  We decide to turn back on the main road.  

A little bit further down the road, I spot an older man eating his breakfast by a huge picture window in his kitchen.  With very few options aside from darling husband walking 15 miles down the mountain, we knock on the door and explain the situation.  He lets us in, and directs me to the telephone (right next to the Playboy magazine).  I got on the phone with the rental car folks while darling husband chats it up with our new friend and Bud takes in all of the girlie calendars hanging around. ("That's disgusting!" he exclaimed later).  The rental car company was not extremely helpful as the spare key was in Billings and thus they wouldn't be able to get out there until the following day (and Lord knows how much it would have cost us). The car did have an outside combination key pad, but they wouldn't give that to me over the phone   But apparently, our new friend and darling husband had hatched a plan to break into the car with a very large screwdriver, a piece of cloth and a coat hanger.  MountainMan drives us back to our cabin and then they pry the door open with the screwdriver to let the coat hanger through.  After several failed attempts to hit the "unlock" button, Bud mentions that the back locks are shaped the old-fashioned way, so that a coat hanger formed into a hook could probably do the trick.   Low and behold, they unlock the car! The alarm is blaring and Bud climbs in to pop the trunk.  Keys aren't there.  A few expletives are on the tip of my tongue, when Bud suggests that we open the suitcase and there they are.  I inadvertently left them there when I grabbed the shirt the night before. 

We thank MountainMan and later in the day drop off a few beverages for him, to add to his very vast collection ("That's one thing we need plenty of up here in these mountains" he told us). 

And so, the misadventure ended hardly before it started thanks to a kind individual living outside of Sula, Montana.  And note to self: if you're going to lock the keys in the trunk, do it closer to civilization!