Isolation in Montana: Discover Its Beauty and Opportunities

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In October 1960, the renowned American novelist John Steinbeck journeyed through North Dakota with his poodle, Charley. Upon crossing the border into Montana at Beach, N.D., and Wibaux, Mont., he expressed a profound connection with the state, stating, “I am in love with Montana. For other states I have admiration, respect, recognition, even some affection, but with Montana it is love, and it’s difficult to analyze love when you’re in it.” This sentiment captures the emotional allure that Montana holds for many who visit or reside there.

Recently, I had the immense privilege of spending nearly half the summer immersed in the breathtaking landscapes of Montana. This experience was part of Governing’s new initiative, Listening to America, alongside a personal journey tracing the routes of America’s legendary explorers, Lewis and Clark. Each year, I lead an exhilarating weeklong Lewis and Clark Cultural Tour through Montana and Idaho, which includes three unforgettable days of canoeing in the remote White Cliffs section of the Missouri River, followed by three days of hiking and camping on the historic Lolo Trail in the Bitterroot Mountains. This journey is the highlight of my year, leaving me feeling rejuvenated, albeit leg-sore. I always drive to the embarkation points, as experiencing Montana by automobile allows for the best appreciation of its vastness and beauty.

Montana ranks as the fourth largest state in the U.S., yet it holds a mere 43rd position in terms of population density. In fact, you could fit the entire states of Delaware, Pennsylvania, New York, Maryland, and Virginia within Montana’s expansive boundaries and still have plenty of space left over. This magnificent state is home to two of America’s most remarkable National Parks: Glacier National Park (established in 1910) and Yellowstone National Park (established in 1872), as well as two of the nation’s premier rivers, the Yellowstone and the Missouri. Although Montana may not feature prominently in our national mythology as an empty expanse like Texas, it is, in reality, over a dozen times less populated. For comparison, Texas, which is nearly twice the size of Montana, boasts a population of 28.6 million, while Montana’s population is only around 1.2 million. This population is largely concentrated in urban areas such as Billings, Helena, Bozeman, Missoula, and Great Falls, leaving the vast outback of Montana remarkably underpopulated, which is one of the aspects I cherish the most about this incredible state.

Over the past month, I have had the incredible opportunity to traverse some of Montana’s most isolated stretches of highway. The landscapes east of Great Falls, Helena, and Bozeman are so wide open, sparsely populated, and economically marginal that even those who grew up in this region might feel a sense of agoraphobia while driving through. It’s a common thought among locals: “I wouldn’t want the car to break down here.” The American West embodies many elements—majestic mountains, winding rivers, diverse wildlife, breathtaking National Parks, and rich Native American history—but its most defining feature is the vast open space. This overwhelming sense of space, coupled with the expansive sky, serves as a humbling reminder of our insignificance, while simultaneously making us feel vibrantly alive. Stepping out of the car to stretch amidst the vast Montana landscape, which is comparable in size to Rhode Island, is a truly liberating experience.

I recognize that driving a gasoline-powered vehicle thousands of miles across the American West for primarily recreational reasons raises concerns for some people, as it can seem to carry significant environmental implications. However, I cannot help but admit my deep love for this experience, which I cherish more than almost anything else in my life. To me, it embodies a core aspect of the American dream: a reliable vehicle, a credit card, well-paved highways, a few synthetic red licorice treats, and no pressing destinations. As I navigate these endless plains, I often turn off the radio, roll down the windows, and immerse myself in the breathtaking landscape. The gently rolling hills stretch toward the horizon, the plains are mostly devoid of trees aside from a few scraggly cottonwoods nestled in the coulees and alongside the creeks. The scene is dominated by grass—millions of acres of it—interspersed with some sagebrush, a few juniper bushes, and yucca plants. With any luck, the view will not only feature Angus and Hereford cattle grazing but perhaps a herd of pronghorn, which are considered one of America’s most graceful creatures, darting across the landscape for reasons known only to them.

Exploring the Historic Beginnings of Lewis and Clark’s Montana Journey

In the last days of April 1805, Lewis and Clark entered what is now known as Montana, just three weeks after departing from their winter quarters at a location they named Fort Mandan. This entry occurred a mere day after they reached the confluence of the Missouri and Yellowstone Rivers, the most significant tributary of the Upper Missouri. Their arrival in Montana was met with both wonder and challenges, as the vigorous winds of the Great Plains in May and early June 1805 significantly hampered their progress, at times reducing their forward momentum to just a few grueling miles per day. At one point, Captain Meriwether Lewis expressed his frustrations, pondering whether the northern plains winds ever truly ceased. Nevertheless, they persevered, facing a grueling 18.25-mile portage around the five waterfalls of the Missouri at present-day Great Falls, which consumed nearly a month of their expedition. During this time, the intense heat and Herculean efforts required to transport tons of gear across the arid plains tested the limits of their endurance, comparable to today’s elite Navy SEALs. They were also met with fierce storms, raising concerns for the safety of their men, as the thunderous concussions of the storms were reminiscent of life-threatening encounters. To add to their challenges, the ever-present danger posed by grizzly bears prompted Lewis and Clark to take drastic measures, eliminating every bear they encountered, irrespective of provocation.

This arduous journey was just the beginning of their trials as they approached the Rocky Mountains, which turned out to be more formidable than they had anticipated. The mountains were not only twice as high as predicted but also so dense that they were nearly impenetrable, devoid of food sources and lacking the Cumberland Gap, which stands at 1,631 feet. While I may refer to my own annual Lewis and Clark “adventures,” they tend to lean more towards the glamping end of the comfort spectrum, contrasting sharply with the true hardships faced by these early explorers.

One of the most astonishing aspects of the Lewis and Clark Expedition during their westward journey through Montana is that they completed the entire transit without encountering a single Native American, with the exception of the only woman in their party, the Shoshone-Hidatsa woman Sacagawea, who had been hired at Fort Mandan to assist them in procuring horses from her people, the Shoshone. Although members of the expedition observed numerous signs of Native American presence, they never actually encountered any individuals. The Crow, Blackfeet, and Assiniboine peoples undoubtedly observed the 33 mostly bearded strangers (including an African American slave) trekking through their lands, but chose to remain unengaged. While Lewis and Clark encountered countless four-legged creatures, they saw no humans during their expedition.

The Changing Landscape: Why Fewer People Choose to Live in Eastern Montana

Gertrude Stein once said, “In the United States, there is more space where nobody is than where anybody is. That is what makes America what it is.” This observation rings true, as the nation is home to around 340 million people, yet most are concentrated in relatively small areas. Eastern Montana has been experiencing a steady decline in population since its initial settlement in the late 19th century. The 1862 Homestead Act brought many earnest settlers, often from Europe, to semi-arid lands that lacked sufficient rainfall for sustainable agriculture. The staggering failure rate among homesteaders on the western Great Plains is a testament to the challenges of this region. The remoteness of eastern Montana from markets makes living there a less practical choice. Coupled with long and brutal winters, relentless winds, recurring droughts, a limited gene pool, and scarce amenities, it’s no wonder many people have chosen to leave.

Some may be familiar with the Poppers Thesis (1987), a rational perspective offered by professors Deborah and Frank Popper from Rutgers University. They proposed that as the Great Plains inevitably lose population until reaching a minimal density justifiable for public services, a “buffalo commons” could be established in the abandoned zones. This vision involves allowing the semi-arid plains to revert to vast grasslands where bison and other native wildlife could thrive once more. While the Poppers’ modest proposal sparked outrage among current residents of the Great Plains, who felt their demographic predictions were an affront to their way of life, they were not the first to envision such a commons. As early as the 1830s, the painter and ethnologist George Catlin proposed the idea of designating the Great Plains north of Oklahoma as a vast national prairie park, where the beauty of the native landscape and its wildlife could be preserved for future generations. Catlin envisioned a magnificent park showcasing the classic attire of the native Indian, galloping on horseback amid the herds of elk and buffalo, a breathtaking spectacle for the world to admire.

Realizing the Vision: American Prairie Reserve’s Impact

In more recent times, the American Prairie Reserve (APR) has emerged as a transformative initiative aiming to assemble millions of acres of public and private land into an unfenced grassland habitat where tens of thousands of pure bison can flourish alongside other returning wildlife. This ambitious project represents a remarkable idea, one that I wholeheartedly support. However, I also empathize with the ranchers of east-central Montana who perceive the APR as a threat to their pastoral way of life. The Poppers would argue that the true threat to ranching heritage stems not from the prairie reserve but from much larger, uncontrollable economic and social forces impacting the region.

My conversations with some of these ranchers have deepened my respect for their dedication and resilience. They have persevered through one of North America’s harshest landscapes for generations, facing challenges such as devastating fires, swarms of grasshoppers, dust storms, brutal blizzards, droughts, and fluctuating commodity prices, along with issues stemming from corrupt or inefficient railroads. Now, they are confronted with wealthy outsiders proposing “conservation” initiatives and outbidding local residents for ranches that have historically supported cattle ranching, not buffalo, all while returning to their luxurious lives without a true understanding of what it takes to thrive in this environment.

Fortunately, this situation is not a zero-sum game. In my perspective, the American Prairie Reserve is an exceptionally enlightened organization that has actively sought to respect and accommodate the concerns of ranchers and local communities. If the APR successfully fulfills its vision, the 3.5 million-acre buffalo reserve could attract hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of eco-tourists from across the globe, leading to new business opportunities in the towns of Malta, Jordan, and Lewistown. This could ultimately become one of the most significant success stories in the history of rural revitalization.

Yet, I can’t help but smile bittersweetly when I see roadside signs declaring, “Save the Cowboy. Stop the APR.”

Cherishing the Empty Spaces While Acknowledging Historical Erasure

One of the most insightful books about the Great Plains is Dan Flores’ American Serengeti: The Last Big Animals of the Great Plains, published in 2016. During an interview, I once asked him to envision being dropped into Montana in 1804 via hot air balloon, asking him to turn around 360 degrees and describe what he saw. Flores enthusiastically embraced the thought experiment, providing one of the most vivid descriptions of the Great Plains I’ve ever encountered. He painted a picture of an unplowed empire of grass stretching infinitely in every direction, dotted with remarkable quadrupeds such as elk, various deer species, bighorn sheep, buffalo, grizzly bears, beavers, prairie dogs, coyotes, wolves, mountain lions, and even a few moose. The rivers flowed freely, undammed, and the landscape was devoid of industrial noise—no cars, airplanes, tractors, grain dryers, oil derricks, or railroads disturbing the peace.

I posed the question, “So, when I am camping or hiking now in a vast landscape where I have to concentrate to notice signs of civilization, am I still truly experiencing the American Serengeti?”

His response was a poignant, “Nope. The tragic truth of American history is that Euro-Americans were not comfortable living here until they had erased much of what characterized that Serengeti: bears, buffalo, wolves, mountain lions, and the majority of other plains animal species—including, of course,