In Montana a blizzard is something you order at Dairy Queen.

My First Montana Winter

Snow came early and hard that fall. My first Montana winter was one of the hardest in many years. The average temperature hovered between 10 degrees above and 5 below. Storm after storm came in and little by little, fences started to disappear as the snow depth increased. It covered the top of my six-foot fence. Dogs all over town had new-found freedom and began to run in packs. I did my best to keep mine corralled but the call of the wild made it a challenge. They brought home all kinds of treasures, including half a deer carcass, with the skull and antlers. I worried about a visit from an angry hunter.

My house had a steep metal roof, so snow would slide off. That year the heavy snow buildup caused many garage and home roofs to cave. I would often be brought out of a deep sleep by the sound of snow sliding off my roof. From inside it sounded like an avalanche. I was thankful for the A-frame.

The snowplows ran one behind another to keep the highway clear. Getting to the highway was a different story and a real challenge for my little red car. It didn’t take long to learn to carry a shovel with me to dig out when the car high centered.  I also packed a “winter war chest” with hand warmers, extra gloves, a blanket, flares, flashlight, batteries, extra socks, candles, waterproof matches and, yes, even a roll of toilet paper in case I was stranded.

The trick to keep from being high-centered was not to stop. Until it was packed down, the snow was light and dry, not the slick wet heavy stuff I was familiar with. In order to get to my house, I had to drive a block down the alley and make a sharp 90 degree turn into my driveway between two fences. The alley was seldom plowed. Front wheel drive helped, but after getting stuck and having to dig out a couple of times, I devised a plan.  I would stop at the end of the block, rev the engine, and stare down the road, resolving that I would not get stuck. Then I popped the clutch and quickly ran through the gears to get enough momentum to plow my way through. Rooster tails of the white fluffy stuff blew by as I flew down the alley. Once I came to my drive I stomped on the brake and clutch, at the same time cranking the steering wheel to a hard right in order to slide into a perfect 90 degree turn then, without stopping, downshift into my driveway. If I missed making that sharp turn, I would have taken out one of the fences on each side of the drive. Fortunately, that never happened.

After a few months of this, I made the decision to trade up to a red Izuzu Rodeo. It gave me better ground clearance, four-wheel drive, and was a great alternative for carrying around three good sized dogs. I still preferred the standard transmission. I thought it gave me more control in the snow.

My daughter, Misty and her six-year-old son, Mikey, decided to visit. They flew in from Seattle, changing planes in Spokane. I started the trip to the Kalispell Regional airport early, since it was snowing. The highway was packed snow and ice and I was fine until I crossed the Southfork River and rounded the bend towards the bigger Flathead River. I experienced what “whiteout” means. In Montana a blizzard is something you order at Dairy Queen. A whiteout is when it’s snowing so hard you can’t see more than two feet in front of you and you have to guess where the road is. Everything was a blinding white. To my right was an icy, fast moving deep river with an undertow. To my left was the rocky cliff of the mountain. I could barely see the tips of the green roadside markers and used them to help keep me on the highway. It was too late to turn back. I couldn’t see to turn around and didn’t want to chance being hit by an oncoming car if I tried.

At that time I did not realize that you should check the weather and road report before venturing out anywhere, especially in the winter. I took my time creeping along and white-knuckled it all the way to the airport. Once I arrived, I learned the Montana DOT had issued a weather advisory and people were told to stay off the road due to whiteout conditions. The plane carrying my daughter and grandson had been turned back to Spokane due to bad weather. Airport personnel couldn’t give me an ETA, or if the plane would be cleared to fly that day.  I waited for the weather to clear. Later, I made it back home and waited, calling the airport for updates every hour. Pocket sized cell phones had not been invented yet, so I couldn’t call Misty.  Finally, I was given an arrival time and began my trek back to the airport. The second trip was much easier than the first, since the snow had stopped falling.

Once at the airport, I watched the tiny plane land. It looked about the size of a Volkswagen bus with wings.

The plane rolled to a stop, the door opened and stairs fell into place. Passengers started to exit and walk across the tarmac towards the terminal. It was before 911, so I was able to go out on the tarmac and meet them. Both Misty and Mikey were white and shaky. Mikey was an active kid, always on the move. I had never seen him so quiet. Both of them had that deer-in-the-headlights stare, like they had just been through the wringer.

On the way home, Misty talked about their flight. Keeping a six-year-old active boy occupied in the Spokane airport for several hours had been a task.  Once they loaded back into the plane for the second try, Mikey got to meet the pilot and was given a small set of wings. They sat up front. The pilot kept his door open, so they could see into the cockpit from their seats. That was fun, until they started to hit rough weather and that little plane was bounced around the rest of the flight.

“I could see that the pilot was struggling to keep the plane level,” said Misty. “About halfway here, we hit a bad air pocket and the plane dropped suddenly. Then Mikey yelled, ‘we’re all gonna die.’ The pilot looked back at us and started laughing, along with everyone else on board.”

It was a good thing I had bought the Rodeo. After that plane ride I don’t think either Misty or Mikey would have survived me yelling “Yee Haw” as we slid into the 90 degree turn into the driveway. It wasn’t necessary with the four-wheel drive. Once we arrived home, I made hot chocolate and got them settled in. We all fell into an early, exhausted sleep that night.

The dogs loved Mikey and they all had fun playing in the snow. Mikey loved the snow, but was disappointed that it didn’t pack well enough to make a snowman. During their stay we drove to Wild Horse Hot Springs and spent a couple nights. We had two attached bedrooms with a plunge, so we didn’t have to go out to enjoy the mineral baths. The week flew by and too soon it was time to take them back to the airport for the trip home. Thankfully, that one was an easy flight for them. The dogs seemed sad that Mikey was gone.