Unveiling Big Sky, Montana: A Traveler's Guide to Montana's Majesty

Big Sky, Montana, is a resort town stitched together by peaks and powder. Three, maybe four different ski runs stretch across the mountains, making it the largest ski basin in the country. Tucked among these slopes is the Yellowstone Club, one of the top ten lifestyle estates in the world. A private community whose members include Timberlake, Biel, Brady, Garner, Gates, Quayle, Affleck, and, apparently, Lamb Chop. The sock puppet.

I live just 68 miles from Big Sky. One morning, sitting on the banks of the Yellowstone River, I felt the pull. I got in the car and drove south on Highway 191. It’s one of the most beautiful drives I’ve taken, winding alongside the Gallatin River, through the Gallatin National Forest. Bridges span the water like brushstrokes. One in particular caught my eye. Cars lined the shoulder. People—kids, adults—jumped from the bridge into the river. I made a note to stop there on the way back.

I did. I sat on a rock and watched them jump. I hiked into the forest for a while, then turned back before dark. Every few miles, I passed rafters, kayakers, and fly fishermen standing waist-deep in the river. It was the first time I had seen people wade out to fish since moving to Montana. It made me curious about a sport I had never considered. I wondered how rafters and fishermen share the river, and what kind of etiquette exists between them.

Near Big Sky, the GPS and signage started to disagree. I passed a school, a few agricultural businesses, and nothing that felt like a town. I backtracked and turned onto Montana Road 64—Lone Mountain Trail—and found that Big Sky isn’t one place. It’s a scatter of pockets. At the center, I’m assuming, is Town Center.

Finding parking was easy. Figuring out whether to explore beyond Town Center was harder. The place felt quiet. A few restaurants were closed, including the one I’d hoped to try. Len Hill Park sits at the edge, with a state-of-the-art stage and sound system. I wandered around, noticed another stage—larger, more luxurious—just beyond the park. I missed the Indigo Girls and Brandi Carlile by a day. They played the Wildlands Festival the night before.

I stepped into The Rocks. I waited a bit, which felt promising, and ordered a drink and the best Taco Flatbread I’ve ever had. I chatted with the bartender. Bartenders know things. This one didn’t offer much. So, I crossed the street to Fire Pit Park and sat, imagining the night before. People with drinks in hand gathered around the fire pit, listening to music caught between buildings, rising into the mountains.

I sat on a large wooden elliptical art piece that passes as a bench. Read for a while. The mountains surrounded everything. The sky above felt larger than usual. You could lie there all day, staring out and up, and it wouldn’t be a wasted day. Big Sky is a winter town. In summer and fall, it’s quiet. In winter, it’s probably hard to reach from Montana or Idaho. Once you’re there, you might be stuck. Which probably wouldn’t be so bad. I’m glad I followed the urge to explore Big Sky. That afternoon, a door opened for future trips, for a different kind of attention. Big Sky isn’t loud. It waits for you to notice. And it’s a great little town.