Whitefish, Montana 

Whitefish is huckleberry country. A little like blueberries, they grow wild all around here. By August, they’re mighty good eating. A late summer Montana hike without stopping for a huckleberry munch is just no hike at all. Bears love huckleberries, too. They’re a large part of both the grizzly and the black bear’s late summer diet. You’ll want to stay out of their diners.

Bells, loud yelps, hands clapping let the bears know you’re coming. If that fails, you can pull out you’re pepper spray—no kidding—they sell it in most the sporting goods stores. Montana, the state of the professional recreationist, has plenty of sporting goods stores—not quite as many as they have bars, but plenty.

I got to wondering why in tarnation Mark Twain named Huckleberry Finn after a northern fruit. I think I got it figured out, just like the huckleberry, Huck ain’t never been successfully domesticated.

Whitefish is a purty town if there ever was one. The first trappers, arriving in the 1850’s, named it—imaginatively—after the white fish the Indians fished out of the lake. Standing by the Presbyterian Church, obey the sign, "Thou shalt not leave a mess on the lawn," then looking down Central Avenue, you can check out how much snow is left on the mountains. They begin their rise just behind the old train depot. Clomp along the covered wooden side walks and prospect for treasures, off-beat or up-scale.

There’s Hit the Hay with the sign in its window "One early summer housekeeping job in colonial America was to restuff the mattresses with fresh mown hay" made it sound like just a down-home spot for sheets, but their prices ain’t hay nor are their linens. It’s across from the Clip Joint, a barbershop. Around the corner, there’s "a Great Wall of Fiction" at Bookworks and "fresh cotton clothing" at Sprouts. Collectibles from real cheap to real pricey and sporting goods stores—more to the padded biking shorts side than the orange hunting parka side—complete the scene.

Whitefish may be small, but these country folk are no slouches. They brew their own beer, roast their own coffee and have a Frank Lloyd Wright building. Gary Hutchinson brews his beer in his garage and The Great Northern Brewing Company, with an annual capacity of 6,000 barrels a year, has its brewery and tasting bar right on Central. Over at Montana Coffee Traders, you can taste their brew as you watch them roast it. Be ready for the age-old question, "How you bean, man?" You wouldn’t actually come to Whitefish just to see The Frank Lloyd Wright building.

For eats, choices range from Los Amigos to Wasabi Sushi and from wood-fired pizzas at Truby’s to Cajun cooking at Tupelo’s. My favorite is a little place over the train viaduct called Wildwood Café. Mike and Sharon Poehling get up early to start their baking and tend their award-winning garden. You can sit on the porch over the delphiniums-blue and Sweet Williams-pink to sip coffee with fruit scones or chow down a Great Northern. That’s roasted red potatoes, peppers, tomatoes and cheese topped with an egg. At lunch, sit outside under the white birches and have anything from a John Wayne of roast beef, cheddar and horseradish to a Gandhi veggie burger with all the trimmings. Take out some of their fine cheeses and a little something for dinner to be set for the day.

As for joining the Montana professionals in their recreations, the list is long. Up on Big Mountain, at the Big Mountain Ski and Summer Resort, you can hike, bike or ride a horse, mule or gondola up the mountain and then depending on your proclivities and the weather, you can run, hike, bike, ski, snow board, sled (on a wheeled thrills sled) or even fall back down. Except during huckleberry season when you’re not allowed to be on some of the huckleberry trails—their bears prefer to dine alone. The rivers around here are to fly fishing what heaven is to angels and the cool fresh waters of Whitefish Lake make good boating—and whitefish fishing.

Glacier Park’s not too far from here and I got an invite to wedding near there, so if you all beg the editor, maybe she’d send me on the "Going to the Sun" highway that cuts right over the continental divide. It’s only open four months a year. I’d be happy check out the day-long class on grizzlies. Or, I’ll pop down to below Polson and spend a day or so with an elder from the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes in their native Ed-Ventures program.

While camp sites abound, my preference is for clean sheets, so I checked into the Good Medicine Lodge. The great room of this cedar lodge looks into the forest. Its bedrooms, many with balconies, look to the mountains. Saddles and lassos, woven blankets and baskets evoke the Cowboy and Indian theme. The innkeepers and their staff stand ready to help you accomplish whatever it is you came here to do.

Breakfast is in their glass enclosed dining room. There’s juice, yogurt, toast, muffins and sweet rolls. Cereals and muesli come with fresh or dried fruits and nuts. And last, but not least, there’s a hot egg dish and lots of good coffee.

In the afternoon, a cookie fairy delivers hot-out-of-the-oven chocolate chip cookies to the Guest Bar downstairs. Here coffee and tea, glasses and ice are at the ready. With a hot tub, a great video library and a guest laundry, you could settle right in for a long winter’s nap, except you’ll probably want to ski.

Speaking of which, I slept like a log in my big lodge pole pine bed. My room, one of nine, had comfy quilts and a big tub along with the other essentials. This is not the kind of Inn where a little houchie-kouchie with your honey is public knowledge—I guess it’s all that insulation that makes it so quiet.

Check out their old books of the West’s best-known artist, CM Russell. One, with Russell’s illustrated letters to his friends pretty much sums up the Good Medicine vibes, "Now kid I hope you hit this country and if you drift on to my range don’t pass camp the latch string is outside for you and yours."

Heather’s Candles is right across the street from Good Medicine. Her garden's swarming with red and yellow poppies and Shasta daisies. To give you a packing hint, it’s the end of July and it was over 90 degrees yesterday, but Heather still had a frost cloth stuck under her flower boxes—just in case.

One last fruit tip, some of the best cherries in the nation are produced in these parts. They’re not quite ripe yet, so if you want to score, plan your trip for early August. Mostly a home orchard thing, they’re sold at roadside stands. If you’re too late for the cherries there’s always beating the bears to those "ain’t never been domesticated huckleberries" to make you feel like a real Montana mountain mama.