Montana Trip Update
Chasing Bird Dogs in Montana
This year marked our seventh trip chasing sharptail grouse across the Montana prairie, and somehow it just keeps getting better. The birds are always the main draw, but it’s the discovery of something new each year that makes this trip so special. I’ll admit I’m a creature of habit — I like going back to the same restaurants, stores, and even following the same order of stops on a given day. But every year we seem to add a twist, a small adjustment, and more often than not, those little detours end up becoming the highlights. This trip was no exception.
We started in Bozeman with a quick stop at Montana Canvas, asking questions about a safari tent for our venue at the Old Swede. From there we picked up a couple of bottles of wine for camp dinners and a bottle of Knob Creek high proof, reserved for evenings around the fire with the guides. That bottle always pairs with peanut butter cookies — a tradition that started our very first year when the only “dessert” in the cook tent was a pack of nutter butters. It stuck, and now we wouldn’t have it any other way.
On the way to camp, we detoured outside of Livingston to visit Hallowell & Co., a gunshop as unique as it is hidden. Five miles of gravel road led us to a tidy house tucked into natural landscaping, where we were welcomed by a slender elderly gentleman at the door. Inside, the walls were lined with fine doubles, classic rifles, and antique pistols — the kind of shop that makes you lose track of time.
By the time we rolled into camp that evening, dinner was waiting.
The first morning of hunting always feels like opening day. Dogs shaking with anticipation, the prairie stretched wide and endless, and that first walk into the wind.
Birds were there, though not in the numbers we’d seen in past years. Still, the points and flushes came steady enough, and the dogs worked with the kind of intensity only wild birds like sharp tail can bring out. Lunch that day was at the Roy Rogers Bar— New York Strip, sliced tomatoes, and cottage cheese. It’s simple, but for me it’s perfect, Thomas thought the same. We even managed to celebrate a birthday over it, which made it even better.
Day two brought fewer birds, the prairie a little quieter, but that’s hunting. We ended early and headed to a small town café for lunch, the kind of place where the pie deserves a chapter of its own. That evening we switched gears and shot doves, and what a change of pace that was. Sitting along a tree line with the sun fading and birds darting in fast, it felt like the perfect way to close out a slower day.
Our final day gave us the gift we’d been waiting for. The very first field was alive with grouse, more than we’d seen all week. The dogs were wild with excitement, holding points into the wind, and coveys and singles flushed hard and wild. It was the kind of morning that reminds you why you come back. After another steak lunch, we packed up and headed back toward Bozeman.
That evening we had dinner at Montana Ale Works, a lively local staple where the food and atmosphere never miss. We stayed at the Lark that evening, nothing over the top, just a great fit after a week in the field.
The next morning meant breakfast at the Western Cafe. I love that spot. The really regulars don’t even bother ordering, their plates show up as soon as they sit down. You can tell they run tabs, too, because they simply nod, say “see you tomorrow,” and walk out the door. There’s a rhythm to a place like that you don’t find anywhere else.
With the hunting behind us, we pointed north toward Craig, a little fly-fishing town on the Missouri River. The drive was classic Montana, mountain ridges, river valleys, and big sky. We spent the day floating, casting dries and nymphs to browns and rainbows in clear, cold water. The fish came steadily for Thomas for me not so much, but honestly, the river itself was the prize.
That night we had dinner in Helena, the state’s old capital, where the history feels baked into the streets and buildings.
The route back took us through Butte, where we walked the farmers market, admired the old buildings, and then wandered through the football stadium at Montana Tech. University. From there, it was on to Bozeman for a Montana State Bobcat afternoon football game. The atmosphere was incredible. The stadium was packed, the fans loud, and the energy as good as any major program in the country.
We closed the trip with dinner at Blackbird, always a favorite. We usually grab seats at the kitchen bar, best in the house, and watch the oven crew work. The food is just as good as the show.
It was the perfect way to finish off a week that gave us everything from wild birds, to river trout to small-town food.
The next morning’s early flight took us back to Tennessee, tired in the right way, with the prairie and smell of Montana still in our clothes and the memory of bird dogs on our minds. Every year, Montana manages to surprise us. Every year, it leaves us planning the next one before we’ve even unpacked.
