Tucked away in western Montana 's Blackfoot Valley, about 30 miles east of Missoula, lies the unincorporated community of Greenough. It's a place so vast you could easily get lost among the dusty sagebrush and evergreen trees, and is so sparsely populated that it isn’t tracked as a distinct entity by the U.S. Census. Its fire station feels almost quintessentially Americana: a small, fire-engine-red barn with a hand-painted, sun-faded sign reading “Volunteer Fire Dept. Station 2.” ( I never did find Station 1. )
Amid all that openness, though, sits an unlikely vacation oasis— Paws Up Montana , a legendary ranch that stretches on for 37,000 acres. It has repeatedly appeared on the Travel + Leisure World’s Best Awards list, as voted on by readers.
The property is as wild as it gets, with a history to match. Captain Meriwether Lewis, of the Lewis and Clark expedition, reportedly climbed Sentinel Rock at Paws Up while looking for the Marias River on his return trip from the Pacific. Today, it's a place so beautiful that you feel a pull to see as much of that acreage as possible. And the best way to see it is by stepping into the role of ranch hand, if only for a day.
At Paws Up, that meant learning from Jackie Kecskes, the ranch’s equestrian manager—and one of the most formidable people I’ve ever met.
Guests can take part in a wide range of ranch activities, from archery and ATV tours to fly fishing and clay shooting. And, of course, tons of interactions with the ranch's horses with Kecskes and her team. But the highlight, for me, was a cattle drive. "We don't call it 'breaking,' we call it 'starting,'" Kecskes explained, as we drove to the entrance of the barn. "Because we're starting their education."
It's a distinction that, as a certified, lifelong "Horse Girl, I should have known." But I'm here to grow and learn—and listen to every last word Kecskes has to say. Because today, she's the boss.
Kecskes has been with the ranch for more than a decade. In 2018, she launched its horse and mustang rescue program, born out of her commitment to protecting wild horses, including the more than 70,000 that roam public lands around the U.S.
One of those horses was my companion for the day, Tonto, who once lived on Bureau of Land Management (BLM) land and is what Kecskes described as a "two-strike" horse, as he had to be removed from the BLM land, was adopted out, and returned after the first owner thought he couldn't hack it.
"He had already been adopted out once by an official government trainer, and then he was returned a month later, and the trainer said that he was just too flighty," Kecskes said. "So the facility called me and said, 'Hey, Jackie, we know you're looking for flashy-looking horses. We have one here, but here's his story. And I heard the story, and I said, 'challenge accepted.'"
Within 24 hours, Kecskes and Tonto took their first ride. It turned out Tonto had a knee joint issue that no one else had cared to address, and once addressed, he was nothing but forward momentum. "I was very fortunate to notice it in the first few days that he was with us. It changed how I approached him," she said. "They always feel vulnerable because we've taken them completely out of their element. But, in his case, he couldn't perform the flight instinct. He was literally stuck. So to be able to just give him time, I think, really instilled trust in him." ( Sounds kind of familiar to anyone who's been in therapy, no? )
While this cattle drive experience isn't exactly extreme, it's not for those looking to tune out and turn off either. We began with a short course in horsemanship and safety, learning how to cue our horses to turn, go forward, back, hurry up, and, most importantly, to stop. Before getting into the paddock with the cows, we reviewed emergency protocols, what to do if we see wildlife, and most importantly, how to work with a team.
"We want our horses to be active participants in this conversation as we ride," Kecskes explained. "Just having those conversations and saying that it's gotta be more of a relationship and a partnership. These are not just a thing, a commodity. They're a living, breathing teammate of ours that we have to consider first."
And after it became clear that Tonto and I would be one, even for this brief moment in time, we rode.
Entering the field, punctuated by the yearling cattle that still hadn't learned they should have a healthy respect for horses and humans, a sense of both thrill and calm came over me at once. I took a deep breath to fill my nose and lungs with the musty scent of Tonto's fur mixed with the savory notes of the sage and grass, rolled back my shoulders, and was ready for my best cowgirl moves.
As I followed Kecskes slowly into a position, without saying a word, she pointed up to the sky as a bald eagle gracefully floated overhead. His timing was impeccable. And I'd never felt more connected to the idea of the American dream.
From here, we took the cattle down the dirt road, which only a week earlier had defrosted from the Montana winter, through the sage fields that crunched under hoof, and down to the river to take a drink. We stopped here for a moment to soak it all in. And then, it was time to return.
Kecskes gave clear and firm instructions. Curve to the left to keep the cattle in line. Don't lose the black and white one behind you. Watch your teammate. Push forward. Be one. Though the entire experience lasted for a little more than three hours, it was over far too soon.
"It's incredible to watch, even first-time riders really start to understand how to navigate their horse. And now all of a sudden they're more successful at this other thing," Kecskes said. "To be a part of and to be a participant in an activity that is important, that is necessary, that is real, is also pretty cool. We are moving these cows in the summer because we have to manage our grasslands. We have to manage how we graze and where we graze. All of it together, I think, just brings everything into a different light."
That night, I slept 23 feet above the ground in the property's Tree Haus, which sits level with the tops of the evergreens and completely untethered from the rest of the world. In the morning, spring snow fell, putting on a perfect show through the floor-to-ceiling windows while birds moved through the branches, unsure of which season they'd entered. Coffee arrived at my door in a Yeti thermos. I didn't need anything else.
The dining at Social Haus, Paws Up's outpost restaurant led by chef Andrew Garrison, was an equal delight, proving through each bite that it could hold its own against any big city restaurant. Garrison personally delivered Dungeness crab and black truffle to start, followed by a sturgeon and split pea dish inspired by his wife's love for the soup. "There's inspiration everywhere as long as you keep your eyes open," he said as he set down my plate.
And s'mores abound here, but naturally, Paws Up levels up thanks to Krystle Swenson, the executive pastry chef and two-time James Beard Award-nominee. Swenson put together a platter of homemade graham crackers, high-end chocolates (next to Hershey's for those who want to keep it classic), fruit, and a homemade huckleberry jam that I nearly tried to pocket to come home with me. She set it out around one of the resort's outdoor firepits below a blanket of stars that seemed low enough to touch. And the only sound was the crackling of the fire intermingled with our childlike giggle fits as the marshmallows filled our mouths.
All of this makes Paws Up the kind of place country songs are written about. Only better, because you can touch it, smell it, taste it. Leaving felt wrong. It felt like home. Luckily, it's a home I can return to over and over again.
Rates at The Resort at Paws Up start at $2,180 per night for two adults before tax, or about $2,750 after tax. The cattle drive experience is available in spring, summer, and fall for guests ages 12 and up, starting at $415 per person.
Read the original article on Travel & Leisure
