It's Day 452... it's also July 31st, 2020... and we are in Whitlash, Montana

"It's Day 452... it's also July 31st, 2020... and we are in Whitlash, Montana.

Like so many other times...our discovery of Whitlash......It all started with a simple sign. Rolling along Highway 2 across Montana, just outside a place called Chester when I spotted it:

"Whitlash 42 miles" with an arrow pointing north. Something about that name, that sign...those mountains....we had to go...

The paved road didn't last long before giving way to gravel, dust rising behind us as we ventured deeper into the Sweet Grass Hills. It felt like stepping into another time—vast, open land stretching endlessly, the faded auburn hayfields giving way to lush green ranchland as we climbed in altitude. With every slow mile at our modest 15 mph pace, anticipation grew.

Then, finally, we arrived.

A stately white church stood like a sentinel, marking our entrance into Whitlash, a tiny, tucked-away community with a sign proudly proclaiming its population of 39. I had expected nothing but empty land and the need to find a quiet boondocking spot, but to my surprise, we stumbled upon the Broken Mountains Ranch—an impeccably maintained RV park that seemed almost too perfect for such a remote place.

As I backed into a spot...I heard the four-wheeler rolling up the road behind us... kicking up a soft cloud of dust. An elderly gentleman dismounted and introduced himself with a warm smile. "Name's Urban," he said, extending his hand.

Responded with my name...and a handshake as I asked about the cost for the night, and his response made me grin. "Well... we try to get 20 dollars a night if we can."

I didn’t hesitate. "Two nights it is."

Urban explained the lay of the land—electric hookups, a spring for water, and even a stocked pond....if your up for some fishin.... "Help yourself," he added before heading off to move sprinklers, tending to his land....and I had the sense.....he'd been tending to this land....for decades.

As the sun began to set, I wandered through the quiet town, snapping photos, absorbing the stillness. It felt like a place where time had slowed, where history lingered....in the wind.

A little later......Urban returned from his evening chores...and in no time.....we'd fallen back into easy conversation.

He told me his story—how he and his young bride had left Great Falls in 1965, choosing Whitlash as their forever home. They had spent their lives ranching here...and upon retirement, rather than leaving, they doubled down. His son had taken over the ranch, and together they had transformed "this old sheep farm" into the welcoming retreat we get to experience today.

The camp site also contained Three cabins...even a bed-and-breakfast setup in the main house—though.

I asked why things were so quiet.....and Urban explained..."you got pretty good timing......if quiet is what your lookin for.....This is our off season....got the place pretty much to ourselves for most of the summer....but fall and winter...bit of a different story.... and hunting season? "You better book ahead," he chuckled. I was fascinated with how...in my mind....it would have been just the opposite...so beautiful up here....why would winter....the cold....and snow covering these grassy mountains be the busy time.....but suspect that is just the non hunter in me....and even more so....my strong desire to avoid snow...and cold.

Whitlash, small as it is, carries deep roots in the history of the Great Plains. The Sweet Grass Hills—these very lands—were once witness to fierce battles where the Blackfoot people fought to defend their sacred ground. For nearly five years, they resisted, until 1887, when the Sweet Grass Hills Treaty was signed, transferring 18 million acres to the U.S. government. The remaining land was divided into three separate reservations, forever changing the lives of those who had lived here for thousands of years.

And the town itself?

Its history is equally rich. The post office, which opened in 1892, has moved several times over the years...but remains in operation.

During Prohibition, Whitlash became a hotspot for bootlegging activity. With its proximity to the Canadian border and the remoteness of the terrain, it was the perfect place for smugglers to sneak whiskey into Montana under the cover of darkness. Legend has it that bootleggers would race down these very backroads with barrels of Canadian liquor, dodging federal agents as they supplied speakeasies across the state. Some even say hidden caches of prohibition-era contraband still remain buried in the hills, waiting to be discovered. For a place so quiet now, it's almost impossible to imagine the excitement, the secrecy, and the high-stakes smuggling operations that once defined this land.

The Sweet Grass Hills themselves hold stories of their own. Rising dramatically from the surrounding plains, these hills were formed by igneous activity nearly 50 million years ago. Over time, erosion shaped them into the prominent buttes we see today.

But long before geologists studied them....providing a scientific explanation for all this scenery..... the Blackfoot people revered these hills as sacred.....and have a bit of a different interpretation for how their homeland came to be..... According to legend, the creator Napi formed them from leftover rocks after shaping the Rocky Mountains. One tale tells of the hero Katoyis, who defeated a monstrous creature atop one of these buttes.....solidifying the hills' place in the region’s mythology.

There was even a gold rush here once. In the late 1800s, prospectors flocked to a mining settlement near Middle Butte, known as Gold Butte. At its peak, it was home to 500 people, complete with a school, a hotel, and—of course—a saloon. Now, all that remains is a lonely cemetery, a ghost of the boomtown it once was.

Then there’s the story behind its name. Originally, the town was supposed to be called "Whiplash." But in a twist of fate—or rather, a case of bad handwriting—the name was misread when the post office application was processed, and it became "Whitlash" with a T. And just like that, history was rewritten....this time.... in ink.

Of course, life here isn't without its challenges. The school, which once served children up to eighth grade, closed in 2014 due to low enrollment. Now, local kids make the nearly 40-mile trek to Chester Montana....catching a bus each morning.....and half the trek is on those dirt roads....wow...80 miles a day....round trip.....on a bus.

These folks have to love where they live.....and I can see why they endure what likely seems like little inconvenience to them......just parts of life really.....if you want a life....that most of the world has left far behind.

As the last light faded over the Sweet Grass Hills, I sat outside the RV, reflecting on the unexpected charm of this hidden place. Whitlash may not be on most maps, but it’s a town with a story—one that, for a brief moment, We were lucky enough to step into.

And who knows? Maybe someday, you’ll find yourself passing that same sign, curiosity pulling you north, into the quiet heart of some of Montana’s forgotten lands."

Laptop closed....final walk of the evening with Dougie done.....enjoying the quiet....and the darkness...

We sure hadn't gotten any closer to Fargo.....further away in fact....but our time in Whitlash...so worth it.

We'll make that 30 mile dirt road trek back down to pavement.....make a left hand turn at that place called Valier Montana.....and continue east...

And I wonder we'll learn there...