Polebridge Proper

In the early 1900's, William "Billy" Adair built a hotel on the east side of what was to become, ten years later, Glacier National Park. Maybe he was "eminent domained", maybe he took one look at the park rangers and thought, "There goes the neighborhood," but for whatever reason, Billy and his wife Jessie decided to up and move to the opposite side of the park, to the North Fork Valley, and start up a little sumpin' sumpin' on the top of a mountain in the middle of Nowheresville, USA. In 1912, they built a little log cabin, and in 1914 erected the Mercantile Store, which quickly became the hub of a very small community. They named it Polebridge after a nearby bridge made of logs, or, 'poles', if you will, and there it still stands, almost completely unchanged. The original dwelling is now the Northern Lights Saloon and Cafe, and people come from miles around to eat the gourmet (I kid you not!) fare that is served there. During the tourist season, the tiny cafe serves about 150 fresh cooked meals on a weekend night, no small feat considering that Polebridge relies on well water, propane and propane products, kerosene, and a generator for its water and electricity. There's the Northern Lights, owned and run by a couple from Idaho, I think; he is an artist that does kind of psychedelic landscapes and loves to talk sports with the tourists. She is a big, blond blues singer, who likes to perform at the annual Aurorafest (this year featuring Freekbass and The Woodbox Gang!).The other major structure in Polebridge (if you don't include the barn) is the Merc. The girl working at the Merc this year was Linnae, from California. She told us what cabin we were in (no pesky keys to have to deal with - there was a hook we could lock the door with from the inside), and said, "Yeah, we like to party, and there's a stage out back where they play live music, and after that we'll probably be jamming in the barn. Just come on over and tell us to hush if it gets too loud." She manned the front of the store while this skinny, hippie baker dude was in the back, baking up a storm of these amazing pastries; strawberry-rhubarb wheat scones and artichoke-cheese-jalapeno danishes and all kinds of breads. Later, I heard Linnae and the baker-dude speaking in code. "So, yeah, do you want to give me those... 'things'... now or, like, later?" Polebridge parlance, I guess.

Attached to the store is a two-story wooden house where this kid, Max, lives. Max is maybe nine or ten, but he was home alone, because his mom was in Bozeman for the night, picking up his cousin. Max was playing volleyball with some teenagers in the communal volleyball pit under a big sign that said "Keep your dogs on a leash -local dogs running free!" There was a gas pump and a payphone, and some little cabins out back, for the tourists to rent. McAdams said that they were pretty new; before they were constructed, the tourists rented teepees.

So, that's it. That's Polebridge.The first picture on this page shows all of it. We walked into the saloon, past huge black dogs that were indeed running wild, and the big blonde told us what was being served for dinner. I chose the organic salad and a shrimp risotto thing. There was huckleberry lemonade and about four beers on tap, as well as a pretty well-stocked bar. The cook came out and I chatted her up about the organic salad stuff, most of which she grew herself. She said she cut open a mattress and filled it with bison poop, and then put raised boxes of good soil over that for her garden. She said stuff grew pretty well, except she had to fend off a lot of deer. Everything was fantastic. Everybody was happy, full and friendly. There was homemade pie for dessert, and afterwards everyone went outside and sat on picnic benches to shoot the breeze and drink some wine. McAdams and I, who had been talking to nobody but each other for weeks eavesdropped eagerly.

There was a guy from France who looked like a Steinbeck hobo who said he had two houses; one where he and "his lady" lived, and one just outside of Polebridge, where he went when he got sick of his wife. "I'm going to my house, I tell her!", he said. He talked about going to Big Fork to do his laundry and meeting a woman who said she was born and raised in Montana, but who had never heard of a place in the state that had no lights or water."Oh, that tickled me!" he chortled.

There was this hot tattooed guy with tight black pants and three little gold hoops pierced in his lips talking with a young, clean cut kid who later turned out to be Linnae's boyfriend. The kid was telling his life story. "So then my mom married this so called "Native American" guy, and he's the one who brought us up here. I been hanging out since I was about thirteen. The Indian wanted to 'get back to nature', or whatever, so he moved to Canada, but we hung out here a lot." Later that night her ordered a bunch of beer to go and a "triple shot of Goldschlager - in a plastic cup, for Linnae." The hot-pierced-tat-boy smiled slowly. It seems Linnae had a friend, and the night was still young.

Out of the woods emerged a guy who looked all GQ California, wearing cool sunglasses, a perfect haircut, cargo shorts, and a white fleece pullover. It gets cold up in the mountains, ya know. He passed all the people at the picnic tables, ignored the volleyball pit, and went straight to the payphones. He talked quietly for about half an hour, and then as abruptly as he had come, disappeared mysteriously back into the forest.

It was about 10:30 pm, and the sun was beginning to slide down the sky. Polebridge is so far north it stays light until late-thirty, at least. McAdams and I decided to head for our cabin while it was still light, but first a brief pit stop. I headed back to the Northern Lights to peepee. "Where ya goin'?" she asked agreeably. She can be like that, ya know. Real amiable, our McAdams.

"Bathroom," I said quietly. No need to tell everyone!

"It's not in there," she purred, relishing every word. "You have to use the outhouse."

That's right. No phone, no lights, no motor cars, not a single luxury. Certainly no toilet.

Now, I'm not really the outhouse type, believe it or not. I like candles and bath salts and fluffy bath mats so my feet don't touch the cold tile in the morning. I think McAdams may have suspected this about me. "I brought extra toilet paper," she said soothingly.

This is the view from the outhouse. It wasn't so bad. In fact, as the night went on, I noticed that it was actually a very popular place. People came from on the horizon, whistlin' a tune, carryin' a roll of toilet paper over their heads, rappin' gently on the wooden door, doin' their bizniss, then heading back to wherever they had come from. There were some paperback mysteries and a book about a summer romance. There was a poster on one wall that detailed the differences between the black bear and its more fierce brother, the grizzly. They're both scary. There was a bucket (not the one under the hole you sit on) that had a sign on it that said, "You drop it in, we haul it out. Tips graciously accepted." I emptied my pockets every time I emptied my bladder, but I couldn't really imagine how much it would take to make that job a worthwhile endeavor.

Finally, night was coming to Polebridge. If we had been there a little later, we might have seen the Aurora Borealis. As it was, we saw stars for miles, and the slow but steady blanket of night tucking in the valley. People called out good nights: "Whose turn is it to watch Max tonight?" and "Joey, get yer butt on in here now!"Cars sputtered and caught and made their way down the long dusty rut they call a road in these parts. McAdams and I decided it was safer to use a flashlight than figure out how the gas lamp worked and we read to each other in the little round glow it cast. Then we whispered and covered up to our necks under our quilts and said goodnight. My last thought before falling asleep was: Man, I sure hope I don't have to pee in the night!

Polebridge rocked.

AURORA BOREALIS