The Puck Stops Here

Lacey MiddlesteadLacey Middlestead is a Montana native and freelance writer currently living in Helena, Mont. She loves meeting new people and helping share their stories. When she’s not busy writing articles for newspapers like the Independent Record and Helena Vigilante, she can usually be found indulging in her second greatest passion–playing in the Montana wilderness. She loves skiing and snowmobiling in the winter and four wheeling, hiking, boating, and riding dirt bikes in the summer.

The family that skates together stays together!

When I first started playing hockey about a year and a half ago, it was at my dad’s insistence. He has played hockey since he was a kid, but when he heard the rink in Helena was starting a novice league, he couldn’t sign me up fast enough. I was skeptical of the idea at first. Sure, I’d watched NHL hockey on television, but there is a serious difference between watching and playing. Those guys on TV move like they were born with blades for feet. But after he purchased me a brand new pair of Easton skates and a full suite of hockey gear, I knew there was no going back. My only reassurance was that my dad agreed to skate in the novice league with me in addition to the advanced men’s leagues.

That first season of hockey was a total blast. I never would’ve dreamed I’d love it as much as I did. Since I’m an only child, my dad never had the opportunity to pass on his love for the sport to a son. It took me 26 years or so, but I finally filled that space for him. It felt special playing with my dad and having him right beside me on the ice when I scored my first goal. And honestly, how many men can say they play hockey with their daughters?

When my second season of hockey started up last year, I was pleasantly surprised to see a second father-daughter duo hit the ice. Paul, one of the guys my dad and I played with during my first season, recruited his daughter, Celena, to play. Celena was in her freshman year at Carroll College yet never let our 11 p.m. games on a school night slow her down. Partway through the season, Celena’s mom and brother-in-law also started playing on our league. They had enough family playing to make up their own line of forwards and have one defenseman.

I always figured it was just by sheer coincidence that the members from two different families loved playing together. This season, however, proved me wrong.

When I heaved my giant hockey bag into the locker room for the first game this season I was ecstatic to see four or five girls dressing. After beginning to converse with them, I learned that two of the ladies had been talked into playing by their husbands who also played with us. Both were beginner skaters and still learning to navigate the task of putting on all of their gear. I remember being in that same moment myself and wondering where all of the dozens of Velcro straps went.  One of the ladies mentioned having relied on closely watching her son get dressed in his gear to help.

It absolutely warms my heart to be out on the ice and see all of the encouraging and helpful family dynamics. What’s even better is that there are always smiles on all of our faces, regardless of if we fall down, miss a goal, or momentarily forget that stinkin’ offside rule. With kids, spouses, and siblings all out skating together, we make quite an interesting bunch. And during this week’s game on Sunday afternoon my fiancé, Andy, will be joining us for his first game of hockey. I watched with amusement last night as he practiced putting on all of his newly purchased gear for the first time. He had an anxious and excited look about him strapping it all on. When he finally stood up in all of and asked me to take his picture, I knew he was ready.

It is a hard task indeed to find a sport that all members of a family will participate in and truly love. But I can honestly say that hockey is one of them.     

Bridger Bucket List

Angela JamisonAngela Jamison is a native Montanan and she grew up in beautiful Bozeman. I'm the mother of two girls and write a blog about our life here and taking in the simple pleasures of family and food. 

There’s an old song by Blues Traveler…”The Mountains Win Again” that sums up how I feel about the Bridger Mountains here in our our great valley.  They tend to beat me over and over.  They are in no way giant, dangerous peaks to summit but I am somewhat fascinated by them.  Maybe because they are right in our face here in Bozeman.  I see them out and about on runs, while driving in the car, from my front porch.  I gaze at the distinct peaks.  Maybe it’s because every year 250 people make the decision to take on the range with the 20-mile Bridger Run.  Part of me thinks that would be the coolest thing to have on my bucket list.  As an avid hiker in the area it seems like something one should do.  On the other hand, I really like my toe nails and don’t know that I have what it takes for all that.  I have different ideas for the Bridgers…hiking to the top of each of the named peaks.  And, this is where currently the mountains keep winning.

Hiking to Sacajawea Peak years ago gave me the first taste of wanting to stand atop each of them.  As the highest peak in the range and probably the most popular for hiking it was an obvious place to start.  Later that year I crossed Hardscrabble off the list.  Again..pretty simple because the trails for these two are so well used…totally beat the mountains on these.  But wait.  Shouldn’t get too cocky.  Next time up to Sacajawea we had to turn around at the saddle because of a wicked storm coming in.  Hmmm, things were starting to turn.

The next year (because I have young kids it’s only about once or twice a summer I get to attempt a harder hike without the family) I wanted to go for Saddle Peak.  My husband and I thought we’d try from the Bridger Bowl side.  There’s not a ton of information on trails that lead to many of the peaks in the middle of the range.  This is good and bad.  Good…the trails are less popular and you are more likely to get solitude on your hike.  Bad…it’s easy to go the wrong way.   In our case, the way we went did not work.  After hiking for a couple hours we looked up and realized we were actually further away from Saddle Peak than when we began which is very hard to do when you are hiking up.  Mountain wins.

We didn’t get a second attempt at Saddle until the next year…this time heading up from Middle Cottonwood Creek.  There were times the trail became less obvious towards the top and I thought we were again going to be defeated.  Second time around, however, brings a renewed determination and we scrambled our way to the top and felt success.  Second time was a charm.

This year I had Baldy on my list.  Having worked our way from the north end peaks towards the middle I wanted to try from the south.  Knowing if I have eventually done the entire Bridger Run trail in chunks maybe, just maybe, one day I’ll think about entering the race.  After reading a few things online I found there to be some controversy as to what was the true summit of Mt Baldy.  I figured there was no way to really know unless we gave it a try so we headed up from the M Trailhead.  Four and half miles up, thinking we were just about to the peak we saw the true summit in all its bald glory a couple miles ahead of us.  Again, we had begun a hike to a peak only to know we would not be reaching it.  Sadly we were running out of daylight and weren’t equipped to get to the peak and make it down in the dark.  With heavy hearts we turned around.  The mountain wins again.

BUT, I can cross the false summit of Mt. Baldy off my list.

It’s not over.  I will cross Baldy, Bridger and Naya Nuki off my list in the next couple of years.  I will leave Ross Peak for the rock climbers.  Maybe one day I will do the Bridger Ridge in its entirety.  The mountains may win and that is okay.  They have my respect and deserve to win every time.  I just feel fortunate to get to play in them once in awhile.