Montana’s Tiny Ghost Town

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In 1891, the Crow Nation “ceded” land in southern Montana to the U.S. Government. Homesteaders from Norway, Sweden, Germany, and the Midwest settled and began farming the land. Just over 100 years later, tiny Reed Point is a living ghost town.

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It’s considered a “living” ghost town, because, well, there are still people living there, but the town itself looks all but deserted. Its current population has steadily dropped, and is now around 96, so it isn’t the smallest town we’ve seen (that distinction goes to Leiter, WY, population 3, each of whom we met), but it has held on to its wild west vibe as businesses closed and people moved on.

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The only truly viable prospect in town is the Waterhole Saloon. When we checked in at the Old West RV Park campground, the owner told us to go there because “they have great food.” When we got settled into our site, our neighbors told us to go there because there’s nothing else to do, and “they have great food.” So, we went.

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It was less than a block’s walk from the campground to the Saloon, and along the way we happened upon the local Friday Farmers Market (open 5p.m.-7:30p.m.), which consisted of one small tent with three people selling things like chokecherry jam, eggs, baked goods, and homemade soap.

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But we were on a mission to discover the “best burgers,” so we chatted for a few minutes, then continued to the Saloon. There was no outdoor patio for people who had dogs with them, but never mind; dogs were welcome to hang out inside as long as they were on their best behavior, so Ruthie had her first experience dining inside a restaurant. They even serve a Puppy Patty of unseasoned ground beef so your dog feels like family.

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Susan ordered a classic burger with lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickle, and Simon ordered the same, with the addition of cheese, bacon, and jalapenos. His came with fries, hers with onion rings, and in the end, Susan only made it through half, because those burgers were nearly as big as her head.

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Ruthie helped by having several small bites and a couple of fries as a reward for being such a good girl.

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We told our wonderful waitress we’d be back the next evening to try their popular wings, but Susan ruined that plan, having had more fat than her gallbladderless body could handle with that massive burger. There are no photos of her agony, and even if there were we wouldn’t share them. Instead, here’s a deer we saw standing on the side of the road the next day.

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We’d seen all there was to see by the end of our arrival day, so the next morning we pointed Nippy west and backtracked to Greycliff Mill, 13 miles away.

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Rustic as Reed Point was, Greycliff Mill was slick, manicured, and totally within our comfort zone, which made a nice counterpoint to all the “unfamiliar” we were experiencing. Its charming ponds and working waterwheel offered a picturesque backdrop for a picnic lunch, and, having skipped breakfast, we indulged in a couple of sandwiches and milkshakes, which would hold us until late that evening.

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Susan’s veggie sandwich and chocolate shake were good, but the prize went to Simon’s brisket sandwich and the scrummiest Espresso milkshake ever conceived by humankind. Probably the best milkshake either of us have ever had, and that’s saying something.

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At this point you may be thinking all we did was eat for two days, which is partly true, but we’re not just pigs, we’re sightseeing pigs, so once lunch was over we made our way to Boulder River and Natural Bridge, a scenic drive in the area.

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We had no idea what Natural Bridge might be, but when we found the turnout for it, we were happy to discover it was a) just a short walk away, and b) dog friendly.

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Simon, of course, couldn’t wait to get out to any perch that hung out over a long drop-off, and happily trotted along the pathway from overlook to overlook.

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The afternoon heat had us scrambling back to the car after twenty minutes or so, but the canyon was pleasant, so we were happy to keep driving.

It was all going so well – a lovely, burbling river on one side of the road, absolute loads of character in the hills and rocky outcroppings on the other, and those magnificent falls – until, suddenly, it wasn’t.

The “Road Narrows” sign was the first hint once we set off again, but someone whose first name begins with the letter “Simon” didn’t take the hint. The second hint was Susan saying, “Simon, I think we’re getting into a situation here.” And we were.

The now-gravel road definitely narrowed. Like, one-car narrow, with the river far below on one side and the mountainside right up next to the road on the other. We won’t repeat the commentary as we dealt with a car coming the opposite direction, and then our own turn-around in an area too small to turn around in, but since you’re reading this, you know we survived (and turned around).

There are no photos of the tight squeeze. Instead, here’s a photo of Ruthie with a bear.

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We’d done Montana justice, and it was time to move back into Wyoming. Our new plan also included slowly moving south through Wyoming and dipping into a state we thought we’d miss when we were working out our original schedule: The “Switzerland of America,” Colorado.