Wintery Drive

I take livestock to the processing facility almost every month of the year. I load steers in front and lambs in the back of my horse trailer and point my truck west over Marias Pass.

It’s a beautiful drive. I like the people at the processor so I look forward to catching up on their news.

This time of year, daylight is short, which complicates the 190-mile round trip with limited visibility, meandering wildlife and weather.

Processing dates are hard to come by so I rarely cancel a trip, but I watch the weather forecast closely.

Last year about this time, I decided to try to beat the incoming storm.

That might not have been my best decision.

Snow-packed roads slowed my trip west so it was already 2:30 in the afternoon by the time my dog and I turned around for the three hour drive east. My truck thermometer said 30-below and snow kept the roads slick.

Dusk came quickly as the snow fell harder.

I slipped my truck into 4-wheel drive and slowed down, knowing my empty trailer might decide to pass me any time.

Lights flickered in my rearview mirror.

I had no idea where the road was, but figured I would be fine if I used the snowbanks like bumper cars.

Suddenly, snow swirled everywhere.

I couldn’t even see the snowbanks.

Everything went dark. I thought my lights had gone out.

Then I realized I was sitting still.

My windshield was completely buried in snow. The lights of an economy car dimmed next to my passenger door.

Snow blocked my driver’s door so I crawled out the passenger door. I grabbed my shovel and knocked on the strangers’ window. They didn’t have a shovel, but they had a dog.

As we evaluated our options, a van carrying an Amtrak engineer came around the corner of the highway and pulled up.

I realized my truck was stuck on the inside of a corner with a 40-foot drop-off on the outside.

A well-lit Amtrak snowplow arrived, too.

We all clamored into the van with our dogs. They dropped me three miles up the road at the Isaak Walton Inn and kept going west.

The cell service there was negligible, but I was near my truck.

I got a room and bought a toothbrush.

The storm raged outside.

I called my daughter at the ranch. She had frostbite from attempting to dig her car out of a snowdrift in the driveway. I asked my brother to help her feed the cattle and sheep at the ranch.

The next morning while darkness held on, I began calling tow services. All of them were busy. Almost 150 miles of highway from Marias Pass to Havre was a sheet of ice mingled with blowing snow.

I called Montana Highway Patrol to see if my truck was still in a snow drift. The dispatcher would not tell me.

The temperature was still -30 and cell service was nonexistent at my truck.

My brother texted to say neither the tractor nor the skid steer would start with a -60 windchill, but my daughter was warm.

I caught a ride to my truck and was amazed to find a patrolman and a tow company already there.

I turned the key.

The diesel engine tried to start.

Shocked, I poured some anti-gel additive in the fuel tank and my truck came to life.

Every jaw at the scene fell to the ground.

The tow company guy snaked the line under my horse trailer and hooked to my hitch. The tow truck was pulling on solid ice so I slipped the transmission into reverse and helped him.

Ten minutes later, I was headed home, basking in the sunshine.

Call me Lucky.

And thankful.