Making It In Missoula

Missoula’s Nearby Hot Springs: How to Meet Naked Montanans

By Big Sis, 11-01-06

This Halloween I’ve determined that my best costume is my birthday suit. No one seems to recognize you when you’re buck naked. Maybe it’s because they aren’t really looking at your face.

This theory was proved at Jerry Johnson Hot Springs this weekend by our housemate, Rad Roomie, when she accompanied Little Sis and me on a rejuvenating soak in the woods. We entered a pool already occupied by two strangers, and discovered only after we exited and dressed that Rad Roomie had recently met the husband of the couple.

There aren’t many situations where you meet new people without your clothes on. But due to the plethora of backcountry natural hot springs in this part of the world, I’ve had the opportunity to meet dozens of fabulous Montanans (and even some nice enough Idahoans) in the buff—and nowhere near the bedroom.

J.J., for instance, is a hot spot not just for water, but also for interesting conversations and fascinating naked people. It’s truly a study in human wildlife.

And, since this region seems to be a social vortex, you’ll often realize you already know (or know others who know) the humans frolicking with you in the warm, muddy holes.

J.J. is the closest natural hot springs to Missoula when heading west from Lolo on Highway 12, and also the most accessible of the nearby soaking spots (hence the random assortment of naked people). After a mellow walk through a mile of lush cedar and fir trees, my roomies and I came upon the first pool at the bottom of a waterfall. The hottest and most exotic pool, it was of course filled with folks. We moved past the crowded next level, too, which features a large hot pool and then several “cop-a-squat” puddles.

This left us with the cooler pool with the coolest view. Though the scenery and sun were nice trade-offs for the luke-warm water, we actually chose this pool because the couple lounging in it seemed the least threatening of the other options down below: two large hairy hunters or the three patchouli-wafting hippies. This Helena couple exuded PLU vibes (people like us).

The woman was a mailwoman-turned-massage-therapist/yoga-instructor, and her husband was an activist/politician-turned-brewery-owner. I soon discovered he is responsible for making my favorite beer on earth, the Blackfoot River IPA. Not only did I get the recipe for how to homebrew this IPA, Rad Roomie discovered she had many acquaintances in common with our new naked friends. Plus, they’d met two days before.

"Oh, yeah—I totally remember you, now that you put your clothes on!” said Rad Roomie. “I was sitting in your brewery a couple days ago when Walt and Brian walked in.”

(She was referring, of course, to Walt and Brian Schweitzer …you know, the Governor and his brother? Right. It’s a small world ‘round these here parts, and a short leap from naked outdoor soaking to indoor bigwig politicians.)

So, while you might picture hot springs as a romantic and private adventure, I’m here to dash your hopes. Expect people. Expect random encounters with naked strangers. Expect to feel slightly awkward and fairly exposed. Expect to laugh about it later.

The only time my friends and I had the whole hot springs to ourselves was my first trip to J.J. This is also the trip that convinced me that Montana is: a) WAY different than southern California, and b) a place I will be staying for a long, long time.

The reason we didn’t see any other folks was because we hiked in at 2 a.m. on a very cold night. The reasons I instantly fell in love with the place were: a) the moon-dappled cedars, and b) it was just me, lots of hot water, and a Subaru-load of fun guys. But that’s a story for another time.

Here are some of the best lines from my last few visits to local hot springs:

“Um, my husband forgot to pack my bathing suit,” said a naked woman (tongue-in-cheek) as she entered a pool full of modestly clad folks at J.J.

“Are you really sure we should take off our clothes now?” Little Sis asked me on her first trip to J.J. from somewhere behind a blizzard of ferociously falling snow.

“Hey, can you take a picture of me?” the Creeper (an older dude clad only in a giant hat and broken glasses) asked my friend Hot Mama at Goldbug. She responded in a slightly horrified voice, “Don’t you want to sit down first?”

“Are you girls ‘springers’ too? I hit all these hot pots every few months—you know, to release my toxins?” the Hippie RV Driver at Weir. My response was, “Ew.”

“Don’t worry. My girlfriend slays rattlesnakes,” a pretty woman with a baby told us as her girlfriend picked up a monstrous rock to chuck at a snake lounging near a pool. My friend Artesania’s response was to run like hell past the decapitated snake.

“Last time I was here, a mule exploded,” a grizzled hunter told me six miles in the backcountry at Stanley hot springs. I didn’t respond.

Post Script: In tandem with the above reference to bigwig politicians, I'd like to send a belated shout-out to Missoula Mayor, John Engen, who celebrated his birthday last Friday. Rock on, John.

Read the previous Making It In Missoula column: Tailgating in Many Forms

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