I Fell Hard for "Soft Adventure" in Montana (Literally)

For weeks after I got back from western Montana, I was reminded of the pristine pine forests and glimmering snow-capped mountains every time I went to squat. At least once each of the four days I spent at the Ranch at Rock Creek I'd fallen on my tailbone: while learning to cross-country ski and snowshoe, and on the ice when I went out fishing. I even fell waddling the quarter-mile in my snowsuit between my cabin accommodation and the aprés-vibe fireplace in the main Granite Lodge. I can't say just how many times I hit the ground, but my backside certainly kept the score.

In my defense, I'm a child of Southern California. I hadn't been in such deep snow since I was maybe 8 years old, and the snow in this place just kept coming down, falling in the most delicate drifts yet somehow accumulating up to my knees. But even if the terrain took some acclimating, and even if my tush wasn't happy, the ranch's roster of "soft adventure" activities still had me feeling right at home.

Soft adventure is a buzz term in the tourism world referring to low-risk physical activities that don't require much — if any — previous experience. Snorkeling, hiking, and guided horse-back-riding all qualify. And while Montana and the greater Wild West are well-beloved by hardcore adventurers who flock there for a chance to defy death along the region's many tall peaks, Montana's less-popularized soft adventure offerings are perfect for people like me, who want to be active and explore but aren't Olympic-level athletes (maybe not even junior varsity).

At a minimum cost of $2,300 a night for two people, the luxury, all-inclusive Ranch at Rock Creek — rated five stars by the Forbes Travel Guide — is not exactly an affordable place to dip a toe in soft adventure. But it is a truly special and immersive one. During my stay, I not only got to try all kinds of new sporty activities, but I was outfitted with all the gear I needed at the on-site rod and gun club. I was also paired up with experienced, friendly guides who helped make sure I didn't hobble away with any injuries more serious than a sore tail.

I started my soft adventure whirlwind with a cross-country ski session through a sliver of the Beaverhead-Deerlodge National Forest. The snow was lilting peacefully to the ground in fat flakes that covered my dark beanie in a halo of white. I clipped into my skis, pleased at how easily I was able to do it myself, and began to practice my glide from the parking lot over to the Midway Trailhead.

To my surprise, in our first 10 minutes on the trail, I was leading the pack, sliding along with grace and keeping what felt like an impressive pace. Then, out of nowhere, we approached a slope. (Any downhill skier would scoff at what I'm calling a slope, but to a total newbie, it might as well have been a double black diamond.)

But no fear. I'm shockingly good at this, I told myself. I can handle it. Propelled by my newfound confidence, I sped ahead, feeling the ground slant beneath my ski-bound feet. Before I knew it I'd picked up too much speed. I was headed straight for a bank of pines and I couldn't stop. The pizza move I'd learned at age 8 was of no use in these oversized matchsticks stuck to my feet. It took me (with the help of my instructor) another 10 minutes just to stand back up. After I learned to really bend my knees on the slopier stretches, the rest of the outing went smoother.

Luckily with snowshoeing, there's very little velocity involved. The following day a different guide took me on a private trek up into the hills at the far edge of the 6,600-acre ranch property, along a narrow gulch. It was the morning so we went in search of animal tracks. He identified tracks from everything from a herd of elk that had passed through that night to the deep impressions of a moose, the neatly lined-up paw prints of a mountain lion, and even the tiny path of a mouse.

We reached the top of the hill, out of breath, snow up to my thigh and his knee, and looked out over the Rock Creek Valley. The quality of the light up there, bouncing off the blinding white of that morning's snow, was nothing short of magical. I slipped and fell more than a couple times on the way down but was still sad to pack away my snowshoes and climb back into the all-terrain vehicle that would return us to the main campus.

The following day I went ice fishing, the least physically demanding of all my Rock Creek soft adventures. And yet, I still managed to fall on my ass at the edge of Georgetown Lake waiting for a snowmobile to pick us up and drive us to our tent a mile out in the center. Four holes had already been drilled into the 18-inch-thick ice when my small group arrived, and the guides handed us each a rod with a piece of rubber bait attached to the hook at the end. It took a few minutes to adjust to the idea of standing out in the center of the frozen lake — the ice was thick enough to drive a loaded semi-truck across it, our guides assured us — but once we settled in, I never wanted to leave.

The tent itself was heated, and the view from above made it feel like we were inside an aquarium. The water was like crystal, and we could see all the way to the bottom, where an occasional trout darted by. Only one of us caught a fish, and she promptly returned it to the water, but sitting there waiting out the trout was meditative. The only thing that kept it from being completely blissful was the ache that was beginning to radiate from my sacrum.

The Rock Creek Valley may draw thrill-seekers and adrenaline junkies with its downhill skiing and snowboarding, white-water rafting, and big game hunting. But those of us who like to soak in the outdoors without putting our lives on the line — maybe our butts, but never our lives — can find unparalleled options for soft adventure at the Ranch at Rock Creek and other accommodations throughout southwestern Montana. Now that I'm home, I can take solace in knowing the memories I made there will last a lot longer than the bruises on my low back.

Emma Glassman-Hughes (she/her) is the associate editor at PS Balance. In her seven years as a reporter, her beats have spanned the lifestyle spectrum; she's covered arts and culture for The Boston Globe, sex and relationships for Cosmopolitan, and food, climate, and farming for Ambrook Research.