Jeff Schmerker
Come for the huckleberry bearclaws, stay for the beer
Polebridge is a mythically remote way station in Montana’s remote North Fork of the Flathead, a vast heavily treed lightly populated valley that butts up against the high peaks of Glacier National Park on one side, British Columbia on the other, and the Whitefish Mountains on the third. The town is the store – the Polebridge Mercantile – where motorists who survived the dusty washboarded road can fill up on surprisingly sophisticated baked goods, a few camping sundries, and gas (at greatly inflated prices – if it’s available at all). Next door is a saloon and restaurant, and nearby are rustic cabins.
On sunny days the store is a mecca for a the handful of locals who eke out a living here and the handful of tourists who are happy for a slice of community in this vast wilderness. A beer or a fresh-baked bearclaw on the quiet front porch is a rare treat.
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