It probably matters more where you’re from this time of year than any other.
Permission to hunt private property is usually granted more readily if the plates on your pickup sport the number of one of Montana’s lesser populated counties.
It may take a bit more time to convince the landowner you’ll shut the gates and not shoot his cows if you’re from out of state or happen to reside in Yellowstone, Gallatin or Flathead counties.
Worse yet, is getting permission to hunt when your rig bears plates with the number 1. Folks who live in Montana’s hinterland remain a bit leery of residents of Butte.
A rough and tumble mining town in its long past prime, Butte isn’t so different from most other Montana cities anymore, unless of course you happen to be from there and think referring to it as “Butte, America,” makes perfect sense.
Luckily, for residents of the Big Sky state’s larger cities, a plethora of new license plates celebrating everything from pets to unborn babies are available to disguise the fact they hail from Billings or Kalispell.
My friend Dallas has special license plates on his pickup. But like any good Butte native, although he has lived in the Gallatin Valley for years, the plates trumpet his heritage. “Butte, the Mining City,” they read.
Folks from Butte, America tend to be proud of it no matter what anyone else thinks.
So here’s a story about a guy from Butte.
Dallas and his 15-year-old son came up to stay with me last weekend for the opener of antelope season.
Fans of the Colorado Rockies, they stayed up until nearly midnight Saturday to watch the Rox beat the Phillies and win the National League Division Series, then woke at 4:30 a.m. to get ready for their hunt.
Dallas had to be back at work the next morning and his kid couldn’t miss school so this was their only day to chase speed goats.
They walked deep into a block management hunting area before first light only to discover every other yahoo with an antelope tag for the area was also hunting there.
But like Buttians do, they persevered. Dallas’s son shot a nice buck and by early afternoon they were back at the house. An hour later they had showered and packed their gear. We said our goodbyes and they climbed into the truck for the five-hour trip back to Manhattan.
A short while later there was a knock on the door. It was Dallas.
Twenty miles south of town, near the area they had been hunting, Dallas and his son spotted two rifles lying by the side of the road.
He said he had been tempted to keep on driving. Let someone else stop. It was already going to be a long trip home.
But the guy from Butte did stop, pick up the rifles and turn the truck around. He’d sure hate to lose his rifle that way, he told me. And the next guy that stopped might just keep them.
Dallas was still at the Phillips County Sheriff’s Office when a young couple walked through the door and announced they’d lost their rifles.
They tried to give Dallas a reward, but he wouldn’t take one, so they stuffed 50 bucks in his kid’s shirt pocket.
His son is going to use the money to take his dad out for a steak dinner.
He’s proud of his old man.
And he should be.
After all, he’s from Butte.
Parker Heinlein is at pman@mtintouch.net