Bill Muhlenfeld is owner and publisher of Distinctly Montana magazine and other publications. He lives in Bozeman with his wife and co-owner, Anthea George, and always finds time to enjoy the great outdoors, when he is not writing about it....

Last year Gallup did an extensive poll of all 50 states asking residents to rate their state on livability, and asking if their state was “the best or one of the best possible places to live.” Surprisingly (to some). Montana and Alaska tied for first place, with 77% of each state’s residents describing those states as “the best place to live.” What? Aren’t those states cold, wild, mountainous and quite low in population density? Exactly. Bozeman, where I live, has all those elements, and they are some of the commonalities among the best-rated states registered by Gallup in their summation of the poll results. Bozeman, for example, rests in the Gallatin Valley, which is the approximate size of Rhode Island. Population of the entire valley? About 75,000.

So, just why do we live here?

Well, for starters, Montana’s low population density brings with it all kinds of favorable outcomes, including no traffic (really, NONE), no lines for coffee or concerts, thousands of square miles of mountains, forests and wildness, all crisscrossed with trails, paths and roads, and open to boots, hooves, mountain bikes and snowshoes. Low density shows itself too in more subtle ways, with a natural friendliness and openness at every place and happenstance--from shops and restaurants, to casual encounters in our great outdoors. The wonderful response to inquiries from visitors? “You bet.” Montanans, in general, are a wonderfully positive and outgoing people.

And, okay, it is cold, but it’s a dry cold. Montana is quite similar to Arizona in both humidity and annual precipitation, which makes most of winter a joy to experience. Heck, I’m from Chicago originally. And though I am quite fond of the state where I spent the first fifty years of my life, winters there are wet, freezing and grey. Montana? Dry, cool-to-cold and sunny.

The list of positives seems endless. Glacier and Yellowstone parks, grizzly bears, fresh huckleberry jam, fly-fishing, rafting and canoeing, fests and festivals, breweries and bistros, campfires, cowboys, wildflowers, bison burgers, hot springs, elk and moose, skiing, sleigh-rides and dog-sledding….did I mention “no traffic?”

There is a bumper sticker making the rounds here. It reads:

        Montana is Full
I Hear North Dakota is Nice

And that, perhaps, is both the crux and the dilemma of Montana’s enviable identity. Low population density, it appears, brings with it a strong complement of positive circumstances which contribute mightily to well-being. One million Montanan residents share that sense of well-being with our 13 million annual visitors, and we are happy, even enthusiastic about touting the virtues of our truly enviable state and lifestyle. But... as more and more people discover what we in Montana believe to be “the best place to live,” there is a commensurate and intrinsic fear of population growth. The fear is that it could all end badly. More people will mean more problems, and isn’t it so?

The Last Best Place? You bet.

The calm evening sheen of McGregor Lake filled the backdrop as Mike Ferda climbed into a burly waterproof suit bristling with hoses and valves. Before strapping on a 30-pound oxygen tank and pulling on his mask, he spit in the lenses.

“People were not made to go underwater,” he said.

Regardless, Ferda and two others waded into the cool lake and slowly submerged into darkness. Moments later, all that remained atop the surface were a red buoy and bubbles.

Welcome to the heart of Montana’s scuba diving country, the wild interior of the Flathead Valley, an underwater paradise as scenic as the surrounding mountain peaks.

With the largest freshwater lake in the West among more than 500 aquatic attractions, this region boasts crystalline waters and vast submarine labyrinths that satisfy hardcore divers and recreational hobbyists who enjoy year-round explorations.

The maritime reputation of this corner of the state is rather unsung and exists mostly on the fringe, similar to other niche sports such as skydiving.

But tradition runs deep in this region, fueled by unique natural wonders, sunken treasures and some of the most awe-inspiring bodies of open water in the West, including Flathead Lake and the wilderness waters of Glacier National Park.

The local diving culture is slowly rising from the depths of the recession after years of sitting dormant due to a blow to the recreation industry. Two dive shops in Kalispell fell victim to the shrinking economy. But a new family owned shop has re-emerged between Kalispell and Whitefish and is trying to be a catalyst for the hobby and its community of diehard enthusiasts.

“This town had a huge dive population. They used to put on an event every summer called Dive Fest and hundreds of people from across Montana would come here to dive,” said Mark Cook, who opened Rock Bottom Divers nearly two years ago on U.S. Highway 93 North with his two sons, Tim and Nick.

“The dive community kind of fell apart when the economy went bad, and we’ve been trying really hard to bring it back. Now I’m meeting more people who are dusting off their old equipment and coming in to fill tanks.”

Moving to Montana may have seemed like a quixotic enterprise for a prospective dive shop, but the family soon realized that this is truly a mecca of opportunities.

“It’s crystal-clear water here. Normally lakes are murky and have algae blooms, but these are unbelievable crystal-clear lakes,” Cook said.

“All of the lakes up here have something unique to see, and there are so many of them,” Tim Cook added.

The family’s business, located in one of the former dive shops, now acts as a centralized hub for the valley’s divers. It houses a large pool that is 12 feet deep, filled with salt water and warmed to 80 degrees, making it easier for new trainees to dive into the sport. Cook helps people of all ages seeking all levels of underwater skills, from families preparing for a vacation in the Caribbean to the local search and rescue crews needing advanced, technical training.

MORE>>>Great Falls Tribune

SuzAnne Miller is the owner of Dunrovin Ranch. A fourth-generation Montanan, SuzAnne grew up roaming the mountains and fishing the streams of western Montana. Her love of nature, animals, science, and education prompted her to create the world’s first cyber ranch where live web cameras bring Dunrovin’s wildlife and ranch life to internet users across the globe.

Montana has often been referred to as a small town with long streets. It’s true that we Montanans think of each other as neighbors even though several hundred mountainous miles may separate our domiciles.

If all Montanans form a small community with widely spaced neighborhoods, then all Buttians (people hailing from Butte) form a large family with vastly different ethnic roots. Being from Butte simply gives a person an entirely unique life perspective. We Buttians know how to love, how to fight, how to have fun, how to stand together to face “the company”, how to endure cold winters, how to make do, how to put on airs (while dancing in one of Butte’s many first class ballrooms with crystal chandeliers) , how to celebrate each other’s old world heritages, and how to form a tightly knit family when the chips are down – as they have often tended to be in a mining town that’s “a mile high and a mile deep” and where the rich were world class rich and the poor were world class poor.

Anyone who travels with me on Montana’s back roads and hidden valleys, knows that if I see a #1 license plate (Butte’s # 1, naturally!) or a Montana Tech sweatshirt, I am very likely to strike up a conversation that could occupy me for more than a few minutes. My husband swears that he’s going to stop accompanying me on forays anywhere within 100 miles of my home town; he is consistently left out of the conversations that totally engage me with nearly every bar tender, store clerk, fisherman, or outdoor enthusiastic that comes within talking and reminiscing distance.

Two incidents illustrate the point. I once took three women friends on a horseback adventure in the Big Hole Valley. I had planned on purchasing a tank full of diesel at the Grasshopper Inn near Elk Horn Hot Springs. I paid my money, drove up to the pump, and found their tank totally empty. We had planned a long trail ride for that day, so I said , “let’s just go ahead and worry about fuel at the end of the day; after all, the situation won’t change. We might was well have fun!” After our ride, I cruised down to Wise River in search of diesel – it was a long shot but at least they have phone service. Yup, no diesel in town, but I did flag down a guy driving a diesel truck. I thought he might allow me to siphon a few gallons just to get me to Wisdom.

It took us only two minutes to figure out that we had gone to the same grade school in Butte. We laughed at old neighborhood stories and the next thing you know, he tells us to wait there while he drives twenty miles to his house to fill a gas can and bring it back. My east coast friends simply could not believe it. I flag down a completely random guy, he’s from my home town, and he spends more than an hour helpings us.

This last weekend, my husband and I escaped Dunrovin Ranch during a wedding weekend to spend a couple of nights at a cabin north of Dillon. Along a back country road, we run into two guys on four wheelers sporting #1 license plates, which is my invitation jaw bone. Sure enough, we know people in common and we start swapping Butte tales – both true and false (in Butte reality and fantasy tend to converge). These two terrific guys go out on the weekends with long “pick-up” sticks for grabbing garbage in the form of beer cans and bottles that have been strewn along the roads. They pile them in a box on their four wheelers to take home for proper disposal. They are both in their 70’s and Butte Central graduates (the Catholic high school rival of Butte Public High School where I attended). They seemed to think it was their duty to clean up. “We’ve done some hard living in Butte – so we have a lot of picking up to do.”

Butte, my home town. I wouldn’t be from anywhere else.

Visit Suzanne Miller at  Days at Dunrovin