A good friend called me a number of years ago, excited about a property. He thought that we should buy it, split 50/50. It was a cabin in the woods in Montana near Lincoln. I asked for details. He said it was a bit run-down, overgrown, kinda hard to access, and not that cheap. I said that it did not sound very good. He said; ‘Man, the address is on Thunder Road.’ We did not buy it, but you can see why we were tempted.

Words are important, names even more so. What we call places says much more about ourselves than it does about the locations, but a good name resonates. Some can inspire, even bring a glow of anticipation: Yellowstone, Grand Canyon, Granite Peak. Some are descriptive, some commemorative, some poetic, and inevitably, some are just plain dumb. The application of language to things and places is a very human trait.

My own preoccupation has been the outdoors—exploring it, reading about it, and eventually writing about it. I have become interested in, even fascinated by, the words we use to name places. For example, more than half of the states in the U.S. have names that originated with Indian words. (Montana is not one of these, although the name ‘Shoshone’ was suggested for our state.)

Another aspect of place names is mispronunciation. The inhabitants of the state of Missouri usually refer to their state as Missoura. Similarly, I knew people in Miami, Oklahoma who pronounced their city, Miama. In Arizona, there is Prescott, called Prescutt, and in Utah, Hurricane is referred to as Hurricun. I cannot think of any Montana places in this category, but surely there are native words (along with Spanish terms) that are mispronounced. Previously, I stubbornly adhered to proper pronunciation, but finally realized that doing so labeled me as a clueless outsider rube. Locals should not have to feel instructed by others.

Which brings up a point. All of this analysis and commentary of place names puts me in a position of appearing pedantic and superior. I prefer the above term, ‘clueless,’ in the sense of searching for clues of how and why these words were used, trying for some knowledge, and perhaps a bit of understanding. And, along the way, having some fun.

There are two names in our locale that dominate when referring to geography, businesses, and even waterways. They are Bozeman and Bridger. For Bozeman, there is the town itself, a street, a mountain pass, a creek, and many other applications. For Bridger, there are the local mountains, the ski hill, another street, another creek, and even a brewery. Each of us probably uses those names every day in conversation. They are unique to our city, if not exclusive. The only other names as common within our area are Gallatin and Bobcats.

It is interesting that Bridger and Bozeman refer to men who were important in the history of our region at exactly the same time—the mid-1860s, when the town was being established. Bozeman was an official name adopted by vote. Bridger probably came into use by habit, as in Bridger’s canyon or creek. However they came to be, they have continued in usage and have become so common as to not be questioned after over 150 years.

The name Gallatin comes from Lewis and Clark. William Clark was the first of the expedition to encounter the three forks of the Missouri, but he was preoccupied with finding the Shoshone tribe and moved on. Two days later, Lewis and the rest of the Corps arrived. Lewis called the place; “...an essential point in the geography of this western part of the continent.” With Clark’s consent, he determined to name the rivers accordingly. The most promising fork to their route, he called the Jefferson after the president. Next, he named the Madison after the Secretary of State. The smallest fork received the name Gallatin after the Secretary of the Treasury. It is interesting that the Captains ignored Aaron Burr, who, as far as they knew, was the vice-president, but not a popular guy. The names they bestowed on those rivers held, and the mountain ranges and valleys near the sources of the rivers also carry those names (though the mountains near the Jefferson River are called the Tobacco Roots).

Lewis continued his tribute to Thomas Jefferson by naming tributaries of that river the Wisdom, the Philosophy, and the Philanthropy, which, in his opinion, were attributes of the President. Those names did not stick; the first became the Big Hole, and the latter the Beaverhead. The Philosophy became Willow Creek. Yet, the town of Wisdom on the shores of the Big Hole still holds the name, and a tributary that flows in downstream is called the Wise River.

Lewis and Clark were generally pretty good with names, though they named a bit too many places after each other. Their general rule was that whoever encountered something first had naming rights. So, each frequently honored the other. They both named rivers after girlfriends; Clark named the Judith, and later married that lady. Lewis named the Marias, after a woman called Maria (somehow, the apostrophe was mislaid). Later expeditions and pioneers lacked imagination. How many Rock Creeks are there? Boulder Rivers? Cottonwood Creeks? And my favorite—Mount Baldy. Artists and naturalists accompanied explorations… how about bringing along a poet or two for purposes of naming streams, mountains, and other features?

Native Americans tended to name places after events or animals, even spirits. Luckily, many of those have survived. Native speakers called our place the Valley of the Flowers. It was a place of peace. White settlers named places after people; there are lots of Lincolns, Columbias, and Washingtons. In Bozeman, the streets echo the pioneers; Story, Beall, Lamme, Mendenhall. In the American southwest, Spanish names have been retained. This brings with it history, and a kind of romance. Los Angeles, Santa Fe, Rancho Mission Viejo. Montana is an example. This Spanish word for mountain was written across our area on a map that made its way east to a naming center: Congress.

More seriously, there are traditional names that are disrespectful or insulting. One such word is ‘squaw.’ That area in Montana is now called Storm Castle. What a great name! In Upper Michigan that word was replaced by Ski-Kwe-gaag’igan. An improvement, but kinda tough to pronounce.

This, of course, brings us to football. The biggest game of the year in Montana is called the Brawl of the Wild. I have never heard that phrase spoken by fans or students. It is written in the sports pages and used by sportscasters. At one point the game was supposedly called the Great Divide War. Never heard that one either. In Bozeman it is Cat-Griz. In Missoula it is probably Griz-Cat or the Cat Game. Simple, descriptive, to the point. Actually, my research for this article later included speaking to a Missoula native. He says they also call the game Cat-Griz—alphabetical, rather than indicating any prominence. Both university towns have nicknames that were no doubt started by students: Bozone and Zootown. Sometimes these are shortened to the Zone and the Zoo. Most likely, these nicknames are hopelessly out of date and not in use at all this century, relics of some kind of Boomer usage. In that case, they would be historic.

Back to Baldy. I believe that is the name of a trail run. Anyway, I almost stopped hiking that mountain north of Bozeman because of the name. The name was dumb, but not going there would be dumber. Whatever we call it has no effect upon that great big Buddha of a peak. Hey, could we change it to Buddha? No, probably not. How about Bozeman Peak? Yeah, overused. But I have learned to accept it. It is a great place, and a great hike.

In the same mountain range, farther north, the names are awesome. Three peaks in a row— Sacajawea, Naya Nuki, and Pomp. They honor the only woman on the Lewis and Clark expedition, her girlhood companion, and her son. Hiking there is no different than hiking on Baldy; the peaks have no feelings for me or anyone else. The mountains have existed for millions of years, and the trails we have worn upon them have more effect than the names we use for them. But, somehow, I never shake off the effect of language.

That reminds me of guys who have the same name as their fathers. They end up being Buddy or Sonny, or Junior. How come girls do not seem to suffer that fate? Some kind of male ego thing, I suppose. I never thought one way or another about my own name until high school, when guys began calling me after a Motown star who happened to be just our age—Little Stevie Wonder. Thankfully, we both grew up and thus lost the “Little.” The rest of the nickname was pretty cool.