Tiller between my legs, I hold the finicky jib sheet in one hand and my sparkling water in the ­other. Sueños picks up speed like a horse ready to run. I’m solo sailing, my favorite pastime. And I’m wing on wing, my favorite point of sail. Today, Montana’s Flathead Lake is perfect for both.

The Rocky Mountains graze blue sky on the eastern shore. Those craggy peaks culminate in Glacier National Park 30 miles north, where grizzlies, goats and woodsmen roam. To the west, bleached bluffs have baked to golden perfection after a long summer. And in front of me, the September sun glints across a vast expanse of royal blue that is mine alone.

At age 43, I’ve sailed more than half my life. I live with my husband and our two young kids in an area of Montana 100 miles to the south. We’ve spent the past four winters cruising in the Bahamas aboard Mikat, a 36-foot Jaguar catamaran.

But my husband is less enamored of sailing than I am. Or, to be more accurate, he wants a break from fixing boats in beautiful places. A few months ago, we sold our one-third-ownership share in Mikat. As I skim across Flathead, he’s happily planning a family backpacking trip to Bolivia, South America’s only landlocked country.

A few weeks later, at a ­meditation class back in Montana, the instructor told us to envision a place where we felt happy, healthy and peaceful. I closed my eyes, and the forward berth on Mikat came into view—sheets perpetually damp and sandy, a tinge of diesel and mildew behind the salt water. I saw my children spiraling through the air as they swung on a halyard, framed against a slice of white sand. I saw the four of us diving off the transom, baptized anew in the neon water.

I needed another happy place. So I found a boat ­partnership closer to home.

Sueños is a Catalina 25 that’s been cruising Flathead Lake for two decades—only a few years longer than I have. As the largest natural lake west of the Mississippi, Flathead has hundreds of miles of shoreline to explore, along with a half-dozen islands.

I nudge the tiller to turn toward my favorite of these islands, trimming in the sails. When I reach the horseshoe anchorage tucked against Wild Horse Island, I scramble around the deck, alternating between nursing the idling outboard, lowering the main at the mast, and running to the bow to wrest the anchor and chain from the hold. Sueños is definitely not set up for singlehanding, but that just makes it more interesting.

The sun is skimming the top of the ponderosas by the time I’ve set the hook. I strip off my clothes and cannonball off the side before the light disappears completely. The lake is cold but not icy…yet. The sailing season is short here in the Big Sky State—June through September, at best. Half of those days are too chilly to swim, the other half too smoky to see the mountains. But ­occasionally, you stumble upon the magic that makes Montana the last best place.

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