It seemed to be an ill omen when, not even ten strokes into our two-person kayak voyage to Wild Horse Island, one end of my companion’s paddle broke off and sank into the shallows. From that point on, my friend Pete had to paddle “canoe style” for the remainder of our almost two-mile journey from the public boat launch to the shores of Wild Horse Island. Despite the hardship, the sunny day was still bright with the promise of adventure by the time we came ashore on the rocky shoal.

The alternately forested and grassy hillsides of the island had been beckoning to me for more than a year – ever since I arrived in Montana and learned of the boat-accessible state park teeming with bighorn sheep and wild horses, with the surrounding sliver of Flathead Lake serving as the only buffer between the real world and the idyllic island habitat of these iconic Western species.

Setting foot on the island was fulfilling in itself, as it was immediate clear that this was not your average state park. Absent were picnic tables, well-worn paths and other amenities that one might expect to find at a more typical venue. With the exception of a small handful of old cabins built along the island’s shoreline that pre-date its park status, Wild Horse is the exclusive domain of wildlife, with humans serving as daytime guests, only.

We set out from our beachhead for the towering hills that dominate the island. From there, we figured we would have an amazing view of the surrounding lake and mountains at worst, and, at best, would also be able to spy some of the island’s famed wildlife from our hilltop crow’s nest.

But we needn’t go that far to have our first run-in with something wild. Only a couple hundred yards into our exploratory trek, the peaceful afternoon quiet was shattered by an inhuman scream from some distressed creature, lurking unseen nearby.

Pete and I exchanged bewildered looks of “What was THAT?!” right as a responding cry answered our question.

The second shriek – which also came from a ravine just out of our sight – was equally startling and unfamiliar until it ended with the unmistakable whinny of a horse.

With only six horses populating the island, I hadn’t expected to come across the herd so easily, yet here they were, just yards away but still hidden from view.

We hurried up a small hill in an attempt to lay eyes on them, but the horses had disappeared from the valley where they had been heard just a moment earlier.

Maybe they had smelled us. Maybe they heard us crunching through leaves as we approached. Whatever the reason, they had vanished to somewhere else in their 2,164-acre home.

Marching onward, we inevitably crossed paths with the island’s other celebrated tenants: bighorn sheep.

It may be named for its handful of resident equines, but bighorn sheep have undisputed rule of the island. Wild Horse is home to close to 200 sheep, which periodically need to be thinned by Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks and are airlifted off the island.

The sheep were slightly skittish around us, but seemed more interested in occupying the shade and occasionally butting their powerful heads against the trunk of a tree.

Enveloped by 360 degrees of breathtaking vistas, the island’s scenery was as remarkable as its wildlife. Although it was July 5 and one of the busiest boating weekends of the year, surprisingly, we seemed to have the place pretty much to ourselves, and did not see another hiker all afternoon. The privacy helped add to the island’s mystique and excited the imagination. It was just us, freely roaming bighorn sheep, and, somewhere, a secretive herd of horses.

***

Heading back to the mainland, Pete’s paddle encountered some more bad luck when its remaining functional end slipped off and, this time, sank irretrievably to the bottom of the lake. Though we eventually managed to limp back to land, the tragic demise of his oar hadn’t been a bad omen after all. To the contrary, we were both spellbound to discover that an almost fantastical island could exist so close to our own backyard and yet so far out of the ordinary. The fact that the horses narrowly eluded us was a disappointment, but will provide a convenient excuse to head back to the island in the near future - hopefully with two good paddles.