Road Photo Friday: A River. In A Bar.

Hunting traditions are funny things. For three years now, Jon and I have visited the Montana Tavern in Lewistown. It's a friendly dive, just the way we like it.

It's old school, with pool tables, a long bar, and precious little in the way of foo-foo drinks.

Every year, despite my better judgment, I order a shot of Yukon Jack here, and every year I swear it's going to be the last time I subject myself to that rotgut.

The jukebox is decidedly 21st century, wirelessly piping in damn near any tune you can think of. When the jukebox is silent, you're entertained by the din of a surprisingly active police scanner behind the bar -- a nice touch.

I'm not sure if we fell into the actually, apparently, obviously (or ridiculously) camp.

But the wackiest thing about the Montana Tavern is a feature that we somehow missed for the two previous years. A river runs through the damn place.

It's sort of hidden in the corner, but there it is, sure as shit. Enclosed in pine, plexiglas and rebar, you can look down through a cutout hole in the floor and see an honest-to-God artesian spring creek flowing underneath the bar.

Lewistown was built over this spring creek, and it has flowed through the bar for as long as it's existed. Local lore has it that the original owner fished while he worked, and reliable sources confirm that there is indeed a decent-sized brownie that frequents the watering hole (so to speak). It's also said that bartenders used to keep the kegs chilled in the cold spring-fed water. The rebar gate was added when locals would float the creek after the bar had closed and help themselves to purloined refreshments.

It's hard to argue with this claim.

Above the river shrine rests these treasures. A portrait of a bare-breasted indian woman and an apparent knockoff of same to the left, a couple fish mounts, and a really odd-looking beaded, feathered antelope horn mount.

If you're ever in the neighborhood, it's a must see. Heck, you might just start a tradition of your own. Just stay the hell away from the Yukon Jack, hoser.

Best Bar: You Show Me Yours, I'll Show You Mine (-hic-)

I'm passionate about hunting for many reasons -- witnessing great dog work, experiencing the limitless expanses of nature, and indulging in the camaraderie that comes with close friends.

But I also like those small-town bars that invariably beckon me when I'm on a bird hunting adventure. I'm pretty sure I come by it naturally. As a wee tyke back in central Nebraska, I can remember my dad and I (and later, my kid brother) stopping at the Beer Barrel Bar in St. Libory (shown above) after a morning of pheasant hunting. We'd order charburgers, dad'd get a draft beer and I'd get a cherry coke, and we'd watch the Cornhuskers pummel the living shit out of some hapless Big Eight opponent.

My, how little things change. To me, there's nothing better than finding a local watering hole for a cold beer or two after a hot (or bracingly cold) yet rewarding day afield.

In small town America, you're almost universally welcome in bars -- the folks are friendly, the beer is icy, and the tab is almost always embarrassingly cheap. Nearly every establishment is the same -- same as in comfortable and familiar -- but the antithesis of the insipid "entertainment-lifestyle-experience" franchise bullshit that developers and marketers concoct to justify charging $8.00 for a Bud Light.

I am not the only one to comprehend the awesomeness of small town bars, of course. In fact, a couple of gents who are apparently based here in the KC area recently went on a five-day, three-state, 101-bar pub crawl through (mostly) small Midwestern towns. I must admit, I was proud (and maybe a bit embarrassed) that I've probably hit more than 50 percent of them. It's a wonderful directory and plainspoken diary -- one I suspect I may consult this fall. At the very least, I'm looking forward to expanding my own list of mid-American small-town dives.

Check out the full "101 Libations" list here. Do you have any special memories at any of the bars on the Libations list? What other small town dives hold a special spot in your, um, liver? Comment, folks.