Driving into Great Falls, Montana in the dead of winter westbound on Hwy 87 you can forgive yourself if you question what planet you are on. The black, two-laned pavement floats on a never-ending, placid ocean of white snow; feeling more moon than Montana, more planet Hoth than Earth. Unlike the mountainous beauty found in the first two hours of my drive, the last thirty minutes traverses a vast, white, flat wasteland. The town, barely visible in the distance above the snow blowing across the blacktop, rises above the white-filled wind magically remaining a constant few feet above the ground.  In this wondrous landscape I search for the most unlikely of treasures: the mermaids of Montana.

I pull into G Funk (a nickname told to me by a former resident who “escaped” to Bozeman) and wind through the average looking city towards its surprisingly large downtown. Here’s some advice- following a map on your phone while driving on ice-covered roads in a town that names its streets “6th St N” or “6th St SW” (two different streets) while only having an address for “6th St” is not recommended. After a few slip n dips of my own down wrong streets I finally find the motel.

The mermaids can be found at the Sip n Dip, the lounge of the O’Haire Motor Inn. Built in 1962, the old style motor inn lies on the edge of downtown, serving both as attraction and inn for city visitors. As I check-in a small bachelorette party gathers in the lobby along with other guests mingling about. The adjoining restaurant is full and the motel buzzes with activity. The young lady behind the check-in counter sports a welcoming smile, small face piercing, and multiple tattoos. I take a second to contemplate how much social media is changing things. The youth here and other parts of Montana aren’t much different than the youth of urban areas. Not only do we not say “You’re not in Kansas anymore” anymore, but I’m not sure Kansas even exists. We’re one big Instagram nation, fashion and trends spreading at speeds of 4Gs.

Too early to hit the lounge, I stroll towards downtown for dinner. Even with wearing a beanie and light gloves the -2 degree weather stings my hands and freezes the moisture in my nose. My ears burn. Walking at a brisk pace with head down the night air is my only companion on the deserted streets. My recommended spot, a pizzeria and brewery, is overflowing with people so I walk further into downtown towards the Celtic Cowboy, my plan B.

I forego a table at the Irish and western themed bar and shake the chill from my bones before bellying up to the bar. The elderly lady behind the bar begins a spiel about the new beers on tap but I interrupt to say “A Guinness please.” She smiles with approval.

A solid meal of fish and chips follows and after a quarter of football on the TV a check of my watch says it’s time to go. Stepping back into the night, the air feels less menacing, a full stomach provides needed warmth as I begin the mile walk back to the inn (Uber is coming to Montana, but not fast enough). Passing mom and pop stores and other local businesses reminds me what a functioning small town downtown looks like. Not the “entertainment districts” so many have become.

Back in the room I shed a few layers and read about the history of the inn and lounge in the hotel information packet before a sentence at the bottom drops my heart. “Piano Pat,” the piano-playing, standard-singing octogenarian who started performing at the Sip n Dip in 1963 does not perform on Saturday. I came for the mermaids but have heard more stories about Piano Pat. Her sets are like listening to old vinyl; you get to hear the music, but there’s plenty of skips and jumps along the way.

Down the hotel hallway I follow the “Lounge” signs until reaching the Sip n Dip. The tiki-themed lounge is packed, with the only seat available a stool at the far end of the bar . The bar is a mixture of large and small booths, small elevated tables, and of course the bar. The tiki decorations aren’t too tacky, mostly bamboo panels on the walls and ceiling along with the odd surfboard and nautical nets hanging from above. Feels more parrot head than tiki but for all I know those may be synonyms.

I don’t have much experience visiting tiki bars but I’m not sure Skid Row’s “Eighteen and Life”, which plays overhead, is the soundtrack of choice. The mixed-age crowd of locals and visitors doesn’t seem to mind and as the bartender walks away to make my double whiskey sour a pang of guilt (or pleasure?) arises in me as I mentally sing along with the rock ballad.

The mermaid “tank” makes up the back wall of the bar on the opposite end of where I sit. Still, I have a view of the two young, fit women in bikini tops, swim goggles, and crudely-made mermaid tails (rejoice ladies! According to the web site, Merman are coming March 1) bobbing up and down inside the tank. Every few minutes people, ranging from individuals to large groups, stand in front of the tank as one of the mermaids gladly poses with them in the background. A large glass tip jar sits in front of the tank and steadily fills as the night progresses.

Until a local informs me, I don’t realize the “tank” is actually the indoor swimming pool of the motel. She passes along the rumor that one night a pilot and flight attendant, on an overnight layover from the local airport, took a late night skinny dip and gave the entire bar one hell of a show. The bar has also appeared on several “best of” lists, including GQ magazine listing it as one of the top ten bars of the world in 2003. A sign behind the bar proudly reminds patrons of this recognition.

The middle-aged female bartender brings me my double (in a small, clear, dixie-sized cup?), but the drink of choice at the Sip n Dip is the “fish bowl” cocktail- a large, green-ish concoction served with multiple straws and a small umbrella. Most of the groups in the bar have at minimum one of these drinks in the middle of their table.

Hendrix replaces the screeches of Sebastian Bach and as I look around the crowd is pretty tame tonight. Later the small bachelorette party will arrive but after a few initial whoops and toasts, they too settle quietly in one of the larger booths. Rock and roll, drinks, and conversation-take out the blue glow resonating from the tank and this is pretty much any small town bar in America.

Two drinks later I call it a night. After living in LA and dealing with the shock of how much drinks cost there, tabs in Montana always bring a wry smile. I thank the bartender and head towards the door. Along the way I drop a few bucks into the mermaid’s tip jar and respond to one of the mermaid’s emphatically waving to me. “Back in Black” starts overhead as I push the door open to head back to my room. Time to hit the sack, see you next time G Funk.