The Great Divide Trophy

By editor

Whitehall, Jefferson County, Montana

In the year of our Lord 1863, Montana was no more than a footnote in the Idaho Territory’s ledger, a vast spread of mountains, rivers, and hopeful miner’s camps. The Idaho Territorial Legislature, not known for its precision or modesty, decided the very next year to carve out a new Montana Territory. Their grand plan was to use what seemed a natural boundary -- the Continental Divide -- a ridge of mountains that splits the waters flowing to the Pacific from those heading toward the Atlantic. It was a neat idea, a line so natural you’d think it was drawn by Providence itself. But, as is often the case in American politics, the neat idea got tangled with less-than-neat ambitions.

When the Montana separation bill reached the hallowed halls of Congress, the mapmakers and politicians with their ink-stained hands had other notions. James Ashley, chairman of the House Committee on Territories and a man with a penchant for territorial schemes, along with Sidney Edgerton, who was then the Idaho Territorial Judge, decided to redraw the border. Instead of the Continental Divide, they set the boundary along the Bitterroot Mountains. These mountains, while impressive, do not follow the neat water-dividing line but veer somewhat westward, adding a jagged, crooked edge to Montana’s western border.

The surveyors, tools in hand and squinting into the sun, followed this jagged line from the Yellowstone Park area westward and then northward until it came within about 60 miles of the Canadian border. At that point, Ashley and Edgerton noticed the boundary line was creeping too far west. So, with the kind of pragmatic decisiveness that only politicians seem to muster, they drew it straight north to Canada. Voilà! The one flat section of Montana’s western boundary was born. A straight line through the wilderness, as straight as a railroad grade or a land speculator’s ledger sheet might desire.

The Idaho Legislature, upon learning of this, was far from amused. They protested loudly and petitioned Congress to restore what they called the “stolen” lands. Imagine their indignation: “Our rightful territory,” they claimed, “wrenched away by the stroke of a pen and a crooked surveyor’s compass.” But Congress, busy with the Civil War and other affairs, declined to intervene. The new boundary stood. As Ashley reportedly said, “The line must be drawn where it best serves the interests of the new territory,” which, in political speak, usually means where the politicians have the most to gain.

Now, this boundary matter is no small footnote for those who follow the pigskin passions of Montana. Because that crooked border means something quite peculiar: The University of Montana’s Grizzlies, stationed in Missoula, find themselves east of the line, in Montana proper, while if they had followed the Continental Divide, they would have been Idahoans. Meanwhile, Montana State University’s Bobcats in Bozeman remain firmly in Montana. This division has set the stage for a rivalry that has lasted more than a century.

The first football game between these two schools took place in 1897 in Missoula. It was a modest affair by today’s standards -- a handful of players, scattered spectators, and a game that more resembled a scrimmage than the carefully choreographed gridiron battles we see now. Yet from that humble contest sprang what is now known as the Brawl of the Wild, a rivalry that ignites passions across the state every fall.

In 2001, to give this rivalry a tangible prize, the Great Divide Trophy was created. The trophy is a carved representation of Bear Mountain, a peak on the Continental Divide itself, the very line that was almost the border between Montana and Idaho. It’s a curious irony that the trophy symbolizes a mountain range that, thanks to political maneuvering, no longer divides the two schools by state lines.

The trophy travels between campuses every year, displayed proudly by the winning team. The stakes are set high: the team with the most wins in the twenty-first century will claim the trophy permanently after the 2100 game. A long game of patience and pride, indeed.

This rivalry, fueled by geography and history, is about more than football. It’s a fierce contest between two cities, two institutions, and two identities that both claim the name Montana. The Brawl of the Wild divides families, neighbors, and sometimes entire towns. The passion that swells every season is not just about a ball and a scoreboard, but about the legacy of a boundary line drawn by men with political agendas and a compass.

The economic and social forces behind this boundary dispute were hardly confined to cartography. In the 1860s, railroads were carving their way westward, and mining booms in Montana’s goldfields were attracting speculators and settlers alike. Bozeman, near the Montana-Idaho border, was a hub for those hoping to capitalize on the mineral wealth and the promise of the railroad. Sidney Edgerton himself was a shrewd man of law and politics who later became Montana’s first territorial governor, a position he used to steer development and investments into the new territory.

The Bitterroot Valley, along the edge of the new boundary, was a contested space where Native American tribes, miners, and settlers clashed over land and resources. The boundary line drawn by Ashley and Edgerton shaped not just political maps but the lives of those who made their homes there.

A contemporary newspaper, the Helena Weekly Herald, reported in 1864 that “the division of Idaho Territory and the creation of Montana Territory will bring order to these lands, but not without stirring discontent among those who lose their claims.” The newspaper’s editor, a man named James H. Hawley who later became Montana’s governor, understood the consequences of those lines on the map. “Where the line is drawn,” he wrote, “there will be friends made and quarrels born.”

And so it was. The Brawl of the Wild, the Great Divide Trophy, and the jagged western border of Montana are all part of the same story -- a story of land, power, and the curious ways in which geography and politics collide. If the Idaho Territorial Legislature had gotten their wish and the Continental Divide had marked the border, Missoula might be Idaho’s pride and Bozeman Montana’s lone bastion. Families would root for different teams; the state’s football identity would be fractured in a very different way.

As it stands, the boundary shaped by Ashley and Edgerton has allowed Montana to have both its Grizzlies and Bobcats, two fierce competitors who remind us that sometimes the lines drawn by men in 1864 still influence passions today.

See also

• The Great Divide Trophy at Whitehall, Jefferson County
• Bozeman Comes of Age at Bozeman, Gallatin County
• The Gallatin Valley / Gallatin City at Bozeman, Gallatin County