Held in place by his leash and harness, Gilbert sat with his arms over the line, feet dangling below, looking as relaxed as a person could with nothing but air between them and the rocky, bushy shore 100 feet below.

He sat up on the line, shook his limbs out, then, slow and steady, stood up, and was walking.

Index fingers loosely pointing to the sky, his wrists and arms were in constant motion, an almost lazy sort of twitch, while from the waist down he remained as straight as if he were walking on solid ground.

With slight pauses here and there to regain – or maintain – balance, Gilbert never looked to be in any danger of falling. Although every sudden lean looked to be the beginning of a tumble, he kept moving.

After about three minutes, he was across, Jones clapping from his seat near the anchor, a smile plastered on both of their faces.

“This is my personal record,” Gilbert said, pointing to the 180-foot line. “I believe it’s the longest highline walked in Montana as well.”

With such a loose community of highliners in Montana, he said there aren’t official records kept; word of mouth does the job.