Stuck on Purpose - Cross Country Skiing in the Methow Valley, WA
Dawn on New Years Day Freestone Inn, Mazama, WA
How many times do you have to do something before it becomes a tradition? We’ve spent the last two years seeing the calendar flip tucked into the snowy hillsides of the Methow Valley, WA. There is something refreshing about starting the year under a blanket of fresh snow, a wide open field without a single footprint or track. It seems hopeful and full of promise.
Each time we visit this area, I fall a little more in love with it. Snow covered cabins and barns dot the hillside as cross country ski trails wind through the fields. The river banks kiss the icy shores, moving just quickly enough to not freeze entirely. Eagles perch in bare tree branches, diving into the river when they spot their next meal. It’s wild, rugged, and feels a little like the days of old. Cell signals are limited, wifi is spotty at best, and no one would dream of turning on a television. After a long day of skiing, you sit by a crackling fire, tucked under the weight of a thick woolen blanket, reading or playing board games or cards.
The ski trails are endless. As a beginner, I prefer the long flat loops in Mazama, perfect for working on my glide without having the fear of falling or fighting my way up a hill. But longer runs wind through the trees, up the bigger mountains, getting in the workout that cross country skate skiing is known for.
After a morning on skis, we meet at the bakery for hot coffee and fresh bread. If it’s afternoon, we’ll stop at Old Schoolhouse Brewery in Winthrop for a pint of dark beer and a hot pretzel. Sometimes we walk along the river downtown, looking for more eagles.
On this particular trip, we were hit with a big storm, dropping snow by the foot on the mountain passes. It took days to clear the roads, so rather than fight it, we extended our stay. We moved over to the small town of Twisp in search of stronger internet to not miss work. The snow covered everything, including the car so we wandered the quiet streets waiting to be dug out.
While he worked, I spent my time on the trails around Spring Creek Ranch, skiing and wandering with my camera. The ranch is quiet in winter, allowing skiers to criss cross their property sneaking peaks.
On our final morning, we woke to crystal clear skies, bluer than the bluest of blues. We set out for one last ski before the long drive over the mountain passes. Dreaming of our next visit as we watch the hills shrink in the rear view window.
