The Methow Valley the Hard Way
First, consult your trail map
September 30, 2003

The final stretch Photo by Diana Reid

"The rivers are pretty bony right now, so I'd probably go with Plan B," said the salesperson-cashier-local outdoor expert behind the counter at Winthrop Mountain Sports when I queried her about kayaking options for the weekend.

I learned several things from this exchange; first, the definition for "bony" (extremely low water levels that make for difficult, if not impossible and impassable river paddling), second, that nearly everyone in town is an avid (if not nearly rabid) outdoors enthusiast and can provide you with any bit of trail or gear advice you may ever need, and finally, that "Plan B" in Washington State's Methow Valley region isn't merely one single or obvious sporting activity, but hundreds of dizzying choices.

We'd come to the Methow Valley (say "met-HOW") in search of our own little weekend multi-sport adventure, as a bit of warm up to an upcoming six month journey into the backroads, rivers, lakes and mountains of Central and South America. Our plan was to generally take it easy and explore the region with a comfortable blend of equal parts energy expenditure and caloric intake. Unfortunately, somewhere along the course of the weekend things went a bit awry. But, let's start at the beginning.

Tucked away in the shadow of the Cascade Mountains and not readily accessible to the traveling public until US Highway 20 first blasted through the mountains in the early 1970s, the Methow Valley is an outdoor playground of stunning geologic beauty and nearly inestimable athletic opportunity. With more than twenty summits over 8,000 feet; 200 km of groomed mountain biking, trail running and cross country ski trails; 400 km of groomed snowmobiling trails; three major rivers (the Columbia, Methow and Chewuch); dozens of stream-fed lakes; and literally thousands of acres of hiking trails and backcountry camping opportunities, your biggest problem in the Methow isn't finding a hike, ride, river or route to do, it's picking one!

Even better is the fact that the Methow Valley - home to approximately 4,000 full-time residents (and thousand of weekend and seasonal visitors) and comprised of the five "major" towns of Mazama, Winthrop, Twisp, Methow, and Carlton - offers year-round adventure opportunities due to its mountain foothills locale and climate, tremendous culinary opportunities (you're not even scratching the surface with locally grown Washington State apples, local wines and microbrews, or some of the tasty fare at the Sun Mountain Lodge or Mazama's Freestone Inn), a historical gold mine (literally), impressive cultural pursuits, and a nature photographer's paradise.

After getting trail recommendations from our new friend at Winthrop Mountain Sports, the nice folks at the US Forest Service Visitor Center, and the woman who made us lattes at the Mazama Country Store (as I said, everyone's an authority here), we decided on a course of action, our Plan B. Black Lake in the Pasayten Wilderness, a moderate 8.4 mile hike, would be our hiking destination for Saturday, and then we'd pick something of fairly significant technical chops for a Sunday morning mountain bike ride.

On our way out the door, my father - a regular Methow Valley visitor and inveterate fisherman of the local lakes and streams - mentioned something about recent forest fires up at Black Lake. I consulted my local recreation and travel guide, dismissed my Dad as a bit of an alarmist and a backcountry novice (while he has become exceedingly fit in the past five years since he retired - often kicking my butt on rides and hikes - he tends to stay in the lower elevations), and headed out the door. Forty minutes later, after a vertiginous drive along winding, gravel-crusted forest roads, my hiking companion and I stood staring, quite disbelievingly (and rather foolishly), at the trailhead bulletin board at Black Lake. A small photocopied notice proclaimed the region closed to hikers; due to fire. Gulp. Guess I should have listened to Dad.

So now it's time for Plan C, apparently. My hiking partner quickly consults our atlas and a map of the region for the closest trailhead, and we speed down the road towards our new, "Hey, aren't we flexible?" destination. He mumbles something about this hike being pretty steep, but, having gotten a late start on the day (a word to the wise, both the Cinnamon Twisp Bakery and the Mazama Country Store's incredible baked goods and pastries do not provide much incentive to hurry along your Methow morning), we close the atlas and jump out of the car at the North Twentymile Lookout trailhead.

Immediately after we begin our ascent I'm sweating, winded, slipping and sliding along the sandy trail. It's quickly, and somewhat painfully, dawning on me that this is not the leisurely hike I'd envisioned that morning.

The North Twentymile trail is comprised of increasingly sharp and quite vertical switchbacks, scree-filled terrain, narrow crossings above steep slopes, and the sad evidence of past forest fires. Charred portions of forlorn-looking trees tell the story of fire nipping - or roaring - at their branches or bodies, and small patches of bright green ground cover growth reveal the hopeful signs of new life.

By Diana Reid

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