One summer afternoon John randomly channel-surfed to NW Backroads, a local Channel 5 outdoor magazine program hosted by Grant Goodeve. Grant was in the small town of Winthrop in the Methow Valley here in Washington.
Fast forward to the end of September. John had some vacation time, and remembered Winthrop, a town that had decided to go Wild West! He made reservations for two nights at the Sun Mountain Lodge, and also booked us for horseback riding.
We packed sturdy shoes for hiking, cowboy boots and hats for horseback riding, and bathing suits for the hot tub, along with a couple of DVD’s and microwave popcorn for late night movie watching. As we drove across the state, the leaves were just beginning to turn. Vibrant reds and yellows sparkled against the evergreens. Other than a rolling slowdown through Snoqualmie Pass because the state DOT was blasting, the drive went smoothly. Beside the Columbia River, the road carved through orchard after orchard brimming with apples, pears, and peaches. Note to self: stop on the way home for fresh fruit.
As if on cue, a tumbleweed rolled in front of our car just as we spied the “Welcome to Twisp” sign—the tiny town just before Winthrop. This was definitely cowboy territory!
We planned to eat lunch and stroll through Winthrop before heading up to Sun Mountain Lodge. We started scouting for somewhere to eat. There wasn’t much there, and every place we saw was closed. No wonder the two people who’d told us they’d been to Winthrop said they’d eaten up at the lodge.
We crossed a bridge, then turned around, doubled back through town, and stopped at the only place that was open, a small taco stand. John ordered a chicken burrito. I got a taco. His burrito was huge. Good thing because my taco was the smallest taco I’ve ever seen—about the size of a silver dollar folded in half. The two-bite taco was tasty, and so was the half of John’s burrito that I gobbled down.
Staying optimistic, we convinced ourselves that there must be shops up at the lodge. We sat back and enjoyed the view. It was beautiful country: hills covered in grass, trees gathered around the banks of lakes, rich farmland wherever there was irrigation.
The resort was spectacular! They let us check into our room early. We walked past a bison, the gift shop, and mounted elk and deer heads to the elevator. The windows in our room looked out onto the Methow Valley and soft yellow foothills. The view kept us from noticing for awhile that there was no TV, so no late night movies. And, there wasn’t a microwave either, so no popcorn. We thought about calling the front desk and telling them that our TV and microwave had been stolen, but figured they might not appreciate our sense of humor.
After a soak in the hot tub, we stopped at the desk, and John asked if what we’d seen was all of the town of Winthrop. Weren’t there any antique shops or art galleries? The clerk said that was it. On the way back to the room, John shook his head, disappointed, “Wow, Grant Goodeve really made Winthrop look great.” I told him I might have to start a new group on Facebook called “Grant Goodeve is a liar.” Oh well, there was still horseback riding to look forward to.
While John napped, I investigated everything in the room. The phonebook didn’t list any quilt shops in Winthrop. The room service menu looked good. The restaurant that we had dinner reservations in was the only four-star rated resort restaurant in the state. During the winter there were cross country ski trails and snow shoe trails. Then I found the Cascade Loop Scenic Highway Guidebook. On the back cover was a picture of a cattle drive with the Winthrop Emporium as a backdrop. We hadn’t seen that. Where was that? Inside were more pictures of a western town with wooden board walks and false-front wooden buildings, like a frontier town.
When he woke up, I showed it to John. He beamed, “That’s what I saw! That’s why I wanted to come here. After we crossed the bridge, we should’ve turned left instead of turning around. That’s where we’re going tomorrow.”
That night we ate one of the best meals of our lives prepared by Chef Bradshaw in the dining room overlooking the Methow Valley as the sun set: Cinderella Pumpkin soup, multi-grain bread with three flavored butters, a salad of heirloom tomatoes, greens, and locally crafted cheese, lamb for John, beef for me. Dessert was homemade apple ice cream, and a crème brulee trio: vanilla, lemon, and chocolate. The entire meal was composed from local ingredients. It certainly lived up to its four-star rating.
The next morning, we moseyed on down to the stables. John had spent many summers during his childhood and teen years on his uncle’s ranch riding quarter horses, so he’s an experienced rider. We’ve been married for so long John doesn’t expect many surprises from me, but he was surprised when I told him I’d never ridden a horse.
The wrangler, Brandon, asked about our horse riding experience, and matched us up to our horses. Stormy was John’s horse. Brandon said that Stormy liked to eat, so he’d just stop along the trail, and start eating unless he put a muzzle on him. My horse was named Marvin. When I petted his nose, he eyed me as if to say, “Oh great, another newbie.” Brandon told me that Marvin was lazy, so I’d have to kick him to get him going, and that he’d test me out in the first fifteen minutes to find out who the boss was. I would’ve felt much more in charge if I had the slightest idea of what I was doing. I was just hoping I wouldn’t embarrass myself trying to climb up on Marvin. That stirrup was awfully high and there wasn’t a ladder. John was already sitting, grinning, totally at ease on Stormy. I heaved myself up. Brandon adjusted my stirrups and told me how to stop, turn, and go. Then I had to figure out where reverse was.
We hit the trail with Brandon leading. I followed, and John brought up the rear. I didn’t think Marvin was a slacker. The only times he stopped was to poop and pee. But, he did that a lot! Four times in two hours. Brandon’s horse and Stormy only took bathroom breaks twice. He did walk slowly though and didn’t speed up when I kicked him at Brandon’s urging. Eventually Brandon broke a foot-long switch off of a tree, and passed it back to me via a bush, telling me to pretend I was a jockey and whack Marvin with it. My heart wasn’t in it. What if I whipped him and he really took off? I was content with Marvin’s leisurely, sure-footed pace.
We wound through grassland, along a tiny creek that pioneers dug out, and up, up, up hills. When we rode through a Quaking Aspen grove I fell in love. The aspens were just turning golden yellow and whenever a breeze blew, their leaves would shimmer brightly in the wind. Brandon told us that even though each grove looked like many white-barked trees, they were all one tree with an interconnected root system.
Sitting high up on a horse was by far the best way to explore the Methow hills. It was lots less physical work than hiking (well for me anyway, Marvin may have another opinion). We went where cars can’t, and besides, the view from a car is like watching TV, sterile, separate. Feeling the sun and wind, hearing the birds, grasshoppers, and Marvin’s footsteps, smelling the fresh, grassy air was incredible.
Marvin got me back safely to the stables. I thought I’d be sore, but unexpectedly the only pain while I was riding was in my knees. I don’t think I followed Brandon’s instructions to hold my heels lower than the balls of my feet in the stirrups. Once I got off of Marvin though, my knees were fine. Fine enough to spend the afternoon walking up and down the boardwalks of Winthrop, in and out of the shops and galleries. And fine enough to hike a little ways into a grove of Aspens to take pictures. Fine enough to carry me to the hot tub and to walk me back outside later to stare up in wonder at the stars twinkling in a crisp, clear night sky.
Laura Keolanui Stark is unpacking and enjoying the fresh fruit from the trip. She can be reached at stark.laura.k@gmail.com.
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