MVSTA and Methow Arts team up to sponsor art on the trails
By Ann McCreary

You're skiing along the trails, taking in the beauty of the icy Methow River, snow-covered trees, bright sunshine, and art installations.

Yes, art work on the trails ñ the result of a partnership between MVSTA and Methow Arts, an organization that promotes arts education in the Methow Valley. As part of this collaboration, MVSTA will sponsor the installation of a permanent piece of art created by students in the Methow Valley public schools.

The proposed site for the artwork is a concrete retaining wall built to hold back dirt and snow slides along the section of Community Trail that runs beside the Methow River in Mazama, just north of the Suspension Bridge. The face of the wall will be transformed by students, who will work with local and visiting artists during the 2001-2002 school year to design, create and install the work of art.

The wall is likely to be covered with some type of clay tiles or mosaic design, says Kate Jones-Willson, director of Methow Arts. "The students and teachers will develop a theme, ideally tied into something they are studying in school," Jones-Willson says.

The collaboration between MVSTA and Methow Arts is part of a year-long student public arts project, partially funded by a grant from the Washington State Arts Commission, which encourages community involvement in arts education. The project will result in four permanent public art installations throughout the valley, from Mazama to Twisp, including the artwork sponsored by MVSTA along its trails. A public tour of the student art works is planned for spring.

The public art project gives students the opportunity to work with professional artists and gain hands-on experience in creating art. And the community will gain four new pieces of public art as a result, says Jones-Willson. "Through this project we are sharing the wealth with the community," she says.

Jones-Willson said MVSTA is an enthusiastic partner in the student arts project. "It's been a pleasure to work with Jay Lucas (MVSTA executive director). He understands the importance of art to the community, and why it's important to represent the culture of our community to our visitors and our residents," Jones-Willson says. "MVSTA has been a supporter of Methow Arts," she adds. "People involved in MVSTA have an appreciation of where we are and who we are.

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Get ready to ski, or just get fit
Training programs meet individual needs
By Ann McCreary

The Methow Valley has long been a place where sports and outdoor recreation play an important part in the lives of its residents and visitors. A growing number of people use the MVSTA trail system each year for skiing, biking, running, hiking and snowshoeing, and the number of participants in MVSTA races is steadily increasing.

And it's not just young athletes out there working up a sweat. The Methow Valley way of life seems to encourage people to become athletes at a young age, and continue well into their "senior" years. So it's not surprising that the valley is also seeing a growing number of fitness and training programs for people of all ages and aspirations.

One of the newest additions to these fitness programs is a weekend dry land training camp in October, sponsored by the Methow Valley Nordic Club. A primary goal of the three-day camp is to help participants develop a personal training program, explains Midge Cross, one of the camp coaches.

The camp is designed primarily for recreational skiers and racers, says Cross. The camp is open to people of all ages, but Cross hopes to attract lots of "masters" level participants and those over 30 years of age. "We hope we'll get folks in their 40s and 50s who haven't figured out how to train and improve their fitness."

Cross, a ski instructor and masters ski racer, said participants in the camp simply need to have "a desire to be fitter and stronger." They will leave the camp with a training plan designed to meet their individual needs.

"If you're 55, you're going to be training a lot differently than you would at 27" notes Cross. A variety of workouts will be conducted during the camp, including ski bounding, striding with ski poles, roller skiing or circuit workouts, and biking. During lunches and dinners there will be talks about the physiology of training and recovery, injury prevention and management, developing a personalized training plan, and how to build and use a rollerboard to build abdominal and upper body strength.

Joining Cross in coaching the camp are her husband Scott Johnson, an experienced Nordic racer, and Leslie Thompson Hall, a three-time Olympian Nordic skier racer. The camp will emphasize heart rate level training, which teaches people to exercise at a "sub-threshold" or lower heart rate level, which can be gradually increased as the body learns to cope with higher levels of lactic acid created by exercise.

Many people mistakenly push themselves harder and faster than they should in training, says Cross. "Ninety percent of working out is done at a low heart rate level. Ten percent is done at higher levels to teach the body to deal with lactic acid. If you don't train at the appropriate heart rate level, your body doesn't learn what to do. The only way to raise the threshold is to push it up from below."

Another fall fitness program, which has been held for the past few years, is a weekly dry land training program. The weekly sessions are designed to increase fitness using workouts designed specifically for skiers, such as ski bounding and ski striding with poles.

These sessions, which will also be coached by Cross and Johnson, begin in September and continue throughout the fall. The workouts are held in various locations around the valley. They are intended for all levels of athletic performance and fitness, with each person working at his or her own heart rate level.

The fitness level of the valley has gotten a boost with the opening of a new exercise and weight room in the spring of 2001. Located at Winthrop Physical Therapy in downtown Winthrop, the gym is operated by Peter Dickinson, who was previously the physical therapist for the U.S. Ski Team.

The new fitness center has attracted a diverse clientele, says Dickinson, which is just what he wants. Laura McCabe, a Nordic ski coach and former Olympic skier, works with clients at the gym. She says the relaxed atmosphere makes people of all ages and fitness levels feel comfortable.

"No one's intimidated here. There are no big muscle heads. We have ski team kids through people in their 80s working out," says McCabe.

Dickinson offers fitness assessments and designs individual exercise programs for gym clients. The fitness center also sponsored a two-month fitness class for adults, which was extended indefinitely at the insistence of the participants. "As a result of their enthusiasm we have upped our commitment to match theirs he says.

Dickinson says he has especially enjoyed working with some of the more senior clients who have become regulars at the facility. Having worked with young elite athletes in the past, Dickinson says he is learning a great deal from his older clients.

Certain exercises become more important as people age, particularly balance and strengthening activities, notes Dickinson. "Our balance degrades as we get older," he says. "We use the same balance drills that we do for skiing. All these folks are skiing and snowshoeing in winter.

"There's a great older clientele in here," Dickinson says. "You won't find a more active group. In the above-50 population, this is a very dynamic community."

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Head for the high country
Local heli-ski business lets you make your own tracks
By Ann McCreary

For some people, heaven is getting great glide on a perfectly groomed Methow Valley ski trail. For others, it's floating through feathery powder on mountainsides high above the valley that haven't seen a ski track since the last storm. Fortunately, both versions of nirvana can be found with some regularity during winter in the Methow Valley.

With its extensive trail system and spectacular surroundings, the Methow Valley is well known in the Nordic skiing community as one of the top ski areas in the nation. The high mountains surrounding the Methow lure another kind of skier - those seeking deep, untracked powder snow.

The Nordic skiing is easy enough to access - just pick from one of dozens of trailheads throughout the valley. Those big powder bowls high in the mountains are somewhat harder to reach unless you hook up with North Cascades Heli-Skiing, the Methow's local helicopter ski operation.

During the height of winter, North Cascades Heli-Skiing (NCHS) shuttles hundreds of skiers into the mountains around the Methow. Winthrop resident Randy Sackett, co-owner of NCHS, says the helicopters serve as a "mmobile trailhead." "People are accessing the backcountry in different ways," Sackett says. "By using the helicopter, we can get people to very nice alpine terrain that otherwise would take two or three days to reach."

Founded in 1988 by Sackett and his wife Kathy, NCHS is based at the Freestone Inn in Mazama, where it has a heliport. The heli-ski business has a permit from the Okanogan National Forest to fly in a 300,000-acre area, which is "larger than some countries," an article in Powder magazine noted a few years ago. This vast area allows skiers to experience just about any kind of terrain, with runs starting as high as 9,000 feet and vertical drops of up to 4,000 feet.

Though the terrain is as rugged and breathtaking as the French Alps, skiers don't have to be either macho or experts to ski here, Sackett emphasizes. There are plenty of gentle, wide-open slopes appropriate for normal folks, he says.

Sackett says heli-skiing has been stereotyped as being a a guy's thing. Our goal is to break down some of those myths."

People heading up to the high country to ski with NCHS should be physically fit and strong intermediate skiers, and they should be able to link turns in untracked snow. The last requirement poses something of a Catch-22 for many skiers, Sackett admits. "In order to learn to do that (link turns in deep snow) you need to go heli-skiing," he says. For people without a lot of experience, NCHS guides offer instruction in powder and backcountry skiing techniques.

NCHS also offers another assist to alpine skiers - use of "fat" skis. These skis are short with broad bases that keep skiers on the surface of the snow and make skiing in deep or heavy snow much easier than traditional skis. Asked what he skis on, Sackett replies, "I personally am usually on the widest skis I can find. I make it as easy on myself as possible."

All the NCHS trips include a guide, with four or five guests per guide. The guides carry first-aid and rescue supplies and radios, and all guests carry avalanche transceivers.

The most popular ski package offered by NCHS is a three-day trip outing with six to eight hours per day in the mountains and a minimum of 30,000 vertical feet in runs. If weather prohibits flying, skiers ride a snowcat to good ski terrain. Accommodations and meals are at the Freestone Inn.

In recent years, NCHS has offered another type of outing, for skiers who want more of a wilderness experience. The helicopter flies skiers overnight gear up to a yurt-style hut on the edge of the Pasayten Wilderness, then transports skiers to a nearby ridge top to begin up to four days of touring on alpine or telemark skis or snowboards. Skiers sleep at the yurt and spend the days exploring and skiing the areas around the yurt, and are flown out on their final day.

"In winter the yurt is very remote and difficult to get to," Sackett says. "This trip gives people the opportunity to stay on the mountain."

NCHS also provides a shorter, one-day trip for Nordic skiers who want a long day-trip in the backcountry without having to climb to get there. The helicopter takes skiers to a high elevation, and skiers spend the day on a guided tour back to the valley floor. As with other heli-skiing trips, the tour can be geared to skier's abilities, Sackett says. "We have taught people to telemark along the way," he says.

Sackett says two-thirds of his NCHS guests are repeat customers. He says they are lured back year after year primarily by one thing--the sensation of floating through untracked powder snow It's a feeling that powder lovers describe as akin to flying.

There are other strong attractions too, he says. Many people enjoy the thrill of flying in the helicopter, and there is an enjoyable camaraderie that develops among the skiers and the guides.

And Sackett says no matter how many times you've stood on a peak and gazed at the crags and spires and glaciers of the North Cascades in winter - and he's done it hundreds of times - the magnificence of the mountains never stops inspiring awe. The scenery - I can't begin to describe it to people. You don't see it from the valley in the same way. The terrain is so rugged and beautiful.

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A Hike in Provence
by Nicholas Ahlfs

As we approached Roussillon, "village des ocres," we could see the orange-red buildings and hills which gave this part of Provence its unique character. It was our second day of hiking, but I couldn't help thinking where we'd be if our original hike plans hadn't changed with the onset of foot-and-mouth disease in Britain.

It had been over a year since I had decided to take a long hike to "celebrate" my 60th birthday -- sort of a rite of passage. The idea for such a journey originated about four or five years ago. Several visits to Britain in the 1980s included some short walks in England's West Country, Lake District, and Yorkshire Dales; and after reading books about long walks in England, I dreamed of returning to these beautiful regions with my back pack and walking stick.

Then while browsing on the internet, I found references to Wainwright's Coast to Coast Walk, a book detailing a hike from the Irish Sea to the North Sea. My interest piqued, I bought books about the hike, found a dedicated website, and decided to do it.

There were stumbling blocks, however. I needed to find a willing partner to join me on the venture. My wife opted out, calling it a "guy thing" -- a reference to my quip about charting the hike from pub to pub. I contacted three likely candidates, guys who I had hiked with before. Two declined; but Chuck Smallbeck, who was also going to be 60, hesitantly agreed to think about it. Hours of internet research about the Coast to Coast Walk convinced Chuck that this adventure was part of his destiny, and his hesitancy soon turned to enthusiasm, almost an obsession.

During the next several months, we planned meticulously, bought plane tickets to London, purchased BritRail passes, and made reservations at inns and B&B's in villages along the path route. The hike would take us from St. Bee's in the Lake District across England to Robin Hood's Bay in the Yorkshires --192 miles in 14 days.

Then our hiking world collapsed: we started reading reports of foot-and-mouth disease in northern England. By the end of February it was patently clear to us that the trails would not be open for spring and summer hiking, even though the British Tourism Board's press releases tried to sound optimistic.

Determined, I told Chuck (who was feeling pretty deflated by now) that I would come up with another route in another country, a country with no cow diseases. This time the answer came as I was thumbing through Adventurous Traveler, a catalog I received in March. There, as if by serendipity, was a description of the book, France on Foot by Bruce LeFavour. Elated, I got on the phone and ordered, paying extra for quicker delivery. LeFavour pointed out that France has 110,000 miles of hiking trails; that's more than even Britain has! The national trails are called Grand Randonée's; in addition, there are also regional trails and local trails It was LeFavour's book that made me decide on France in general, and Provence in particular.

At first, Chuck didn't buy into the notion that Provence would be an excellent venue for our adventure. How could we go wrong hiking in a region known for its food, wine, hospitality, and scenery, I argued.

"What about the language?" he asked

"I've mastered the important words and phrases we need," I jokingly bragged. "Vin rouge and biére grande are all we need to know. Besides we've got Rick Steves' French Phrase Book. Don't sweat it."

But Chuck did sweat it; he rushed to Costco and forked out $19.95 for a crash course in French. His travels had never taken him to Europe, and he believed the stories about how rude and cold the French could be. A little knowledge of the language, he surmised, couldn't hurt. Since I'd traveled in France on a few occasions, I tired to allay his fears. But he kept practicing. (I must add here that the only French I heard Chuck use with confidence while in France was the phrase, "Je ne compredez francais."

Because we had scant time to plan exactly where we would hike, we took Bruce LeFavour's suggestion and followed the national trail --the GR6-- through the heart of Provence: Vaucluse and Haute Provence. This time we didn't make lodging reservations in advance (we'd lost about two hundred dollars making reservations in England--some innkeepers kept our deposits, saying they would honor them at a later date.) Instead, we opted to hike from village to village, taking chances on locating a gite, inn, or hotel.

One of the roadblocks (so to speak) we faced in planning to hike Provence was the lack of detailed information about the GR6 in English. The France on Foot book gave only general information and advice. We did find websites on Provence that were helpful in describing some of the towns we might go through. What we needed. and couldn't get before we left, were a series of detailed maps published by IGN that LeFavour's book noted were easy to come by in France. These are the Metzker's Maps of France, showing every road, footpath, and outhouse in great detail. (I'm kidding about the outhouse part, of course; everyone knows that French men are notorious for just pulling off the road and using the bushes--a practice, by the way, that Chuck and I found useful.)

In preparation for the hike, I started a routine of daily walks in the Methow Valley. Beginning with two miles a day, I worked up to six miles a day, mainly using the Methow Valley Community Trail System and the trails around Sun Mountain. Chuck hiked in the mountains near his home in Leavenworth.

We had planned on picking up the necessary maps we would need in Avignon, one of the larger regional towns, but found none. When we bussed to our next stop, Isle Sur La Sorgue, we were able to buy only two of the maps we needed. Luckily, it was market day, so we also purchased necessities for the hike: straw hats, a must to keep the hot Mediterranean sun from scorching your ears, neck, and head. And, since the day was a celebration of sorts -- Day 1 of our hike -- we assembled a lunch that was worthy of the occasion: cheese, water, beer, salami, bread, and fruit. I should mention here that this later proved to be a mistake. We then hired a taxi to take us to the nearby village of Fontaine de Vaucluse, where we would pick up the GR6 trail.

One thing we quickly learned is that the GR trails aren't "trails" in the usual sense. For example, if you were hiking to Cutthroat Pass off the North Cascades Highway, you would start at the trailhead, follow a dirt trail all the way to Cutthroat Pass, then follow the path back to the trailhead. The trail system in France, at least from our somewhat limited experience, is a system that has been cobbled together using public and private land and existing paved roads, dirt roads, and dirt paths. So on our hike from Gordes to Roussillon, for example, we walked on the highway, on a grassy pathway, on dirt farm roads, through vineyards, and on village streets. You find your way, and this is not an exaggeration, by using the ultra-detailed IGN maps and following the red and white GR stripes.

This is exactly what we did when we arrived at our starting point, the small, touristy--but lovely---village of Fontaine de Vaucluse, idyllically set against a large rocky row of mountains. We loaded our 30-pound packs, located red and white marker stripes and started down the narrow paved road. After about a mile, we turned onto a dirt trail which appeared to go around, up and over the mountains which we saw from Fontaine.

By this time it was noon, and, looking at the steep assent in front of us, we decided to eat our lunches -- this is where the mistake comes into play. After we had our fill of salami, cheese, bread, and beer, we started up the hot, dusty trail. By the time we reached the top of this never-ending path, we had drunk most of the bottled water we had brought. But not to worry, we thought: Chuck had his water purifier. It turned out that one of the drawbacks of a purifier is that you need water to make it work. We found only murky mud puddles, no streams or rivers.

As we bemoaned our decision to drink beer for lunch, we also had a feeling that something wasn't right about the trail, which by this time had turned into the equivalent of a logging road. Our main concern was that we had run out of red and white markers, which appeared as two stripes on tree trunks or rocks or poles usually every one or two hundred yards. This is where the detailed IGN map proved invaluable. Chuck, it turned out, was an excellent map reader. He walked us back about a quarter of a mile, pointed, and said, "The path should be there." But there was no path.

Undaunted, he started down what looked like a tiny dried up stream bed. I stayed behind thinking that the lack of water had dehydrated Chuck's brain. Soon he yelled that he had found the red and white markers on a tree. Apparently, heavy spring rains had obliterated about fifty feet of the foot path.

Now we faced a narrow steeply descending trail, strewn with rock and gravel, making us watch each step. A twisted ankle was not an option here. Apparently water wasn't either. It wasn't until, two hot hours later, that we found a small, clear stream. Chuck quickly purified a bottle-full, and since the stream ran through Abbaye de Senanque, we felt that we had, indeed, found holy water. By the time we reached Gordes, a well-visited hill town, we were a tired, sad-looking pair.

After Gordes and Roussillon, we established a daily routine: we would get up at 6:30 or 7:00 and have breakfast which consisted of a baguette, butter, jam, coffee with hot milk, sometimes yogurt, sometimes a croissant. We'd get on the GR by 8:30. At noon if we were near a village, we would stop at a cafe for refreshments. Since neither Chuck nor I are Iron Man hikers, we would usually arrive at the village we planned to stay in for the night by 3:00, find lodging, and search out a restaurant for dinner. This gave us time for exploring the local sights, writing in our journals, or reading. Our evening meal generally consisted of wonderful Provencal cooking -- lamb, beef, fish, or rabbit in a flavorful herb sauce, served with seasoned vegetables, bread/butter and gut-expanding desserts. All of this had to be washed down, of course, with a pitcher or bottle of local red wine. As luck would have it, the GR6 took us through one of the great wine-producing regions of France.

Our routine fell apart when we left the village of Rustrel. We walked out of town on a paved road and headed for Viens, a very small blip on the map. The hike to Viens started out as one of the best days on the GR6. The weather was excellent; we had gotten accustomed to our 30-pound packs; and we entered the celebrated oak forests known for truffles and mushrooms and made familiar to Americans in Peter Mayle's book, A Year in Provence. Signs appeared advising us that we would be shot on sight if we picked anything that could be eaten. At least that's how I translated the four-word warnings. Chuck insisted that the signs said "Absolutely No Mushroom Gathering."

We arrived at Viens at about 1:30, just in time for lunch, which included biere grande, and a Double Coronet, an ice cream bar similar to a Dove Bar, except that the French are able to cram more calories in it by adding fudge to the center. I enquired about lodging (by now, we were absolutely cocky about our ability to locate a place to stay!) The proprietor said there was a two-room B&B in town and a hotel 3km down the hill.

Our knocks on the door of the B&B went unanswered, so we decided to head down to the hotel. Now you're probably thinking: "Why didn't you have the guy at the cafe just phone?" I've lain awake at night thinking the same thing. The 3km turned out to be about 5km down a steep, winding paved road, and by the time we got to the hotel, we would have been willing to sleep in the laundry room. Apparently neither the laundry room, nor any other room in the hotel was available.

Since the GR6 trail was back up the hill at Viens, we had no choice but to retrace our weary steps. I balked: "I'm not walking up the hill, Chuck." He looked at me suspiciously. "We're going to hitchhike," I said confidently.

This idea didn't seem to appeal to him. "Hitchhike?" he quizzed.

"Yes," I insisted. "I'd rather be robbed and beaten and held for ransom than walk back up this hill."

Reluctantly, Chuck agreed. When we saw the first car coming, a Subaru Forester with only the driver, we thought we had a winner. After all, this was a Methow Valley-type vehicle. He passed us by. Chuck gave me a let's start walking look. Then a tiny 2-door sedan with a young couple came into view. To our amazement, they stopped. Like Circus clowns, we squeezed into the back, our packs positioned on our knees, and rode back to Viens.

We still faced the problem of where to stay. It was 4:00, and things were getting a little dicey, time-wise, and I wondered if we'd be sleeping in some field, wrapped up in our aluminum "space blankets." A hopeful return to the B&B was unproductive, so we decided to get back on the GR6 and head for Oppedette, where a gite was located. A gite (pronounced jheet) is usually lodging with a central bath and kitchen area; but some are more like dormitories or hostels; consequently, we had no idea what to expect if we made it to Oppedette, or if there might be space available. "Why didn't you go back to the cafe and have someone phone ahead to see if there were rooms available at Oppedette?" you are wondering. As I write this, our ineptness is still a puzzlement to me.

After locating the red and white marks at the edge of the village, we set off for Oppedette. During one of our breaks, Chuck looked at the map and found that there was another unnamed gite closer to us. Fortunately, we met two young Australian women on the road, and asked them about the gite. "Oh, yes, it's just down the road a bit." Thankful, we pushed on with renewed energy. Arriving at the driveway the women had directed us to, we walked up to what could be best described as a ramshackle collection of antiquated stone buildings. Our inquiry about a room received a negative response: none was available. We must have looked pathetically dejected, because the young proprietess asked if we had checked Oppedette. We said no. Graciously, she went inside and called for us. The Oppedette gite was full, she told us. Jostling her small child on her hip, the young woman stared intently and asked in broken English if we had any other place we could stay. No. She wanted to know if we had food. No. (That wasn't quite the truth, for I did have an apple in my pack.)

We were just about to leave to find a field to sleep in and eat the apple, when, inexplicably, the woman told us to follow her. She ushered us to a tiny room with two tiny beds and a sink. It was part of a larger area which had a kitchen and bath. Two other French couples occupied this space: we had obviously intruded. Sheepishly, we slinked into our cubicle and took off our sweaty clothes and hung them on makeshift clotheslines we had strung up.

After we washed up and changed clothes, I was about to offer Chuck his share of the apple, when we heard a tentative knock on the door. I opened it, and the young wife appeared, announcing that it was time for dinner.

We followed her to a large dining hall where a group of 20 hikers were gathered. Piecing together bits and pieces of their conversation, Chuck and I decided that they apparently worked together and had come on holiday to hike. Ranging in age from mid-twenties to mid-fifties, they were a convivial group, and took us in like we were family. We ate, drank wine, danced, and sang from 7:30 to 11:00. Any notion of the French as stuck up, stiff, and reserved quickly vanished. It was, as they say, a night to remember.

When I tell people about this hike, which included trails which vanished, hitchhiking, taking taxis, eating delicious cheeses, drinking hearty regional wines and partaking in Provencal meals, they invariably joke if there was any hiking involved. Indeed there was. We covered about 70 miles of the GR6, through poppy and lavender fields, vineyards, medieval villages, ancient monasteries, thick forests, and stunning scenery. Much of the landscape reminded me of the Methow Valley, especially near Sisteron where we could see the Alps in the distance. That we had the carrot of French food dangling in front of us everyday was just a bonus--one that we weren't about to pass by.

The biggest irony of the trip occurred early on in Roussillon. As we walked up the main street of what has been described as one of the most beautiful villages in Provence, we met a group of hikers from Britain. "Hikers" should have a capital H, in their case. They had covered an enormous amount of territory and were now headed for the National Park of the Luberon. Seeing Chuck's ball cap with the words "Coast to Coast Hike 2001" on it, they asked if we had taken that hike. We told them no and explained our sad tale of woe about the foot and mouth disease. "Just as well," one said, "that's quite a challenging trek."

Later that night, as Chuck and I were eating dinner and sharing a pitcher of Vaucluse vintage wine in a small family restaurant, I gazed out the window to an orange-colored building with a red-tile roof, green shutters, a beautifully carved door, and colorful pots of flowers on the window sills, an invitation, of sorts, to reflect. Even though my walk across England would have to wait for another day, I consoled myself with the thought that we would have been walking in the rain up the mountains of the Lake District had our plans not been unavoidably changed. And here I was enjoying a sunset in Provence in the company of a good friend. The waiter brought our main dish of poached fish, boiled potatoes, and green beans.

Chuck said, "You know, maybe not going on the England hike wasn't such a bad thing." He was just finishing the first course of mozzarella cheese, tomatoes, and basil. "I mean, could we have found food and wine like this in Robin Hood's Bay?" I suspect that behind that musing was also the understanding that our walk in Provence, although much shorter and less rigorous than the planned Coast to Coast walk, was the acknowledgment that the GR6 had already tested our mettle in many more respects.

Chuck was not only a great map reader, he was also a pretty good philosopher.

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