Fall/Winter 2003 - 2004

Skiing Across Finland from Russia to Sweden
by Midge Cross

The second night of our ski across Finland, Jan Erickson said, “What was I thinking?” Good question, I thought, as I reflected on the ski trek my friends and I had embarked on with lots of enthusiasm, but less than perfect information about the realities of this annual ski tour.

Several months earlier, I had signed on for the 2003 “Border to Border’ tour with Jan and Jim Erickson, Mary Drobka and Tom Lenchek, Mac Dunstan and Linda Grob, Heather Patrick, and Mike Theobald and Lynn Frisch, all of them full-time or part-time Methow Valley folks. Our training was lighthearted: “Fear of Finland!” we’d say, as we went out on our classic skis. Little did we know that the perfect grooming of the MVSTA trails would hardly prepare us for some of the least fun skiing I have ever done.

Paiva/day 1, 63km: With reminders to “muista evaat!”(remember the snack!), we made ourselves cold cut sandwiches and clambered onto the buses. Our buses wended their way down small roads, with no visible signs of habitation, finally unloading us at what appeared to be some kind of compound, with strict instructions not to pee outside. We hiked back down the road for a quarter mile (many people skied down the road, the first indication of the eager beaver contingent which started early every day).
We put on our skis and started up a small track, snowmobile groomed some time in the past, which wobbled through woods, twisting and turning unexpectedly, and with no solid snow for our poles. We considered the ramifications of breaking a pole in this bottomless slop at the first of several rewaxing stops. On into a stiff headwind we persevered, with occasional tracks and little in the way of kick. Across lakes we slogged, over fields, clear cuts, and swamps. At 20km was the first “food” stop, which offered warm fruit juice.

An aside about Finnish food: Not as exciting as some national cuisines. There was a plentitude of cold cuts of mysterious origin, cheese, pickled herring, and thin slices of dryish rye bread. Trail stops usually offered juice, pickles, raisins, and, sometimes, chocolate. Lunch stops were slices of bread paired with a piece of cheese or lunch meat and the aforementioned other goodies.

Paiva/day 2, 72km: We started out haltingly as our bus drove away, leaving a few ski bags lying on the snow. Returning for them, we encountered the other bus, which had gotten stuck in the snow and needed pulling out. Finally underway, we drove 20 minutes to a wide spot in the road and piled out. Double ski track! What a luxury! Coupled with good kick and glide, this was an auspicious morning, capped by lunch in a Sami tent (the Sami are the nomadic Lapp people of the region, broad cheeked, smiling, enthusiastically kind) where we were given reindeer soup and doughnuts.

Off again in to the wind, I played leapfrog with a group of six Finns who we dubbed “the chain gang” for their strict skiing order; if one stopped for any reason, he had to hurry and rejoin the line in his proper place. The skiing was now on roads; long straightaways with flat, grey landscape on all sides. The last 10km was on an old World Cup course, and the landscape changed from monotonous to thrilling, with steep uphills and rocket downhills on icy, rough track.

At the end of this bit (and the obligatory lake to be crossed), we skated up a bike path to the hotel. The huge dumpster in the parking lot should have alerted us that all was not as it might be; we were told that we were to sleep 15km away, “but you take a sauna now.” I grumpily complained that my suitcase had been sitting in the cold parking lot all afternoon, and anyway, what was I to do with my wet ski clothes?

Fortunately, Jim and Jan had a room on site, and offered their shower, a typical curtainless Finnish shower placed in one corner of the bathroom with a drain in the floor. It was heavenly. After dinner in the local school cafeteria, Tom, Mary, Heather and I climbed onto the bus and drove to a building we named “the gulag;” it is, actually, a hostel. We were given the basement annex, a small (bunk beds) room which was wonderfully quiet, being outside and around the corner.

Paiva/day 3, only 58km! We were told this was a difficult day, but hey, at 58 km, how bad could it be? As it turned out, pretty bad. Starting from the school, we skied down bike paths to the start, which began, pleasantly enough, on a Pison Bully groomed track, with nice hills and interesting skiing. The track became progressively rougher and consequently riskier to step out of the track, lest a lump cause a ski to leap precipitously into the crusty snow bank on either side. It began to snow hard at 11 a.m., accompanied by winds of increasing velocity. Approaching the lunch stop, we beat against the wind along a lakeside, barely making headway at times. The rest stop was a gas station/mini mart off the highway, where we were offered warm juice and cold cut sandwiches. We sat inside and watched the sideways snow, and I wondered about the wisdom of continuing. But Jim and Tom left, and I went with them. Conditions grew steadily worse, as our wax iced (the warmer waxes are hydrophilic – they get water-soaked, and then the water freezes and snow clumps to the bottom of the ski), and huge clumps of snow clung to our skis, just in time for the hills. And more hills. We clomped along, sometimes attempting to skate in the several inches of fresh snow, all the while buffeted by wind and driving snow. On we pressed (was this what the Donner party felt like?), until finally, hours later, we arrived at the t-bar which was to whisk us to our slopeside hotel. I scraped most of the snow off my skis, stepped gingerly in front of the t-bar, and hoped for the best. I literally staggered into the hotel room assigned to me and Heather, and two Finnish women, who talked loudly on their cell phones most of the evening. They arose at 5:15 the next morning to primp and do their hair; I blearily looked over to see one of them busily applying mascara.

Paiva/day 4, 84km: The best skiing so far, a winding trail through trees plastered with snow, good tracks, nice kick. But I was pooped, so opted for the bus at 46km and rode to our hotel in Ranua.

Paiva/day 5, 44km: A beautiful day, clear and chilly; we skied in a line of 10 or 12, double poling our way across lakes, broad flat areas, through woods. I may have taken a few strides that day, but we were double poling machines most of the time. At 19km we came to the first food stop: sausages, which we cooked on sticks over a fire and ate, the juice dripping down our chins. They were delicious, and we topped them off with chocolate. The double pole train continued, and at about 40km we arrived at the elementary school at Ruona, an old wood frame building, with children welcoming us, giving us pins they had made for us, and requesting our autographs. We skied on further to the stopping point, then all the Americans climbed on the bus to return to Ruona school for the night, where we slept on foam pads strewn on the floor.

Paiva/day 6 56km: We took the bus to Hosio and started skiing there; another day of flat, uninteresting skiing. Long straightaways were occasionally relieved by a slight bend (Yippee! We’re changing direction!), only to be followed by more long straightaways. Peevishly, I sought something to engage my brain so as not to perseverate on the dullness of the landscape and monotony of the skiing. It wasn’t easy. Even talking seemed to take too much effort, and I plodded on, skiing technique long ago abandoned in favor of putting one foot in front of the other.

Paiva/day 7 68km: I was really tired by now – too tired to ski 65 km, so I took the bus with other like-minded folks, to the 40km stop and began there. This may have been a poor decision, as others reported that the first half of that last day was the best skiing of the trip. The second half of that day was not the best skiing, since the last 13km followed the Tornio River, and the landscape was unrelieved by so much as a bump or other terrain variation. A welcoming crowd awaited at the finish line, and one of the race supporters pressed a memento into my hand – a small plastic toy bug. The highlight of the evening, our last, was a tour of the Lapin Kulta (literally, “gold of the Lapps”) brewery, which is one of Tornio’s few landmarks. Spirits lifted, we repaired to our hotel, the Kaupunginhotelli, for dinner. The next morning, we traveled to Helsinki for a night in that wonderful city to close our ski trip.

This was the 20th anniversary of the Rajalta Rajalle hiito; three people (all Finns) have done it more than 15 times. Quite a few have crossed Finland 10 times and more. I puzzled over this: why would someone want to do this more than once? It’s not a ski trip, in my opinion, since the skiing is so rough and too long to maintain much semblance of technique. So I asked Berit Flora from Anchorage, who had skied it two years ago: “Berit, what is it you like the best about this trip?” “Well”, she responded brightly, “because it makes me ski a lot.” Okay, fair enough, I guess. “You Methow people are just spoiled because you have such good grooming,” several people said to me. Well, yes, but what is skiing about, if not wonderful tracks and great scenery? If that means I’m spoiled, so be it.

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Snowshoeing and Evolution
By Eric Burr

Creationism might seem to be the only explanation for the exploding popularity of snowshoeing, but to old snowshoers like myself, it looks more like an "evolutionary spurt."

Ratchet bindings, copied from snowboard technology, and other new bindings have made slipping snowshoes on and off almost as easy as cross country skiing's step-in bindings. Lightweight frames have helped produce an undeniable and very real spurt in the sale of new snowshoes. Proponents of the ''evolutionary spurt'' theory point out that snowshoes have been around, in their rawhide form at least, since the last ice age advance.

Skiing similarly, in its wood and leather phase, dates back thousands of years. It's during this spurt however, that the two seem to be taking curiously diverging evolutionary paths. Here's the split: snowshoeing is staying with natural snow, whereas skiing is increasingly confined to groomed terrain. Evolutionary history suggests that dependency on such a narrowly defined environment could lead to problems. Snowshoeing, by contrast, has continued to evolve in ways that allow access to a greater variety of natural snow terrains than our ancestors could have imagined, from corniced snowboard runs to jogging trails.

Skiers can still ski natural snow, but increasingly their equipment has become specialized for use on steep terrain or groomed trails. Touring skis, designed for travel over long distances on ungroomed snow, command a decreasing share of the market every year. So what does all this hold for the Methow Valley?
“Groomed” snowshoe trails have turned out to be only the tip of this new/old sport's impact on how people are enjoying winter here. MVSTA “groomers,” that is those of us who tromp out the first tracks on MVSTA'S marked and mapped snowshoe trails, notice that few of our users stick very close to the marked trails. Instead, they typically wander off following some animal track, and before we started marking trails in both directions last year, quite a few showshoers were losing the trail altogether and even getting lost.

Skiers on groomed trails don't have this problem, because ski tracks out in natural snow are easily distinguished from those of a Piston Bully. Like snowshoers, skiers chase after animal tracks or leave the trails for picnics, photography, or any number of excuses. But snowshoers, by the very nature of their equipment, are more inclined to do so.

Those of us who ski ungroomed snow increasingly have snowshoe tracks to follow up on the Forest Service trails. It's like having a free backcountry grooming service. Sometimes it's the other way around, and I find snowshoe tracks on top of my old ski tracks. Some of the most popular trails, like Cedar Falls, are getting so much snowshoe traffic that they pack out firm enough sometimes to simply walk on without either skis or snowshoes.

Marked trails for snowshoeing typically have some sort of metal marker attached to a tree or post. The few open areas will either have colorfully wrapped bamboo wands stuck in the snow, or a larger marker on the other side of the clearing. You won't find many of these, however, because MVSTA decided years ago that its snowshoe trails should access terrain too tight for enjoyable skiing. It's not that snowshoers can't, or shouldn't enjoy open terrain, but rather that they really don't need marked trails for such places.
Tight, brushy, or thickly wooded nooks, however, are not only uniquely accessible by snowshoe and great for tracking wildlife, they're also easy to get lost in.

In Mazama last year I started marking the trails with different markers for each direction around the loops. Going clockwise around Aspen Loop, for instance, you follow four-inch diameter yellow metal markers, whereas heading counter clockwise, the markers are three-inch diameter and silver-gray. Trying to head back to the trail after a tracking episode that got you a bit turned around, and you're due back to relieve the babysitter in 20 minutes, and which way is the lodge or car? No problem now with inadvertently heading the wrong – that is, the long – way. At least, I received no reports of lost or frustrated snowshoers around Mazama last season.

Snowshoers quickly learn that they have the freedom to travel just about anywhere, and increasingly we're finding tracks all over the Methow. The tops of Sandy Butte and Goat Peak both have seen tracks, but much more popular trails are in the valley. These include Cedar Creek and Monument Creek, just up from Early Winters and Mazama, and Patterson Mountain, a trail best known for spring flowers and fall color, below Sun Mountain.

Any Forest Service trail can be easily followed on modern snowshoes, with their built-in crampons to grip side hills, or claw straight uphill. Just keep in mind that inclined slopes can avalanche when snow conditions are unstable, and that a snowshoer upside down in a tree well is just as in need of help as a snowboarder or skier. Tree wells are capable of suffocating their victims. They are caused by a combination of snow interception in the canopy above, and wind around the tree trunk hollowing out a trap, covered over later by fresh snow. Experienced backcountry snow travelers soon learn to give tree wells a wide berth. Helicopter skiers use a strict buddy system, to ensure that help is close by
People who prefer the security of MVSTA'S marked trails will have to worry about neither avalanches nor tree wells. Even when the snowpack out in the open on our valley floor is deep enough for tree wells to be a hazard, snowshoe trails in the thick forest are typically only half as deep. This is because of all the snow intercepted by the true canopies, which either evaporates on the wind, drips off during thaw's, or comes off as “tree bombs” or “death cookies” – skier terms relating to their compact and sometimes icy consistency.

Students of watershed management learn that snow interception is one reason that forests with fairly large openings between trees produce more runoff in the spring. This is also why MVSTA's snowshoe trails don't open any sooner than the ski trails out in the open, or trails in a forest thinned enough to produce eddies in snowstorm winds that consequently dump more snow between the trees. Open forests, coincidentally, are less prone to catastrophic fires that kill almost everything in their path and set plant succession back to near zero, like a clearcut.

Our forests have co-evolved with native snowshoers, who managed them by burning frequently enough to improve hunting, berry picking, and ease of snowshoeing. Loren Eiseley’s classic essay, “Man is an Orphan of the Angry Winter,” describes his idea of this co-evolution based on anthropological research. You can find it in his 1969 book, The Unexpected Universe. Snowshoes in North America, and skis on the Eurasian Continent, had to have been – according to this theory – essential aspects of human evolution.

Modern day snowshoers should be aware that the tight forests of our marked trails are a historical anomally, and they will be thinned with chainsaws and/or prescribed burning, or blackened completely by wild crown fires. Snowshoers and cross-country skiers are in a great position to observe how forests change.

Eric Burr is a retired national park ranger and ski guide, currently teaching cross-country skiing and working on trails for MVSTA. His special interest is the relationship between the ski trails and wildlife.

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Classic skiing: A lifelong passion
by Don Portman

Classic skiing well is a source of boundless joy. While shuffling along on Nordic skis is easy, becoming good at striding can be difficult. Don’t miss out. Spend the time. Put out the effort. Learn to ski. It’s worth it. Here are some hints to help you become a better classic skier.

Gear first
Good equipment and superb tracks make a huge difference in the joy of classic skiing. Here in the Methow, superb tracks are a given. Pick a waxable racing ski flexed soft to medium. If you are an exceptional skier or heavier than normal you might be able to handle a stiff ski. On warm days or times of difficult waxing go with a high performance waxless ski. Some good waxless choices are the Rossignol Max AR, Fischer RCS Crown or Madshus Hypersonic Multigrip. The whole idea here is to get lots of glide and yet have enough grip to get up the hills.

Be a slouch not a slacker
You need to ski aggressively but this can’t be done unless you stand right. Stand like a slouch. Round your shoulders, tuck your seat in slightly and bend everything – even you your eyelashes. Look at a basketball star getting ready for a free throw or a tennis pro waiting to return a serve. They stand with a universal athletic stance – bent ankles and knees, a slight bend at the waist, tucked rear and rounded shoulders. When your mother said to stand up straight she was wrong. Now flex your ankles even more. Feel like a slouch leaning into a gale-force wind. Good classic skiing feels like you are constantly falling forward. This forward falling motion is magically transformed into glide. In fact if the front ski didn’t glide you would fall on your face.

Ski one ski at a time
Good skiing requires balance on a single gliding ski. In fact, it requires a bit of over-balance forward (that falling feeling). One ski is gripping then one ski is gliding. Never both at the same time. The shift from one ski to the other is fast, aggressive and complete. Most skiers fail to do this well. It takes some courage and commitment to move all of your body to that slippery, skinny ski with alacrity.

Navel maneuvers
As you ski down the track, line your belly button up with the groove that your front ski is riding in. Don’t twist. Face down the track and move your body over the gliding ski so that your navel points straight down the groove. As you ski you will first maneuver your center over one groove then the other since in most people center of mass is located very near the belly button. This drill always helps me ski better and it always makes my students ski better.

Drive your knee
Actively pushing or driving the knee of the gliding ski down the track enhances glide. Both knee and ankle must be bent. On the flats your knee will lead your foot. If you look down your front leg, you won’t be able to see your foot because your knee is in the way. If you can see your foot, you need to flex your ankle and knee more. This changes on the hills. Going up your foot will start to lead. The steeper the hill the more your foot will lead.

Kick forward not back
Classic skiing is often called kick and glide. This confuses many skiers as they try to kick back to go forward. It really should be called grip and glide. The most functional kicking action is actually forward. Kicking a ball powerfully requires movement of the entire leg. In fact the hip moves as well. When skiing move your hip and upper leg as if kicking a ball but then move your whole body forward with the kicking motion and land on your front ski with a bent knee and ankle. This is where that old knee drive comes in. If you swing or kick your leg forward powerfully the momentum developed will go right to your gliding ski.

Grip down not back
To swing a leg forward you need to momentarily grip the snow with your other ski. To do this, push the gripping ski straight down into the snow. If you are on waxable skis this will force the snow crystals into your wax and give you grip. On waxless skis this will push the gripping pattern into the snow. Pushing back to go forward just makes your skis slip. Push down hard. You need more than your body weight to flatten the ski center so it can make that all-important contact with the snow. If your skis are too stiff it will be too hard to get a good grip and nothing will work.

Foot leads up the hills
You might have asked a few paragraphs back why the foot leads the knee on the uphills. Grip is the reason. You must push your ski straight down into the snow to get a good grip but “straight down” changes on the hills. You actually want to push perpendicular to the snow surface. If the surface is tilted, like on a hill, you need to compensate for the tilt. With your foot leading your knee, it is easy to push your wax or waxless pattern into the snow to get a grip. This is more effective if your seat is tucked under and your shoulders are rounded.

Pole with relaxed power
Most skiers underestimate the power of poles. Good racers can generate 60% to 80% of their forward propulsion from poling. To do this effectively the big muscles of your upper body need to be used – pectorals, lats, and upper abdominals. Think of swinging you arms in a relaxed fashion with your elbow bent in the fore-swing and then straightening in the back-swing. Swing from your sternum. Let your whole arm and shoulder get into the swing of things. When you plant your pole be sure that your elbow is bent and your shoulder is slightly forward. This enables you to hook up the strength of the big muscles and some of the weight of your upper body to power your poles.

Hold on loose
Grip your poles loosely. In fact, release the poles and the end of the arm swing. The new grips and straps make this so easy. On older style poles with regular grips and straps you might need to squeeze the handle just a little between your forefinger and thumb and release with the other fingers. It is important to have your pole straps adjusted snuggly. Re-grip your pole in the fore-swing just enough to plant it effectively. There is no need to ever tightly squeeze your poles.

No posing
Efficient skiing is constant motion. Since arm motions naturally compliment leg motions, it is easy to fall into the trap of holding a pose with your arm held stationary straight in front of your body while your ski is gliding. It is much more effective to plant your pole early – before your ski has stopped gliding. This way you can get a bit more glide as well as being set up to start the next stride with power and quickness. It is often more efficient to take quicker shorter strides than long drawn out over-glides. Once again, you should feel like you are falling forward as you continually move from ski to ski. You should never feel like you push off and then hold a pose while you glide.

Life-long pursuit
These ideas may sound simple but they are not necessarily easy to do. Skiing is a constant quest for perfection. With each small improvement in technique comes a large increase in satisfaction and joy. I have been skiing for 40 years and my technique is better now than ever. My love of classic skiing is stronger. Try these ideas on snow. Take a lesson from a pro. Go after the passion and joy that can come from good classic skiing.

Don Portman is president of the MVSTA Board of Directors. He is director and owner of the Methow Valley Ski School, and a hiking guide.


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Experts offer advice on winter photography
By Soo Ing-Moody

Have you ever tried to capture a beautiful winter landscape with your camera, only to come away with frostbitten fingers and disappointing photo? Winter is a strikingly beautiful season in the Methow Valley, and offers photographers an array of opportunities. Whether of a snowy landscape, or a few clusters of snowflakes on a fallen leaf, photographic compositions showcase the many beautiful facets of winter.
But many of us have discovered, through trial and error, that photography in winter poses many challenges.

Dennis Kirkland and Bill Moody, two Methow Valley residents whose works have been displayed at various venues, including the Confluence and Winthrop Galleries, share their experience and advice on photographing that perfect winter shot.

After photographing for 30 years, Dennis Kirkland has a wealth of experience when it comes to photography. Not only is Kirkland gifted with a good eye for composition, but his photos generally emit a warmth and beauty that transcends the ordinary. When asked about what makes winter photography so special he replies, “The landscape is so beautiful, the snow hides a lot of things. It is especially nice when there is frost on the trees; heavy thick coats of frost is beautiful – to find it and know how to capture it on film.”

Bill Moody is a well-known photographer of the natural surroundings of the Methow Valley, whose photos are regularly featured in Trails. An avid hiker, and cross-country skier, Moody finds many photo opportunities during these pursuits and has developed an extensive portfolio of local landscapes and native wildflowers. “There’s a lot of opportunity for macro and landscape photography here.” Moody says.
As experienced photographers, Kirkland and Moody are well aware of the challenges of winter photography. More so than in other seasons, winter photography requires the knowledge and application of photographic principles and camera operations. When attempting to capture winter scenes on film, even the most experienced photographer will have to overcome difficulties that don’t occur in the warmer months.

Both cite the cold as the single biggest challenge to consider in winter photography. Kirkland photographs with a Nikon F100 single lens reflex which allows him to remove and exchange batteries quickly. The ability to change batteries is advantageous in winter because the cold temperatures can rapidly drain the life of batteries. Though most photo equipment works fine down to 20 degrees F, when temperatures dip below this, battery life can be halved and flashes stop working. Kirkland’s trick is to keep a spare in his pocket with an iron-oxide hand warmer. He explains that some people swear by a battery cord, which enables the battery to be held close to the body, but this means an added disadvantage of being tethered, and the devices are expensive.

To reduce the rate of battery drain, lithium batteries can be used instead of alkaline batteries for temperatures below 20 degrees F. Another trick, if using an autofocus camera, is to turn it to a manual setting.

Moody also carries extra batteries for his camera, while also considering the trickiness of caring for the mechanics of his camera. He typically carries his camera close to his body to guard against varying wintry conditions – precipitation, and days of extreme temperature (where film can actually fracture). Though careful to protect the mechanics of his camera, he remains conscious of the problem of condensation on lenses, which can be brought on by rapid changes in temperature.

To avoid fogging the camera’s eyepiece or lens, Moody says you need to think about how you exhale, while limiting the time your eye is held to the camera. It has been recommended by other professionals that iron-oxide heating packets be taped over the camera’s battery compartments if the camera is exposed to cold conditions. This trick may help to reduce condensation on lenses and eyepieces while batteries stay warm.

Not only does the cold affect the equipment, but the operator must cope with it as well. Since a steady hand and finger dexterity are critical in photography, the hands must be protected as best they can. However, covering them up does not allow for free movement, and leaving them exposed even for a few minutes can mean rigid, and in worst situations, frostbitten fingers. Moody prefers to use fingerless gloves for dexterity, while Kirkland considers chemical hand warmers indispensable. A combination of both is ideal.

As far as taking that perfect shot goes, both men have their preferred times of the day to photograph. Kirkland claims the best light is at sunrise and sunset, while noting that in the winter the sun is lower so there is a longer period of time to take pictures. Moody agrees that a good time for winter photography is during early morning, but also considers ideal times to be noon and mid-afternoon, when the light gives off a shadow that enhances the texture of the snow.

Moody explains the importance of understanding how to effectively compensate for exposures when photographing snow. Since snow has a high level of reflection, Moody suggests “increasing one to two f-stops on the light meter to compensate for snow.” Snow scenes, Moody explains, can often be underexposed, resulting in gray looking snow. To compensate for the reflection off bright snow, the exposure needs to be opened one to two f-stops. One f-stop is one shutter speed on the lens aperture.
To help achieve the right light, Moody suggests using an incident light meter, which is not built into the camera. Light meters measure the light on the subject matter, not what is reflected from it to the camera. To achieve good color, Moody also recommends the use of circular polarizers.

Despite the challenges associated with winter photography, Moody embraces the incentives it has to offer. An avid macro photographer, he finds inspiration even on exceptionally cold, frosty, or foggy days, when crystals and hoar frost can build on vegetation. For him, winter photography in the Methow Valley begins as early as mid-fall along the North Cascades Highway while the pass is still open. “It is kind of nice to get into the high country in November, as avalanche conditions permit, to get interesting contrast,” Moody says. As winter advances he moves to low country areas along rivers.

Whether snowshoeing or skiing to get that perfect shot, combined with the appreciation of the season, Moody and Kirkland enjoy the challenges and rewards of winter photography. With patience and careful preparation for the elements, anyone interested in capturing the beauty of the season on film will certainly find abundant inspiration and opportunity in the Methow Valley.

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