Monthly Archives: March 2023

A Sunny Retreat

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I have a habit of flying into snowstorms.  Three times in recent history my return trip from a winter excursion has been delayed a day or more due to blustery Minnesota weather.  I’ve become an expert at rebooking my flights.  The most recent was my return from Seattle, leaving me just 27 hours at home before departing again for the next trip.  Out with the ski clothes, in with the shorts and sandals.

This time the destination was Tucson.  Soldiering on at home while I skied up mountains with Erik, Katie and her mom Betsy, Rich was in need of a break.  He craved respite from this winter’s relentless snowfalls and wistfully reminisced about the sunny warm days we often spent in Arizona.  Despite the clench in my stomach induced by the thought of crowding in another trip, I agreed.  I’d had my fun, he should too.  And who was I to argue with visions of that blissful warmth?  Some hardship.

I decided I would treat it as a retreat.  We’d been there enough times to cover all the best sights and I felt no compunction to be touristy.  I had no must-do activities in mind.  Instead, I would use the time to soak up the outdoors by running, biking and hiking, enjoy eating out, and most importantly rejuvenate my inner creativity.  I was sorely in need of jumpstarting my writing, drawing and painting. That was something to look forward to.

We have a favorite “casita” in Oro Valley, cradled between the mountains with a back patio facing east where we dined each evening as the sunset painted the mountains red.  It was already booked on such short notice, but Rich found one nearby with the same stunning view in addition to a beautiful yard and pool we would share with the homeowners.  Our late afternoon arrival soon confirmed the perfection of his choice.

Normally, we do this trip in April, and although I knew it would be cooler this time, I feared I hadn’t brought enough warm clothes when the first few days started in the 30s and only reached the mid-50s.  Still, I reminded myself that it was a lot colder at home. But that argument wore thin on day 2 when we woke up to 2+ inches of thick snow!  While it was shocking, it was also beautiful and unique.  Our host told us they had seen this happen only twice before in 20 years, and Rich eagerly grabbed his camera to capture the desert under snow.

I did my usual – headed out for a run, using that as my opportunity to see the area blanketed in white and stop frequently for photos.  I wasn’t the only one, cars hastily parked on the roadside everywhere, doing the same.  Unlike Duluth, the walkways were clear and once the sun crept out from the clouds the melting began.  By mid-morning it was all fading into a wet memory.

One of Rich’s desert snow shots

As the week wore on, the temperatures steadily climbed.  Tucson has wonderful bike trails, and I recreated my long rides from past visits.  My favorite outing was timed to coincide with the Rillito River Heirloom Farmers Market.  I was chilled to the bone by the time I’d logged the 22 miles to get there (all on bike trail!), and I eagerly sipped hot coffee and relished a fresh scone as I perused the bountiful farm offerings, artisan crafts and food booths accompanied by local musicians.  By the time I left, I was able to shed all my warm layers and return in shorts and jersey – a long awaited treat.

Rich avidly pursued his birding and photography, scoring a number of rare finds as well as locating his favorite prey – owls.  That inspired me to keep my promise to pursue my own crafts.  Whenever possible, I requisitioned the little table outside our casita to do my writing, crafting several posts for my long neglected blog.  It felt like priming the pump, doing something rusty yet familiar, in preparation for other works I want to tackle.

I used my bike rides to scout out ideas for my nascent discovery of journal sketching and watercolors.  Keeping my eyes peeled for interesting cacti and plants, and knowing I couldn’t crouch on street medians or private front yards, I snapped photos in order to recreate the scenes later.  That was a no-no in the class I took last year, but sometimes you just have to make do.  After spending more time at that little table on the patio, I finally rendered one finished piece. 

Our final day delivered the picture-perfect Tucson weather I had learned to love – cool in the morning, but clear sunny skies and reaching the mid-70s.  I set my sights on re-exploring the third of the lengthy Loop trails, and headed down to the southern portion of the Santa Cruz River Park.  The miles quickly slipped beneath my rental bike tires as I plied the flat trail, out on one side of the wash, back on the other.  Cyclists from racing teams to slow putterers and e-bikes went by, all out to enjoy the beautiful weather.  By the time I returned, I had logged 50 miles.  A suitable finale, I felt.

And yet, I was reluctant to let the day slip away and craved at least a short hike before surrendering this locale.  After dithering over my options with unnecessary anxiety, I finally settled on a local park for a walk. Donning my running shoes and grabbing some water, I headed out to the car.  But I never got in.  What was I doing?  What was I trying to prove?  Hadn’t I just been bemoaning the fact that it hadn’t been warm enough to sit out on the patio to enjoy the view?  It was enough to turn me around.  Grabbing the Mother/Daughter journal that Karen and I share, I made my way over to the remaining sunny spot by the pool.  I settled in with pen and paper, first immersing myself in Karen’s latest entry, then contemplating my response.  Soon I was lost in thought, penning my entry, composing as I went with no option to hit delete or rewrite.  This had to come straight from the heart.  And it did.

Sometimes I need a push to get out of my comfort zone, to abandon my carefully laid plans and tendency to want total control over my life.  This trip was good for me, and Rich got his much-needed escape.  We spent unhurried time together in addition to pursuing our own desires.  It was just the sunny retreat I needed. Even though another Minnesota snowstorm was on the way…

Sharing Adventures

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We met at the same time our kids did.  Erik and Katie were on their high school Nordic ski team, Betsy and I were team moms – baking brownies, holding out warming capes for the kids in their spandex racing suits, riding the team bus and cheering at the meets.  As the spark grew between our young skiers, so did the friendship between the two parent couples.  Sharing a wedding ceremony between our children cemented the bonds for all of us.

When Amazon lured Erik and Katie out to Seattle two years ago, I wondered how they would feel about living in a temperate climate, leaving behind Minnesota winters and skiing.  Little did I know that it would only be the beginning of mountain adventures for them, including skiing, snowshoeing, ski mountaineering and (gulp!) avalanche training.  Enticed by the stunning snowy mountain photos, I spent a week with them last winter including a picture-perfect day snowshoeing on Mt. Rainier.  I was hooked – I had to do it again.  And I knew the perfect companion.

“Say Betsy, how about Moms trip to Seattle?”  That’s all it took.

The plan was to hike or snowshoe together during the week while Erik and Katie worked.  For the weekend, the kids had something special arranged – three days skiing in The Methow, the largest cross-country ski trail system in North America, in the Cascade Mountains.  Not only that, but they had snagged a cancellation for one of the highly sought-after ski-in huts for our first night. 

We left in the dark, bleary-eyed but excited at 5am.  By 10am we were at the trailhead, and loaded our overnight gear in a sled for the snowmobile tow service.  Mountains of sleeping bags, food, water and clothing zoomed off as we – accompanied by pooch Finley – skied up the trail.  I looked up at the surrounding peaks, snow laden and glistening in the sun as my skis slid over the snow.  It just didn’t feel real!

That first day was magical.  The grooming was impeccable and we skied companionably in a group taking it all in.  Our hut was at the top end of our portion of the trail system, dictating we climb most of the way to get there.  Our original plan had been to ski up to the hut, relax over some lunch then venture out again.  But it was far too enticing to just continue skiing and cover more of the trails.  We didn’t have a morsel of food with us, but our hunger for the trails was stronger.  Onward we went.

There are five ski-in huts in all and we made it a point to stop and explore the locale of several others.  The clear favorite was Rendezvous hut, with spectacular views.  It speaks for itself.

The trails are groomed for both classic and skate skiing.  The others classic skied, and Betsy skijored with Finley.  I chose to skate ski, vainly hoping it would help me keep up.  But speed was not of the essence on this trip.  It was all about the experience.

By the time we reached Heifer Hut, we had skied 27 kilometers and were ready to settle into our rustic quarters.  It was perched on the mountainside surrounded by stately pines.  Leaning our skis against the wood exterior, we eagerly went inside to explore.  A woodstove, bench and double bunks lined one side, and on the other was a kitchen area with a propane stove and a table with benches.  A ladder led to the loft where three more double mattresses awaited.  The propane lights reminded me of Coleman lanterns, and were supplemented with solar lights fueled by a tiny solar panel. With the woodshed and outhouse across the way it had everything we needed,

Getting the fire started was our first order of business, along with fixing some food.  Hot tea and snacks refueled us enough to unpack, claim bunks and stash our gear. Soon it was cozy inside, and we traded our ski wear for comfy cabin clothes.  The remainder of the afternoon and evening passed quickly, with hot wild rice soup and fixings followed by lively rounds of Hearts played around the table.

Erik and I were the first ones up in the morning, and donned snowshoes to explore the terrain behind the cabin with Finley.  We meandered in deep powder, sunshine and silence, the perfect start to the morning.  Katie and Betsy joined us, and Erik headed inside to prepare breakfast.  I think those were the best pancakes I’ve ever eaten!

If reaching the cabin was all uphill, it meant our second day was the opposite!  Erik and Finley took off down the black diamond trail back to meet the snowmobile at the car while Katie, Betsy and I skied to a distant trailhead where we would meet them.  Erik managed to ski up to us en route, and we sent him off to get in some good fast kilometers (in prep for the Birkie), and he still caught us again just before we finished.  We completed the day with a low key snowshoe on Patterson Lake before heading off to our hotel in Winthrop. 

For our final day, we chose the opposite end of the trail system near Mazama.  There we skied in the valley, on trails that more closely resembled Minnesota.  The gentler trails passed through woods and open fields, where we were reminded of our locale with mountain views once again.  While we had encountered few skiers the prior two days, the easy access and terrain of this area invited many more skiers including families.  We skied a number of different loops before our departure time drew near. 

While we were sad to see the skiing and weekend come to an end, talk quickly turned to next year.  Betsy and I were hooked.  Clearly we have more shared adventures already looming in the future.

A Matter of Degrees

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“You might not want to come home just yet.”

We heard this refrain from multiple people before flying home from Hawaii.  After basking in the sunshine and tropical near 80° temperatures for two weeks, we were returning to a severe Minnesota cold snap.  Double digits below zero at night, with days barely creeping above zero dominated that first week at home.

I used to think nothing of going out in that weather to cross-country ski or plunder the snow in some fashion, but age has weakened my tolerance.  I have set new limits for my outdoor excursions, willing to brave the cold but not the frigid.  The huge climate swing between Hawaii and Duluth heightened my aversion.

That first week back, just traveling from front door to garage was enough to strengthen my resolve.  I knew the blue sky and strong sunshine were false signals, enough to lift my spirits but not the temperature.  I sought refuge in the Y swimming pool, choosing laps over the ski trails.

I might have remained in my cocoon had it not been for my son, Carl.  “Mom, I’m in dire need of a winter adventure.  I’m thinking of taking our two oldest kids to the cabin for a weekend.  Are you interested?”

“I’m in!” came my speedy reply.  Rich was intrigued and the plan morphed into renting a cabin on Thousand Island Lake in the UP for a long weekend.

With over 30” of snow on the ground, it was the perfect winter playground, but -15° when we rose the first morning.  The kids begged and pleaded to go outside but Carl held firm until it the temp inched closer to zero.  By 10am even I was eager to get out there.  We all donned our heaviest jackets, snowpants and boots and bolted out the door.  For the next hour we went sledding, tromped on the frozen lake and unearthed the playground equipment from the heavy snow.  Exhilarating.

By early afternoon I was ready to tackle the local ski trails. The Sylvania Outfitter trails in Watersmeet featured narrow classic tracks that wound through the woods.  I found myself enjoying the sun’s rays alternating with shadows across the trail and the ground undulating beneath my skis.  I had to smile when the double tracked bits split, leaving a patch of trees in the middle.  It wasn’t a system for speed, and I puttered along without haste.  Somehow the 6° temperature was immaterial.

Carl was eager to explore the Sylvania Wilderness Area which is like a mini-Boundary Waters.  After he took a long circle route through the frozen lakes and portages, I donned snowshoes for my turn.  With only a snapshot of an online map, I decided it was easier to follow his tracks than try to navigate on my own.  Once I left the popular ice fishing bay behind, I tromped out onto a sea of white, broken only by Carl’s backcountry HOK skis, flanked by forest.  I didn’t have to think, I could let my mind wander along with my feet.  My body warmed with the effort, and as my confidence grew I ventured from Carl’s path and managed to find the portage into a small untouched lake.  Winter wonderland indeed.

In between all that fresh air and activity we had plenty of time to enjoy cabin life with the kids.  It didn’t take long before cars and trucks competed for floor space with wild animals, and stuffed animal friends lay strewn everywhere.  We read books, snuggled on the couch by the too-warm fire, and worked Maren’s first jigsaw puzzle together.  Make-your-own pizza night was a hit with everyone.  Carl and I sweated in the steamy sauna each night.

A flashlight walk revealed how different everything looks in the dark!  And Carl caught the first rays of sunshine skiing on the lake in the early mornings.

It took the right incentive to get me outside, beyond my boundaries and back into winter mode.  The enthusiasm of Carl and the kids forced me back out of my comfort zone and reminded me how much I do love winter.  Cold or not.  I know now, it’s only a matter of degrees.