The folks at Methow Trails offer a diverse repertoire of tidy little excursions but there’s always a few die-hards who discover — nay, seek out — a way to transform what could be an agreeably rigorous jaunt into a complete and total sufferfest.
Methow Valley resident Marc Tareski wins this past weekend’s epic grind award (although another trio of local lads earned honorable mention, with an 11-mile ski trek into Tower Mountain — and then back out again).
Marc’s feat of Nordic athletic endurance needs no artificial inflation but just for fun I’m going to share his statistics in their most impressive units, if you can tolerate the mixing of the Imperial and metric systems: 172.9 kilometers; 10,708 feet of elevation; 738 minutes; 2 skinny skis.
At the civilized hour of 8:30 a.m. when 100-ish other skiers were embarking on various legs of the 20- to 80-kilometer Tour of the Methow, Marc already had nearly 60K in the bag, having clipped into his skis and left Mazama before dawn to climb up and over Rendezvous Pass. After tagging the Cub Creek trailhead Marc turned around and returned to Mazama, catching several of the Rendezvous side loops on his way back.
Marc then took a rest in the form of what some people might consider an all-day outing, cranking along the relatively flat Arrowleaf sections of the trail system, bringing his total to 80K. He was almost halfway to his goal and it was barely noon.
Marc stopped for a quick bite to eat and then cruised down valley almost all the way to Winthrop, knocked off the Bitterbrush and Barnsley loops, hit the Winthrop Trail and ascended to Sun Mountain Lodge, climbed up Blue Jay and Meadowlark to Thompson Pass just for good measure, and zipped back down to the Methow Community Trail via Power’s Plunge, where he found himself with an iced-up skate platform and only 25K left to double-pole back to his starting point in Mazama.
Now I’ve never skied 100-plus miles in one day and can’t imagine I ever will. But I’ll confess to a peculiar affinity for those seemingly pointless human-powered all-day adventures — no peak bagged, no waterway charted, no new route pioneered. The ineffable joy of being outside from dawn ‘til dark, moving across and through varied landscapes, proverbial miles to go before I sleep — it all speaks to me. I’m not always sure what it is saying, but still, I listen.
Completing the final miles by headlamp or moonlight, staggering into the house on muscles that seize up as soon as the day’s relentless push ceases, and collapsing into a soft bed (after a couple false starts on the living room floor and couch) elicits a sense not of achievement but of fulfillment. Like its name suggests, the sufferfest leaves you completely depleted but also, paradoxically, replenished.
