Yurt-to-Yurt in Evanston Strap on those snowshoes or cross-country skis for a backcountry adventure By Dina Mishev
Backcountry skiing Fred Pflughoft
It seemed a good idea at the time. But, two hours into it, sweating up a storm and huffing and puffing more than a linebacker out for a marathon, I see it is in fact nothing short of a great idea. Brilliant. Phantasmagorical even. And I'm not being sarcastic.
My friends and I are the only people in the world and, as such, don't have to share our breathtaking views of southwestern Wyoming's Uinta Mountains with anyone. Neither does anyone have to watch our sweating and heavy breathing. Well, except for a few coyotes and elk. But who cares when we have a yurt and all of its accoutrements waiting for us at the end of the huffing and puffing? A yurt that happens to be tucked into a ridge at an elevation of 9,000 feet or so and where we'll have more of the same beautificent solitude while enjoying quite the plush backcountry camping quarters.
Modeled after structures originally used by Genghis Khan and his Mongolian hordes as they swept across the Asian steppes defeating all in their path, yurts are the Civilized way to winter camp. (Note that capital "C.";) There's no need to build a snow cave. No danger of freezing. No in-bed-by-7:00 p.m.-because-it's-so-cold-and-there's-nothing-to-do. What there is is this: propane-fueled stoves with enough burners to allow for heating hot chocolate and cooking elk steaks simultaneously; comfortable bunks; woodburning stoves and pre-cut wood; tables to hang out around and play cards, Scrabble, or, if you happen to be one of the bachelor or bachelorette parties increasingly interested in the yurts, perhaps even drinking games. And, just out the front door, there are thousands of acres of mountainous terrain perfect for skiing and snowshoeing.
Since Wyoming was one of the few places Genghis Khan never got around to conquering, yurts are a recent arrival here. In 1995, the U.S. Forest Service and Bear River Outdoor Recreation Alliance (BRORA) teamed up to erect a yurt in the mountains, the Uintas, outside Evanston. That one proved so popular, four more were erected. All of the yurts are available to rent year 'round, but winter is definitely the most popular season.
I find myself skiing the nearly five miles into the Ridge yurt, the second most remote of the area's five. There is no doubt the winter season is in full swing.
Snowshoeing Fred Pflughoft
The snow already measures several feet deep and temperatures hover in the low 20s. Perfect weather for cross-country and backcountry skiing and snowshoeing, all of which the various members of my group plan on doing over the next two days.
Although the Ridge yurt is one of two open to snowmobiles as well as foot-powered traffic (Lily Lake is the other dual-use yurt), separate trails in for both user groups ensure neither has to worry about running into the other. (And the cross-country ski track is even groomed once a week and after any big snowstorm.) For skiers and snowshoers looking to avoid snowmobiles entirely, the Bear Claw and East Fork (great for families) yurts are inside motor-free areas (and also have groomed tracks leading in and out). Boundry Creek yurt is the most remote, sitting two miles beyond Ridge yurt. There isn't a groomed trail leading to this one, so it is only recommended for those with serious backcountry experience.
During our trip into Ridge, we don't see, or hear, anyone else. There's no reason we should: while it is not uncommon for smaller groups to be paired together – forced to share a yurt – in other yurt systems, that's not how these Evanston ones work. Whether there are two or eight of you, the entire yurt is yours. If you're a family looking for some quality time together, there's no need to worry you'll be paired with the University of Utah chapter of Sigma Nu's pledge weekend and vice versa. Ridge is all ours for the next two nights.
Three hours and more than a few snack and rest breaks after starting out, we reach the yurt... and realize we could be happy doing nothing but hanging out here for the next 48 hours. The first order of business of course is to get the woodburning stove going and the water boiling. There are tea, hot chocolate and coffee drinkers in our midst and all of us want something warm. After sating that yen, two of us contemplate an hour or so of exploratory skiing up the ridge, but, dawdling in front of the raging fire for a few minutes, such a plan begins to seem not only overly ambitious, but downright foolish. Uncorking one of the bottles of wine we carried up seems much more reasonable an alternative.
The next morning our group of six splits into several smaller groups with different objectives: group one is concerned with recovering from its hangover; group two wants to snowshoe to a nearby peaklet; group three wants a day full of skiing. We agree to rendezvous back at the yurt for appetizers – smoked salmon and various types of cheeses – around 4:00. The hangover crew promises to have a fire going. Now that's a great, brilliant and phantasmagorical idea if ever there was one.
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