I've had a fair bit of affection for the word "yurt" ever since it won me a scrabble game (the victory was doubly sweet since I was challenged on the word - never mind that my comprehension of the word was much like my thoughts on the word "yak" - something associated with Mongolia that lets me use awkward letters). But spelling yurt - even on a double word score - is nowhere near as good as hanging out in one for the weekend.
Seven of Algonquin Provincial Park's eight yurts are in Mew Lake campground. The yurts are octagonal, 16-foot diameter tent-like structures installed on a wooden deck floor (so the park pamphlet). Sitting inside one feels much like what I imagine it feels like sitting in an Outback Oven - beige quilted sides and very warm.
So warm and comfortable, in fact, that you don't need to bring much in the way of creature comforts. The park provides beds, tables, chairs, a heater, a light, and an outlet. This of course didn't stop us from bringing piles and piles of gear (when you bring a mountain of gear, it's only considered overpacking if you don't use it. If you do, it's called being prepared). Elke and I decided that Chris' station wagon obviously needed to have its suspension tested, so we filled every square inch. We couldn't buy beer until Huntsville, since the only space for it was where Elke wanted to put her feet...
Chris, Elke and I were the first to arrive, and thus claimed three of the four top (single) bunks in the yurts. We moved all the gear from the car to the yurts, and promptly started working on turning "overpacking" into "prepared". We started with the beer. Then we needed to work up a thirst, so we left for a hike on the Two Rivers trail.
The 2.1 km trail is perfect for working up a thirst - just long enough to make you feel like you got a bit of exercise, but short enough that you aren't pining for very long. The trail was well-packed, and we had a pleasant afternoon stroll with some scenic lookouts.
When we got back, we explored quinzees (left) and igloos (right) with Dan (who had arrived just as we were leaving for our hike), and briefly considered sleeping in one or the other.
The evening was spent both inside and outside the yurt. Essentially, those of us who were already there kept the couch warm for new arrivals (Carol and Glen, Laverne, Sue and Melissa). And continued to work on proving that all the food and drinks we had brought along were not, in fact, overpacking. Glen built a roaring fire, and we huddled outside for a while.
On Saturday, Melissa, Laverne, Sue and Elke went to explore the Leaf Lake Ski Trails while Chris, Carol, Glen, Dan and I put our snowshoes to the test on the Provoking Lake loop of the Highland Backpacking Trail.
Provoking Lake provokes all sorts of things. Like mutiny. Carol, Glen and Dan declared that they were more brave than energetic, and abandoned the trail about a third of the way through it. They decided to cut across the ice to the other side of the loop. Chris and I, however, decided we would follow through on our original intention and brave howling winds, blowing snow, wolves, moose, unbroken trail and bunnyrabbits to complete our quest and circumnavigate the lake.
We were so tough. Fueled by nothing except daypacks stuffed full of lunch we attacked snow with no gear except gore tex, fleece and high-tech snowshoes with tail extensions. The Highland Backpacking trail should really be called the High-Low-Up-Down-Roller-Coaster-Around-The-Bend-On-An-Endless-Loop Trail. Not that we complained. Not while anyone could hear us. 17 km of powder, that's nothing to us...
And since we were such hard core hikers who battled such Arctic conditions, we of course needed to refuel when we finally (after dark, did I mention we went for 17km? in unbroken powder?) got back to the yurt. Brownies and beer were well earned.
By the time we got back to the yurt (after dark, after 17km of powder), Janet and Steve had arrived, and apparently they had filled their car with treats - at least, I don't think they stopped making us really yummy food for the entire time they were awake. And soon after, Brian arrived with Indian chili, and there was lots more food. And drink. And more food. And a fire. And more drink. And...
Despite our hardcore snowshoe outing (do I need to remind you of distance and snow conditions again? because I will, just in case you forgot - 17 km, unbroken powder), Brian and Sue outdid us for the tough winter adventurer title. They slept in a quinzee (of course, Dan slept in his tent all weekend, but since he cut across the ice, he gives up his claim to the title). They both claimed it was great the next morning. But then, Chris and I claim that our snowshoe trek was easy...
The next morning (after an enormous breakfast) there was some more snowshoeing and comparison of various brands of snowshoes (I declined the chance to try the Yakimas, since I am so happy with my bright red MSRs), and then our winter adventure was over all too soon. Yurts may not be all that hard core, but I'd rather save my hard core energy for a (17km, unbroken powder) trek through winter wonderland.
I met some cool new people, I had a bunch of fun, and I went snowshoeing (resisting the temptation to remind you just how far once more, but I never pointed out that it was really, really cold, now, did I? It was. Very very cold. Colder than the inside of my freezer. With wind. And snow). Thanks, Elke, for organizing this fun caper. Next year, maybe I'll consider the quinzee... (worded in a sufficiently wishy-washy manner to give me an out when the beer is too tasty and the yurt too warm to go sleep in a hole in the snow).