Yurt Skiing the Swan Range

Forming the westernmost buttress of the broad swatch of peaks that comprises the Bob Marshall Wilderness Complex, the Swans lie within an hour’s drive of Missoula but well off the beaten path of the skiing masses. With an annual average annual snowpack of around 10 feet, the Swans boast some of the state’s best backcountry powder skiing, on the edge of one of the largest tracts of wilderness in the lower 48 states.

“There’s a lot of really good skiing to be had in the Swans,” says Carl Sievers, one of the co-owners, with Adam Simon, of Missoula-based Yurtski, which rents two alpine yurts near the southern tip of Seeley Lake. “They have their own mini-vortex of weather; they tend to be colder and get more snow even than their neighbors.”

A modern spin on the accommodations the nomadic Mongolian people have been using on the windblown central Asian steppe for more than three thousand years, the design Yurtski uses sits on an elevated platform 20 feet in diameter, its weatherproofed canvas tarpaulin skin stretched over a wooden skeleton.

Two sets of bunk beds flank a central dining table. On either side of the door sit a fully kitted kitchen and a makeshift bar of castaway beer and liquor, left by past guests in a kind of indirect communion with future skiers. On the comfort spectrum, the yurt lies about halfway between glamping and a snow cave.

Although the two yurts are decidedly less mobile than the Mongolian versions, Yurtski’s Forest Service special-use permit requires that they disassemble and remove the yurts every spring.

Equal parts guide and gourmet chef, Sievers and his partner Simon offer tailor-made trips, from a simple hand-off of the keys to a fully guided and supported weekend.

At the small kitchen island, Sievers, who works at a restaurant in the off-season, deftly preps multi-course meals for guests in ski bib and fleece pullover: Asian pork lettuce wraps, pad Thai, flourless chocolate torte. No ski-bum pre-packaged rations here.

“We can snowmobile right to the door of the yurts, so we can haul quite a bit of gear for people,” says Sievers. “With our huts, you can bring the gourmet dinner, the bottles of wine, the case of beer and have it be more of a fulfilling experience with friends and family than you would if you had to haul in the essentials on your back.”

“A lot of the appeal to us as skiers has to do with the immediacy of the area,” says Sievers. “From either area, you basically start skinning up from the front door.”

A series of short, steep bowls that funnel back to the yurts allow for as many—or as few—runs in as one likes; skiers can sleep in, ski Breakfast Bowl and be back in time for lunch. And if conditions aren’t conducive to great skiing in one spot, it’s easy to switch to a different aspect without being committed to 
a 3,000-foot climb.

I came to the backcountry yurts with a small group with one commitment of my own: learn to ski.

The morning of our stay, I rise before the sun, feed the wood stove, and sneak out the front door of the yurt to watch the sun rise over the Potomac valley.

We climb up through the trees behind the yurt on a well-used skin track. Accustomed to the hip-straining slog of snowshoes in deep powder, I marvel at how effortlessly the skis ascend. I settle into the skinning rhythm, lifting one ski, gliding it upward, and setting it down with a subtle shift of weight.

We crest a small knob and stop.

Sievers demonstrates how to set up the skis for alpine mode: set the bindings, lock the boots, peel off, and stow the skins.

I have a vague recollection of the “pizza and French fries” technique. But, accustomed to the single plank of a snowboard, I worry about the two skis running at cross-purposes, my pizza and French fries turning into a pretzel. But when the skis meet the slope they track like two tethered sled dogs down the contours of the forested slope.

I don’t know how to make powder-skiing kick turns, so I learn quickly how to right myself in deep powder. Feeling confident, I point the tips of the skis more into the fall line, figuring that powder is more forgiving than a skied-smooth resort bunny hill.