The Cold Vermont Yurt Trip

with another Confluence...
February 10, 2008

PhD’s brave the winter storms of Vermont…and Nearly Die, once again...

Four PhDs prepare for the confluence hunt

Chronicle by Matt; (at least 70%...)

Sunday February 10, 2008 was the day everyone had agreed would be the best for all. Matt, and Torm had work obligations.   Charlie was still struggling with the early days of retirement, and Dave was hopeless, no days were good for him: he is retired a full year and just can’t seem to find any time for himself.
So Torm volunteered his car, and packed it full of stuff, picked up Charlie at his house en route, and headed north to the Canton park & drive to pickup Matt.  Dave was to be picked up at the park & ride in Concord NH on the way by, at exit 2 orf of rt 89.  It was a result of wimpage that we were all able to pile into one car.  One of the members would not relent in his vague insistence that one or more of his relatives were coming to visit, although it was understood that the visit didn’t happen to coincide with uour winter adventure – enough about that – on to the story…

After a quick stop at the NH state liquor store, ,(a state run monopolized liquor sale emporium managed by the “live free or die state”.  Dave and all his stuff was packed and orf they went. As we ventured into Vermont, we were all quite proud that we were traveling in the official car of the State of Vermont, the all-wheel drive Subaru station wagon. Some couldn’t help but point out each and every one of them on route 89 and beyond.
The first leg of the trip was to bag a confluence at 44N 73W.  The effort was a “side trip” in a larger journey to the western edge of the Green Mountains of Vermont, for a 2 day yurt/snowshoeing outing.  From I-89 we picked up rt 107 and headed west at Bethel, VT., following the White River north to near its source near Hancock, then continuing west on rt 125, crossing over the Green Mountain range at the Middlebury Gap which rises steeply to 2197.6 feet (680m).
From bare ground in Boston, we experienced a partial snow cover at the New Hampshire border, and increasingly thick cover, until it was nearly a foot and a half (.5m) deep of nice fresh powder in central Vermont.  To add to the excitement, a snowstorm accompanied us from the time we left the Interstate, until arriving at the start of the hike.  After an outstanding lunch/breakfast at a classic local restaurant, we arrived at Ripton, VT, located Lincoln Road, which took us about 2.484 miles (4km) north along the North Branch Middlebury River to our starting point at Norton Farm Road. The road was a seasonal road and not drivable. With the generous amount of snow in north country this year, it was a favorite of large numbers of skimobilers using it as an access route to locations higher in the mountains. Our group of 4 began our hike along this well defined trail, occasionally dodging caravans of snowmobilers heading in either direction. Just somewhat disturbing as they broke the winter silence with their whiney 2 cycle engines. The most disturbing aspect of their presence was the exhaust fumes they left behind, reporting their presence long after they had passed, oh well there’s room for everyone right? The weather was light overcast and mild temperatures a little below freezing (-5C). The forest was mostly mixed deciduous; birches, beech, maples, & oak, with groves of conifers; spruce & balsam fir, becoming more numerous as we went higher.
Near the beginning of the hike, we witnessed a backwoods recluse; a "Snuffy Smith" character, shoveling snow off the roof of his abode.   We speculated on the hermit-like lifestyle of these strange mountain people.

2 km into the hike, we located a narrow foot trail heading south.  From this point on, we wore snowshoes, as this was an undisturbed path.  We were 1 km north of the confluence, and followed this trail all the way to 44N, before bushwhacking east for the final 1200 feet or so (400m). There were numerous small stream crossings to negotiate. The meter deep snow made this task easier by forming bridges at some of the brook narrows. Also, marshlands were frozen and easily traversed.
Underbrush in the forest was packed down under the snow, making the hike easier for clumsy snowshoes. We traversed multiple small streams over which we pondered how thick the ice might be or if we would all die, plunging into the frigid waters of backwoods Vermont (except that the water was only likely 12 inches (17cm) deep.
We arrived at the confluence in a hardwood forest bordering a marsh. The surrounding modest sized trees, not taller that 10 meters, disrupted the GPS signal, forcing us to dance in the woods for a while to get the zeros.
There was also a geocache reported to be placed here, but we did not find this prize after a short search, as it was buried under too much snow.
We took the required pictures, and left under darkening skies. An approaching squall line signaled a cold front passage. We were caught in a brief snow squall on the return trip. We retraced our path without incident, and arrived back at the trail head in time to see the late afternoon sun emerge beneath the frontal boundary.
Later, the temperature would drop to somewhere in the teens ( -20C), with NW winds gusting to 40 mph (64 km/hr). We were fortunate to have made this hike in milder conditions. Back at the car, Matt began his lament of why one should never snowshoe in brand new hiking boots – the massive, bleeding heel blisters, which would later thwart his efforts to enjoy any further hikes for the weekend, had formed. The pain was fairly intolerable at the end of this relatively short hike in the woods.
Editor's note: The short hike was 4.6 miles (7.6 km). Decent effort; even by PhD standards.

From here, the exultant crew (well, at least Charlie was exultant) piled into the Subaru and we headed orf to the yurt, hopeful to reach it before nightfall.  After a long trip up the wrong road, with incorrect navigational support from Mr. GPS, we found the familiar farm that was the starting point from which to reach the yurt accommodation.
As we exited the car, it was clear that the temperature had dropped precipitously since we had got into the car an hour or so prior. In addition, the wind howled driving the temperature to outrageous wind chill lows (roughly -38 C or –20 F wind chills). We piled our provisions into sleds and began dragging them up the hill towards the yurt.   Facing the fierce winds was a challenge along with the deep drifted snow.  The path to the yurt was indistinguishable, especially as the darkness had taken over the frozen, wind-swept field.  Dave made a manly attempt to pull the biggest heaviest sled up the hill by himself. About 200 meters into the trek forward progress began to diminish despite his best efforts. Torm joined and he and Dave pulled together doing a passing impression of an oxen team for a while until Dave lost power all together. Tom continued on, ignoring the enquiries from Charlie bringing up the rear, “Do you see the yurt? Are we there yet?”   As Matt arrived, his fingers frozen, he complained loudly, but erroneously that the yurt door was locked.  Torm arrive moments later and pulled at the door only to find that Matt was wrong – it was simply frozen shut. Dave and Charlie came along moments later only to notify Matt that he had unknowingly dropped a bag of supplies along the way – thankfully Dave and Charlie found it.

We entered the yurt to find some remnants of embers in the woodstove and were thankful for that.  The inside temperature was perhaps –8 C, about 15 F.  Dave immediately got to stoking the fire.  The rest of us waited in great anticipation, but as it turned out, unfulfilled, for the warmth to build in the yurt. We unpacked and Matt started to melt snow, unpack dinner materials and get the wine back to a temperature suitable for drinking (roughly 18 degree C).  We all agreed that after the harrowing hike, we would take things slowly and not rush into dinner. Bottles were uncorked and mugs located to share the wine. As we got more light into the yurt, Charlie began to complain bitterly about the shortcomings of the Spruce yurt, he being a yurt veteran having just returned from a yurt date of sorts with his girlfriend at the far superior in every way Frost Mountain Yurt near Fryeburg Maine. He noted the filthy containers in this yurt. He also griped about the small size of the woodstove, the lack of dish detergent, the shortcomings of the shovel, the size of the logs for the stove, the warped frying pan, the inoperative, rusted can opener, the priviy door that wouldn't close, and a multitude of other yurt-related items.   It wouldn’t end, this griping.  He even went so far to suggest that we bash this yurt on our website. Not a good idea, we determined, since we enjoyed the location of this yurt immensely, and most of us could look beyond the few little inconveniences and enjoy the place.

Dinner ensued with smoked salmon/capers/cream cheese and shallots on crackers.  This seemed to alleviate some of the bellyaching of the crew.  Dinner followed with tortellini with mushroom sauce and the rolled stuffed pork cutlets, cooked partially in the white wine that Charlie brought.  Matt had casually asked if he could use a little of Charlie’s wine to add a suitable gourmet touch to his creation. It was later discovered that contents of the bottle had diminished substantially from both cooking and clandestine consumption.  This became a problem later on when he decided his wine ration was unreasonably reduced due to cooking and the occasional imbibing of the primary cook for the evening.
Dessert was biscotti. The food warmed the crew and mellowed the room.  The wood stove struggled to keep up with the winds outside.

We packed it in for the night and reminded Charlie and Dave that they needed to keep the fire stoked – Charlie had recently earned distinction as a junior/assistant-to-the-master fire guy and was carrying out his part far better than the past performance that nearly killed us all.
The yurt stayed reasonably warm for the night, except for Dave who found that his new sleeping bag wasn’t very warm at all, although he did brag about how easy it was to stuff and store – not a lot of help when the temps plunged below zero outside and the wind howled. An amazing thing happened in the morning – Charlie cooked breakfast – boxed omelets all around and hash to warm us up. English muffins were creatively “buttered and warmed. All was enjoyed along with several litres of coffee for Matt.
In the morning, we again struggled to get the yurt up to a reasonable temperature. It was very cold outside, but the wind had mercifully died down.  We did decide to venture to over the Maple yurt on the same property to see if its woodstove was any more efficient than our own.  We snow shoed over, Matt complaining of pain on each step. Charlie proclaimed that the yurt was “locked” with great dismay and bluster (as always). This caused us to go back down the hill to the farm to see if we could get the key and to ask permission of the farmer/proprietor to change yurts if we found the second yurt to be warmer.

We met up with the proprietor of the yurt accommodation – a tough and very pleasant lady dressed in appropriate but sh--t covered clothing. She let us know that the yurt was not locked but likely frozen shut was certainly available to us but was amused at why we would be pondering a move. Charlie decided to debate this assertion at length with the owner (much to Tom’s poorly hidden annoyance) and she set Charlie straight about what the issue was as to the condition at the second yurt. She invited us to do what we wanted to (being a gracious host) and Charlie persisted in his disagreement, about which we protested.
We left the debate to Charlie and walked through the expansive barn on our way out, marveling at the livestock and general warmth of the barn as we passed through. At this point, we were all cold and wondering if the second yurt would ever be adequate for habitation. We agreed to return to the second yurt and to light a woodstove fire. We did so and were this time joined by an overly enthusiastic Golden Retriever dog who appeared to adore us (in spite of us). We arrived at the yurt again and much to Charlie’s chagrin, found that the latch was merely frozen, not locked.  Matt, having learned his lesson at the last yurt, yanked appropriately on the door latch and it flew open. The interior, although not considerably different than the other yurt, was a bit cleaner and, we thought potentially more inhabitable than the original yurt.  Dave quickly found a spare sleeping bag, which he felt, might take some of the chill out of his other bag, were it to be used as an outer covering to his own easily-store-but-not-terribly efficient bag.

We deliberated for some time about how we would judge the relative comfort and stove capabilities of this yurt. After some time, we agreed that we should give the stove 2-3 hours to establish full heating capability. We left to go for a ride into the civilized world, with the car heater on full blast (as long as Tom could stand such a thing) and decided to return later.
We took a car trip into town and found our needed provisions (Matt’s decilitre o’coffee, Charlie’s exceptionally expensive bottle of white wine, Dave’s soda, etc.). On returning to the yurt, we found it to be only marginally warmer than when we head left it hours before.   We thus decided that it was not worth the effort of a move from our prior accommodation.  We hiked back to find our primary accommodation about as expected.  After lunch, expertly prepared by Dave, the group decided to go for a further hike up to the Long Trail that wasn’t too far from the yurt.  Matt finally conceded that he would not risk further blister-related bleeding and pain and reconciled himself to sitting on his ass in the yurt, putting his feet up on the stove while others ventured on with full understanding of the crap he would take in doing so at some point in the future.
The other PhDs set out on the hike. It was all uphill, along paths that were confusingly defined on various maps. We trudged along thru a beautiful woods, marveling at the x-country ski trails left by other adventurous travelers.  Charlie collapsed in exhaustion, & returned ahead of Dave & Tom, who achieved a summit of sorts, and encountered the shelter that had eluded us earlier in the hike.  The group returned satisfied that they had seen great things, having hiked part of the Long Trail, with excellent views into the Green Mountains.

Following this adventure, Tom began his preparation of the evening meal.  He spent hours setting out and preparing the ingredients, with it becoming apparent the meal ahead of us was enormous and filled with great stuff. The paella was completed in fine style and served up. It was enjoyed immensely by all, with plenty of leftovers that were agreed to being fit for a yurt-man’s breakfast. Dave was enamored by the wine offerings of the evening, and in particular a Rioja, which Dave referred to as the “chicken-wire wine”. It was all good.
The conversation went to all manners of things – the use of the metric system, the extremes of political rhetoric and even the cultural preferences for particular beverages said to preserve health and on and on.

We hit the sleeping bags fairly early, with Dave and Charlie committing to keep the wood stove stoked.  In the a.m., was again, quite cold in spite of their efforts. We ate breakfast, which was almost as good as the night before.
We hiked down the hill, across the wind-swept farm and piled into the car, again thankful for the heat of the car.  A quiet ride back to drop off Dave, and then onward to the Blue Hills parking lot.  Another successful and pleasant adventure for the PHD’s (or at least those who were men enough to come along…