The weekend we raised our yurt this past summer was one of the most wild experiences of my life. Post-weekend, my knuckles were swollen, I would wake up nightly to unconsciously scratching of mosquito bites on my legs, and I had a handful of cuts and bruises that lasted a few weeks. But at the end of the day, we had a yurt!
The whole experience was, for the most part, smooth. It was challenging — yes. It was time consuming. But it was fun! And it was rad that we had friends come out and help with various parts of the raising. From hands-on help from the start, to homemade mojitos and jalapeño poppers mid-day, borrowed tools and a trailer, responses to frantic text messages… all the kindness from our support network here in Montana was slightly overwhelming.
For one, I learned that yurts are totally beginner friendly. With a little common sense and planning ahead, I really think anyone can do it. Our advantage came from first disassembling the yurt from the woman we purchased it from, and then building it back up again.
Initially, we called Hayes, the owner of Shelter Designs in Missoula, and asked him if we could hire him for the yurt raising, as the yurt we purchased was a Shelter Designs yurt. There are a lot of moving parts, and Hayes is a great crowd organizer… he knows what needs to get done. Obviously, he does this for a living. When Sean asked him, Hayes basically said (paraphrasing here), “I’m pretty busy this summer, but I think you guys can handle it. I’ll send you a DVD.”
I thought… A DVD. Really? What are we doing here, baking cookies or building a house?
But when we actually watched the DVD, we knew Hayes was right. It explained everything from start to finish, with super detailed instructions—exactly the things he would have been telling us had he been here. So we would do a few tasks on the yurt, and then watch some DVD on a laptop… go back to yurt stuff, have lunch, and watch a little more DVD. That got us through it. That DVD was the key to building our yurt.
Here are a few shots from the big day. Arranging the windows, doorways and lattice walls:
Our buddy Mikey, placing the tension cable through the tops of the lattice walls:
The cable is made to fit our 30-foot yurt EXACTLY. Thus, it takes a bit of time to wiggle it through the lattice walls perfectly enough for this hook to actually lock.
Brandon, Sean and Mikey, prepping to lift that ring (at their feet) above their heads and start placing the beams, which connect to the outer lattice walls. This is the most dangerous part of a yurt raising… those beams are heavy!
A nervous smile from me on the ground. My job was to run around the yurt like a crazy woman, handing the guys one end of a beam, and placing the other end of the beam on the cable in the precise spot. Luckily, we only had a few tense moments, one of which involved a beam nailing me in the arm. I had a massive bruise to show for that one.
Until the first five (maybe six) beams are up, it’s super tense because someone always has to be holding that ring up (which weighs a ton). It was a lot of arms-over-the-head action for those guys.
Once the beams are in, it’s fun to put on the white lining (1st layer) and the insulation (2nd layer). Although, we were pretty lucky the sun was behind a cloud during this part… that insulation is like one big sun screen!
Here was the HARDEST part of the day. Even harder than putting in the beams. That crescent roll up there is the outer canvas of the yurt and it weighs a million pounds. Maybe not a million, but it sure seemed like it. It took 4 of us to hoist it up to the scaffolding, and then a lot of grunting and groaning to get it out of the center ring and onto the roof. I won’t even go into the madness involved with trying to spread that thing out around the yurt. Again, if you’re building a NEW yurt, your canvas comes nice and folded — like, the size of a sleeping bag — and you roll it down easily over a designated opening. With ours? It was a bit of a jumble to get it looking good. It took us about three hours on just on this part.
And after getting the top on, we had to then put on the side insulation panels and the side canvas panels. They were heavy, but nowhere near as heavy as the top. This part was also difficult because our yurt is so high off the ground, and we had to use lean-to ladders (as opposed to the A-frame ladders) to get as high as the top. Eventually, we splurged and bought a 12-foot ladder — which is KEY for 30-foot yurt maintenance.
Then there was the dome, being pulled up the outside to the top:
And then, behold the yurt in all her glory after the final pieces of the structure were on! All in all, these steps took us 1.5 days to complete. Yes, it’s THAT easy!
Sean & Mollie Busby are Osprey Packs Ambassadors. Sean is a professional backcountry snowboarder. In 2004, while training for the 2010 Olympics, Sean endured a complicated diagnosis of type 1 diabetes. Considering leaving snowboarding all together, Sean was inspired by reading stories of kids living with T1D that inspired him to keep living his dreams. He founded Riding On Insulin, a nonprofit, to honor all the kids who inspired him to keep living. In February 2014, Sean became the first person with T1D to backcountry snowboard all seven continents at the age of 29 in 2014. Mollie Busby graduated from the University of Wisconsin-Madison with degrees in Journalism and Retail. A series of life-changing events brought Mollie and Sean together in February 2010, and after five months, Mollie moved west. The pair was married in September, 2011 and now resides in a 30-foot yurt with their dogs, Daisy and Glacier, in Whitefish, Montana. For more, visit Two Sticks and a Board online, or follow Sean and Mollie on Instagram.
Sean & Mollie Busby are Osprey Packs Ambassadors. Sean is a professional backcountry snowboarder. In 2004, while training for the 2010 Olympics, Sean endured a complicated diagnosis of type 1 diabetes. Considering leaving snowboarding all together, Sean was inspired by reading stories of kids living with T1D that inspired him to keep living his dreams. He founded Riding On Insulin, a nonprofit, to honor all the kids who inspired him to keep living. In February 2014, Sean became the first person with T1D to backcountry snowboard all seven continents at the age of 29 in 2014. Mollie Busby graduated from the University of Wisconsin-Madison with degrees in Journalism and Retail. A series of life-changing events brought Mollie and Sean together in February 2010, and after five months, Mollie moved west. The pair was married in September, 2011 and now resides in a 30-foot yurt with their dogs, Daisy and Glacier, in Whitefish, Montana. Follow their adventures at Two Sticks and A Board and to learn more about Sean’s work educating kids about diabetes and winter sports, visit the Riding On Insulin website.
We had never built anything, let alone a home. But today, I’m proud to say that my husband and I live in an off-the-grid yurt, that we built with our bare hands.
The first part of our story begins in 2012. Sean and I had just begun our journey as Greasecar owners with our 1977 Dodge Travel Queen motorhome that we purchased from our co-owners, Russ and Brittany. We’d gotten a taste of living simply on our drive to Alaska and back (Read more of that here). Not only did we utilize a waste product (waste veggie oil) for our motorhome’s fuel and a natural product (Goal Zero solar power) for our electricity, but we learned a lot about using less. Living in small places, making do with what you have, and using the earth in ways it was intended to be used. (Editor’s Note: I wouldn’t recommend driving to Alaska with 4 people and a dog to figure these things out.)
The second phase of our yurt journey was a trip to Central Asia in December of that year. We visited a small, mountainous country called Kyrgyzstan near the birthplace of yurts (Mongolia) where being a yurt-craftsman is a highly respected, lucrative trade. Families depend on the sale of these structures to support themselves. A yurt — simply defined — is a round structure traditionally used by nomadic tribes in Central Asia. ShelterDesigns.net defines it a bit further: “A yurt consists of a round wall and a roof system that is free standing using a tension ring at the wall and a compression ring where the roof rafters tie together.” Some would call it a glorified tent:
While in Kyrgyzstan, Sean and I fell in love with the symmetry and balance we found in traditional yurts. As opposed to the jagged, 90-degree angles of a traditional house, we felt more at ease in these structures where energy can travel with easy throughout the space. Keep in mind, these photos are of very traditional yurts — not quite the same structure we’re putting on our land (we’ll get to that in a minute). For now, I love this photo of Sean — it captures true happiness:
If this family could sell three yurts a year (which they do — sometimes more), they will have enough income to not only survive, but fare extremely well in comparison to families of other trades in the village.
Flash forward to Whitefish, spring 2014: Sean had gone back and forth to determine what sort of “tiny structure” we were going to build on our land — tiny house, yurts, fire towers, tee-pees, etc. After months of research, he landed back on a yurt, officially. As if the universe had been waiting for us to decide, Sean came across a pre-assembled yurt for sale on YurtForum.com 20 minutes from our home manufactured by Montana’s Shelter Designs. A Montana-made yurt available LOCALLY… and technically, we would be buying second-hand. It was perfect.
Here is the yurt before we disassembled it in Kalispell, Montana:
Here is a photo of the yurt, reassembled on our property in Whitefish, Montana:
Some hard facts: Our yurt is roughly 700 square feet of living space, plus a loft (300 additional square feet). It’s 1 bedroom (plus sleeping space in the loft) and 1 bathroom, fully wired and plumbed, although we opt for solar power, a composting toilet, and rainwater collection. We have come so far, and yet have so far to go! Stay tuned for more posts from yurt life!
To see photo and read stories of the whole process, from disassembly to building a deck to building the yurt itself and more, click here. You can also follow our travels on Instagram: Mollie @TwoSticksAndABoard and Sean @SeanBusby
Central Asia, DIY, energy, Greasecar, inspiration, Kyrgyzstan, Mollie Busby, Mongolia, Montana, motorhome, off-grid, offgrid, Osprey Ambassador, Osprey Ambassadors, Riding On Insulin, Sean Busby, ski, skiing, snowboard, snowboarding, solar power, The Busbys, tiny homes, travel, Two Sticks and A Board, Whitefish, yurt, yurtlife, yurts
A year ago to the day I stood on the bridge in downtown Missoula trying to get a good photo of kayakers surfing the standing wave. Now I’m deciphering the best method for getting up on surfboard without the dozens of spectators thinking I’m a joke.
Since it’s National Bike Month, we’re celebrating all month long with our Where’s Your Adventure? Photo Contest. Boating with a bike is pretty adventurous if you ask us, so congrats to this week’s winner, Dean McCollom, who submitted this shot from a trip on the Blackfoot River in Montana. He not only scores a yearlong membership to Adventure Cycling Association, but also a brand spaning new Raptor 6 hydration pack!
Want to enter the contest too? Give us your most adventurous cycling photo; it can be from a gnarly section of single track or bombing down an urban hill on your single speed. Just upload your photo to our Flickr pooland tag it with “adventurecycling.” Every week during the month of May we’ll be picking our favorite to win an ACA membership and a Raptor 6. At the end of the month we’ll leave picking the winner up to you, getting our fans to vote and choose our People’s Choice Winner.
Note: Osprey will retain the right to images for future use in blog posts. And please note that we can ship to U.S. addresses only.
Unlike most autumns, October in Montana remained sunny and warm. In many other years I have been climbing ice during October… Not this one. The autumn of 2010 will go down in my books as one of warmest and sunniest I have ever had. I spent most days climbing near home but did take a one week trip to Utah. The plan was to climb five big routes between Red Rocks and Zion in six days. Like many climbing trips and plans this one was subject to weather, physical well-being and many other fates of the universe.
It had been raining for one week in both areas prior to our arrival. The soft Navajo sandstone face holds are notorious for breaking after such saturating storms, and camming units slide out of cracks with much more ease (especially the smaller sizes). Fortunately we had a back up plan: the severely overhanging limestone routes at the Cathedral crag and its neighboring Wailing Wall. These sport crags lie just outside of St. George, Utah roughly half-way (by road) between Red Rocks and Zion and tend to stay dry due to its geographic location and the steep nature of the rock.
We departed Vegas and drove through the night planning to arrive around 10am. The “old reliable” truck, Earl Grey, decided to stop operating in the midst of the New River Gorge on I-15 right around 10 pm. After being towed we got a new battery at a 24-hour Walmart and replaced the alternator the next day.
The following day we pulled up to the crag and soon realized we were outnumbered 10-1 by gun-toting folks in orange — it was opening weekend for Utah’s short five-day hunting season. I was personally missing out on Montana’s opening weekend, but lucky for me our season lasts nearly a month. We found a spot to throw down and camp and stayed there the following three days waiting for the rain to pass out of Zion. In those three days we climbed many a dazzling steep lines (see photos) on some of the best limestone I have touched.
The skies finally cleared the evening of our second day, but we needed to wait at least 24 hours for the stone to dry in Zion. So we checked out the Black and Tan wall. No where near as good as The Cathedral, but at least we were climbing.
And finally we made our way to Zion, and got right on the route Monkey Finger (5.12 8 pitches). The climbing was going smoothly though the rock was still a bit wet. At the top of the 3rd pitch I put my body in an odd position and suddenly my whole shoulder sublexed (not quite popping out of socket but damn close). It had never happened to me prior to that incident, and I sure as hell didn’t want to become the guy with the chronic shoulder problems. The trip was over. I finished the pitch, then we rappelled.
Unfortunately this particular climbing trip did not quite go as planned. However I did get to pass many a good days with a great old friend. We plan to reunite in the future to carry through with our larger objectives. In the mean time I am back here in Montana diversifying my outdoor life, riding the bike a lot more, hunting, running and just taking it easy on the shoulder and rehabbing until it gets better.
On this very fine day the sun is still shining with temps in the 60’s, I have an elk roast slowly steaming away in a crock pot, and I just finalized some plans to do a rock trip to Spain and Morocco this winter! Injuries do suck, but it forces me to tap in to other outlets and embrace some new creativity.
hast la proxima,
The sun has been shining steadily and the temps have been unbelievably warm here in southwest Montana. I spent the first week back home climbing in the Gallatin canyon, rallying up local bike trails and having pints with friends I had not seen all summer.
It wasn’t too long before we began to scheme on some new route potential in the southern Beartooths. We had been eyeing this spectacular crack system that was defended by a ominous 15-foot roof and it now seemed like the time
to go piece it together. We left the Gallatin Valley in the “Blue Streak”, a 1986 foggy-blue Subaru with a white stripe down its center. Off at a top speed of 65mph we meandered through many a two-lane roads finally arriving at our lengthy dirt access road. This little Suby shines best on the dirt and we quickly navigated with controlled sideway slides to our destination.
The first day we checked out the line making sure it would go, and decided it would need a few bolts to piece the cracks together.
On day two, we began our ascent armed with a double set of cams, may nuts, one 60-meter lead line, a 60-meter tag line and a bolt kit. The first pitch was a slightly dirty 5.10+ that ended in a bat guano filled slot. Pitch 2 got us in to the goods: a 5.11+ flared gaping mouth of a crack that traversed over 20 feet.
Pitch 3, a 5.12-, followed incipient cracks on thin gear for 50 feet to the base of the roof, which we named the route after – “The Traditional Bitch Slap” or TBS, due to the way we felt after pulling through it.
Pitch 4, a 5.11+, started off just above the lip of the roof, right into a tough stem corner. The climbing was sustained stemming with a powerful lay back crux.
Back on the ground, we enjoyed a tasty frothy beverage and loaded back into the Blue Streak. Pressing play on the tape deck and dropping the transmission to four low, we established the Blue Streak’s theme song that weekend, and those fine cuban-rooted-rhythms blared through its one speaker as we climbed up the steep hill to once again to access the two lane roads that would lead us home through a gauntlet of ungulates.
Back from climbing in Cuba and surfing in Costa Rica, I went straight to work in the Tetons of Wyoming and the Beartooth Mountains of Montana for Jackson Hole Mountain Guides. I spent the vast majority of my summer days guiding above 11,000 feet based out of our high camp on The Grand Teton and the Beartooth Plateau of Montana.
I feel fortunate to spend so many days out in the hills for my work, and this summer was a busy one (only 3 days off in August). I saw many a sunrise in the midst of our pre-dawn alpine starts, and many a sunset just as I was climbing into my sleeping bag for an early night’s rest.