This past Wednesday, I got an unexpected call from a volunteer one year deep in his service. “Some guys and I are going to spend the weekend in mountains, traveling to yurts on horseback, wanna come?”

Well, two days later, the five of us were piling into a 25 year old Audi helmed by Mr. Zoo, the one time Himalayan long-haul truck driver, water purifier, and anti-Taliban Soviet sniper. He dropped us off at Tash Rabat, the 15^th century, stone, Silk Road pit stop, still miraculously well preserved. On our first night, we tooled around the grounds, basking in the mystery of the structure, the valley, and prefect blue skies.

After a rousing night in one of the nearby yurts, we mounted our steeds (wearing our PC approved bicycle helmets, of course) and headed for Chatyr-Kol, or Roof Lake, reached by a 6 hour, 13,000 foot pass.

The weather was warm and golden, and the scenery was beautiful, defined by big green hills with long spines of stone growing from their crests. Our guide would utter little beyond vague directional’s, otherwise, giving us free range to lollygag, trot or gallop. As we reached the pass, however, we bunched up, and he watched us close as the path turned into little more than the most solid trail of sand and rock, helping our horses ascend the mountain.

At the top of the pass, we saw the 12 by 25 kilometer Roof Lake splayed before us, with the Torugart Pass planted clearly on the other side, just another time in my life where I found myself gazing at the lands of China. That night, as we brushed our teeth next to the stream outside of our yurt, picking out constellations in the clear sky, our guide asked, “so, if it snows tomorrow, can we just spend the night?” “Not a chance!” we shot back, laughing at his little joke.

But he wasn’t joking. The next morning, as the owners pulled the flap off the roof of our yurt, we were greeted by thick clouds and snowflakes. While this crew of adventurous guys somehow knew this might happen, none of us were really quite prepared for heavy snowfall in August. So we donned every article of clothing we had, from camp towels as scarves, to my rain-coat stuff-sack as a mitten.

But neither too were we prepared to see a heard of yaks resting comfortably in the blizzard before a dramatic stone mountain with Swiss-cheese holes, dropped out of a scene from Lord of the Rings. It was wonderful and beautiful and unlike anything I’ve done in my life.

As wonderful and dangerous as that sandy pass was covered in snow, the real test was the last 2 hours, in the pouring rain. I can guarantee you folks, you’ll never be happier to see a yurt with a fire of cow dung, than after a trek like that.

Originally Written August 16th, 2009