Far from their central Asian roots yurts are making a mark on North American landscapes

A word of advice: never enter yurts uninvited. Eight hundred years ago on the high plateaus of Mongolia, where yurts became the dwelling of choice for nomadic herdsmen, the doorways were probably low enough that visitors stooped to enter, making it easy work to behead unwelcome guests.

Geopolitics have changed somewhat in the years between then and now, and so has the yurt. But the more things change, the more they stay the same - despite the use of modern materials, today's yurt remains recognizably a yurt, and still aspires to the same goal: home.

Earth, sun and sky. Culturally speaking, the yurt is designed to reflect those spiritual preoccupations: the earth is represented by the floor, the sky by the roof, the sun by the hole in the center of the roof, and the hearth, the center of creation. While the components are simple enough - latticed panels (gana) composed of crisscrossing poles forming the conical shape, and roof poles (uni) radiating from a central hub (toghana), that forms the hearth's smoke hole - the spiritual dimension of the yurt resurfaces even in the construction details, like the very significant 13 points of intersection along the length of any given pole in the lattice wall.

Quite apart from the deeper meaning of the yurt's shape, its conical form is efficient and practical, allowing for the largest possible floor space with the least expenditure of materials and at the same time offering less wind resistance, ideal for windswept plateaus. Driving across the Canadian prairies, you'll see some of the same principles applied to grain storage, and for some of the same reasons.

The framework was covered in felted wool, called Isegei, traditionally made by layering raw fleece over an existing felt, moistening it with soapy water, then rolling the layers into a protective covering and dragging the bundle behind a horse, or rolling it along the ground between two people until the new wool matted into the old. According to students of Mongolian tradition, the most desirable colour of this felt was white, though they were often decorated with patterns created from coloured wool. Depending on the weather, a Mongolian yurt might be covered in as many as six layers of this felt.

The emphasis on the use of materials most readily at hand in an ungenerous landscape, namely animal skins, fleece, native wood and rawhide, is a cornerstone of yurt design and construction. Portability was another cornerstone - nomadic people need a dwelling that's moveable, preferably by as few beasts of burden as possible. Common wisdom said yurts should be moved before the grass has worn away at the base.

Unlike other indigenous dwellings this style of housing hasn't disappeared from the landscape of central Asia. Still a preferred choice for many Mongolians, the capital, Ulaan Baatar, is ringed by a yurt suburb. At the same time, though, globalization marches on: the yurt is capturing the attention of North Americans, Europeans, Australians, and Japanese with interests ranging from alternative building to creative anachronism..

Credit for the first yurt built in North America belongs to teacher and then Harvard doctoral candidate Bill Coperthwaite, who, through a 1962 National Geographic article on Mongolia, became intrigued by their possibilities as both shelter and teaching tool. In addition to creating The Yurt Foundation in 1972, which has assisted hundreds of organizations on yurt-building projects, Coperthwaite has built and unparalleled number of yurt variations - including tapered, solid wood-walled versions that, while not portable enough to please a nomad, are well suited to the climate of Maine, where he now lives.

Some of Coperthwaite's early students went on to become innovators themselves, including David Raitt, who established yurt communities in New Hampshire and California, and Chuck Cox, who started the first fabric yurt company in the western world.

There are now a number of companies producing yurts in North America, Australia and the United Kingdom. The objective has been to adapt the yurt to a variety of climatic conditions - adding foundations, dealing with water catchments, snow loads, heat retentions, and, of course, building codes no Mongolian herdsman would have dreamed of having to accommodate.

What makes today's yurt different is the use of modern materials. Felt covers were well matched to the dry Central Asian climate, but not to the conditions of much of North America, and they were far too attractive as nesting material for birds and rodents. And with some felts requiring as much as 220 pounds of fleece, the yurt might well be restricted to people with unfettered access to a flock of sheep.

Enter canvas and vinyl, which solve the moisture problem. But where felt excels and canvas falls down is in keeping the cold out, and commercial yurt manufacturers usually add insulation ranging from quilting fiberfill to space-age materials like Reflectix, which is a layer of foil on either side of a kind of bubble-wrap.

Flooring is another consideration, because while yurts can sit directly on the ground in dry climates, comfort dictates some other approach in colder, wetter conditions. North American yurts are often built on wooden decks, or, as one manufacturer suggests, on R24 structurally insulated panels. More novel suggestions include radiantly heated cob.

While yurts are lesser known in Canada, south of the border they are a more familiar, if not entirely common, sight. Oregon, for instance, bought 159 yurts for use as camping facilities in 19 state parks. Yurts are also popping up as backcountry shelters, ski lodges and, as noted during the 2002
Winter Olympics, as a restaurant near Salt Lake City, Utah. And, updating the old chestnut about bringing coals to Newcastle, Nesting Bird Yurts of Port Townsend, Washington, has sold yurts to Mongolia.

Closer to home, Douglas Lake Ranch, a working ranch and resort northeast of Merritt, B.C., acquired their first 24 foot yurt in 1997, and since then have added four more.

"They're very popular," says Douglas Lake Resorts and Recreation Manager Carlo Elstak, noting a steady increase in bookings over the past two years and rave reviews from previous guests. Elstak first noticed them at a US trade show and they fit well with Douglas Lake Ranch's plans.

"We wanted easy, cost effective accommodation," he says. "They're so unique. People see the pictures and they want to try them."

The Douglas Lake yurts, all of which have running hot and cold water, airtight stoves and sleep four adults, are all-season, but they're largely inaccessible during the winter months, since the ranch doesn't allow snowmobiling, and the gravity fed water systems are turned off in the fall.

It was the use of yurts in Oregon's state parks that caught Burnaby, B.C. resident Frank Wingelman's attention. Wingelman connected the dots between this simple, cost effective form of accommodation and a people's growing desire for recreational properties and began building his own yurts in August 2001. His company, Yurtco, produces the wood components of the yurt, using kiln dried Douglas fir, continuing the traditional use of local materials. The covering is a weatherproof and flame retardant vinyl.

"These are tough structures," Wingelman says. Working with an engineer to determine the load bearing ability of one of Yurtco's yurts, Wingelman arranged for a crane to place 4,400 pounds on the center of the roof, and the yurt passed the test.

With yurts as permanent as mobile as the owners decide to make it, the marriage of the yurt and recreational property is a good one. Even if the yurt doesn't fit your idea of a cabin by the lake, they make great temporary living, workshops, or guest accommodation.

In other words, an accessory building. That's what yurts are usually considered, according to Dick Stubbs, Senior Building Inspector on Salt Spring Island, since they're not approved for year-round residential use in B.C. The primary issues, Stubbs says, are insulation and engineering - even if they're approved where they were manufactured, they still need a stamp from an engineer licensed to practise in B.C. Most yurts he's seen will handle roof 25 psi snow load, but that needs to be higher in most locations. All these problems could be addressed, he says, with some modification to the yurt.

"Check the zoning laws where you're planning to put it," Stubbs advises. In his jurisdiction, accessory buildings can be built first, or built without an accompanying residence, and camping is allowed for a total of 42 days per year (30 consecutive days).

For the weekender, or for people whose long term building dreams outstrip their wallets over the short term, that might just fit the bill. Eight hundred years of design can't be so wrong.

The Mongolian climate has much in common with the climate of the Canadian prairies; frequent high winds, sudden and drastic changes in temperature, the ability to remain bitterly cold for weeks on end…Softened as we are by the comfort and modern conveniences of the western civilization, who wants to spend a winter protected by only a few layers of felt and some sticks?

Garfield Sproule, for one. About l00 kilometres northeast of Calgary, Sproule built his own yurt and now lives in it year round.

In many ways, Sproule's 21-foot yurt follows the traditional Mongolian blueprint. A committed do-it-yourselfer, Sproule constructed the yurt with an inventive and eclectic use of materials, many of which are local. For instance, the roof is a woven poly tarp meant for temporary grain storage, supported by lodgepole pine teepee poles, and the ganas are Douglas fir, split from the 2x4 framing of an old granary.

Outside of three one-amp solar panels, which power an RV battery for his stereo, cell phone and such, Sproule has made few compromises to modernity. The door (south facing, naturally) has Styrofoam core; the ground is covered by two-inch Styrofoam insulation, plywood and a layer of carpet. The walls are doubled army surplus canvas and inside they are lined with reflective single bubble aluminum foil insulation. Water for drinking, cooking and washing is stored in jugs.

Sproule's yurt is heated with a woodstove. He uses mainly dry deadfall for fuel, but mixes in one wet maple to keep coals burning through the night.

When we visited, the outside temperature was - 22oC, but a balmy 20oC inside (though several degrees cooler at ground level).

Still, such trail blazing has not come without a price, mainly in the form of many a cold night and he quickly found adaptations were necessary in order to make the yurt tolerable for winter living on the prairies.

Most significantly, a nine-foot diameter satellite dish, centered above the stove, now hangs suspended inside the yurt, adding a distinctly post-modern touch to the surroundings. Stretching out from the wall, Sproule has added a thick sheet of vapor barrier - grommetted, threaded and pulled snug over the dish - essentially creating a second ceiling, which greatly increases the yurt's capacity to retain heat.

Now Sproule can warm the 330 square foot yurt from -30oC to 25oC in about an hour. It's like a giant chicken brooder," he says of the dish.

Another benefit of this second ceiling - the snow collecting on the roof no longer melts off, but instead remains as a third layer of insulation, at least until the next windstorm.

Sproule says his reasons for choosing a yurt were multi-layered, "I wanted to be free of mortgage and rent
payments, and it's the most comfortable living space I've had.

"I didn't want to chop down a forest to build it; I didn't have to dam a river to power it and I didn't have to drill an oil well to heat it."

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