Who would have thought that at the foot of Yulong Snow Mountain, I’d end up in a Wild West–style adventure?

During my days in Lijiang, even the usually calm old town couldn’t suppress the urge to go hiking. I’d heard that Yuhu Village, just outside the city, had a hiking route leading to Milk Lake.

I got too curious about the produce market at the foot of the snow mountain and lingered long enough to miss the shuttle bus. Thinking I was being clever, I figured I could go to Milk Lake first and then hike back.

What I didn’t expect was to be stopped at the entrance to the scenic area. It turned out Milk Lake is inside the park, and entering the park means paying the entrance fee first, whether you’re there to hike or not. The ticket seller had that “What are you going to do about it—walk back?” look on her face.

As a devout believer in hiking, you can break my heart, but you absolutely cannot charge me an admission ticket. So I jumped off the bus without hesitation and plunged straight into the vast wilderness of Yulong Snow Mountain.

What kind of route was this? On the hiking app Liangbulu, there wasn’t even a previous track left by anyone before me. Under the blazing sun, a lone hiker dragged a heavy backpack forward, parched and aimless, across a path of gravel and dry grass. Silence stretched in every direction, broken only by birds occasionally startled out of the thorny brush. On a hot afternoon, collapsing just a few dozen meters from the lake...

Of course, that was just my imagination—if someone were making a hiking movie, it should probably include a scene like that.

In reality, the entire hike was actually pretty enjoyable. As long as the risks stay manageable, exploring the unknown, stumbling into surprises, and being the first person to scout a route are all gifts that hiking gives you.

Using the plants, the mountain peaks, and my sense of direction, I gradually worked my way back toward the main trail and finally reached the end. It felt like solving an intense, full-body puzzle.

At times I had to use both hands and feet to scramble over rocks like these.

At other times I had to weave around coniferous shrubs arranged like a maze.

And sometimes there was no choice but to walk fully exposed beneath the harsh sun.

Coming across ponds and lakes along the way was always reassuring. Where there’s water, there’s at least a baseline for life.

Looking up, it was obvious I still had more ridges to cross—thankfully, the destination wasn’t that sharp snow-covered summit.

The barren, treeless plain, the vegetation blanketing the mountains, and the layered snow peaks were all clearly separated from one another.

With scenery like this, how could I be afraid? Besides, the main peak of Yulong, Shanzidou, kept me company the whole way. Oddly enough, the vegetation on the higher slopes looked much better than what surrounded me down on the plain.

Shanzidou isn’t especially high in elevation, but its slope is steep, and its geology is made up largely of loose limestone, so no one has officially summited it yet.

Before entering the forest, I looked back and realized I had passed so many haizi (alpine lakes) along the way. Surely local folklore must have some tale about fragments of stars falling from the sky and turning into these lakes.

Among the mountains, the “tree people” provided some welcome shade from the sun, but the rustling sounds that kept coming from deep in the woods also made the adventure feel a little more dangerous.

At one point, I even came face-to-face on a narrow path with a black “bear” slowly walking toward me. Terrified, I clung to a tree with both hands and feet—then another hiker appeared, and it turned out to be the big dog she had brought with her.

After finally crossing two ridgelines, I made it back near Yuhu Village. Outside the village was a fairly open pasture and two manmade lakes, one big and one small, grandly named “Fairy Lake.”

Sitting on the grass by the lake in the warm sunshine made for a wonderful picnic and camping spot—pure relaxation. Soaking the mung bean soup I had brought in icy water was unbelievably refreshing.

There were also villagers by the lake leading horses around, constantly asking if I wanted to ride. The scene reminded me of Li Xian leading a horse while walking Liu Yifei along a lakeside in a TV drama—proof that television and real life can be very different.

There were also quite a few couples taking wedding photos by the lake in the good weather. This lake alone is worth coming to Yuhu Village to spend an afternoon.

Even though I didn’t complete the planned hiking route, I ended up embracing an unexpected adventure—and I’m satisfied with that.

Yuhu Village isn’t big—just one main road with small houses on either side.

I also saw plenty of foreigners hiking there. More than 100 years ago, another foreigner lived for as long as 20 years in this village at the foot of the snow mountain. In Gannan there’s a route called the Rock Road, named after the path botanist Joseph Rock traveled while exploring western China in the early 20th century.

But Rock ultimately chose to settle beneath Yulong Mountain, transforming from a “plant hunter” into an expert on Naxi Dongba culture. He collected more than 8000 Dongba scriptures, completed two works on Naxi history, and also compiled a Naxi dictionary.

Yet for a very long time, Rock’s life’s work failed to gain recognition from mainstream American anthropology. To spend a lifetime of effort only for it to feel like an illusion—how bleak that must have been.

Before his death, Rock wrote to a friend: 『If all goes well, I will return to Lijiang to finish my work. I would rather die on the flower-filled plains of Yulong Snow Mountain than lie on this ice-cold hospital bed』.

At dusk, I saw a pair of elderly sisters hobbling back from the mountain on their evening walk. Were they hurrying home to cook dinner for their husbands and grandchildren?

At the intersection, they wished each other good night and went their separate ways. The last time I was in Beijing, I told a college friend that at our current rate, we’ll probably only see each other a few dozen more times in this lifetime. I wonder whether those grandmothers ever think the same way—how many more goodbyes they’ll get to say to old friends.

Hold on to time, and go see the people you miss.

Back in Lijiang, it was the first lunar month, climbing the eastern hill. However bright the moon may be over a foreign land, it can’t compare with a single lamp back home. As I write these words before setting out again, I wish you a joyful Spring Festival and happiness for the whole family!

If you’re traveling in Lijiang and you’re tired of the same old cable cars, bars, and preserved pork rib hot pot, come to Yuhu, this small village beneath the snow mountain, and take a hike. You might just discover an afternoon that feels entirely your own.

Yuhu Village Hiking Guide

Getting there: A taxi from Lijiang Old Town to Yuhu Village costs about 35 yuan and takes about half an hour; bus 17 runs once every 80 minutes. A shared ride from the scenic area at the end of the hike back to the old town costs about 20 yuan. The last bus from Yuhu Village back to the old town leaves a little after 5 p.m.

Hiking route: Yuhu Village Square - Fairy Lake - Ganheba - Milk Lake. You can simply follow the previous hikers’ tracks on Liangbulu.

Overall verdict: The scenery is fairly average; the main draw is the easy hiking experience. Summer weather changes quickly, so be prepared for rain.

Admission: Starting from Yuhu Village does not require a ticket. If you start from Milk Lake, you’ll need to pay the Yulong Snow Mountain scenic area admission fee of 100 yuan.

Where to stay: Aside from a few guesthouses, the better lodging options in Yuhu Village are basically these four: The Rock, Shu Jia Yu Lu, Shitoucuo, and Xue Ma Yulong. The Rock is known for its lawn views of the snow mountain, while Shu Jia Yu Lu is known for good service. For travelers who love peace and quiet, Yuhu Village and Baisha may be the last unspoiled corners of Lijiang.