Recently, I hiked up to 4200 feet to work as part of the fill-in crew for Greenleaf Hut in New Hampshire’s White Mountains.
This beloved annual tradition signals a gathering of “Old Hutsmen” and women, or “OH,” who return to work in the huts so the current crew can take a few communal nights off. The crew relishes this time away, while the OHs appreciate the opportunity to return, work together again and relive past glory days.
Greenleaf is one of eight high-mountain huts managed by the Appalachian Mountain Club. They’re staffed by close-knit crews between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five who have a wide range of responsibilities: to ensure the safety of approximately 50 overnight guests and dozens, if not hundreds, of day hikers; participate in search and rescue missions as needed; prepare a hot dinner and breakfast; clean the bunkrooms and bathrooms; turn the compost; perform daily skits in costume that remind guests to fold their blankets and pack out their trash; keep an eye on the huts’ off-the-grid energy systems; lead educational evening programs; and, of course, bring in supplies.
I formed a love-hate relationship with those Wednesday and Saturday pack days when we hiked down with trash and recycling and hiked back up with thirty or more pounds of food. Growing up, I had done some recreational hiking with my family, but nothing compared to this. The Valley Way was a challenging 3.8-mile trail with a 3500-foot elevation gain. It commanded respect, and it was never easy.
The more familiar I became with the pack trail, the more confidence I gained in my strength and ability. I savored the landmarks along the trail, descriptively named by previous crews and passed down to us. I’d sidestep around the diamond in the rough, stop for a snack at the bus stop, avoid stepping on wiggly surf rock, and drink from the thousand-yard spring where the biblical phrase “my cup runneth over” is carved into rock.
The last 1000 yards also marked the transition between valley and mountains, where I could smell the balsam fir, hear the white-throated sparrow, feel the cool breeze, and finally, see Madison Hut tucked into a notch between remarkable, towering mountains in the Presidential range.
For me, the pack days were solitary, but hut life was communal. We lived together, six of us sharing one bunkroom; we worked together to run the hut; and we played together - strumming guitars, taking moonlit hikes, and pondering the meaning of life.
The camaraderie of our hut crew was unusual and significant. Two of the crew married other OHs. A third got engaged on the Madison pack trail. A fourth is not only the third generation of OHs in his family, but also told me the bond between our crew changed his life forever.
We’re planning a 20th anniversary fill-in crew for 2018. This time, we’ll bring our spouses and children to begin a new generation of mountain memories.
