This weekend, we did it. Rick and I and two friends – Miriam and Bill – made the climb to a place we’d never been before, a wide-porched hut nestled next to the cascading Zealand Falls at 2,700 feet. We claimed our bunks in the co-ed dormitory-style bunkrooms and headed out again, this time to something called “Zeacliff,” a promontory with some of the most incredible views in the White Mountains, reached by a rocky, vertical path that I wasn’t sure I could finish. It’s also at 3,700 feet, the highest I’ve ever climbed (though wussy by most climbers’ standards).
En route, we were assaulted by black flies that swarmed around and into our eyes, ears, noses, buzzing and biting unmercifully.
But oh, when we got there, it was worth every welt.
There, before us, was a panoramic view of several mountains (including Mt. Washington) standing in proud profile, inviting us outside ourselves and into the broader embrace of the natural world, as a forgiving breeze sang lightly and all the petty concerns of our everyday lives fell away and we were free. We lay on the warm rock, sipped a little cabarnet and rejoiced in the day.
But that’s not all a “hut night” has to offer. There are eight huts in the White Mountains, all maintained by the AppalachianMountain Club (AMC) and run by crews (or “croos” as they prefer to call themselves) of young people who run up and down mountains every day to carry up food and supplies for guests. They cook fabulous meals (like a full turkey dinner), perform skits for guests’ entertainment, offer advice on trails and information on flora and fauna and generally endear themselves to all.
We’re already planning another hut adventure.
There IS something bigger than we are.
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