A fter reading Joe Harrington's amusing account of the huts in the fifties, I thought it may interest the Resuscitator readers to hear what it's like to work in the huts in this day and age. Having the illustrious title of "Current Croo Liason" of the OH Association, I decided it is my responsibility to shoulder this task. Like Joe, I was more impressed by the similarities than I was disheartened by the differences. I hope you will feel the same way.

The croos today are still composed of able-bodied college-aged kids who enjoy hiking and living in the mountains for the summer, although hutgirls now outnumber the boys. We flock to the Whites at the end of May for 11 days of training at GALA, and then we pack our personal up the trails to open the huts. We work 11 days on with 3 daze off, packing on Wednesdays and Saturdays and cooking whenever the hutmaster sees fit. We do the morning ream, take turns filling out requisitions, and generally keep the goofers from tearing the place down (yes, they are still called goofers, though that term is frowned upon by the higher authorities -- after all, we are all goofers at some point).

Helicopters are relied upon to deliver all the initial and mid-summer requisitions, and the folks down in Storehouse have it down to a science so mistakes are rarely made. I say "rarely" because the Mad House croo counted 10 cases of molasses and 1 case of maple syrup last June. At any rate, Joe Brigham and his buddy have served to reduce the emphasis on packing, making it possible for people who can't pack their body weight to work in the system. (By the way, how many OH are suffering from back and knee problems?). Men and women still carry an occasional "century load," but the average trip is 50 to 70 pounds. Depending on the cook schedule, a croo person will pack 2 to 3 times in 11 days at the hut.

Without having to pack as often, we have enough time to educate people. Herein lies the major difference between the huts of the past and those of the present -- the focus is now on education. A full house every night offers a wonderfully captive audience, so why not teach them something? This idea, which began in the 70's, has now been expanded, formalized, and has become an integral part of our jobs. Hut walls are covered with educational displays. We are encouraged to present evening programs. Dinner Talk subjects range from the virtues of recycling, dangers of wearing cotton, symptoms of hypothermia and dehydration, identification of flora and fauna of the Whites, methods of composting, and an explanation of sewage treatment systems at the high huts. You should see the looks we get when mentioning those last two topics to 50 tired guests who are busy digesting dinner.

The huts are also closely connected to the Pinkham central command. On Saturday truck trip we receive a Backcountry Update on huts, shelters, and trails, an Educational Update, information on the research department, and various other written communication explaining what we must do in our "front line" position (including filling out food and merchandise inventories, hanging new educational posters, and doing water tests). The Moccasin Telegraph is still used by croos for personal notes from hut to hut, but we also have an elaborate radio system linking the entire backcountry directly to Pinkham. Not only can we hear each other clearly, but all of New Hampshire receives our signal too (so, unfortunately, we have to behave ourselves while on the air).

Raiding remains, through the years, a part of every hut croo's life. Although Daid Haid has never been seen since he turned up in the wedding punch bowl, we have a few major raid items that may rival him in importance. Gormin' Norman is a wooden figurehead who made his debut hanging above the gorm bucket at Madison, where we would smear him with the uneaten food off the plates (especially when the camp groups came through). His ghastly face has appeared at most of the huts, still wearing the meals from the years before. The Telephone is still a prized item, and continues to cause extreme frustration to the guests who request to make a call. Various signs, such as Colorado Rt. 5, Scenic Vista, and Western Union Telegraph make the rounds each season. The Propeller, however, ranks as the most sought-after trophy -- a testament to the skill and cunning of the hut croo that proudly displays it.

The Prop was originally swiped by the Lakes croo in the late 60's (there is some dispute over the exact year) from a plane that crashed into the headwall of Oakes Gulf. Reports say the plane was carrying 6 men dressed as Santa Clauses to parachute into a shopping center in Burlington. How the pilot flew that far off course is still unclear, but that 6 foot, 40 pound piece of aluminum has been riding the backs of hut croos ever since. Elaborate booby traps have been rigged in its defense, including a motion detector powered by the Lakes solar system and an intricate series of mouse traps that would complete an electrical circuit and sound an alarm in the croo room (both compliments of techno-wiz Steve Peters).

Jen Granducci began her hut career in 1990 as a researcher at Madison. She liked the Valley Way so much that she returned the next year as croo, and then went on to be Lakes AHM in 1992, Zealand HM in 1993, and Madison HM in 1994. This summer she will be HM at Carter. Last September she married Bill Oliver (Madison '72 and '75, floating packer '73, and Galehead '74 and 76). Jen and Bill live in Schenectady, NY, and she is on the verge of receiving her Master's Degree in Geology at SUNY Albany.