No Crampons on the Porch

Visitors enjoying the view of Franconia Ridge across Lonesome Lake.

I don’t know exactly what a “Croo” is, but whatever it is, I am one. It happened when the regular Croo was called away and a plea went out for volunteers to temporarily replace them. I raised my hand and drew an assignment for three days and two nights at the Appalachian Mountain Club’s Lonesome Lake Hut in Franconia Notch.

Lonesome Lake Hut is at elevation 2,760 and is accessible only by hike-in, or maybe helicopter. My impression of the hut is a cross between a State Park rest area, and a bed and breakfast youth hostel. Managed by the AMC, the hut is staffed by college-age students working for low pay who are affectionately called “Croo.” Although no one was able to tell me definitively, it seems Croo is a wordplay joke and a bad spelling of “crew.”

During the volunteer screening interview process I’m told typical Croo duties include cooking meals, washing dishes, cleaning toilets, mouse-trapping, registering guests, selling souvenirs, instructing hikers, handling first aid emergencies and finding lost hikers. That didn’t scare me off.

According to the guidebook, the hike up to Lonesome Lake Hut takes about an hour and 20 minutes. I made it in an hour and 10 minutes carrying a heavy pack stuffed with three days of anticipated needs. I met the regular Croo and three other volunteers I’d be working with over the next few days. The regular Croo were two or three times younger than the volunteers who stepped in to give them a break, and I wondered what I’d gotten myself into. After discussing the responsibilities, we divvied up the chores and watched the Croo depart, leaving us to prepare for 48 anticipated dinner guests arriving shortly.

The kitchen, registration desk and gift shop inside the hut are stocked and ready for volunteers.

Dumping my gear on my bunk in the tiny coed staff sleeping quarters, I noticed a sign which read, “No Crampons on the Porch.” That struck me as humorous. Was this something that really needed to be posted? Being summer, I hadn’t worn crampons, but even in icy winter conditions, I would have removed them before entering without a sign directing me to. Looking at the nicked-up deck, I could see the sign was necessary.

Lonesome Lake surprises you by how clear, clean and remote it is. It pops out as you round a corner of the trail in the dense woods. The lake is unspoiled by development and has views of the Cannon Balls and Mount Lafayette across the water, which is very cold but refreshing for brief swims. At the outlet, remnants of an old timber crib drover’s dam form the foundation for a footbridge across the outlet.

The main hut was built in 1964 and is an odd-shaped, cedar-sided building with a kitchen, staff bunkroom, supply room, and a large multi-purpose room which serves as lobby, dining room, classroom and overflow sleeping area. There are also two freestanding bunkhouses with four and six bedrooms. Each bedroom sleeps between four and 10 people. The rooms in the bunkhouse are small and coed, and beds are first-come-first-serve up for grabs.

Bathroom facilities are indoor composting toilets. There are no showers or hot water for guests. Croo have an outdoor shower with sort-of-hot water. Electricity is provided by solar panels on the roof that store power in battery banks. A cookstove, hot water in the kitchen, and the refrigerator are run by propane-bottled gas brought in by helicopter once a year. By 9 p.m., the lights are out because of the need to conserve battery life for the emergency radio or several days of cloudy weather.

The kitchen was small and crowded, with an old temperamental gas stove lit by matches. There were three sinks set up to handwash the outrageous number of daily dishes. The kitchen also doubles as a guest registration front desk and gift shop selling T-shirts, trail books, water bottles and small supplies, etc. These items, along with fresh food, must be hauled up the trail on pack boards by the Croo. Trash needs to be hauled down the mountain on pack boards by the Croo.

A moose enjoys an afternoon dip in the lake.

My duties for the supper meal included washing a never-ending stream of dishes, preparing a soup made from yesterday’s leftovers and ladling out bowlfuls to hungry hikers. The home-cooked meals were hearty and plentiful. No one complained or went hungry. Breakfast the second day was my responsibility, and I was up at 5 a.m., working by headlamp, to mix and flip pancakes for 48 people, prepare gallons of coffee and cook up a cauldron of oatmeal, followed by washing a mountain of dishes all over again.

A nervous father with an active young boy approached me about a bad cut in the boy’s foot. I bandaged him up with much more gauze and ACE bandage than he really needed, hoping the extra padding would slow him down a little. His injury was not severe enough for a medevac, so he would have to hike out on a sore foot. I told him to stay off it, but that was kind of like telling a fish not to swim. The next morning, I made him a Mickey Mouse-shaped pancake to start his day on a happy note before he limped down the trail.

The Croo does not serve a lunch meal, so there were a few hours off in the middle of the day, which allowed for swimming, playing chess and cribbage, and reading and watching the wildlife. We saw a moose swimming in the lake and browsing on swamp vegetation, totally unbothered by everyone trying to get a good photo of him from across the lake.

Author Marshall Hudson

There were a lot of mixed emotions as I prepared to head down the mountain when the regular Croo returned. As a volunteer, I didn’t expect to get paid, but some guests had left tips and we divvied them up equally. My share for three days of labor came to $14. Not a very financially profitable adventure, but I left contented with new friends and happy memories of the experience. Maybe that is exactly what a Croo is.