Carter Notch Hut - Winter 1986 - At the Hut

At the Hut

Not knowing the drill, everyone waited for me before walking into the hut; I was bringing up the rear. We walked into the common area and everyone had the opportunity to see for themselves what the place had to offer. We dropped the firewood we had carried down by the pile near the stove. I found the hut master, in this case hut masters, Tom and Gloria, and registered the group. They were half-surprised that we had come up in the storm; it was going to get worse. Nevertheless, here we were, and after introducing everyone, we followed the trail up to the bunkhouses.
 
Carter Notch Hut is one of two huts to remain open throughout the year, the other being the hut at Zealand Notch. Carter Notch Hut sits at an elevation of almost 3300'. The hut consists of a common use area with kitchen and dining room, and a small room off the dining room in which the hut master stayed. The dining room consisted of three long picnic tables. You brought your own food, which you cooked in the kitchen area on a large gas-fed stove. There was a well set-up cooking area with plates, utensils, and every conceivable pan and pot. There was a small wood stove in the common area that was not to be touched by anyone but the hut master. The stove was never lit until after 3:00PM, and it was not intended to keep the place too warm. In the evening when everyone took turns cooking and eating, the hut would feel very toasty indeed.
 
There were two unheated and un-insulated bunkhouses sleeping 20 each, each consisting of 2 rooms that slept 6 and two rooms that slept 4. There was an outhouse for communal use on a small side-path between the common area and the bunkhouse. It had a metal seat. Most people pissed in the snow and covered it up with a sweep of a boot.
 
We were all staying in the bunkhouse on the left; it looked directly east towards Wildcat River. We had the first two rooms. It was a bit of a shock for the uninitiated to come face to face with the unheated and sparse reality of the bunkrooms. While organizing the trip, I had handed out informational sheets on what the experience would be, and what each person needed to do and have. Now, they stood here in the reality of the situation, they were exhausted from the climb, soaked from sweat, the wind was now howling, and the temperature was around 20 degrees. While everyone looked around the room shivering and wondering what to do next, I dropped my pack on the bunk of my choosing and took dry polypro underwear out of it, quickly got the boots off, and then stripped off the sweat-soaked clothes from the climb until I was standing naked. New dry underwear, leggings, and a dry top felt like heaven. Fresh sock-liners and socks quickly followed, nylon shorts over the leggings were next, a dry polypro hat, and then a light jacket suitable for the hut. Almost in unison, everyone followed suit. This is not a place or a time for the bashful; in true European Hut style, all accommodations at the White Mountain Huts are unisex. If you are embarrassed, wait there and shiver in the cold until everyone leaves and you are alone.
 
Even though it is a shock to get naked, the warmth supplied by dry clothing quickly becomes apparent. After everyone was ready, we grabbed our food bags and wet clothes and walked down to the huts. The wind and snow continued unabated, and it was dark. We went into the hut through the double-door entryway, stomped our boots on the grate over a hole in the floor to collect snow, and walked through the second door into the well-lit and warm common room.
 
First, we claimed a picnic table by dropping our food bags on it. Then we strung up the wet clothes. The hut had long boards with pegs on each side that hikers can hang wet clothes on; these boards are raised up by a rope to hang in the relative warmth at the top of the common area.
 
Because of the storm swirling outside, the weekend crowd would be limited; there would be no crush cooking dinner tonight. Everyone pulled out some kind of appetizer for sharing with the group: cheese and crackers, nuts, oysters and sardines. Plastic bottles with various liquors appeared on the table. This had been specified on the information sheets handed out to everyone weeks before. If you were going to drink, do not carry any glass bottles. In addition, liquor was better, as wine would freeze solid if left in the unheated bunkrooms. Liquor and cold temperature could be a dangerous mix, but this was to be an enjoyable adventure, not just a wilderness struggle. I made some instant lemonade and poured myself a tall rum drink. It was good to relax. The conversations began to rise and be animated as the struggles of the climb gave way to the fellowship of the hut and the cocktail hour within.
 
After a while, I turned my attention to preparing dinner. I opened up a tube of bread dough and put it in the oven on a small cookie sheet to bake. For dinner, I had prepared back at home, some meatballs with fried peppers and onions; after cooking, I had frozen them together with some pizza sauce in a Ziploc bag. I had some provolone cheese slices that I set on the counter, and I dropped the bag of meatballs into a pot of boiling water to heat, dinner would be a hot meatball grinder and cleanup would be minimal. There was no running water in the kitchen, large jugs filled from the lake supplied water as needed. The sinks drained into buckets that were emptied into a gray-water trap outside.
 
The group was taking care of making their dinners as well. Macaroni and cheese was always a favorite because that pasta dinner is filling and delicious, and it is also light to carry; several in the group shared a large pot of it with bread and butter. In thirty minutes, my bread was done; I removed it from the oven, sliced it open, and ladled the hot meatballs with onion and pepper sauce out of the bag and into the hot loaf. After covering the top with provolone cheese, I set it back on the sheet and slid it into the oven to toast and melt the cheese. Soon, I was sitting at the table with a great sandwich, a bag of potato chips, and a tall fresh drink. Someone passed me a cold glass of white wine that I accepted gladly. Conversation lagged as people got down to the business of eating. Outside, the storm raged through the notch.
 
After dinner, there was chocolate and port. Everyone was in a fine mood as we enjoyed the conviviality of the hut. Yawns were starting to appear as the warmth and after dinner nod came over the group. The temperature was not that high in the hut; the hut masters prided themselves on how little wood they used during a winter season, and there was a competition in that regards with Zealand Hut. However, with cooking, baking, and a hot meal in everyone’s stomach, it felt warm indeed. The hours slid by.
 
Around nine, the hut’s ham radio barked to life with a message from Pinkham. It turned out that someone was injured or having difficulty down in the dark on the trail. We wondered if it might be Jim trying to come up at night. Pinkham suggested Tom bring down the litter from the hut, while they would sent some responders up the trail to meet him. Tom set about getting ready to go down the trail; pack, gaiters, snowshoes, headlamp. Gloria helped him get the emergency litter outside and tied it behind him. A first-aid kit was tied down on the top. Outside it was cold and windy, and the snow began to accumulate in the trail and in drifts. Tom set out through the trees heading for the lake and the trail down to Rte 16, the small beam of light shining on the snow in front of him. We saw him reach the lake, and then the light was quickly lost to the dark and blowing snow.
 
We retreated to the warmth of the hut. I marveled at the dedication of those that would go out to help on a night like this. Soon, it was time to face the cold of the bunkrooms and see about some much needed sleep. Leaving Gloria to operate the radio and maintain her vigil for Tom, we left the warmth of the hut and walked back to our cold rooms through the blizzard and the wind.

Helen, MB, Peter		Frank feeling tired
Cocktail hour		Sam and Peter smoke in the entry way
Feeling the efforts of the day		Tom the hut master sitting at door

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