Hut Logistics
AMC Outdoors, May 2006
The thwock thwock of the helicopter crests over the treetops at Crawford Notch as Dennis McIntosh, AMC’s construction crew foreman, rushes to select the day’s crew. “Palmer, Kautz, and Kevin,” he says, “you guys are on the top crew.” I sprint to the truck to grab my pack and hardhat. Seconds later the blue and yellow chopper is hovering overhead, its rotor wash sweeping across the tall field grass.
It’s a clear late-May morning in Crawford Notch, the kind of bluebird-sky day that makes you feel duty-bound to be outdoors. But for those of us on AMC’s huts staff, the break in the weather after a month of rain and snow is especially significant. The U.S. Forest Service requires that the spring supply airlifts to AMC’s eight White Mountain huts be completed by June 1. It generally takes four to five days of flying to transport the 175 tons of supplies, but due to the inclement weather we’ve only flown twice. With only two days remaining to haul in 75,000 pounds of food, fuel, and construction material, we’ll be flying until sunset.
Such long days are nothing new. Work on the airlift began in earnest in March when Huts Field Supervisor Caitlin Gray and I wrote up a 14-page shopping list of all the food needed in the huts between June and October. The first shipments of food began arriving at the Pinkham Notch Storehouse in April just as spring skiers started heading up to Tuckerman Ravine. AMC Logistics Manager Kim Steward and Ben Schott, the storehouse supervisor, then worked with their crews to move it all into eight tractor-trailers.
These mobile storage units were moved to various staging zones around the mountains before the start of the airlift. I spent the first few days of the airlift toiling away in the dark of a truck container as part of the “bottom crew.” Every hut-bound box and bag at the storehouse is labeled with its weight. As bottom crewmembers, it’s our responsibility to keep a running count of what’s loaded into the nets to make sure the payload doesn’t exceed 800 pounds. Once at capacity, a member of the crew known as the “hooker” stands with the net, ready to secure the provision-laden sack onto a 40-foot cable hanging from the aircraft’s belly. Hungry hikers will consume more than 32 tons of food during the 14-week full-service season at the huts. Although the helicopter takes the food the final step, many strong backs are still needed. For my final day on the bottom crew, we loaded, unloaded, hooked, and stocked 1,100 cans of tomatoes, 350 pounds of carrots, 119 gallons of pancake syrup, and 2,725 pounds of Swiss Miss cocoa mix. At the end of the day I was covered with a sticky layer of spilled flour and juice concentrate.
Working on the “top crew” is still considered grunt work, with one big exception: we get to ride in the helicopter between jobs. Pilot Carl Svenson motions us over and opens the passenger doors, handing us headsets once we’re inside. Instantly, the helicopter’s engine is muted by the tinny sounds of a rock radio station. “Welcome aboard,” he says. An experienced mountain pilot, Carl has flown on just about every supply airlift since the early 1980s. I’ve personally watched him lower a load of apples and eggs to Madison Hut without a break or a bruise and witnessed his precision landings on the lower bunkhouse of Carter Hut. As I buckle up, Carl pulls up on what looks like an emergency brake and then eases back on the control stick. In a matter of seconds, there’s 1,000 feet of air below the clear Plexiglas window at my feet. It takes a fast hiker almost an hour to travel the 2.7 miles between Crawford Notch and Mizpah Springs Hut. In the Bell Jet Ranger, we make it in 45 seconds.
Of course, hut supply trips were not always so efficient. On one of the many days we were grounded, I came across an old leather ledger in the Huts Department offices. Inside, written in careful cursive, were the so-called “Burro Outfit Diaries” that chronicled hut supply trips from 1936 to 1939. During those years, huts manager Joe Dodge leased a mule team to supply the high-mountain huts.
Mules also carried in most of the construction supplies that built the original Zealand, Galehead, and Greenleaf huts. Each burro could carry about 100 pounds per trip and muleskinners were paid four dollars a day for their services. The bill for eight hours with the helicopter: $8,000. But as Svenson notes, the mule trains exacted their own price, carpeting the trails with manure and contributing to erosion. “Other than the noise, which is temporary,” he says, “the helicopter leaves nothing behind.”
The 10 hours I spend on the top crew flash past in a blur of quick flights to Mizpah, Zealand, and finally Lakes of the Clouds. On the approach to Lakes, we skim over the lip of Tuckerman Ravine and circle the alpine lakes. Getting a feel for the wind above treeline, Carl settles the helicopter down one last time. After dropping a few loads of lumber and flying out empty propane tanks, he picks us up again. With the sun setting, we lift off and circle the summit of Mount Washington.
In the hut below me, the crew is turning on the lights, filling flour bins, and stacking food in the attic. Each meal set on a hut table this summer will have been months in the making. Through the spring airlifts, AMC has supplied the necessities for its high-mountain hospitality. The croos and guests will take care of the rest.
-Michael Quist Kautz
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