Hiking the White Mountains? Here’s What Staying at an AMC Hut Is Really Like

It’s my first time at an AMC High Mountain Hut and I’m standing in the middle of Lakes of the Clouds dining hall, soaking it all in: the sweeping views of the White Mountains, the bright wooden tables where people quietly read their books, the cozy corner where a family plays a board game, the mouthwatering smell of sautéed onions and split pea soup as the Croo—the hut’s seasonal staff—chops vegetables and stirs sizzling pans in the kitchen. Two young girls are bouncing around the hut with Junior Naturalist books, trying to check off as many activities as they can. 

Lakes of the Clouds is the biggest of all of AMC’s Huts, with 10 Croo, 1 AMC Research staff, 4-14 thru-hikers per night, and the capacity to sleep 92 guests. (If bigger groups aren’t your thing, there are eight huts and each one has its own personality.) Perched between Mt. Monroe and the massive, sloping shoulder of Mt. Washington, the hut opens to alpine lakes on one side and a sweeping view of the White Mountains on the other. With composting toilets and solar panels (part of AMC’s pathway to net zero), alpine research projects happening just outside the hut door, and AMC’s signature hospitality courtesy of the joyful and hilarious Croo, it feels like a true slice of what AMC has to offer. 

At the hot drink station, I get a lesson on the appropriate hot chocolate powder to water ratio from Cora, one of the Junior Naturalists, whose own hot chocolate is so thick she’s eating it like pudding, with a spoon.  

Outside, it’s the golden hour before sunset and the wind is picking up. My friend Josh, who I’ve dragged on this adventure—the same friend who, two minutes up the trail, turned to me and said, “Did I ever tell you I don’t actually like hiking?”—is enjoying himself despite himself, stretched out in the sun on a rock by the lakes. To get here, we hiked through rambling deciduous and pine forests, criss-crossed a mossy waterfall, and then rose above treeline where the mountains stretched out for miles, a panorama of hazy green and blue. The verdict’s still out on how he feels about hiking, but he can’t take his eyes off the view. He seems to be warming up to the idea, which is a good thing, because we’re going to have to hike down.  

After watching a few adventurous souls cold plunge into the icy water (even in August it’s freezing), we head back over to the hut, where Cora and her dad are flying a kite another hiker brought for exactly this occasion. He’s been coming to the huts for decades and always packs something for the kids. Near the hut entrance, a Croo member straps on a wooden and leather packboard in a demonstration of how food is transported into the huts. Non-perishables like rice and flour are flown in by helicopter in late spring, and the rest is up to the Croo to haul in themselves.   

My friend Eli is on the Croo at Greenleaf this year, and he’s in the best shape of his life from hiking in groceries and running up and down mountains to visit friends at other huts on his days off. It’s a high-energy job. Croo members cook all meals, hike out trash and pack in food twice a week, give hikers directions, educate the public on the unique landscape of the White Mountains, and welcome guests. But what really defines Croo life are the tight friendships that form when you spend your summer in such an extreme place—the inside jokes, goofy skits, invented games, and late-night jam sessions. Though the days can be long and exhausting, it’s a one-of-a-kind experience, and it stays with you long after it’s over.  

I can see the Croo’s joyful influence spilling into the community experience of Lakes of the Clouds Hut as we sit down for dinner around long wooden tables and start swapping stories with people we’ve just met. It’s a fantastic and surprising spread—green beans, soup, chickpea masala with rice, fresh naan, and a huge slice of cake for dessert—all served by a rainbow-and-cheetah-print costumed Croo, complete with a song and a dance. 

The first-time hut guests talk about where they came from and how they arrived, and the challenges and surprises of the trail. The way the returners talk about the huts borders on mythic. For most of them, it was love at first sight. It’s as if the huts have called them back and they answer over and over again, scaling mountain trails in all kinds of weather to arrive here, at the top of the world. 

After dinner, Josh and I catch the naturalist talk on lichen as the sunset turns the sky a hazy orange. We tuck into our bunks, watching the stars out the window. We’re sharing our bunk room with a rad group of women who met working at a restaurant and now go hiking together every year. They’ve climbed 22 of the 48 4,000-footers, and they love the huts because the all-inclusive hospitality means less time spent on planning and logistics, and more energy to enjoy the adventure. They’re cracking jokes and bantering with each other, and we laugh ourselves to sleep. A few late arrivals will come in late, shaking the beds as they climb to the top bunks. There will be snoring. Someone will have to pee in the middle of the night. But it’s all part of the experience. Maybe it’s the mountain air, or the effort it took to get here, but come dawn, I’ve gotten a much better night’s sleep than I expected.   

Our morning wake-up call comes courtesy of a Croo member with a guitar singing “Here Comes the Sun.” Breakfast is served by…birds? (Actually, though.) The Croo, dressed in colorful homemade bird costumes, wheel around the dining hall on scooters in an elaborate skit about Leave No Trace.  

As I sit and eat my pancakes with a group of septuagenarians planning out their day’s hike, I am struck by the magic of how it all comes together. The camaraderie. The food. The joy of being in the mountains. The deep care for the alpine habitat. No matter who you are or where you’ve come from, you’ve hiked the same trail to get to this spot, to sit looking out at the view with a steaming mug of hot cocoa, swapping adventure stories at an AMC hut. As Huts Manager Bethany Taylor said, “If we are culturally experiencing a loneliness epidemic, Lakes very well may be the cure.” 

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