MOOSILAUKE
President of the Dartmouth Outing Club and Hutmaster of the MoosilaukeSummit Camp 1926—1927
The close of each season adds another crew to the group of men who love that mountain. They have earned a real appreciation of the beauty of Moosilauke's grand with the sweat of hard miles of up-trail packing. And the famous old summit house is especially friendly to them, for every one of them has nailed shingles, set glass, spread whole acres of paint in the struggle to keep it protected from the mountain's storms.
And that view is worth the earning. Moosilauke stands out-post, off to the southwest of the rest of the White Mountains. The Franconia Range, the Twin Range, and the Presidentials pile up behind as far as the eye can see. Off across the broad Connecticut valley to the west are the Green Mountains. On the clear days peaks in Massachusetts, Maine, and; Canada stand out on the skyline, and Whiteface, Maclntyre and Marcy are silhouetted by the setting sun through the notches of the Greens.
The first section of the old house was opened on July 4, 1860 with great celebration. It is reported that more than 1,000 people took part, that a Colonel Dow paraded a regiment of militia on the rocky plateau before the House, and that the Hon. Tom Smith delivered a patriotic oration with the Newbury brass band in attendance.
During its operation as a hotel the Tiptop House" enjoyed great popular ity, and many famous names were signed to the log—President Garfield's among them. But the fad of the time for the mountain inns steadily waned, and the fortunes of the "Tiptop House" with it. After a long struggle it became apparent that it was useless to operate longer as a hotel.
In 1920 E. K. Woodworth '97 and Charles Woodworth '07 gave the property to the Dartmouth Outing Club, and in the summer of that year it was opened as the Moosilauke Summit Camp by the Club to accommodate campers. With that first season began a new tradition within the Outing Club and another chapter in the rich history of the old mountain.
Evenings when the clouds are "down" and there are no guests to look after, the stories of past seasons are passed down from crew to crew while the boys sit around for the after-supper pipe. They tell how Charlie Throop, the first Hutmaster and his crew came up in June, 1920 and found the house with practically every window smashed, mattresses soggy with the damp, and an army of cupines in possession. Stories of the seasons' "big nights" are always in order, and that of the famous night of August 8th, 1922, retold. One hundred and fortyseven stretched the house that night, while the Hutmaster, Bob Morgan, sat up to cook porridge in the wash-boilers and Ed Yeats went down to pack up bread from Glencliff in the dark. Records up and down the trails are favorite points for discussion. The most debated of all are the time records up and down the Glencliff trail and weight records up-trail. "J. K." "Brute" Sullivan, Hutmaster in '25, is probably the fastest man who packed over the Moosilauke trails. "The Brute" is only 5 feet 2 inches, but he bounced down from rock to rock through the scrub spruce, sure-footed as any goat. The men consistently pack over 60 pounds up the four and a half miles from Great Bear cabin to the summit.
Each season's crew is composed of the Hutmaster and two or three assistants. With the exception of Dr. Griggs, who helped the first season in 1920, they have always been undergraduate members of the Outing Club. The men have to be everything from cook to chamber-maid in the operation of the Camp—regular Jacks-of-all-trades.
When college examinations are over about the middle of June the men pack their belongings up to the summit and set to work in earnest to repair the damages from the winter's terrific exposure. The' have about four weeks before the rush of summer camps begins in earnest, and the house has to be put in spotless shape before it comes. There is scrubbing and painting and cementing to do. The supply of wood has to be cut and stored. Food supplies and clean blankets for the coming crowds have to be brought up from Glencliff and Warren—some by buckboard over the old wagon-road with its 20 per cent grades, 500 pounds to the load for a double team of horses—some on the backs of the crew themselves.
And every year some special improvement in the property is made, in addition to the usual preparations. One season, a new shingle roof was laid ; another, two hardwood floors were laid; another, the old window sashes were replaced. The equipment has been gradually improved till now the old wooden beds have been replaced by the newest steel beds and bunks with felt mattresses to accommodate 60 comfortably.
This past season, through the generosty of an anonymous donor, funds were furnished to construct a new fireplace in the living-room. The difficulties of getting supplies to the top and weather conditions, with mountain storms and consist ently high winds, offered many problems in both design and actual construction. Prof. A. P. Richmond '14 designed a fireplace to suit the peculiar conditions and on July 31 it was ready for the first fire. Although an experienced mason actually laid the stone, the boys themselves dug the foundation, mixed mortar, "toted" stone and built scaffolding.
Meanwhile the summer camps had be gun to come with a rush. Five days before the fireplace was completed, July 26 —had been the clearest day of the season. Ninety-eight people stayed on top that night—perhaps the biggest crowd since the famous 147 of 1922. The summer camp rush for the season was on.
The country around Moosilauke is dotted with summer camps for boys and girls of all ages. They are old friends of the Summit Camp, and it is only because of their trips to the mountain that it is possible to maintain the Summit Camp. So it's a mighty welcome sign when someone hollers "Camp on the ridge—seven of 'em, eight—ten!" Everyone runs to the upstairs window that looks out over the long ridge to the south and watches the string of tiny white dots wind up towards the summit.
Once they reach the house there is a scramble to get out in the kitchen first and get their favorite ''job." That's if they are old camps on the mountain. If they don't volunteer, they are pressed into service anyhow! Two of them peel potatoes, a couple more beat pancake batter, another slices bread, and some volunteer waiters set the tables in the big dining rooms.
With everybody working it doesn't take long to get supper ready—even for 50 or 60 Some lusty young camper is allowed to blow the supper horn and they come on the run from all directions. Then the man who is cook for the meal, comes to the "slide" and demands a waiter from each of the big tables. He ladles out the soup, and pushes enormous crockery bowls of Hunter's stew and pitchers of cocoa and coffee across the slide.
Inside the kitchen five double griddles steam hot and ready for the high spot of the menu. The cook picks up his favorite pancake flipper, makes a few trial passes in the air—greases the griddles, and pours out ten pancakes, each as big as a dinner plate. Those Moosilauke pancakes with maple sugar are famous among the camps. They sure yell when the first stack goes across the slide. And the crew is proud of those cakes. It's an understood wager that the cook makes pancakes just as long as anyone can eat. The boys between ten and twelve sure do hate to give up. They eat till they just can't wiggle.
The camps help wash the dishes, fold the blankets, cut wood, and always have to carefully clean the bunkrooms before they leave in the morning.
But it's the hour or so after supper and dishes are cleaned up that makes Moosilauke mean so much to the camps. The sun sets with a new blaze of beautiful colors every night, and the mountain ranges to the north and east fade with royal purples and blues. And then stories and songs around the new fireplace. The camps sing—and usually corner the crew, line them up, and force some Dartmouth songs out of them. And the thirtymile wind howling around outside is perfect "atmosphere" for weird stories, after the singing begins to die down.
So it doesn't take long for the days to pass up on Moosilauke. September be gins to scare the thermometer 'way down before it seems as though the season were well under way. And September brings the Hutmaster's Reunion. Members of past crews heave up over the ridge, yelling worse than the worst campers. The crew of the season turn out their very best cooking. The whole season is rehearsed for the benefit of the old-timers, and they in turn pass down their stories about the mountain and about the boys who have worked for it. The old-timers look around with a critical eye. It's their mountain, and their house—their sweat, their work, their love are a part of it, and they want to know that it is being "carried on." Some day Moosilauke is going to be famous, and it's the tradition and the spirit that go with Moosilauke that will make it so.
Looking East from Moosilauke. The Franconia Range in the background See article by D. P. Hatch, Jr.
The clouds are always near the Summit
Lost River Valley from the Beaver Falls Trail
Approaching the Summit Hut from the Wagon Road
The end of a long trail
