I have been hiking in the New Hampshire section of the Appalachian Mountains since I was in diapers. As a part of the “Leave No Trace” rule, my parents had to hike out my diapers when they would visit. I grew up with summers filled with multi-day trips in the woods and on mountain tops, with a thirty-pound backpack and feet full of blisters. I loved every second of those sweaty, smelly, yet beautiful days filled with family, friends, and laughter.

Since my parents first got together in the 1980s, they have organized hiking trips to these mountains with groups of friends and family that continue to this day. Sometimes, the total number of people would reach almost thirty, and we would completely take over the huts that operate along the Appalachian Trail and are run by the Appalachian Mountain Club.

A group of 18-to 25-year-olds works in these huts called the Croo. They are trained in search and rescue, cooking, cleaning, greeting hikers, answering any questions they have, entertaining, and more. After a challenging hike through the accurately named Thunderstorm Junction, I was tasked with bringing all the children in our group to the hut to avoid hypothermia, but the Hut Croo wasn’t there. Instead, we were greeted by a volunteer crew made up of people who had worked there in the seventies and eighties, and they were more excited about their reconnection than about the safety of the hikers. I ensured our group and any other hiker who entered the hut looking for shelter were safe. It was then that it hit me how important the role of a Croo Member was. Many lives, quite literally, depend on them.

It was after this experience that I began documenting them. Their work is so unique that they inevitably form an equally special bond. This body of work is ongoing and will continue to showcase the incredible efforts of these young adults to ensure the comfort and safety of people who choose to hike through the Appalachian Mountains. They hike out packs of trash, cook breakfast and dinner, wash every single dish, and even more so we can have a (semi-un) comfortable bed to sleep in after hiking for more miles than we care to think about.