Roughly a quarter of a mile north of the summit of Camel’s Hump, the Long Trail drops off the rocky cone into a level grassy hollow. Trails arrive from every direction: the Long Trail from north and south, the Burrows Trail climbing steeply from Huntington Center to the west, and from the east the Monroe Trail — the route that older guidebooks call the Callahan Trail, after the family that farmed at its foot. The Green Mountain Club’s own description could hardly be plainer:
“Today the hut clearing, located where the Long Trail, Burrows, and Monroe Trails intersect, is a grassy opening, a favorite place for hikers to take a break.”
— Long Trail News, Summer 2007, p. 12
It is one of the busiest square acres in Vermont. Something over twenty thousand people climb Camel’s Hump each year, and a large share of them pass through this hollow twice. It is where you decide which way to go down, and where — on a bad day — you eat lunch instead of on the summit. The Burlington Section’s newsletter recommends it for exactly that: “It is good lunch spot when the weather at the top is not very nice. It is also of interest historically.”
That last sentence is doing a great deal of work. This clearing is not natural. It is the scar of a building, and then of several more. For most of a century somebody was always trying to run an overnight business here, and the whole enterprise — the hotel, the tents, the tin huts, the log lodge that was designed but never built — is the story of Vermont learning what a mountain is for.
A Clapboarded Hotel at the End of a Bridle Path
1859 – c. 1878 · The Summit House
The clearing was made for a hotel. In the years after the Civil War, “summit houses” — rustic hotels reached by carriage or bridle road — appeared on Killington, on Mount Mansfield, and on Camel’s Hump, catering to guests who arrived by train from Boston and New York and stayed two or three weeks to admire sunrises. Camel’s Hump’s was among the earliest.
“Some time before 1860 a bridle path was cleared and graded to a point just below the summit cone, and in 1859 or 1860 a frame hotel was erected at this place. The builder was Mr. Ridley, who lived in the village then known as Ridley’s Station, now called North Duxbury. The hotel was a plain, clapboarded affair, accommodating about twenty-five people.”
— Walter Collins O’Kane, Trails and Summits of the Green Mountains (1926)
Photographs of it survive: a two-storey clapboard building, gable end to the trail, plain-sashed windows, standing on raw ground among cut stumps — the clearing brand new — with saddle horses and a party of women in wide skirts and men in frock coats posed in front of the door. It looks less like a mountain refuge than like a small district schoolhouse that has been carried up 3,700 feet and set down on bare rock.
It did not last. It was open to guests only a few years, and by about 1869 its owner had given up. What happened next is one of the more quietly memorable sentences in Vermont trail literature:
“About 1869 its owner gave up the venture and it was left to the mercy of picnic parties and porcupines. Both of these agencies, especially the latter, soon made themselves felt.”
— O’Kane, 1926
Remember that clause. The porcupines are going to determine what gets built here next.
According to O’Kane, the building burned in 18877 or 1878
Four Tents and a Boon to Those Who Love the Call of the Wilderness
June 20, 1908 · The Camel’s Hump Club
Thirty years passed with nothing on the mountain but a burnt cellar hole and an overgrown path. Then, on June 20, 1908, a group of Waterbury businessmen met and formed the Camel’s Hump Club. C. C. Graves was elected president.
Their purpose was frankly commercial and frankly modest — to develop Camel’s Hump as a mountain resort that would appeal not to carriage tourists but to people who walked. O’Kane described the aim as “improving the trail to the site of the old summit house and maintaining some sort of shelter there for trampers.” The club cleared the old path so that ox teams could haul supplies to the top, and put up tents.
It is worth pausing on how well appointed those tents were. There were four of them: three big enough for a dozen people each, and one — in the Watermans’ phrase — “one monstrosity that slept 20.” Each was furnished with a stove, a lantern, dishes and utensils, a supply of foodstuffs, “fragrant boughs for bedding,” and “clean, new blankets.”
The club’s own brochure struck exactly the right note — apologetic about the accommodation, unapologetic about the mountain:
“It in no sense offers the ease and luxuries of the great houses of other mountain resorts, but to those who ‘love the call of the wilderness’ and long to live close to nature in all her rare and changing beauties it comes a distinct boon.”
— Camel’s Hump Club, quoted in Long Trail News, Summer 2007, pp. 11–12
It worked. In 1910 the tenting area drew 700 visitors. The following year it drew 1,100. That is a remarkable figure for a canvas camp at 3,800 feet reached on foot, and it establishes something important about the chronology: the Camel’s Hump Club was successfully running an overnight operation on this mountain before the Green Mountain Club existed. The GMC was founded in March 1910. When it began sketching a footpath the length of Vermont, there was already a working hikers’ camp near the top of Camel’s Hump, with a cleared trail and a supply line.
The relationship between the two clubs was close and slightly ambiguous. Writing in 1911, Dr. Paris referred to the Camel’s Hump Club as a Waterbury section of the GMC — but as the club’s own centennial research later noted, “There is no other mention of GMC status.” A 2003 Long Trail News put it more comfortably: “The pioneering Camel’s Hump Club, which preceded the GMC, also became a section.”
The Tin Huts
1912 · Galvanized Iron
Canvas will not survive a Vermont winter at 3,800 feet, and wood will not survive a porcupine. The Camel’s Hump Club chose the third option.
In 1912 the club put up a hut at the clearing, fourteen feet by twenty. Two more followed. All three were built of galvanized iron, and O’Kane — who visited and wrote the fullest account of them — is explicit about why:
“The club cleared an old path, so that ox teams might haul supplies to the top, and set up tents to provide lodgings. Later, three buildings were erected, this time made of galvanized iron which would be more resistant to porcupines. Through the summer season a caretaker was on hand, selling supplies to those who wished them, and furnishing meals.”
— O’Kane, Trails and Summits of the Green Mountain (1926)
The animals that ate the summit house out of existence after 1869 determined the material of everything that replaced it. It is a direct causal line from one building to the next, and it puts the Camel’s Hump huts at the head of a small and now entirely vanished class of Long Trail architecture — the metal closed camp. Glastenbury Mountain Camp, Sunrise Camp near Goshen, and Carmel Camp on the far side of Camel’s Hump all followed. When the last of them came down in 1976, the GMC’s Trails and Shelters chairman wrote its obituary as the end of a lineage: Carmel was “the last of the Long Trail’s steel palaces,” a group “which at one time also included Glastenbury Mountain Camp, Sunrise Camp… and the old Camel’s Hump Huts.”
The arrangement of the clearing
O’Kane’s guidebook gives the layout precisely, in the voice of someone standing in the hollow with a party behind him:
“There are three metal buildings, one to the left occupied by the caretaker, one straight ahead which serves as quarters for women trampers, and one to the right which contains the bunks for men.
Here several trails diverge. The path to Bolton… leaves just to the left of the men’s hut. The trail to the summit of the mountain passes between the women’s hut and that of the caretaker… Another trail, to the left of the men’s hut, leads to a spring and to a ledge near by from which there is a view to the north. A second spring is situated beside the Callahan Trail, just below the huts.”
— O’Kane, 1926
So the clearing held three buildings arranged around a crossroads: the caretaker’s hut to the left as you faced the summit, the women’s hut straight ahead, the men’s hut to the right. The trail to Bolton left just past the men’s hut; the summit trail — and the route on to Montclair Glen — ran between the women’s hut and the caretaker’s; a side path by the men’s hut led to a spring and a north-facing ledge, and a second spring sat beside the Callahan Trail just below the huts themselves. It was a small, deliberate settlement, laid out the way a real hamlet would be, three buildings and two water sources organizing the paths that crossed it.
The telephone
The single most surprising thing about the huts is that you could ring them up. From the second edition of the Long Trail Guide Book in 1920 onward, the entry ends with a flat, astonishing sentence: “Telephone, both local and long distance.” A line ran to a hut below a 4,000-foot summit, and hikers were told to use it:
“Phone in Callahan’s house connects with Camel’s Hump Club huts so meals and lodging may be ordered before party starts ascent.”
— Guide Book of the Long Trail, 2nd ed., 1920, p. 15
You stopped at the farm at the bottom of the mountain, telephoned ahead, ordered supper and a bunk, and then walked up to it. In 1920. Later editions transferred the instruction to Will Monroe, who bought the Callahan place in 1924 and renamed it Couching Lion Farm: “Prof. Monroe at the Couching Lion Farm does not furnish food or shelter to hikers, but has a phone which connects with the Camel’s Hump Huts and Waterbury, so that lodging may be ordered before reaching the summit.”
What a night in the tin huts was actually like. The GMC’s 1930 Intersectional outing sent one party to sleep at the huts, and the programme did not oversell it. Hikers were told plainly: “You will sleep in your clothes in the tin huts on Couching Lion (Camel’s Hump).” The caretaker would provide “supper and breakfast (plain camp fare)” and the party would “sleep under blankets in true camp style, two to a bunk.” A note added that anyone ” preferring to omit this experience” could stay down at Monroe’s farm instead. The club’s own comfort ranking, printed on the next page, is the most honest assessment of the huts in the entire archive:
It should be remembered by all that camp accomodations lack the luxuries of hotel life, but with the exception of the ‘tin huts’ in Party A and Taft Lodge in Party B, there is a degree of comfort not usual in woods life.”
— Long Trail News, June 1930, p. 2
In other words: everything on the Long Trail is more comfortable than you would expect — except these.
A photograph taken in 1951 shows what four decades of visitors did to the walls. The corrugated sheeting of the men’s hut is covered in scratched graffiti — names, home towns, dates: Waterbury, VT; Sept. 2, 1943. Where a wooden shelter would have had a logbook, the tin huts had their own siding, and hikers signed it with whatever was sharp in their pocket.
Handed to the Club, and a Lodge That Never Came
June 18, 1922 · The Conveyance
In 1922 the Camel’s Hump Club gave up its property. The transaction is recorded in the December 1922 issue of the club newsletter under the heading “Camel’s Hump and Monroe Lodge,” and the wording matters:
“The Camel’s Hump Club of Waterbury, which built and has heretofore maintained three galvanized iron huts on Camel’s Hump, has conveyed their title to them to the Green Mountain Club and the Club has placed them in charge of the New York section which accepted the trust and has had the care of them since June 18.” — Long Trail News, December 1922, p. 2
Title to the Green Mountain Club; custody to the New York Section, which “accepted the trust.” That New York should end up maintaining three sheet-iron buildings on a Vermont mountaintop is less strange than it sounds — the New York Section under Will Monroe was then the most energetic trail-building body in the state, and Monroe himself would shortly buy the farm at the foot of this very mountain.
The same announcement carried a much larger plan. The huts were to be a stopgap. In their place, or beside them, the New York Section intended to build a proper log lodge:
“The N.Y. section plans to build there next year a large lodge of logs, and to furnish necessary equipment for it, to be known as Monroe Lodge, in honor of Prof. Will S. Monroe, noted trail maker and president of the N.Y. section. The cost, estimated at $1500.00, is to be raised by voluntary contributions, and about two-thirds of the amount has been subscribed at the present writing.”
— Long Trail News, December 1922, p. 2
Monroe Lodge came remarkably close to existing. By April 1923 nearly $2,000 had been subscribed, which the club said “insures the erection of a building amply sufficient for all purposes.” By December 1923 an architect had been engaged — Paul W. Thayer of Wallingford, who had designed the GMC’s new clubhouse — and the plans showed “an artistic as well as a comfortable building.” The budget had risen to $2,500, and that was in hand. Logs would be cut nearby and drawn to the site on the snow. The club looked forward to chronicling “the completion of the Club’s second mountain house” within the year.
And the huts had been assigned their new role in the scheme: “The sheet metal huts, which have heretofore served as camps, will be repaired, and put in good order to be used as adjuncts to the building.”
It never happened. In April 1924 the newsletter reported, with visible resignation, that “No steps have yet been taken toward building the proposed Monroe Lodge on Camel’s Hump, but we expect this will eventually materialize. We are not, however, making any predictions as to when. This matter is in the hands of the New York section.” No further predictions were made. Monroe Lodge was never built, the money presumably went elsewhere, and the tin huts — which were to have been outbuildings — remained the accommodation on Camel’s Hump for another quarter century.
Fifty Years Read Down One Column
1920 – 1971 · The Guide Book Entry
The Long Trail Guide Book reprinted its Camel’s Hump paragraph in every edition it published. Read the same few sentences across fifty years, and the paragraph turns into a story the club never meant to tell — of a business quietly giving up, one clause at a time.
In 1920, the second edition of the guidebook described a going concern. Three metal huts stood in the clearing, staffed by a caretaker from July through October who sold canned goods, prepared meals, and furnished fuel. A telephone connected the site to the outside world, “both local and long distance.” A night’s lodging cost sixty cents, with an extra ten cents for each additional blanket. The 1921 and 1922 editions repeated this without change — even though, in June of 1922, ownership of the huts passed from the Camel’s Hump Club to the Green Mountain Club and the New York Section. The guidebook did not think the transaction worth revising a word over.
The first real change came in 1924, and it was a retreat. The word “Club” dropped out of the huts’ name — a small thing, but it marked the end of the era when a private Waterbury business ran this mountain as a resort. More telling was what happened to the meals: the caretaker, the fifth edition explained, no longer prepared them. He only furnished fuel, so hikers could cook their own. The season shrank too, now running from July to September 10th rather than through October. A companion edition later that year restated the huts’ position as “just north of Summit” and noted that Callahan’s farm at the mountain’s foot had become Couching Lion Farm — Will Monroe’s new name for the property. Through the rest of the 1920s the entry held steady, its only edits a distance figure revised twice, and in 1932 the passage was recast as flowing narrative rather than a terse listing, tightening the season to July 4th through Labor Day and stating flatly that “no meals are furnished but staple supplies are sold.” The 1935 edition changed nothing but a distance — from a third of a mile to a half.
Then, in 1937, the entry turned again. The huts were renamed “Camel’s Hump Camps,” and the pricing moved in a direction that should worry anyone who has run a business: the nightly rate fell from sixty cents to fifty, while the blanket charge rose from ten cents to fifteen. A falling headline price paired with a rising incidental fee is not the signature of a thriving operation. The 1940 edition kept the same wording — and turned out to be the last one that mentioned a caretaker at all.
By 1947, the retreat was total. Every sentence about the caretaker, the fee, the blankets, the staple supplies, and the fuel had vanished from the guidebook. Three huts still stood in the clearing, but the entry offered nothing inside them — no service, no price, no promise of a bed. Four years later, in 1951, the guidebook could no longer even claim three buildings: it now read “Camel’s Hump Huts, two metal huts,” and explained that they were kept “for shelter and for picnicking” only. Overnight hikers were redirected half a mile down the mountain to the newly built Gorham Lodge.
The fifteenth edition, in 1956, marked the huts down to a single survivor: “the only remaining one of three huts which for years gave shelter to hikers.” That hut, the guidebook added, was “officially abandoned and not maintained,” though it still offered “some emergency protection” to anyone caught out. By 1960 even that sentence had slipped into the past tense — the trail now dropped down to a clearing “where were formerly located three huts which for years gave shelter to hikers.” That exact phrasing was reprinted, word for word, through the seventeenth and twentieth editions, 1963 to 1971. The place-name outlived the buildings by decades: “Camel’s Hump Hut Clearing” still marked the spot in the mileage tables of the 1980s, long after anyone alive had slept there.
Read start to finish, the fifty-year run of guidebook entries traces a single arc without a single dramatic sentence in it. The meals go first, in 1924, two years after the Camel’s Hump Club handed the property over. The season shortens. The price falls, which in a going concern is never a good sign. The caretaker survives the Depression and disappears sometime between 1940 and 1947 — almost certainly during the war, when the club lost most of its field staff to service elsewhere. And then the buildings themselves subtract, one census at a time: three huts, then three, then two, then one, then none. No single edition ever announced that Camel’s Hump was closing for the night. It only ever, quietly, stopped saying that it was open.
Sources: Guide Book of the Long Trail, editions 2 (1920) through 20 (1971). Fees given are per night, with the second figure the charge per additional blanket. Woodward’s Shelter History (1999) summarizes the 15th edition as leaving “three huts remain” — the 1956 text itself plainly says one.
Taken Apart to Build Gorham Lodge
1945 – 1960 · The End
The club knew what was happening. In May 1945, planning its postwar programme, the Long Trail News published a frank assessment of what the war years had cost the shelter system, and named the huts among the casualties:
“The sheet iron huts on the Hump too are in a poor state of repair and really should be replaced, preferably by a log lodge on the order of Mabel Taylor Butler or Glen Ellen.”
— Long Trail News, May 1945, p. 1
The same editorial named the agents of decay with a certain weariness: “storms, snow, hedgehogs and lumbermen, not to mention a few careless hikers.” Three years later the club president was still wishing: “It would be nice to see the tin huts on Camel’s Hump in repair, too!”
What finally arrived was not a repair but a replacement, and it was a memorial. H. W. Gorham — “Bill” Gorham — had been a New York Section member since 1923 and was particularly fond of this mountain. He died in August 1949, and his friends raised money for a cabin in his name. Professor Roy Buchanan chose the site:
“…a new cabin or shelter on Camel’s Hump (or, if you prefer, Couching Lion) for which Professor Buchanan has selected a new location, farther down the north slope than the present dilapidated shelters.”
— Long Trail News, February 1950, p. 5
Gorham Lodge went up in the summer of 1950, half a mile down the north slope, on the edge of a drop-off with a view over the Winooski valley. It was about fifteen by twenty feet, with bunks for a dozen. It was, by the Long Trail Patrol’s own account, the most inaccessible site they had ever worked — everything had to be packed two and a half miles uphill from Couching Lion Farm.
Everything, that is, that could not be salvaged from the huts.
Gorham Lodge is about half a mile north, down the Hump, from the old ‘Tin Huts,’ one of which was dismantled to provide roofing material… The lodge is about 15 by 20 ft. in size, with bunks for a dozen people and a small stove brought down from one of the old huts. …Everything, such as boards for the floor and bunks, that could not be cut at the site or dragged down from the Huts had to be packed in two and a half miles up hill.”
— Long Trail News, August 1950, p. 3
This is the moment the story turns. One of the three galvanized-iron huts was taken to pieces in 1950 and carried down the mountain to roof its own successor. Gorham Lodge — which stood until December 2001, when heavy snow shoved it off its foundation and it was burned as unsafe — spent fifty-one years under the roof of the Camel’s Hump tin huts.
The last two
The remainder went slowly, and no one recorded the end. The 1951 guidebook found two huts standing, demoted to “shelter and… picnicking.” A photograph from that same year shows one of them still upright, sheeting scratched over with names, a second hut behind it, ground littered with debris. By 1956 a single hut remained, “officially abandoned and not maintained.” By 1960 the guidebook had moved the whole sentence into the past tense.
The only surviving account of how they actually went is a member’s recollection, published in the Burlington Section’s newsletter more than sixty years later:
“Later there were three tin huts which hikers could camp in until the 1950s. I remember doing this when the huts were still there but in poor condition. They were later moved into the trees and finally removed completely.”
— Ridge Lines (Burlington Section), Winter 2014, p. 3
They left a mess behind them. Twenty years after the last hut vanished from the guidebook, the Gorham Lodge caretaker was still cleaning up after them. Howard VanBenthuysen’s 1972 journal, July 1: “…took out load of scrap metal collected from hut clearing, down to Monroe Farm…”
A Promise Made to the Mountain
What replaced the huts on Camel’s Hump was not another building. It was a policy.
The land had been moving in that direction since 1911, when Joseph Battell gave the summit and a thousand acres around it to the State of Vermont, specifying that the forest was “to be preserved in a primeval state.” Purchases, exchanges, and a bequest from Will Monroe’s estate grew the holding into what is now a state park of more than 21,000 acres. Vermont fought off ski developments and communications towers, and in 1965 designated the summit a Natural Area; in 1969 the legislature widened the protected zone. An early brochure from the commission that oversaw it put the commitment in a sentence the GMC has been quoting ever since:
“A promise was made to the mountain that the only changes it would undergo are Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter.”
— Camel’s Hump Forest Reserve Commission, quoted in Long Trail News, Summer 2007, p. 12
From the late 1960s the GMC and the state stationed ranger-naturalists on the mountain — not to sell blankets at ten cents apiece but to keep hikers off the arctic-alpine vegetation on the summit. By the 23rd edition of the guidebook the club could describe Camel’s Hump as “the only undeveloped high peak in Vermont” — a distinction it holds partly because everything anyone ever built up here failed.
The reversal is complete enough to be funny. In October 1974 a ranger-naturalist’s season report listed among the summer’s duties “playing ‘cat and mouse’ with hikers planning to camp in the hut clearing (not allowed).” The clearing that was made for a hotel, furnished with four tents, built up with three huts and a telephone, and staffed by a caretaker selling supper for sixty cents — is now a place where you may not spend the night.
Two decades before that, on a snowy June evening in 1972, thirty-three boy scouts and their leaders arrived at Gorham Lodge cold and wet. They crowded inside; the caretaker got the temperature up to fifty degrees; the scouts used up his trash bags as sleeping-bag covers and mostly slept outdoors anyway. He slept by the door. That, half a mile below the clearing and under a roof made of tin hut, is about as close as the mountain ever came to the hospitality the Camel’s Hump Club had in mind.
The clearing itself is still there, and still doing the one job it has always done well. Trails converge; people stop; somebody eats lunch out of the wind and looks up at the cone. In the 1970s a hiker named Ralph Gibbs found a twenty-dollar bill lying in the grass here. As the account notes: “There was no place to spend it so it really wasn’t such a find.”
Sources
Guide Book of the Long Trail / Long Trail Guide
- 2nd ed. (1920), pp. 14–16 — the huts, the fee, the telephone.
- 3rd ed. (1921), pp. 15–17 · 4th ed. (1922), pp. 15–17.
- 5th ed. (1924), pp. 18–20 — meals dropped; season shortened.
- 6th ed. (1924), pp. 23–25 · 7th ed. (1928), pp. 25–27 · 8th ed. (1930), pp. 21–23.
- 9th ed. (1932), pp. 42–45 — entry rewritten; staple supplies only.
- 10th ed. (1935), pp. 40, 43 · 11th ed. (1937), pp. 45, 69 — renamed “Camel’s Hump Camps”; 50¢.
- 12th ed. (1940), p. 47 — last caretaker reference.
- 13th ed. (1947), pp. 45, 70 — caretaker and fees removed.
- 14th ed. (1951), pp. 41, 43, 63 — two huts; Gorham Lodge (1950) introduced.
- 15th ed. (1956), pp. 38, 40, 42 — one hut, “officially abandoned.”
- 16th ed. (1960), pp. 48, 50 · 17th ed. (1963), p. 49 · 20th ed. (1971), p. 53 — “formerly located.”
- 21st ed. (1977), p. 61 · 22nd ed. (1983), pp. 57–61 · 23rd ed. (1985), pp. 13, 62–68 — the summit-house paragraph; Natural Area.
Long Trail News
- December 1922, p. 2 — “Camel’s Hump and Monroe Lodge”: the conveyance.
- April 1923, p. 3 · December 1923 · April 1924, p. 1 — Monroe Lodge planned and abandoned.
- July 1929, pp. 3–4 · December 1929, p. 3 — the “tin huts,” caretaker, blankets and food.
- June 1930, pp. 1–2 — the Intersectional; “sleep in your clothes”; the comfort ranking.
- February 1933, p. 3 — New York Section plans to rebuild the huts.
- July 1933, pp. 2–3 — caretaker Charles Morse; the Dartmouth party’s fatal fall.
- September 1937, p. 2 — “cared for by New York Section.”
- August 1942, p. 15 — wartime uncertainty over the caretaker.
- May 1945, p. 1 — “The sheet iron huts on the Hump too are in a poor state of repair.
- November 1948, p. 1 — T. N. Goddard on the huts’ repair.
- February 1950, p. 5 — the H. W. Gorham Memorial Shelter Fund appeal.
- August 1950, p. 3 & November 1950, pp. 3, 6 — Gorham Lodge built from hut roofing and a hut stove.
- August 1965, p. 4 · February 1973, p. 4 · November 1976, p. 6 — the end of the metal camps.
- November 1980, p. 11 — winter trips to the hut clearing; the twenty-dollar bill.
- February 1989, p. 8 — Reidun Nuquist, “Canapés and Cake on Camel’s Hump.”
- Fall 1999, p. 22 · Spring 2003, p. 6 · Winter 2018, p. 25 — the Camel’s Hump Club as a GMC section.
- Summer 2002, p. 14 · Fall 2003, p. 16 — Nuquist on tourism; Mary Beardsley Fenn on tin huts.
- Summer 2007, pp. 10–12 — the fullest modern account of the mountain’s history.
- Fall 2016, pp. 8–9 — Howard VanBenthuysen’s 1972 Gorham Lodge caretaker journal.
- Summer 2014, p. 12 · Winter 2019, p. 7 — the clearing as a modern navigational trap.
- Summer 2022, p. 3 · Winter 2023, pp. 4–5 — the Burrows Trail restoration.
Other Publications
- Walter Collins O’Kane. Trails and Summits of the Green Mountains. The Riverside Press, 1926 — the hotel, the Club, the three huts and the clearing’s plan.
- Laura & Guy Waterman. Forest & Crag, 1989 — the Camel’s Hump Club’s founding and the four tents.
- Woodward, Paul & Joanne. Long Trail System Shelter History, 2nd ed. GMC, 1999 — pp. 21, 46–47, 74–75, 144.
- Roderic Marble Olzendam. The Lure of Vermont’s Silent Places; The Green Mountains. Vermont Bureau of Publicity — pp. 43, 58.
- Ridge Lines (Burlington Section): October 1974, p. 2 · January 1978, p. 3 · June 1981, p. 2 · Winter 2014, p. 3.
- Trail Talk (Montpelier Section): Spring 2006, no. 78, p. 2 · Summer 2010, no. 95, p. 4.
