Midway up the Valley Way Trail in New Hampshire’s White Mountains the other day, my son Tom and I paused while a descending hiker adjusted his prodigious pack.

I recognized the heavy wooden pack board as that of the hut crew, a ragtag band of carefree souls who work in the mountain shelters, and remarked, “That’s quite a load. What are you carrying?”

“Trash,” he replied. “Today is garbage day.”

I wondered, whatever happened to the carry-in, carry-out policy at the shelters? A few minutes later two others in the crew, similarly burdened, trundled past on the steep, rocky path. If all were on trash detail, I calculated, they were collectively hauling more than 100 pounds of refuse down the mountain. Last year, when I spent a week as winter caretaker at the Gray Knob Shelter on Mount Adams, I didn’t have to remind overnight guests that they had to pack out every burned matchstick and granola bar wrapper, since the leave-no-trace ethos is so deeply ingrained in most who take to the outdoors.

There’s a loophole, though. If you decide to stay in one of the so-called full-service shelters during the peak summer months, the hut crew will not only carry your food up the trail, but also cook it, clean up afterward and pack out the rubbish. Of course, there’s a price for this privilege – more on that in a few minutes.

Tom and I were in the mountains to rendezvous with friends at the Madison Springs Hut, a wooden shelter perched at 4,800 feet between Mount Madison and Mount Adams in the Presidential Range. A rustic yet elegant wood, stone and glass structure, the hut offers panoramic views of the Presidential, Kilkenny and Pilot ranges, as well as Madison Gulf. It is one of eight White Mountain huts owned and operated by the Appalachian Mountain Club, a private, nonprofit organization that serves as one of the Northeast’s leading trail-maintenance, conservation and outdoor-recreation advocacy groups. Full disclosure: I have been an AMC member for decades and support its mission to promote “the protection, enjoyment and stewardship of the mountains, forests, waters and trails of the Appalachian region.”

Anyway, Tom and I arrived at the hut in early afternoon but there was no sign of our friends, so we dumped our heavy backpacks and scrambled with a light daypack to the summit of Mount Adams, at 5,774 feet the second highest mountain in New Hampshire after neighboring Mt. Washington, which stands at 6,288 feet.

We gazed at the surrounding peaks for a few minutes, basking in bright sunlight, and then clambered back to the shelter. When our friends still hadn’t arrived Tom and I decided to kill another hour or so by hiking up 5,367-ft. Mt. Madison, only a half-mile away. By this time I began to suspect I had mistaken the date of our planned rendezvous – a suspicion later confirmed. No matter, though – Tom and I thoroughly enjoyed our hike, and we had been visiting the region anyway so it wasn’t a terrible inconvenience.

In any case, we returned to the shelter after dashing up and down Mt. Madison, and then faced a dilemma: Should we spend the night there, on the remote chance that our friends would show up, or hike down 3.7 miles to where our car was parked, and then drive another hour and a half to the cabin where we were staying with family in Maine?

The shelter caretaker couldn’t have been more hospitable, noting that only about half the 52 bunks were occupied, and that a scrumptious, hot dinner with gourmet dessert would be served in less than half an hour. We were tired and hungry, and didn’t relish the prospect of slogging another three hours over a rocky, muddy trail, hurrying to get down by dark.

“Uh, what’s the fee?” I asked, adding that as AMC members Tom and were entitled to discount rates.

“With tax, $89.25,” the caretaker replied.

“Apiece? With the discount?”

She nodded.

Over the years I’ve certainly paid more for lodging – at hotels in New York City, Paris, London and other big cities – but I couldn’t bring myself to shell our nearly $200 for a couple of bunks, dinner and breakfast in the White Mountains. I say this with all due respect to the AMC, realizing that the money raised by hut fees helps support many worthy programs such as clearing the very trails we had hiked on.

I also realize that the shelters, which offer full services from June until mid-September, are perfect accommodations for those who are too young, too old or otherwise disinclined to carry heavy sleeping bags, tents, food and cooking gear. As such they afford the opportunity for many more people to experience the mountains, though at somewhat unaffordable prices.

To his credit, Tom, who is even more frugal than I, didn’t even bother asking what our decision would be after I told him the price. He silently shouldered his pack and tromped over to a cabin faucet to fill his water bottle for the long hike down.

The sun had long since set, a crescent moon poked through the trees and darkness began to envelop the deep woods when we finally shuffled into the Appalachia parking lot on Route 2 in Randolph.

Under different circumstances, I reflected, our adventure would have ended with something like the closing line in a MasterCard commercial: “A night in a mountain cabin after a long day’s hike? Priceless.”

The reality, of course, is that everything has a price, including comfort.

Next time, I thought, I’ll remember to pack a tent.