'Hut-to-hut' hiking offers comfort between daily treks

ALONG THE ROGUE RIVER, Ore. -- As he makes his way along the narrow path hovering hundreds of feet above a rush of white water, David Chesluk recites the contents of his fanny pack, a veritable miracle of supply.

"Duct tape. Aleve. Bandages. Insect repellent. Sunscreen. An extra water bottle. Antibiotics. Batteries. Windbreaker/poncho. Plastic bags. And a medical kit. I could take out your appendix, if needed," says the retired psychiatrist, only half in jest.

But what's more impressive is what Chesluk and six companions aren't packing on this four-day hike into one of America's most serene and remote wilderness areas. Absent are cook stoves and pots, sleeping bags and pads, tents and ground covers and any sustenance beyond a few energy bars. By day, they're enjoying an unburdened walk in the woods, relishing riverside lunches prepared for them while seated comfortably in roomy canvas chairs. At day's end, they're indulging in hot showers, hearty dinners and snug beds in backcountry lodges where their personal gear, floated in via raft, awaits them.

Hut-to-hut hiking, long a favorite among robust European travelers seeking an immersive back-to-nature experience — short of sleeping on the ground, that is — is less prevalent on this side of the Atlantic, where overnight outdoor adventures tend to teeter between extremes: hard-core wilderness backpacking and the fully wired RV park. But the experience is catching on as more tour operators and organizations offer walking itineraries between accommodations that range from rustic backcountry huts with shared facilities to deluxe inns serving gourmet fare.

Brad Niva, owner of Rogue Wilderness Adventures, operator of this raft-supported hike, chalks up the popularity to a glut of active Baby Boomers whose roughing-it years are behind them.

"People want to feel like they're getting out of the hubbub. But they don't want to sleep in a tent and eat freeze-dried food," says Niva. "On this trip, you can bring the kitchen sink — or a case of wine. We'll carry it down the river for you."