How does one describe the Bonds to those who have never been and will probably never go? How do you capture the precipitous and breathtaking edifice of Bondcliff? The long, strong neck of trail that leads to Bond? The unmatched views from a comfortable summit seat atop West Bond, which Steve Smith has accurately dubbed “a scatter your ashes” kind of place?
In climbing the 4,000-footers as often as Atticus and I do, I try to remember my first time climbing each, try to peel back the experience of seeing them time and again and recall the moment of awe that came with most of them . On the Bonds there is no need to do this. Here the world of the Whites spreads out at my feet as I walk among the giants. I count my blessings for being able to see such a place for even if I saw the world from the Bonds a hundred times it would not be enough.
Yesterday morning a friend dropped Atticus and me off at Lincoln Woods and we walked for a little while in darkness until the pale dawn arrived. We were at the bridge to the wilderness area in an hour. When I get to this bridge I often think of how bridges represent the entering of a new world or a new life in mythology and indeed it all changes here. Maybe not the topography but on the far side of the bridge it feels like a different realm. Perhaps it is just in my mind but to me the Pemigewasset Wilderness just feels different and isolated.
The air was still crisp and cold as Atticus and I turned onto the Bondcliff Trail and the morning was still nondescript. But that soon changed as the sun finally rose enough over the mountains to light up the bare January treetops bathing them in a golden light and making them appear to be as full of color as they are in autumn. It was magnificent.
With the sun came the warmth. Off came the hat and gloves and heavier top. I started to sweat like it was summer. As we approached the last brook crossing the snow was turning into that distasteful mashed potato consistency and it began glomming onto the bottom of my snowshoes. It made for slow going. This went on until just below the entrance to the alpine zone.
I was concerned about the ledge that leads above tree line. It can be difficult for Atticus in certain conditions but on this day the snow pack turned it into a staircase. While climbing up towards the summit we are now above treeline and I thought of my father, who loved these mountains but never hiked a 4,000-footer and will never see such a place other than through my words and pictures and they simply do not do it justice.
On Bondcliff the perspective is different than anyplace I know of. I can see for mountains and mountains. I also see the scars left behind by the logging industry. In the winter months the mountains are naked and you can see where roads used to be. It is particularly noticeable on the Hancocks as that great mass of rock is line upon line upon line like some faded graffiti. In spite of these scars I realize that with all that mankind and progress has taken from this world, here on Bondcliff and Bond and West Bond you can see where man got it right. They saved this place, this wilderness and brought back paradise. Presently the only sign of mankind I have and will have throughout much of my journey are the ski slopes on Loon Mountain. I get greedy and wish I did not have to look upon those, either. For without them this place would be untouched by the contemporary hand of man save for these trails.
The other thing I noticed was how still the air was and how quiet the day. I’ve never known a place as quiet in my entire life. We would see no one other than during the break we took at Zealand Hut. There was no wind, no birdsong, no jets dully roaring above. The lack of nearly any sign of civilization made this trek all the more surreal.
The encroaching cloud cover took away the brilliance of a blue sky but the views on the Bonds were still unmatched even in the growing grayness.
On top of Bond we did have a touch of wind and it was one of the few times I was chilly all day. But soon we were warmed by the trip to West Bond. Here the snow drifted in places to the point where if I hadn’t known better I would have thought no one had been out here. This single mile took us an hour as we plodded through the drifted snow.
On West Bond the wind was gone again and Atticus and I sat on the same flat rock that holds the summit cairn and took our time enjoying this day. It was now 1:00 in the afternoon and we were in no hurry to leave what I consider the best viewpoint in the White Mountains. From here Bondcliff looks even more dramatic than it does when you are on top of it. People who don’t hike will see the pictures and see the backdrop of the cliffs and see the beautiful harshness of that mountain and think it is not real. Sometimes I feel the same way.
Sitting there surrounded by layers of mountains I thought to myself this is the only ‘city’ I wish to live in. These are the only skyscrapers I wish to see. In his poem “Upon Westminster Bridge” Wordsworth wrote:
In climbing the 4,000-footers as often as Atticus and I do, I try to remember my first time climbing each, try to peel back the experience of seeing them time and again and recall the moment of awe that came with most of them . On the Bonds there is no need to do this. Here the world of the Whites spreads out at my feet as I walk among the giants. I count my blessings for being able to see such a place for even if I saw the world from the Bonds a hundred times it would not be enough.
Yesterday morning a friend dropped Atticus and me off at Lincoln Woods and we walked for a little while in darkness until the pale dawn arrived. We were at the bridge to the wilderness area in an hour. When I get to this bridge I often think of how bridges represent the entering of a new world or a new life in mythology and indeed it all changes here. Maybe not the topography but on the far side of the bridge it feels like a different realm. Perhaps it is just in my mind but to me the Pemigewasset Wilderness just feels different and isolated.
The air was still crisp and cold as Atticus and I turned onto the Bondcliff Trail and the morning was still nondescript. But that soon changed as the sun finally rose enough over the mountains to light up the bare January treetops bathing them in a golden light and making them appear to be as full of color as they are in autumn. It was magnificent.
With the sun came the warmth. Off came the hat and gloves and heavier top. I started to sweat like it was summer. As we approached the last brook crossing the snow was turning into that distasteful mashed potato consistency and it began glomming onto the bottom of my snowshoes. It made for slow going. This went on until just below the entrance to the alpine zone.
I was concerned about the ledge that leads above tree line. It can be difficult for Atticus in certain conditions but on this day the snow pack turned it into a staircase. While climbing up towards the summit we are now above treeline and I thought of my father, who loved these mountains but never hiked a 4,000-footer and will never see such a place other than through my words and pictures and they simply do not do it justice.
On Bondcliff the perspective is different than anyplace I know of. I can see for mountains and mountains. I also see the scars left behind by the logging industry. In the winter months the mountains are naked and you can see where roads used to be. It is particularly noticeable on the Hancocks as that great mass of rock is line upon line upon line like some faded graffiti. In spite of these scars I realize that with all that mankind and progress has taken from this world, here on Bondcliff and Bond and West Bond you can see where man got it right. They saved this place, this wilderness and brought back paradise. Presently the only sign of mankind I have and will have throughout much of my journey are the ski slopes on Loon Mountain. I get greedy and wish I did not have to look upon those, either. For without them this place would be untouched by the contemporary hand of man save for these trails.
The other thing I noticed was how still the air was and how quiet the day. I’ve never known a place as quiet in my entire life. We would see no one other than during the break we took at Zealand Hut. There was no wind, no birdsong, no jets dully roaring above. The lack of nearly any sign of civilization made this trek all the more surreal.
The encroaching cloud cover took away the brilliance of a blue sky but the views on the Bonds were still unmatched even in the growing grayness.
On top of Bond we did have a touch of wind and it was one of the few times I was chilly all day. But soon we were warmed by the trip to West Bond. Here the snow drifted in places to the point where if I hadn’t known better I would have thought no one had been out here. This single mile took us an hour as we plodded through the drifted snow.
On West Bond the wind was gone again and Atticus and I sat on the same flat rock that holds the summit cairn and took our time enjoying this day. It was now 1:00 in the afternoon and we were in no hurry to leave what I consider the best viewpoint in the White Mountains. From here Bondcliff looks even more dramatic than it does when you are on top of it. People who don’t hike will see the pictures and see the backdrop of the cliffs and see the beautiful harshness of that mountain and think it is not real. Sometimes I feel the same way.
Sitting there surrounded by layers of mountains I thought to myself this is the only ‘city’ I wish to live in. These are the only skyscrapers I wish to see. In his poem “Upon Westminster Bridge” Wordsworth wrote:
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would be he of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This city now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
That’s what it was like while on West Bond only the “ships, towers, domes, and theatres, and temples” are all nature-made and thankfully now man-protected and preserved.
The journey from West Bond to Guyot is relatively short, but once again the drifting snow made for slow going and it took us another hour. But Guyot, even on a cloudy day, is worth it. On these enormous round and bald mounds there is a perspective that almost matches the Bonds themselves. In winter it is like walking on a moonscape and there is no other place like it that I can think of. The vast, gentle roundness of Guyot lends contrast to the jutting peaks of Franconia Ridge, Garfield, and the Twins.
On the backside of Guyot the trail had been re-broken and I was thankful for the efforts of the group that had done it. But by this time I was tired. It took us about an hour to go from Bondcliff to Bond; an hour from Bond to West Bond; nearly an hour from West Bond to Guyot; and it took another hour to get to Zealand. My energy was dwindling with the light of the day.
For his part Atticus was as bouncy as if this was a five mile hike. I fed him throughout the day, giving him handfuls of food probably about 15 times and it appeared to keep him fresh.
The original plan was not to stop at Zealand Hut but I was tired and wanted to sit down and eat and refill a water bottle. Here we met the group that had re-broken the trail up to Guyot and on the day before had been up to Hale on the Lend-a-Hand Trail. We followed their well-broken trail. And while the trail was easy going that last 1,300 feet of elevation gain for the day did me in. I had nothing left by the time we made our way down to Zealand Road for the last 2.7 miles back to the car.
I thought of the term used for a longer hike…”death march” once we were on the road. I shuffled along and from time to time Atticus would come back to check on me and then disappear into the night again leading us back to the car. However, for as tired as I felt, and as sore, it was still a small price to pay for such a day, a day that most I know will never know.
That’s what it was like while on West Bond only the “ships, towers, domes, and theatres, and temples” are all nature-made and thankfully now man-protected and preserved.
The journey from West Bond to Guyot is relatively short, but once again the drifting snow made for slow going and it took us another hour. But Guyot, even on a cloudy day, is worth it. On these enormous round and bald mounds there is a perspective that almost matches the Bonds themselves. In winter it is like walking on a moonscape and there is no other place like it that I can think of. The vast, gentle roundness of Guyot lends contrast to the jutting peaks of Franconia Ridge, Garfield, and the Twins.
On the backside of Guyot the trail had been re-broken and I was thankful for the efforts of the group that had done it. But by this time I was tired. It took us about an hour to go from Bondcliff to Bond; an hour from Bond to West Bond; nearly an hour from West Bond to Guyot; and it took another hour to get to Zealand. My energy was dwindling with the light of the day.
For his part Atticus was as bouncy as if this was a five mile hike. I fed him throughout the day, giving him handfuls of food probably about 15 times and it appeared to keep him fresh.
The original plan was not to stop at Zealand Hut but I was tired and wanted to sit down and eat and refill a water bottle. Here we met the group that had re-broken the trail up to Guyot and on the day before had been up to Hale on the Lend-a-Hand Trail. We followed their well-broken trail. And while the trail was easy going that last 1,300 feet of elevation gain for the day did me in. I had nothing left by the time we made our way down to Zealand Road for the last 2.7 miles back to the car.
I thought of the term used for a longer hike…”death march” once we were on the road. I shuffled along and from time to time Atticus would come back to check on me and then disappear into the night again leading us back to the car. However, for as tired as I felt, and as sore, it was still a small price to pay for such a day, a day that most I know will never know.
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