Camp 16

Camp 16

Early in the 1980s, I planned a trip one May to ascend Mt Bondcliff with my redoubtable friend Bob. The weather would probably be cool, and snow would still be deep on the forest floor at higher elevations as well. We only had a weekend at our disposal for the trip, so we planned to hike into Camp 16 on the Wilderness Trail after dark on Friday night, and make camp whenever we arrived. We would climb Mt Bondcliff on Saturday, and relax with a fine dinner by a fire after the hike. On Sunday, we could hike out at our leisure and drive home. 
 
We arrived at the trailhead east of Lincoln on the Kancamaugus Highway just after sunset on Friday night, and finished getting our packs ready for the hike into Camp 16 in the parking lot. We had my two-man dome tent and our regular assortment of backpacking supplies, as well as plenty of food. We carried assorted trail snacks, instant oatmeal and lemonade, good coffee, bread, and the makings for a fine feast on Saturday night. We had two large frozen steaks, potatoes, peppers and onions. And, of course, we had a fine big red wine in a plastic container, and another container of Scotch whiskey.
 
Camp 16 is an old lumber camp located on the Wilderness Trail about five miles in from the trailhead. Located at the camp, now a clearing in the forest, were some elevated tent platforms, wood slats across a frame that allowed us to pitch a tent off the ground. The trail went three miles due north, then worked its way east for two miles until reaching Camp 16, just before the junction of the Bondcliff Trail.
 
We set off on the trail a little before 10pm, with my candle lantern serving as our sole source of illumination. A candle lantern was an aluminum cylinder about 5 inches long when collapsed. One end would pullout about 3 inches to reveal a glass lens surrounding a candlewick that poked through an aluminum hole. You opened the bottom to remove another tube that held the candle, which a small spring pushed upward to keep the wick in place. The small lantern did not throw a lot of light but any light seemed like a lot on a dark mountain trail at night, and one candle would burn for a long time.
 
We hiked into Franconia Brook Campsite without stopping. Franconia Brook Campsite was about three miles in and, although the trail was flat, we had a good sweat going from carrying our fully loaded packs. We took a break at the bridge for water and trail snacks, and then we shouldered our packs and continued.
 
We had trouble finding the trail where the Wilderness Trail verged to the east and split apart from the Franconia Brook Trail. The area was a jumble of roots and was a bit damp. All we could see were footprints heading in every direction. This was our main obstacle; everything would have been clear in the light of day. But we eventually found the trail, and made our way east down the old railroad grade towards our destination.
 
We arrived at the camp to find it unoccupied, so we picked a solid platform with a good stone fire-ring and set up the tent. We put some dry and warm clothes on, and hung up the clothes damp with sweat from the hike. We spread out our sleeping pads and bags, and made a cocktail. We enjoyed sitting together, enjoying a drink in the dark wilderness with camp set up, and the prospect of climbing Mt Bondcliff tomorrow now close to reality. We ate some snacks, and enjoyed the darkness and the companionship until the eyelids were heavy, then we got into our sleeping bags; it was past 2:30 in the morning.
 
We awoke at dawn to a cold and quiet camp. Camp 16 was an open area containing tall and well-spaced hardwoods, each about a foot in diameter, and was close on the north side of the Wilderness Trail. I could see the Pemigewasset River flowing west towards Franconia Brook just south of the trail. The Mt Bondcliff Trail is just east of camp; Black Brook ran down from the north to join the Pemigewasset River just east of the trail junction.
 
We got up and started to get our daypacks and breakfast ready. I made coffee for two, and then boiled more water for instant oatmeal. Bob made a quart of instant lemonade to share, and I cut a bagel in half and singed each side with my backpacker’s stove before covering each side with peanut butter.
 
My stove ran on one setting only, blastoff. The stove was lightweight and functional, small and fuel efficient, and if you organized its use and your meals around tasks like the boiling of water, it was a wonder and a joy. The hot flame quickly boiled water at any altitude or temperature, and it had an impressive roar when running. I found the roar to be quite comforting in those cold moments when I doubted the wisdom of my decisions or my ability to continue. I enjoyed many a cup of coffee with many friends over the years, courtesy of that roaring little stove.
 
We made peanut butter on bagel sandwiches, and placed them into our daypacks. For lunch, we also had nuts and chocolate, and water and lemonade. I tossed the Scotch to Bob to put in his pack, I put the stove in mine. We finished our morning coffee sitting by our tent, and then we secured everything and headed for the trail to Mt Bondcliff.
 
We started up the trail, and the going was easy at first as we climbed gradually next to Black Brook heading north. We took a short break, enjoyed some lemonade, and gave ourselves a chance to adjust to the exertion. We continued and came to a point where the trail was close to the brook. A group of people had stopped there, and they sat on rocks both in the stream and on each bank. We stopped as well, a step or two upstream, to fill our water bottles and to make more lemonade. In the group were seven younger males and a couple of men, probably a church or scout group on an outing.
 
“You guys the Boy Scouts?” I asked the closest adult, who seemed to be looking at me as I knelt at the stream and poured powder into my plastic container.
 
“Explorer Scouts,” he said. “We’re camped near here, we’re on our way to Bondcliff.”
 
I looked around at the scout group; they seemed a motley and disheveled bunch for Explorers, and they all looked tired for so early in the day. One scout sat on a rock in the middle of the stream with a giant green metal first aid kit, the kit was two feet square and six inches thick. The scout had the kit open on his leg as he balanced himself on the rock and pawed for something within. I realized Bob and I probably looked a little disheveled to them, sweaty T-shirts and shorts, kerchief around the head for sweat.
 
“Where you headed?” asked the leader.
 
“Same as you,” I answered. “Bondcliff.”
 
“Might be cold up there,” he offered.
 
I nodded and answered, “Should be nice, though.” I looked at the kid in the brook who was toying with the first aid kit. Turning to Bob, who stood looking over the scene with obvious amusement, I said quietly, “That first aid kit is a little different from ours isn’t it.”  
 
“Do you have a small one, or just a box of band-aids?” asked the leader.
 
“Two joints and a bottle of Scotch,” I answered with mock seriousness, and Bob quickly replied with a hearty laugh. A disparaging glance from the stream soon followed. I closed up the lemonade and put it in my pack, and then we continued on our way towards the summit, leaving the scout group as we found them at the river. We never saw them again.
 
We continued on our way, the trail steepened as we gained elevation, the great ridge of Mt Bondcliff rising in front of us. A group came up the trail from behind and we moved aside to allow them to pass. The group was comprised of five hikers, four young men and a shapely woman with long athletic legs showing beneath a pair of hiking shorts. They went by us right at the point where the trail crossed the headwaters of Black Brook, turned to the southwest, and began to climb around the flank of the ridge.
 
We heard them for a while, and then Bob and I were alone again. The snow began to appear on the ground and the trail, and soon became deeper. Occasionally my leg would go deep into the snow, and the cold wet of it would envelop my bare leg. The trail steepened and began to turn towards the north and east again, and eventually we came to the end of the trees just below the open and rocky cliff-face and the rounded top of the mountain. We stopped in the trees and put on leggings, a dry top, parka, hat and gloves. Then we stepped up the trail to the summit.
 
Standing on the cliff-face was impressive. Across the gulf to the north was the summit of West Bond, and just to our right (east) rose the summit of Mt Bond, the trail evident on the mountainside. Just to the right of the ridge of Mt Bond I could make out in the distance the snow-covered summit of Mt Washington, and the Montalban Ridge leading away from the summit cone down to the south. Behind us was the river valley of the Pemigewasset, and the many jumbled peaks of the southern mountains. To the west and northwest was the Franconia Ridge, dominated by the snow topped Mt Lafayette. A stiff cool breeze was directly in our face as we looked towards Mt Lincoln and Mt Lafayette.
 
We heard voices and turned to see the five who had passed us earlier standing behind us, sheltered from the wind by a rock outcropping.. They had also donned warm clothing, and were talking with great animation. They stood in a circle, laughing and drinking. I walked over and asked if Bob and I could join them. “Of course,” came the reply in unison, and we joined their circle. I found a beautiful heavy shot glass pressed into my hand, and then quickly filled with Metaxa Ouzo. I had tasted Ouzo before, but never dry Metaxa. I gave the drink a good whiff, and then I tossed it back and reveled in the fine dry anise taste as the Metaxa went down my throat to warm the stomach below. Another one quickly followed. I will never forget my first taste of that amazing anise-flavored drink, served in a substantial shot glass, standing just below the summit of Mt Bondcliff on a memorable day. They then feted Bob in the same manner, the same beautiful welcome. I pulled out my stove and, in a few minutes, I had a plastic tumbler of hot lemonade laced with Scotch making its way around the circle in appreciation of their hospitality. We enjoyed our lunches, shared some smokes, and related stories of our adventures in the mountains. Two hours hurried by in this manner, and then they departed the summit and began the long hike to their distant campsite. After another thirty minutes on the summit, Bob and I made our way back into the woods and slowly followed the trail down over the snow. Passing the snow and ice, we quickly descended around the ridge, crossed over the headwaters of Black Brook, and quickly made our way south to the Wilderness Trail and back to our camp.
 
Arriving at camp, I saw we had company as a new tent stood erected on a platform close by. We dropped our packs at our camp and hurried to get enough firewood gathered to cook dinner and keep a fire going deep into the night. Bob took the Sven saw and went after larger fare, and I went to gather medium size branches and starter material. I began by visiting the fire rings by other platforms, then fanned out into the woods. Bob dropped a couple of large standing dead trees and dragged them to the site where he quickly cut them into two-foot lengths. Then he made short work of the branches I had dragged to our platform.
 
Bob continued to gather wood as I prepared the fire. I scooped out the damp ash from the fire pit and then embedded a flat stone in the bottom of the ring. I packed in four fire starters just for this occasion, each one about a half-inch square and six inches long. I set two on the rock in parallel three inches apart, then I put the other two on top of them in the same manner but perpendicular to those beneath. I set some gathered dry wood above and set a match to the starters. The flames began to lick up into the sky, and I slowly fed in more and bigger pieces until the flames were high and we had a good bed of coals.
 
By now, it was getting toward evening. We made drinks in two tall Tupperware tumblers and put our dinner supplies out. I cut two potatoes in half, then wrapped each in tinfoil and sprinkled a little water on them, and these went into the coals. Bob sliced an onion and a pepper into a small folding frying pan along with some oil, salt, and pepper. I unwrapped the two large New York sirloins, now unfrozen, and put two skewers lengthways through each. When the time came to cook we would pile some coals between two rocks, and on the rocks, we would set the steaks on the skewers to roast over the coals below. We had a fine cabernet, some cheese and French bread, and a little Worchester sauce for seasoning. A great dinner would soon be a reality.
 
We sat on the platform by the fire and enjoyed our cocktails, and marveled over the fine day we had enjoyed, the wonderful hike and the great and friendly people we had met. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the memory of the shot glass pressed into my hand, and the taste and sensation of the Metaxa Ouzo sliding down my throat. Soon our new neighbors appeared on the trail, a man and a woman about our age, who after dropping their daypacks at their tent, walked over to where Bob and I sat by the fire.
 
We looked forward to their company, Bob and I had met many fine people over the years in situations such as this.
 
“Hi,” said Bob.
 
“Is that meat?” the girl asked, looking at the two steaks sitting on tinfoil on the platform awaiting their turn on the fire.
 
“Yes it is,” I answered proudly. “Two thick New Yorkers.” I introduced Bob and myself by name. ”Welcome, have a seat.”
 
“Well, I’m a vegetarian, and this whole meat scene is all bizarre to me,” she replied stiffly, choosing to ignore my introductions.
 
“Would you like a drink, or a glass of wine?” asked Bob.
 
Again, she chose not to acknowledge the question, but rather made another disparaging remark about meat and the people who consumed it. I looked at Bob. Here were two people standing by our fire and, not only had they just arrived, they were they being rude to us, condescending to our hospitality.
 
“The saw is right there if you think you might want to find some more wood,” offered Bob, pointing to the Sven saw resting against the platform. We heard no acknowledgement nor saw any movement from either of them, they just stood by the fire.
 
“You can get something of your own and join us by the fire if you’d like,” I offered. The woman, who obviously wore the pants in this relationship, curtly replied they were all set, they required nothing. They might have required nothing, but they continued to enjoy the warmth and light of our substantial fire. They continued to stand at our camp, and Bob and I chatted quietly. I cut some cheese and offered some to them, but they deferred. They still had not acknowledged us by returning our “hellos”, or by introducing themselves.
 
I checked the potatoes sitting in the coals and found them almost done, so it was time to set up the coal pit for the steaks. As I scraped some coals between the two rocks set close by the fire for that purpose, the woman chose to make another disparaging remark about our meal, and wondered aloud if she could even bear to watch meat while it cooked. Her man stood quietly by her side, his face expressionless.
 
That comment was the last straw for Bob. He pointed towards their tent and said to the woman in a direct and serious voice, “Why don’t you drag you’re cold, rude, bizarre ass right the hell out of here. You’ve got a lot of nerve.” Turning to the man he continued, “That goes for you, too.  Shove off, and build your own fire somewhere else.”
 
Bob’s comments certainly cleared the air in a most refreshing way.
 
“Hey, your majesty, did you think we are your man-servants, sent ahead to build your fire and prepare your hummus?” I asked.
 
The man stood meekly, the a look on his face saying he understood what had transpired but was helpless to do anything about the situation. Her look was one of astonishment, as if nobody should ever call into question her right and propensity to demean and disparage all in the world she deemed beneath her. She could demean and disparage everything she chose to at will, but not here tonight at our fire, and not to our face.
 
They turned and left the fireside by our platform. We heard the zipper of their tent, and then we heard no more from them.
 
We enjoyed a wonderful dinner, and sat by the fire and quietly talked into the night, before we climbed into our bags and fell into a deep sleep.
 
Over the years, Bob and I chatted often about that strange weekend. We remembered how we hiked in with one candle lantern, and the incredible and friendly group we had met at the summit of Mt Bondcliff. The two hours we spent on the summit with that group went by as fast as any two hours in my life. As for the people at our campsite, we would have shared everything we had with them, our entire meal, wine and warmth. As Bob so eloquently said, you don’t have to like us or be our friends, but there is a line you shouldn't cross as well. What is it with some people who can’t seem to just say no, they have to rub what they feel and believe right in your face at the most inopportune time, and they act as if it’s their duty to do so.
 
We both had a positive vibe over the stand made by Bob at the fire as we cooked dinner. We gave as good as we got, and we let our unbounded sense of humor and sarcasm have free rein, but we never set out to belittle or embarrass anyone just for the pleasure of it. We would joke with people, and give them the business for sure, and we would accept a joke in return. On our travels, Bob and I had met individuals and groups (either on the trail or at their campfires) that, for what ever reason, were not our cup of tea. Sensing that, we would tip our hats and wish them well, and then move on, leaving them to enjoy their experience as they saw fit.
 
Over the years, the area around the three Bond summits and the peaks of North and South Twin  became my favorite area in the White Mountains. And our trip to Camp 16, and the time spent with those strangers on the summit of Mt Bondcliff, came to be regarded as one of our most memorable and enjoyable adventures in the mountains of New Hampshire.
 

Laudizen King
Los Angeles
February 2008