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“Got it,” she says. I grip her upper arm, and we start to cross.

I feel wonderful without my backpack and certain of where to step since I've just crossed the brook twice. Alex is nervous at first; I can feel her arm shaking within my fingers as she takes her first few steps. Her breath comes quickly, loudly.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathes as her eyes dart here and there.

“Just keep your feet in the water and take slow, small steps. I won't let you go.”

“Promise?” she asks. I can feel the hairs of her arm standing up; they tickle the sides of my gripping fingers.

“Promise.” My hold on her is unyielding. We inch our way toward MadRiver, who patiently waits on the other side of the gap, his hands gripping the two poles that are anchored in the rocks around him.

“What if I fall?” she asks.

“Then I fall with you,” I answer. “So don't fall.”

We reach the depression in a few careful minutes. The water has not yet touched the bottom of Alex's shorts, though her knees are now fully submerged.

MadRiver stands three feet away. I look at him and raise my eyebrows. He gives a small nod, then stretches out his hand, ready to assist.

“Alex, this is the part that's too deep for you.” The rushing water competes with my voice and I must raise my tone in order to be heard. “Between here and where MadRiver is standing, the water goes up to your chest.” Alex's eyes grow wide.

“I want you to stay here while I step down.”

Alex looks worried, but says nothing.

Keeping my hold on Alex, I step down and feel the frigid water touch the bottom of my hiking shorts.

“When I tell you to, I want you to jump toward MadRiver. I will have your arm and I will not let it go until MadRiver has you.”

Bracing myself, I nod to MadRiver, then tell Alex to go for it.

She immediately jumps. There is a split second between my letting go and MadRiver's catching her—but then he's got her, and she's safe in his arms. He guides her body toward a sturdy rock and places her back in the water. The two then wade hand in hand toward the other side of the crossing while my heart vacates my throat and descends to its proper place.

Wet feet, wet boots, wet knees. At least it's all downhill hiking from here. The three of us chat amicably, then Alex and I go ahead of MadRiver while he takes a break to answer the call of nature.

There's something I'm supposed to be remembering; there's something that's at the back of my mind that I can't quite bring to the forefront. No matter, I tell myself. Whatever it is, it can wait until we're happily back at the car.

And then that infernal grouse steps out directly in front of my left foot.

Ah yes.
That's
what I was supposed to remember.

I place my hiking pole between me and it, and I tell Alex to stay back. Curiously, I am not frightened. MadRiver is several tenths of a mile away, and LRiz is no longer around to sacrifice. It's just me, Alex, and this bugger of a little bird, who is actually trying to get
around me to peck at my daughter! There is no room for fear, for I am alone with a kid to protect.

The grouse keeps bird-stepping toward Alex, who stays behind me while the bird and I circle each other. Finally, the three of us rotate so far that Alex and I end up standing on the side of the path closest to our car, while the bird stands between us and the trail we've just traveled. My daughter and I retreat from the bird slowly, stepping backward, not showing it our backs. The grouse's fussing grows louder as we increase the distance between us and it. When the bird is convinced of its apparent success, it turns and triumphantly shuffles back into the woods.

MadRiver shows up a little while later. I ask if he saw the grouse, and he says no. I tell him what happened, and he laughs at us. I resist the temptation to whack him with my hiking stick.

The car. The car! The beautiful car. There it stands, with all its promise of transportation to dry and cozy places. I help Alex take off her pack. She dances a short jig of relief before throwing herself prostrate on the ground.

Peaks #40–#42: The Bonds, July 10, 2009

W
up!
Alex pokes at the shadow of her hundredth bug and watches as it promptly disappears. We're inside our tent at Guyot Campsite, more than seven miles from a road and deep within the heart of the White Mountain National Forest. We've spent the day climbing three of the New Hampshire Forty-eight's most remote mountains, 4,540-foot West Bond, 4,698-foot Mount Bond, and 4,265-foot Bondcliff, and now we're playing our favorite camping game, bop the bug.

We're not literally bopping bugs, of course. To do so would run contrary to Alex's good nature. Instead, we wait for a bug to land on the top of our tent, then we poke at it from underneath. We take great delight in watching the dark form disappear and then reappear somewhere else, at which point we promptly poke it again. There are usually multiple insects to harass at any given moment, so the game is often quick paced
and frenetic. Giggles fill our tent as she and I collide elbows in our effort to outdo each other.

It's a lovely ending to a beautiful, but curious, day. The three mountains we hiked, collectively known as the Bonds, are considered the crown jewels of the Whites. Far from towns and highways, the view from the top of each offers a pure and natural vista. After reading about these hikes, I had eagerly anticipated standing on the tops of all three Bonds with Alex. I'd thought she might be impressed by landscapes unmarred by human activity. Aside from the tips of Mount Washington's summit structures and perhaps a bit of a distant resort's ski slopes, we should see nothing but trees, valleys, and rocks.

Alex had enjoyed the day, but not as much as I'd hoped. West Bond went well. The hike from Guyot Campsite to the summit is just more than half a mile, and the trail meanders through dense woods before topping out on a bare peak. The forest kept us cool under the intense morning sun, and the views from the top were spectacular. Alex was appropriately impressed, and we descended West Bond eager to see what the other two Bonds had to offer.

We made it to Mount Bond's summit about forty-five minutes after having left West Bond. The day was warm, but not overly so. Alex was humming one of her made-up tunes, and my back felt deliriously light. We'd left most of our gear at the campsite, since we'd
be spending another night there after coming back from today's peaks; ascending without my overstuffed backpack was a delight. As we climbed the last few feet to Mount Bond's summit, I decided that I would visually scour the wilderness and try to locate some kind of man-made structure. Were the guidebooks correct? Can you really see nothing but nature up there, save the tips of the towers on Washington?

Once up top, I turned to my right and searched the landscape. Nope, no man-made structures in this direction. I turned to my left. No signs of human life in that direction, either. I turned a complete 180 degrees and focused on the valley below. No roads cut through the greenery, and no buildings marred the fields. I scanned the mountaintops. There were no signs of human impact: just cliffs, ravines, peaks, and sky. Hallelujah. I breathed in deeply, fully appreciating that this mountain was one of those rare, uncontaminated places, one of those very few spots in the American Northeast where one can truly get away from the trappings of human society. This was Mount Bond, the most remote peak in the Whites.

This was Mount Bond, a place Alex desperately wished to vacate.

At first, she loved the view. I heard a fair amount of oohing and aahing as we made our way up the summit cone. I saw her stand on a boulder and turn steadily around, taking everything in, appreciating the wild
panorama. For a moment, she appeared to be just as enamored as I was. Then, unfortunately, she looked down, and all her happiness evaporated.

A dying bumblebee was struggling to crawl across the boulder. A very large, very bristly bumblebee. Alex stared at it, having forgotten all about the scenery. Fascinated by the sad plight of the insect, she watched as it tried to fight off the inevitable. The bee looked as though it were seconds away from meeting its Maker. Thankfully, its form was full and intact; it had not been stepped on, so at least Alex's sorrow would not be contaminated with guilt.

The top of Mount Bond is spacious, and there were plenty of other rocks on which to relax, so I suggested we choose another area for our lunch break. Alex reluctantly complied and finally tore her eyes from the insect, which had stopped moving and was probably well on its way toward the light at the end of the tunnel.

Alex was downcast for a few minutes, but she seemed to perk up a bit after I filled her hands with a large peanut butter sandwich. By the time she had swallowed her last sticky mouthful, her usual smile had returned, and her eyes once again scanned the horizon. When we rose to tackle Bondcliff, our third and final mountain of the day, her spirits appeared fully restored.

The path between Mount Bond and Bondcliff is above tree line. A hiker has unobstructed views, and therefore Bondcliff's jagged and rocky flank is visible at all times. To me, that flank was breathtaking, and I couldn't believe I had the good fortune to be up there with my daughter. Alex, usually eager to gaze upon nature's wonders, had a completely different kind of emotional experience.

“Spiders!” she exclaimed, staring at her feet.

We had stopped for a water break. Though getting to Bondcliff from Mount Bond requires just over a mile of hiking, the day was bright with summer sunshine, and there was no shade to be found. Alex stood with her fingers gripped tightly around the cap of her Nalgene, looking balefully down at the dirt between her boots.

A line of spiders scuttled across the path beneath us, single file. As red as measles and as small as drops of rain, the critters trickled down the trail as though following one another to an annual arachnid ball. Though Alex isn't afraid of one spider all by itself, the sight of so many at once unsettled her, and she refused to look up again until we had carefully stepped over and around the multitude. Once past, we steadfastly made our way up the rocky trail until we stood on the tallest rock.