Our home is a short walk from several large bodies of water, including Long and Halfway Ponds, but the presence of private homes and access by dirt road only, deters casual investigation. Of late however I have been hearing – and reading, stories of wondrous things going on in those woods, along those ponds. Did you know that for over a half century people from all over the world have come to a woodland camp along Halfway Pond to learn ancient dances? Just that little piece of information stirred my imagination and, thereafter, on many occasions while I was working in my yard I could swear I heard lutes, flutes, and tambourines.
There are also quite a few new parcels of land in this area that have recently been acquired by conservation groups, and which will now remain forever wild and – relatively, undisturbed. And among these is the Halfway Pond Conservation Area – administered by the Wildlands Trust, which encompasses over 400 acres of land between Long Pond and the Myles Standish State Forest.
When it snowed on this past New Year’s Eve – a nice fluffy, eight or nine inches, I thought that the conditions were perfect to take my first hike in this area: the snow not deep enough to require special equipment or meticulous planning, but deep enough to deter others.
On the first day of 2009, after packing a light lunch, my ten year old son Patrick and I set out for one of the trailheads in this area, located off Long Pond Road, a few miles down Mast Road.
Fortunately Mast Road – which is unpaved for its entire length, had been recently plowed. My old ’86 Camry is not meant for off-road adventures, but plowed, hard-packed snow is no problem for any front-wheel drive car. So we made our way down Mast Road, going slowly both because of the conditions and because we had never been to the trailhead parking area and didn’t want to pass it by.
We found it easily enough -about two miles down on the right, but were disappointed to see that it had not been plowed at all. I know that the town has other priorities, but if it wants people to appreciate – and use, its new conservation areas, it needs to keep them open year-round.
Undaunted, we unloaded our backpacks and a light toboggan (in case we found the perfect hill), and trudged into the new-fallen snow. I knew immediately that I had been right about the snowfall. There were no signs of anyone else, and the shin-deep snow was still light enough to push easily before me.
The trail we had chosen begins just off Mast Road. It is called ‘Gramps Loop’, and the Wildlands Trust map that is available online shows it to be a relatively uniform circle. The entrance seems obvious too: a path leads slightly uphill from the parking area, to a large wooden display where you would expect to find a detailed map of the trails and other important information. Unfortunately the display was empty, as was a box to the side which is intended to contain individual trail maps.
Never mind, I thought: the online map is straightforward enough: its lines suggesting a simple loop that a youngster would have no problem following. The online information also suggests Gramps Loop be followed in a clockwise fashion, so we did just that – or so we thought.
Two things put us at ease right away. First, the excitement of being alone in a quiet wood that seemed to have been decorated just for us. Though the woods were, at the start, mainly comprised of Plymouth’s ubiquitous dwarf pines, under a fresh coat of snow each pine cone was an ornament, and many boughs were gracefully bent over under the weight of the fresh-fallen snow, as if bowing before a partner about to dance. Secondly – and more importantly, the trail was easy to follow: even under its fresh white blanket there was a clear, clean furrow to follow, and every so often what the eye perceived as the trail was confirmed by the emblem – attached to the trees, of the Wildlands Trust.
It became clear after a short time though, that the trail was not the geometrically uniform circle depicted on the map: it wavered, in and out, dipped up and down. But no matter, the silence was delicious, the scenery wonderful. At times the dip in the path was sufficient for a try at a toboggan ride.
I asked Patrick to whisper, not to yell or blurt out his questions or comments, hoping that we might encounter wildlife. We came across the tracks of deer at many points, and they seemed to be following a more direct path, crossing and re-crossing our winding trail. At one point a large game bird – a pheasant I guessed, burst out of its resting place and flew away from us.
On we trudged, and after thirty or forty minutes or so, I began to wonder, not worry, about the progress we were making. We didn’t seem to be turning in the direction I expected, though the path was just as clear to the eye as it had been at the beginning.
We trudged on. Stopping only to listen, to ‘snap’ a few pictures, or to examine more the tracks we encountered.
At one point the deer tracks – if that’s what they were, moved up against a larger, full pine, and multiplied as if - perhaps in the midst of the New Year’s Eve storm, one or two deer had taken shelter for a time in the lee of this large pine. We examined those tracks closely, and though they had the width of a foot, at the bottom of each track was what appeared to be the dimple of a hoof.
Shortly thereafter, using the toboggan as a seat, we enjoyed a lunch of peanut butter and jelly and – not surprisingly, bottled water that had turned to a refreshing frozen slush.
I had no idea where we were – in terms of Gramp’s Loop, but I was happy that we were far enough away from the everyday to experience almost total silence. Almost, as I said, because somewhere far off I could hear a faint, high whistling. A bird? I remembered years back, to a hike I had taken in the White Mountains, where the only sound to be heard for miles was an odd, almost vocalized squeak. I had first taken it for some kind of wildlife but eventually determined it was just the sound of wood on wood, of a fallen branch, jostled by the wind, rubbing against another tree. Perhaps this whistle was of similar origin?
We packed up our trash, licked our fingers, replaced our woolen mittens and moved on.
I thought we must be near the end of the loop – and perceived a change in the light, a short ways ahead. There was a lovely bushy pine tree with a wonderful shape, covered in snow – not your typical dwarf, and passing that tree suddenly we found ourselves witin a small but impressive stand of white pines.
White Pines are the tallest trees in the Eastern United States, sometimes measuring up to 150 feet tall or more. The White Pines along Gramp’s Loop seemed to be approaching 100 feet. It is at this spot that an Eagle Scout wisely chose to build a wooden bench and, brushing off the snow, we sat down for a minute and soaked in the atmosphere.
It was here too that – while I didn’t tell Patrick, I started to sense something was wrong. From what I could glean from the information on the Wildlands Trust site, we were either making horrible time, or going in the wrong direction.
Patrick of course, sensed something, and when he spoke it was often to question exactly where we were, exactly how far we had to go, and whether we were on the right trail.
I was confident we were still on Gramp’s Loop, though I hadn’t seen a marker for a long while, but I was not at all sure how far we had come, or how far we had to go. So I decided to push a little harder. The path, at least, was still very easy to follow at this point.
About 15 minutes later after a steady, gradual uphill, I spied what I thought must be the trailhead and waited, smiling, for Patrick to catch up to me. But it wasn’t the trailhead at all. Rather it was a juncture of a path that led straight down to the shore of Halfway Pond. If you came up that path – perhaps after canoeing to that spot on the shore, you’d be facing a nicely carved sign that said, simply “Loop”, with arrows pointing in both directions.
Getting out my online map, I confirmed that somehow we had gone the other way around the loop: counter-clockwise. In short order we descended down to a wetland area – clearly marked on the map, and then uphill and to the right, only a short way to go according to the map. But just as I thought we were near the end, the trail opened up into a glade of sorts, and the clear furrow of the path was gone. I scanned the glade, side to side, but could not detect the trail. Straight ahead I could make out Halfway Pond, which meant we were still west of the trailhead, so I knew the approximate direction we should take.
We bushwhacked from there, keeping the pond to our right, and angling southwest (I thought) sure to either find the path again, or run into Mast Road. It was the latter, as it turned out, and once on the snow-covered road we simply walked until we came to the car - just a minute or two.
I was surprised, I have to say, at how poorly the trail was marked. Given the twists and turns in the trail, I was also disappointed that the map offered by the Wildlands Trust online, was so vague. Nowhere does the trail information include estimates of the time it should take to finish the loop. No information is available at the trailhead to suggest that care should be taken at the outset, to make sure that you are headed in the direction you think you are. And – either there are far too few trail markers, or they were covered in snow. I suggest that they consider using paint blazes - as many trails do, swaths of unnatural colors: they are easily applied and visible from a great distance.
I am not suggesting that there is an inordinate amount of danger in taking Gramp’s Loop, or any other path in the area. But if the trails are to be open year-round, better maps, better trail markings, and more extensive descriptions of the trails themselves should be made available.
All in all, Gramp’s Loop is a wonderful walk (and I look forward to repeating our walk in the Spring – and the 400 acres of the Halfway Pond Conservation Area add immeasurably to the pleasure of living in Plymouth.
There are also quite a few new parcels of land in this area that have recently been acquired by conservation groups, and which will now remain forever wild and – relatively, undisturbed. And among these is the Halfway Pond Conservation Area – administered by the Wildlands Trust, which encompasses over 400 acres of land between Long Pond and the Myles Standish State Forest.
When it snowed on this past New Year’s Eve – a nice fluffy, eight or nine inches, I thought that the conditions were perfect to take my first hike in this area: the snow not deep enough to require special equipment or meticulous planning, but deep enough to deter others.
On the first day of 2009, after packing a light lunch, my ten year old son Patrick and I set out for one of the trailheads in this area, located off Long Pond Road, a few miles down Mast Road.
Fortunately Mast Road – which is unpaved for its entire length, had been recently plowed. My old ’86 Camry is not meant for off-road adventures, but plowed, hard-packed snow is no problem for any front-wheel drive car. So we made our way down Mast Road, going slowly both because of the conditions and because we had never been to the trailhead parking area and didn’t want to pass it by.
We found it easily enough -about two miles down on the right, but were disappointed to see that it had not been plowed at all. I know that the town has other priorities, but if it wants people to appreciate – and use, its new conservation areas, it needs to keep them open year-round.
Undaunted, we unloaded our backpacks and a light toboggan (in case we found the perfect hill), and trudged into the new-fallen snow. I knew immediately that I had been right about the snowfall. There were no signs of anyone else, and the shin-deep snow was still light enough to push easily before me.
The trail we had chosen begins just off Mast Road. It is called ‘Gramps Loop’, and the Wildlands Trust map that is available online shows it to be a relatively uniform circle. The entrance seems obvious too: a path leads slightly uphill from the parking area, to a large wooden display where you would expect to find a detailed map of the trails and other important information. Unfortunately the display was empty, as was a box to the side which is intended to contain individual trail maps.
Never mind, I thought: the online map is straightforward enough: its lines suggesting a simple loop that a youngster would have no problem following. The online information also suggests Gramps Loop be followed in a clockwise fashion, so we did just that – or so we thought.
Two things put us at ease right away. First, the excitement of being alone in a quiet wood that seemed to have been decorated just for us. Though the woods were, at the start, mainly comprised of Plymouth’s ubiquitous dwarf pines, under a fresh coat of snow each pine cone was an ornament, and many boughs were gracefully bent over under the weight of the fresh-fallen snow, as if bowing before a partner about to dance. Secondly – and more importantly, the trail was easy to follow: even under its fresh white blanket there was a clear, clean furrow to follow, and every so often what the eye perceived as the trail was confirmed by the emblem – attached to the trees, of the Wildlands Trust.
It became clear after a short time though, that the trail was not the geometrically uniform circle depicted on the map: it wavered, in and out, dipped up and down. But no matter, the silence was delicious, the scenery wonderful. At times the dip in the path was sufficient for a try at a toboggan ride.
I asked Patrick to whisper, not to yell or blurt out his questions or comments, hoping that we might encounter wildlife. We came across the tracks of deer at many points, and they seemed to be following a more direct path, crossing and re-crossing our winding trail. At one point a large game bird – a pheasant I guessed, burst out of its resting place and flew away from us.
On we trudged, and after thirty or forty minutes or so, I began to wonder, not worry, about the progress we were making. We didn’t seem to be turning in the direction I expected, though the path was just as clear to the eye as it had been at the beginning.
We trudged on. Stopping only to listen, to ‘snap’ a few pictures, or to examine more the tracks we encountered.
At one point the deer tracks – if that’s what they were, moved up against a larger, full pine, and multiplied as if - perhaps in the midst of the New Year’s Eve storm, one or two deer had taken shelter for a time in the lee of this large pine. We examined those tracks closely, and though they had the width of a foot, at the bottom of each track was what appeared to be the dimple of a hoof.
Shortly thereafter, using the toboggan as a seat, we enjoyed a lunch of peanut butter and jelly and – not surprisingly, bottled water that had turned to a refreshing frozen slush.
I had no idea where we were – in terms of Gramp’s Loop, but I was happy that we were far enough away from the everyday to experience almost total silence. Almost, as I said, because somewhere far off I could hear a faint, high whistling. A bird? I remembered years back, to a hike I had taken in the White Mountains, where the only sound to be heard for miles was an odd, almost vocalized squeak. I had first taken it for some kind of wildlife but eventually determined it was just the sound of wood on wood, of a fallen branch, jostled by the wind, rubbing against another tree. Perhaps this whistle was of similar origin?
We packed up our trash, licked our fingers, replaced our woolen mittens and moved on.
I thought we must be near the end of the loop – and perceived a change in the light, a short ways ahead. There was a lovely bushy pine tree with a wonderful shape, covered in snow – not your typical dwarf, and passing that tree suddenly we found ourselves witin a small but impressive stand of white pines.
White Pines are the tallest trees in the Eastern United States, sometimes measuring up to 150 feet tall or more. The White Pines along Gramp’s Loop seemed to be approaching 100 feet. It is at this spot that an Eagle Scout wisely chose to build a wooden bench and, brushing off the snow, we sat down for a minute and soaked in the atmosphere.
It was here too that – while I didn’t tell Patrick, I started to sense something was wrong. From what I could glean from the information on the Wildlands Trust site, we were either making horrible time, or going in the wrong direction.
Patrick of course, sensed something, and when he spoke it was often to question exactly where we were, exactly how far we had to go, and whether we were on the right trail.
I was confident we were still on Gramp’s Loop, though I hadn’t seen a marker for a long while, but I was not at all sure how far we had come, or how far we had to go. So I decided to push a little harder. The path, at least, was still very easy to follow at this point.
About 15 minutes later after a steady, gradual uphill, I spied what I thought must be the trailhead and waited, smiling, for Patrick to catch up to me. But it wasn’t the trailhead at all. Rather it was a juncture of a path that led straight down to the shore of Halfway Pond. If you came up that path – perhaps after canoeing to that spot on the shore, you’d be facing a nicely carved sign that said, simply “Loop”, with arrows pointing in both directions.
Getting out my online map, I confirmed that somehow we had gone the other way around the loop: counter-clockwise. In short order we descended down to a wetland area – clearly marked on the map, and then uphill and to the right, only a short way to go according to the map. But just as I thought we were near the end, the trail opened up into a glade of sorts, and the clear furrow of the path was gone. I scanned the glade, side to side, but could not detect the trail. Straight ahead I could make out Halfway Pond, which meant we were still west of the trailhead, so I knew the approximate direction we should take.
We bushwhacked from there, keeping the pond to our right, and angling southwest (I thought) sure to either find the path again, or run into Mast Road. It was the latter, as it turned out, and once on the snow-covered road we simply walked until we came to the car - just a minute or two.
I was surprised, I have to say, at how poorly the trail was marked. Given the twists and turns in the trail, I was also disappointed that the map offered by the Wildlands Trust online, was so vague. Nowhere does the trail information include estimates of the time it should take to finish the loop. No information is available at the trailhead to suggest that care should be taken at the outset, to make sure that you are headed in the direction you think you are. And – either there are far too few trail markers, or they were covered in snow. I suggest that they consider using paint blazes - as many trails do, swaths of unnatural colors: they are easily applied and visible from a great distance.
I am not suggesting that there is an inordinate amount of danger in taking Gramp’s Loop, or any other path in the area. But if the trails are to be open year-round, better maps, better trail markings, and more extensive descriptions of the trails themselves should be made available.
All in all, Gramp’s Loop is a wonderful walk (and I look forward to repeating our walk in the Spring – and the 400 acres of the Halfway Pond Conservation Area add immeasurably to the pleasure of living in Plymouth.
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