Travelers of All Ages: August 2012

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Rise to the Summit-Pt. 1

The Rocky Mountains are beautiful at night. I hear the soft breath of wind in the grass; see the full moon illuminating the landscape as if it were day. There is almost no one on the roads. Town is abandoned, which makes it seem a little eerie as we drive through in our noisy white car. Before I know it, we’re at the trailhead. “We’ll get a good parking spot,” my Dad says. That’s clear, because there is practically no one there. The only other person I can see is our guide, who beckons eagerly as he lights up his headlamp. As soon as we can strap on all of our gear, we start hiking.

Longs Peak. 14,249 feet. Takes between 11 and 15 hours. 14 miles round trip. Number of potentially lethal scenarios: a lot. All of these things are going through my head as I start climbing one of the most difficult mountains in Rocky Mountain National Park, and certainly the hardest one I had ever tried. Here I was, at 12:30 in the morning, strapping on hiking shoes and a headlamp in order to climb a mountain that averaged at least one death per year. How did I get into this? However, these thoughts are quickly pushed from my mind as I start to lose myself in the trail.

The first few hours pass with relatively little interest. Besides the added challenge of only being able to see a few feet in front of you, it is pretty much regular hiking.

I am amazed by how fast the minutes—and miles—seem to pass when it’s nighttime. It’s like your brain is too sleepy to realize that your body is already getting tired. Anyway, by the time we’ve gone over a few rivers and through a lot of woods, it is actually pretty fun. Before I know it, we’ve arrived at the treeline.

Despite the name, there is no real “line” where the trees stop. It happens gradually, as the huge trees start to be replaced by smaller shrubs and lichens. I start to notice this change of surroundings as we slowly make our way further up the mountain. Having no trees, of course, makes the view much better. Still, I spend most of my time staring at the ground in order to avoid harming myself on any roots or rocks. The first chance I get to take a look around is during a water break. I am not disappointed.

The mountains around us are silhouetted against the night sky. Their vast, lurking shapes are like sleeping giants. The night sky is pure, with a full moon and stars shining like cold steel. You can see beyond the mountains and into the plains of Colorado, where the twinkling lights of cities dot the landscape. Below us, more hikers make their way up the mountain, their headlamps looking like little candles in a huge religious procession. The whole scene is surreal.

I am tugged from my amazement by the sound of our guide’s voice. “Let’s get going,” he said. We quickly pack up our stuff and get back on the trail. Slowly, the top of the ridge gets closer, and closer, and closer. More hours pass as we hike closer to our goal.

I catch my first glimpse of the Boulderfield. True to its name, it is covered in humongous boulders of odd shapes and angles. Little tents are pitched for those who complete the climb in two stages.

We start crawling over the first boulders. I can still only see a few feet in front of me, and the going is tough. We pass boulder after boulder after boulder, seeming not to get anywhere. Rocks the size of trucks lie in our path

Eventually we make our way to the small camp, where a gurgling stream runs. Our guide fills up our now depleted water bottles in the stream, and puts in drops of water cleaner. Apparently, you need to do this to clean the fecal matter out of the mountain water. We carefully replace our bottles inside our packs so that we don’t drink any before it is clean.

I’m starting to quite enjoy wearing a headlamp. The 90 lumens of brightness cut through the darkness like scissors, and the light follows your gaze. Although the only thing I’m looking at is the ground.

At that point, I was actually beginning to feel tired, dusty, and altogether unhappy to be climbing that mountain at such an ungodly hour. But the sunrise made it all worth it. As I looked out over the mountains and saw the magnificent first rays of light coming over the horizon, I forgot about everything.

All of the scenery was lit up with a warm, golden light. The surrounding mountains, formerly cloaked in shadow, are now illuminated in every detail. The enveloping sunlight frames the land as if it were a painting. The new light reveals to me exactly how far we have climbed, which is a lot. We are already nearly even with the tops of the other mountains. I look out over Twin Sisters, Estes Cone, all of those mountains that were once the hardest I had ever climbed. Briefly, I smile, thinking how easy they seemed to me now.

My Dad is snapping sunrise pictures like crazy. I pose for a few of them, making sure that I look like a rugged adventurer.

Longs Peak itself is horribly exposed in the new light. The jagged peak stands out against the sky like a crow. Nearby, I can see our objective, the Keyhole. It will be our door to the other side of the mountain, from which we will make our final ascent. I can tell that it will be a long and arduous climb.

We make our way ever closer to the Keyhole, weaving our way through (and over) progressively larger boulders. It is a lot farther than it looks. We stop several times for water and rest. Closer, closer, closer. The Keyhole, once tiny, now looks monstrous. Finally, we are there.

I climb triumphantly toward the Keyhole, not knowing what to expect on the other side. My hand grips the boulders at its base, bringing me nearer to it. At last, I pull myself onto the platform. I stand at the top, under that massive rock formation, and look through. A huge abyss waits to swallow me. For a second I wonder whether to go through, whether my long prepared resolve would carry me through to the other side. I step through.

To be continued… in The Conclusion

The Boulderfield, looking like a strange, alien ocean. This is the first time that it was light enough to take pictures.

Climbing towards the Keyhole over huge rocks

Me, enjoying the beautiful sunrise.

Getting closer to the Keyhole as dawn breaks

The harsh front face of Longs Peak

Finally at the Keyhole, uncertain of what lies beyond

Rise to the Summit-Conclusion

Continued from Part 1

I am on the other side of the Keyhole, the massive rock formation that leads hikers to the final ascent onto Longs Peak. I have already been climbing for at least four hours, and completed most of the mileage. However, I know looking out over the path that the miles I have left will be far harder.

As I stand on the other side of the Keyhole, I look down into a void. The mountain plunges sharply, meaning any missteps will lead to a several hundred foot fall. I can see all the way back to the valley floor. My stomach lurches. I may not be afraid of heights, but I am afraid of dying.

I pull myself away from the cliff only long enough to see the path that we still have ahead of us, which is just as terrifying. Tiny red bull’s-eyes are painted to show you the route across the otherwise vertical cliff face. In a good place, that route is two or three feet wide. In a bad place, the same route is only inches. All the way, slippery rock drops straight down to a sure death.

My guide, seemingly heedless to all of this, bounds on happily. He seems as chipper as ever, probably because he has navigated this deathly expanse before. My Dad and I cautiously follow, always keeping an eye on the huge drop next to us.

Inch by inch we make our way forward, lodging our feet on tiny pieces of rock. Sometimes, we have to shimmy across along the smooth faces of boulders, all the while knowing that losing our foothold could mean meeting our creator. Sometimes, we diverged from the path in order to pursue a less dangerous path.

This section of the trail is called The Ledges, and it is easy to see why. Really, it is impossible to get away from a ledge. This whole face of the mountain is almost vertical, and the trail itself is on an angle, so there really aren’t any “ledges.” The whole thing is one giant ledge!

We journey closer to the Peak ever more slowly. It is tiring, and we often have to stop for breaks. Not to mention the psychological effect of the nearby plunge to death.

At length, we make it past The Narrows. One short scramble over a boulder and I can see the Trough. Here the route turns away from the cliff and on towards the summit. I am relieved to be away from the cliff, but I am worried about the incline of this piece. It looks to be steeper than any part that has come before. Unfortunately for us, it is.

We make just as slow of a pace up the Trough. I have a little fun bounding up the rocks, but it is soon overcome by the monotony of the climb. It is hard work. Grab, pull, step. Grab, pull, step. Over and over again. My Dad is beginning to fall behind, and we have to stop frequently to rest. The Trough seems endless.

We are nearing the top. The bleak scene of rocks and grey dirt begins to melt away, and I can see the sky. We are over! For a second, my heart leaps. However, my joy at being done with one trial quickly disappears as I realize there is a greater one ahead.

On top of the Trough, I look into an abyss just as great as that of the Keyhole. The path, known here as the Narrows, once again winds its way along the steep mountainside.

One more quick stop and we are off. Once more, we carefully toe the thin path of the Narrows. Once more, we look down at a long drop. Once more, I wonder if this is ever going to end.

The view is depressing. I can only see more cold stone and steep drops. The mountain seems ever more unfriendly. I look down the cliff and see a pile of skeletons (okay, maybe I made that part up).

Everything is the same. Everything blurs together. I can no longer tell one stone from the next. It is almost dull when we find ourselves on the other side of the Narrows. However, I am quickly excited again when our guide tells us that this is the Homestretch. This is almost the top! I can barely contain my excitement.

With renewed vigor, we start climbing. I bound up rocks as if I hadn’t been climbing since midnight. We were near the Peak!

The Homestretch is the single hardest part of the climb. It is almost as if it was placed at the end intentionally, as one final hurdle for intrepid hikers. It looks almost vertical from afar, but upon closer examination is actually a little sloped. This made it easier. But not too much easier.

As we climb onward, my scarcely operating mind begins to wonder if this is really the top. What if the guide has misled us? What if we still have more climbing to do, or miles to go? I keep climbing.

The first glimpse I catch of the top is almost like a mirage. “It can’t be flat,” I thought, “It has to keep going higher.” But it is flat! As I pull myself over the edge, onto that paradise of flat ground, I felt the greatest pride I have ever felt. I had done it! I had climbed Longs Peak!

The views were incredible. There are hardly words to describe such beauty, such sheer scale and magnitude. The landscape before us looked like a vast ocean, churning with the foam of clouds. The peaks of mountains were like islands far below and far away. The air was pure and chill, like the breath of angels. Beams of sunlight came down like flowing water. Far away, in the flatlands of Colorado, I could see the swaying fields spread out like honey.

I see the cliffs and sheer drops that we made our way across. I see the vast expanse of boulders and those little tents. I see, far below, the beginnings of the treeline. And I hear the soft breath of wind in the grass…

And then I remember that I still have to get back down.