Longs Peak Hike

by Laurie Wells — May 14, 2007

There is something unnatural about waking up to an alarm set for two a.m. so that you can start an hour-long drive to begin to an eight-mile hike up a peak at three a.m.. But at the same time, there is an excitement and energy to the process. The night before, we had packed up the stuff we would need to reach the summit of Longs Peak (a 14,259-foot mountain in the Colorado Rockies) into our day packs--energy bars and other snacks, lots of water, headlamps, layers of non-cotton clothing, camera, sunglasses, Chapstick, sunscreen, and extra socks--and had even set out our clothes so that we could simply roll out of bed and into the car.

At 2 a.m., my job was to make extra-strong mochas and bagels with cream cheese while my husband, Jason, made sure the dog had food and water enough for the day. Our sweet St. Bernard loves hiking but hates maneuvering through the large boulder fields that we were going to have to navigate, so she was going to enjoy sleeping in. The drive was a bit of a blur but after an hour we arrived at the trailhead and a very memorable scene. There were groups of people scattered everywhere, with piles of gear, antsy to get started. There was a line at the bathroom, and I felt a bit like I had stepped into the "Twilight Zone"--didn't these people know it was three o'clock in the morning?

With a head shake of disbelief, we started up the trail. To be honest, everything before tree line was just a heads-down hike following the circle of light made by my headlamp on the ground below. Although the trek lasted a few hours, it passed uneventfully, as there was really nothing to see in the pitch-black darkness. We did stop for water once, and I encountered a surreal vision as I looked back down the trail--what looked like 30 headlamps bobbing up and down in the dark behind us.

It was pre-dawn by the time we broke through the trees, and it felt good to finally turn off my headlamp and hike by natural light. Although I was tired from the effort, the reward was worth it--enjoying a rest and an energy bar while watching the sun rise over the surrounding peaks. We had reached The Keyhole, a rock formation that marks the end of the "easy hiking" and the beginning of the treacherous scrambling.

I spent the next mile and a half not looking down, and I somehow felt more secure crab-walking the narrow ledges, as if being on all fours would prevent me from falling. The final part of the ascent was mentally the most difficult for me--it required navigating a section of the hike known as The Narrows, a thin trail along a 1,000-foot drop-off. With shaking knees, I managed to crawl up the final vertical rock face and was astounded at the view. The summit of Longs Peak is a football-field-sized plateau with a view of the entire Front Range and plains of Colorado in one direction and the peaks of the Rockies in the other.

There was only one other person at the summit, and she volunteered to capture our accomplishment, snapping a shot of us grinning in the cold morning wind. But we didn't have the luxury of resting on our sore laurels. A quick chug of water and it was time to start the eight-mile trek back. The whole reason for getting up so early and hiking so hard was our very real respect for lightning--especially above tree line. Hiking peaks safely is all about timing, and the clouds had already started to roll in by the time we got back to The Keyhole.

Going down is always a bit of a trudge, and the constant slipping on the golf-ball-sized rocks under my boots was starting to really annoy me by the time we stopped for lunch, a mile or so into the trees. My low-blood-sugar grumpiness was quickly cured by the most amazing-tasting peanut butter and jelly sandwich ever, and I'm not sure if it was endorphins or the smooth dirt trail, but I felt like I was walking on air for the rest of the descent..

Smiling and covered in dirt dust, we finally reached the two cold beers and bag of BBQ chips that were waiting for us in the truck. In the warmth of the early-afternoon sun, we lounged on the tailgate, peeled off our boots and socks, and slipped into flip flops and clean shirts for the drive. Sore and tired, but giddy from the experience, we kept each other awake while Willie Nelson serenaded us home.