Thurs: 8/19
LV:RMNP
AR: RMNP 43 miles
Longs Peak Day.
It began to sprinkle at some point in the night. By 11:45 p.m. it was steady and lasted 45 minutes or so. I laid awake and wondered how this would affect the day. Should I use the weather as an excuse not to go?
Of course not! I had been sleeping light from anticipation. Even after setting the alarm set for 2 a.m., I was up at 1:51 and started to roll.
Everything had been packed and prepared earlier. Including my clothes, etc. I was up and out of the campground (Glacier Basin) within 15 minutes, trying as quietly as possible not to disturb my neighbors as I left. Out of the park, through Estes, and the nine miles to the Longs Peak area.
Parking lot busy with cars and people, but I found a spot. The motorcycle doesn’t take as much room. I registered and began walking at 3:07 a.m. Jacked up and ready to go, combined with the fact that it was still dark, I started at a pace that proved way too much.
From the get-go, the trail is very steep. The trailhead is at 9,382 feet. When Marcy’s ex-husband told me it was “uphill all the way,” he wasn’t kidding. There were very few level areas going up. And most of them were only for a few feet. Half, or three quarters of a mile into it, I considered giving up. I was breathing fire and gasping for air. This was not helped by the fact that a light cold had pretty much clogged my nose, making for less breathing capacity.
Early on, I stopped at least twice. I was passed by a few but slowed down and soon hit a stride. The “buzz” they say hits marathon runners took over and I was feeling better, but working just as hard.
As we climbed, the little hiking head lamps that wrap around one’s head, held by a strap, could be seen. I was wearing one. Everyone was at this hour. Looking back down the trail they looked like the torches carried by the posse as they chased Butch and Sundance. When I looked up and ahead, they twinkled like little stars. Seeing this provided a grim confirmation of high the trail was, and how far I had yet to climb.
The trail isn’t in the treeline long. I passed through Goblins Forest, aptly named for the gnarly, exposed roots of many pines and firs. After that, it’s pretty much all granite. The trail is steep, with some wooden fence posts embedded in the trail. They were steps of sorts. But primarily used to prevent erosion. It’s rocky and it’s hard!
By 5:35 a.m. I switched off my headlamp and wore it like a collar. It was so sweat soaked it it had been slipping down my forehead anyway, but I didn’t want to stop and adjust the band. I was wearing my new hiking pants, Royal Robbins. They are super light, dry quickly, and are “convertible” (can be made into shorts). I wore a quick dry short-sleeved shirt, and a flannel shirt over that. The Camelbak, also new, was awesome, as I could drink while walking. My rain suit, hooked to the Camelbak, swung free, annoying and distracting.
Miles of switchbacks and elevation gain lead to The Boulderfield. The first real “test.” It lives up to it’s name. Huge rocks early on, then huge boulders later, scattered across a basin. Massive rock walls to the left and ahead. The view coming up, then looking back, was awe-inspiring. Especially at dawn and sunrise. I could see where I’d come from. The cities (Greeley, Loveland, and Boulder) around us were visible, along with the forest and lakes below. Now it was boulders. Lots and lots, and lots of rocks. It was getting more windy and cold. My hands and fingers were swollen from all the pumping blood. I couldn’t close them into a fist.
I don’t know the distance across The Boulderfield to The Keyhole. Maybe 3/4 of a mile. You can clearly see The Keyhole, but the elevation begins to really take a toll here. Combined with the fact there is no more trail to speak of. Early on, there is some semblance of a trail, but it quickly fades and walking becomes a real challenge. I was literally stepping and scrambling from rock to rock, choosing each step. Trying to be safe, yet “easy” at the same time.
I passed The Boulderfield campsite where some stop to spend the night to acclimate to the altitude before making the final push the next day. The campsite is nothing more than a waist high circle of rocks, maybe eight feet in diameter, to break the wind. Metal boxes are near, provided for garbage. No need for “bear boxes” for food storage. No bears at this altitude.
You’re near The Keyhole at this point. But oh so far away. The boulders are huge. There are times you’re not only stepping, you are having to use your hands to lift and pull yourself to the next one. I’d been told some of the boulders are “As big as a Volkswagen Beetle.” It’s true.
“You do NOT want to be on that boulderfield in the rain,” my nephew’s wife’s words rang in my ears as it began to drizzle. She was right. They would be extremely hazardous and slick. Like trying to walk on marbles. A broken leg or arm, a busted cranium.
People were talking about the weather. It was a concern. I heard someone say that the chance of rain had been bumped from 40% to 60%. Being unplugged from the news, I didn’t know or care. Yesterday had been beautiful, but I wanted to make sure my legs and feet were up to the task so I rested. Would it rain or not? How much? When? Would there be lightning? Shelter was miles below us.
Those that were ahead of me, and there were many, must have gone on to try and summit. But the majority of the people I’d been around, all but two or three, decided The Keyhole would be it. No further. Gray clouds were rolling by just above us so fast, they looked like sped up in time lapse photography. Seriously.
I could see The Keyhole and the tiny little shelter (Agnes Vaille Memorial Shelter) to the left. Did I really need to climb another 100 steep feet of boulders to actually BE at The Keyhole? Absolutely! I wanted to be able to say I’d made it that far. It was climb a step, rest 30 seconds. Climb a step, rest 30 seconds.
I made it. The view down the other side (West) was stunning, even in the gray. I had hiked and climbed 6.2 miles and gained 3,800 feet in elevation to this point. As I sat perched in They Keyhole, I was at 13,200 feet. There with a half dozen others, looking thousands of feet down, in a fierce wind. It was pretty cold with the wind chill. I felt some uneasiness.
From where I was at, and what I could see ahead, was enough for me. Viewing The Ledges (the next section), there is no trail at all. Just “bullseyes,” spray painted on the rocks to mark the route.
I forgot to check my watch when I got to The Keyhole. I crowded into that tiny shelter with four or five others after spending no more than 5-10 minutes at The Keyhole, then climbing down 15 feet or so to the shelter. It was 9:10 a.m. Colorado time, I think. So I would have made The Keyhole around 8:50. My math is fuzzy. Had I used Colorado time or Illinois time? My watch was set for Illinois. Had it taken me 5:45 to get there? or 4:45?
I spent 10-15 minutes in the shelter, out of the wind, eating beef jerky and drinking water, still mulling over if I should try to move on. I would not. The last 1.5 miles to the summit is exposed and a lot more dangerous. The wind was horrible. If those ledges got slick from the rain…”People die up there,” I’d been told by more than one. It can take 2-3 hours to do the last 1.5 miles. Then you have to have the energy to get down.
We started back down. The Boulderfield was just as difficult. On a positive note, I hadn’t felt nauseous, nor had a headache from the altitude. Now my heart would get a rest and I’d no longer breath fire. My feet, knees, and hips would take the beating now.
It got easier after leaving The Boulderfield, but it was still a tough trail. Seeing what I’d done by the light of day made me see what I’d done. Heck. If I’d seen what was ahead of me by the light of day I may never have started. It was slow going down. I visited with folks, took a photo or two, saw a rainbow, stopped for water, but only in the last mile or so did I stop to pee. All that water had been needed for body fuel.
Near the very end, I stopped and chatted with a 69 year old man, headed up to camp at The Boulderfield. This was to be his 7th summit. I felt bad, but not failure. Not like Angel’s Landing at Zion National Park where I flat chickened out. But I hadn’t gotten the true test today. The hardest part of the climb to the top of Longs Peak, that would have tested my mental toughness. Would FEAR have stopped me?
It was 12:30 p.m., Colorado time when I hit the parking lot. Nine hours and 25 minutes (I think), bottom to The Keyhole, and back. My legs felt as if they’d fall off. I was beat. I can’t think of anything I’ve done in my life that was more physically demanding. I stopped in Estes Park to call my friend Jim to let him know I was down and safe.
I came back to camp and headed straight to the tent for a nap. The rain finally came. At least down here. Longs has it own weather system. I awoke, got outside for awhile, and went back inside for a second nap. And so went the rest of the afternoon, into the evening, went. I returned a compass and whistle that Bob and Sue from Medford, Oregon, had loaned me for the hike. Thankfully, they weren’t needed.
I ate more trail food and drank water for dinner. I went to another ranger program. I was back at the tent and in the sleeping bag by 9:30 and had another good night of sleep. The sleeping has been quiet and peaceful all week. And just the right temperature.
So. I didn’t summit the peak but had a great day. There was success in my failure.
On the trail at night.
Sunrise.
Onward and upward.
Navigating The Boulderfield.
The Keyhole.
The Agnes Vaille shelter, just below The Keyhole.
Looking back at The Boulderfield from near The Keyhole.
People who were at The Keyhole when I was.
Right at the notch of The Keyhole.
Seen on the descent.
Goblins Forest on my descent.
Bob and Sue from Medford, OR. They loaned me a compass and whistle.