The Longest Day, Part III

Way above it all

yet more Tuesday, Aug 21

The top of Longs Peak is pretty flat, and roughly the size of a football field. One boulder sticks up about 4' higher than the rest of the top, and that's where the USGS marker is. I stood on top, and a couple of guys who had just climbed up the diamond face(!) using climbing gear offered to take my picture. That's the way it is. Everybody is more than willing to help anybody else out, and favors are gladly returned. I took their picture as well.

It was nice to have something besides my cell phone camera this time, as opposed to my Elbert climb last fall.

One thing about this whole trip did -- the whole vacation and especially my climbing experience, was to help restore some of my wavering faith in people. That I'm right, there are still a significant number of decent people with priorities beyond the whole in-your-face cultural attitude epitomized by most hip-hop, or the brooding self-absorbtion of a lot of the counter-culture I see, or just the blatant self-absorbtion of the Paris Hilton/Brittany Spears junkies. I saw people genuinely taking care not to litter, even to the point of quietly cleaning up after others, taking care to make sure others were alright. Offering encouragement and assistance, and courtesy and all the things that make mankind noble and good. Not only were they concerned with each other's physical well-being, they were taking care not to spoil anyone else's experience. Even in the campsites. You miss that following the news or popular TV reality shows or reading the newspaper. At least the people who come out here to do this still have a good part of that inside them.

I started at 2:15 am, and got to the top of the homestretch, essentially the summit, about 9 hours and 10 minutes later, at least an hour longer than typical. I knew it would take me longer than your typical avid climber, especially since I planned on taking a substantial number of photographs. That being said, I didn't take nearly as many as I might have. I had to rest a lot, and the going in general was slower due to the lack of oxygen.

Part of this is because I had only been "at altitude" (which I consider to be 8,000+ ft) since Saturday evening... two days and two and a half nights. Part of it was the decision to carry camera equipment and extra water (since I wasn't sure exactly where and if water would be available)... and part of it was my knee.

Speaking of the knee, it was about the same at the top. The Ace bandage was coming off, and I decided it wasn't making much difference. I eventually took it off and put it in my pocket so I wouldn't lose it. First, though, I noted the names on the register of the folks who lent it to me. They said they were staying down at the Longs Campground in site #2.

The wind was relatively light compared to my Mt Elbert experience. It was sunny, and probably about 50 degress. That was a good thing. I needed to rest, and I needed to eat. I don't think I took enough high-energy food with me, and I wasn't eating enough of it along the way because of that. I ate the celebratory Mountain Goat bar (basically a health-food peanut-butter/oatmeal "brownie". It was "ok" tasting.) I ate more trail mix, more cranberries, and the what was left of the jerky, and drank water. I emptied my first hydration bladder at the top. 3 qts down, two to go. But I did have my water filter.

I signed the register and took a 360 degree video from the top. The immediate area above 12,000 feet or so was clear, but below that it was hazy from forest fires in western Colorado and Wyoming, so the view wasn't all that one might hope. But it was still spectacular (I know, I keep using that word but I can't think of a more fitting one).

I talked a bit with the two Diamond Face climbers. They asked if I came the Keyhole route, and I said "yes". They said "oh, you took the long way, then." They talked about the Loft Route, which I had read about. I had taken the Keyhole route because it is the only one that's ever rated non-technical (after the snow and ice is gone, and if it's not too windy). I asked what was technical about the Loft route -- what the difference was, and they mentioned a long scramble over a bunch of loose rock. Which sounded a lot like the trough to me. Then they said there was a ledge that led up to the trough. My guess is that to two people who just scaled the diamond face, they might consider a much more treacherous route to be a good enough "ledge" than I would. Still, it might be worth checking out. If it requires ropes and a knowledge of rock climbing, it's out as far as I'm concerned.

My GPS said that I had covered 9.48 miles, which surprised me since I had read it was 8. Maybe I zig-zaged over the boulders more than some, and perhaps did a bit of backtracking on the ledges... plus I had walked a bit on the top. Still, that shouldn't make ~1.5 miles difference.

I also calibrated my altimeter watch, which was a good 80 feet off (not surprising since it really just goes on barometric pressure changes from the last calibration) -- to the official height of the mountain, 12,255 feet. Of course, I had to take a picture of that, too. I'm a geek, what can I say?

I walked toward the edge of the top to the northeast to see if I could look down at the diamond face, but I really couldn't see it and I didn't feel like scrambling down any to get a better look.

In all I spent about an hour at the top, and I knew there was no getting down by 4:00 or 4:30. I hoped for 5:30 or 6:00. It should be easier going on the way down and I won't have to rest as much.

I went over the lip and down the homestretch at about 12:30 pm.

Going Down

The homestretch is about as tedious going down as it is going up. I did do a lot of sliding on my rear and legs (on purpose). And unfortunately you bend your knee at least as much going down as you do going up, so that didn't seem to be helping. It took almost as long to decend as to ascend.

I figured Mark would be ok until about 6:00, and I knew he might start getting concerned after that. But there was really nothing I could do. He didn't have a cell phone, and even if he did he likely wouldn't get reception -- at least not often. You do get some in the Moraine Park campground in spots. And I'd have to be a bit closer to get the reception I would need to call him anyway. I knew there was a good chance I'd get some once I was at the foot of Mt. Lady Washington's peak. But I didn't even bring the Walkie Talkies since their range is only about 2 miles and it was farther than that from any point in my hike to the campground.

The narrows seemed to take longer going back. It is generally up hill, but not steep at all. It's all the climbing over obstacles and ... if you don't watch the dots you can get off the trail and have to backtrack. On top of that I think the knee was bothering me a little more, so I was relying heavily on the hiking pole and picking my spots carefully. And I was fully aware that you need to be even more careful when you're tired. It took a half an hour to get back to the top of the trough. Probably another hour to an hour and 15 minutes to get to the bottom of the trough (well, technically the bottom is way farther down glacier gorge, but I mean where the trough meets the ledges. The bottom as far as my climb is concerned.) I do remember thinking I was at the ledges but still had probably 100 yards to go down. I got off the trail a bit and I noticed a man down below where I needed to be.

I backtracked and wound my way down to him. He was looking for his son who had gone on to the top. I couldn't recall seeing anybody who fit his description, but I didn't see anyone in trouble on my way down. I told him about how long it was to the top and said he'll probably be just fine ... it'll just be a while.

On my way down the trough, I found what I thought was a bit of litter. It turned out to be a packet of some sort of liquid energy bar jelly, with "all the electrolytes of a sports drink". It was a bit beat up and dirty, but still sealed. There was nobody anywhere near that it might have belonged to, so I picked it up for later as well as to remove the litter from the mountain.

The ledges also seemed to take forever. I made it back to the keyhole right about 4:00 pm. 3 and a half hours from the top. A half hour longer than it had taken me to ascend.

At this point, you think you're home free. And with a good knee, that's probably true. But the decent from the keyhole to the boulderfield was painful. It was time for that last dose of ibuprofen. Only I ran out of water before I got to the keyhole. I needed to make it down to boulder brook to get more. It probably took me half an hour.

I asked around the boulderfield campsite about the couple from Minneapolis and site #2 so I could return the Ace bandage. The campers said they weren't numbered. Then I remembered it wasn't the boulder field camp ground where they were staying, it was down at the bottom at the Longs Peak campground.

I found a spot in the boulders where you could get down to the brook running beneath/through them, and filtered water into one of my empty hydration bladders. Ate a little more trail mix, cleaned the energy bar jelly packet and consumed it, took the ibuprofen, and continued across the boulders.

I passed several hikers going in either direction. Some taking short hikes from the boulderfield campsite. Some coming down the mountain. Some that had just come up to the boulder field and Chasm Lake. It occurred to me then I still had about 6 miles to go, and it was pushing 5:30.

I was thankful to get off the boulders and onto something of a regular trail where there weren't so many objects to step over. My pace was as quick as I dared, but my legs were tired. This means you don't pick your feet up as high as you should, and you're sloppier putting them down. They can easily hit a rock at an awkward angle and twist and bend in ways they're not designed for, or hit a rock smaller than your fist that rolls and you slip. If it weren't for the hiking pole not only would my knees have taken a beating but I'd likely have sprained both ankles many times over.

The only pictures I took on the way down were some scrubby trees at the treeline, because... well I'm just fascinated by the treeline and the sunlight was good. Mostly, I was bent on getting down, returning the ace bandage, going into town for more ibuprofen, ice, and an ace bandage of my own. Getting back to camp. Eating. Going to bed.

Even at that it was a good hour to the treeline, and another hour to the bottom. Way faster than the way up, but not nearly fast enough for me. I did manage to call Vicki from somewhere above the treeline so at least someone would know I was ok. Standing still was difficult. My leg muscles were quivering from low blood sugar. Just another reason not to stop moving any more than necessary.

Mom's surgery was tomorrow as well adding to the list of reasons to do this climb today. If, God forbid, anything went wrong I might be speeding back home Wednesday or Thursday. Hopefully not. Probably not. Just hearing her voice and talking to her lifted my spirits a bit, and I snapped the phone shut and moved on.

I did get one shot of a waterfall on the way down and accidentally (due to the low light) almost got that silky water effect as the camera chose a shutter speed of just over 1/10 second. I'm surprised I held the camera still enough. The rocks have a slight blur to them, but for a hand-held 1/10 shutter speed shot, I was impressed when I later saw it at home.

The last hour seemed like two. I figured I was the last one on the trail coming down, and I was coming down through mountain lion territory at dusk... prime hunting time. Tired, lone hikers probably make pretty easy pickings. I paid triple attention, planning to use my hiking pole as a weapon if necessary, but I knew in the end I probably wouldn't hear a cat attack coming. I mean... they're cats! The diamond face climbers passed me, and I realized there were probably others behind me as well... so I felt a little better. I passed a man and his young sons who said they were hiking up to the Goblins Forest campground which I had just passed on the last switchback. They said I had over a mile to go. Which was not encouraging. I figured I had less than half that distance to go. Unfortunately, they were right.

I got to the bottom at 7:30 pm, 3 hours late as far as I was concerned. But it felt good. I signed out, checked the "yes" box to the "did you get there" question, and noted that around 30 people had signed in that day. Got in the car, returned the ace bandage and thanked them profusely. I went into town to get the supplies I mentioned above (plus a snickers bar and a quart of Ben and Jerry's New York Super Fudge Chunk) and headed back to camp.

I got there at 8:30pm, right before Mark was about to head to the Rangers station to register his concern. He had already eaten. We ate the ice cream. I put ice on my knee, and took ibuprofen (I had to take my last 4 from my dop kit because it turned out I picked up the wrong bottle at the store -- it was tylenol, and I really needed ibuprofen). We talked a bit, but I was beat. We turned in for the night.

The Longest Day, Part II

More Tuesday, Aug 21

In my pack, as any good mountain hiker would, I carried some extra layers. In all liklihood I wouldn't need them today, but if you only prepare for liklihood up here, you could very well end up one of the dead ones. Hypothermia is nothing to scoff at, and the mountains make their own weather. Today the mountains would have a much harder time than usual making wet weather or lightning, but you should never take it for granted. I don't.

One of those layers was my white microfiber compression shirt. These are nice because they wick sweat right away from you and facilitate its evaporation, keeping you dry -- plus they do provide some extra warmth. But what I needed right now was a compression bandage, something I will carry on all such future trips. I had a fleece layer and a waterproof layer, and I calculated that doing something about the knee was more important than having the compression shirt. I decided to do a "survivorman" type video of my McGyver moment.


First I thought that since the sleeves were pretty small, a single sleeve might provide the support my ligament needed. It hadn't gotten any worse, but I didn't know how much of that was the ibuprofen talking. My guess is that this is a stabilizer ligament, and it just needs some extra help with the stablizing. A quick Google search turns up that it's my Tibial Colateral ligament, and yup, that's what it's for, so I guess I was right. At any rate, I cut a sleeve off with my sheath knife and put it around my knee. It was not nearly tight enough. So I went to cut some ribbons of the shirt to use as an ace bandage. Ultimately, I couldn't get one long enough, but I tied what I had around it anyway. I also took a little shred of the shirt and used it as a cord to attach the leather strap of my hat to the breast strap of my backpack. I used a plastic clip I had found on the trail earlier as a clip that could be undone easily. And of course the main reason I did this is with the ~35mph wind easily able to blow it off and me approaching a part of the climb that sported 600-1,000 foot dropoffs... I needed that hat, and that's no place to go chasing one. I didn't bring a spare.


The bandage wasn't helping that much. The climb from the boulder field to the keyhole was more "up" than I thought it would be. With my knee giving me a mild pang every time I bent it past about 25 degrees, it made it more difficult than I would have liked. At this point I was basically "limping", using my hiking pole to minimize the extent to which I had to bend my knee.


I caught up with a german lady, maybe in her late 50's to about 60, who said "my knees are shot, my ankles are shot, my hips are shot, and I can do it. You'll make it". In the end, I have to wonder if that woman's goal was the keyhole and she didn't know mine was the summit, because she didn't go past the keyhole. I got a lot of encouragement from several people on the way up who asked me if I was ok. One man back by Mt. Lady Washington told me this was his 7th time and that it wasn't dangerous. Every little bit helps.

I would have liked to have someone take my picture by the Agnes Vaille Memorial Shelter just to the left of the keyhole itself, but frankly it was too crowded and I wouldn't have liked the picture. There was a pretty young Ukranian or Russian lady sitting behind a boulder right underneath the keyhole. I stopped for a minute and made a little small talk. She said this was the end for her. It was too windy in the gorge on the other side.

Well, this is it. I'm here. The knee doesn't hurt too bad. I'll keep a close watch on it and if I make it up the trough I'm probably good. Plus, I have to check out the other side if only to scout it out for a future attempt. I could at least do that.

Up and through the Keyhole I went at about 8:25 am.

The west side of Longs Peak was gouged by the huge glacier that carved out Glacier Gorge -- one of the more popular attractions of the park. Long itself, from this angle, is just the largest of a series of teeth that line the ridge of the east side of the valley. As a matter of fact, last time I was in Glacier Gorge, I didn't even realize I was so near the mountain. Only after I got home and looked at the pictures did I recognize its distinctive flat top in the background of some of my shots.

It's a good 2,000 to 2,500 feet to the valley floor from here, and the west side of the gorge is in shadow. It's going to be a bit cooler, but I'll be working hard enough to make up for it.

The first challenge is a section called "The Ledges". The ledges aren't as bad as they look in pictures, although carelessness here could get you killed. If the wind were too much stronger, I probably wouldn't have risked it. And there is one particular spot which I'd seen on a YouTube video where there are two iron bars driven into the mountain to be used as hand and foot holds, and they were most welcomed. A fall from here would likely mean at least a rescue, if not a medivac, and the trail jogged at this point meaning it was basically down to maybe a foot wide for few feet. But all it takes is paying attention and a little care, and you're over it and on to a much more generous path the rest of the way to the trough. This doesn't mean you don't have to climb up and over several variations in elevation, but that was about the scariest part of the ledges.

The ledges trend basically downward toward the trough -- a little disheartening since that's that much more altitude you'll have to gain in the trough, but it's really not too bad. The knee was no worse than it was when I was hiking through the tundra hours earlier. I was slightly concerned that I'd make it, get back down, and my knee would swell to the size of a canteloupe by the next morning, but I kept telling myself "it's not that kind of injury".

All accounts I've read say the trough is the most discouraging part of the climb (although I'd read a couple of accounts that your first look at the homestretch could be pretty daunting.) You gain about 800 feet in elevation in a pretty steep scramble over a lot of loose rock -- although it's not all loose rock. There is a bit of slipping and sliding involved. But nobody was starting any rockslides of any substance, and I did my best not to cause any of my own. Occasionally someone would yell "rock! sorry!" but I never actually saw a rock threaten anyone that day.

Keep in mind as you look at the picture to the left/above, this is from the bottom of the trough, and there are probably 20 people in the shot. Some are coming down, some are going up. It's kind of hard to give a good idea of scale here. But they appear as little dots and they're clustered near the top. Well, they're not as near the "top" as they look. I'm using "top" here in reference to their relative position in the photo.

My steps were getting pretty deliberate by now. Take one foot. Find a good foothold a bit higher up than you are. Use your leg to left you up to that level. Use your hands and other leg for balance. Repeat. I just tried to keep moving -- resting only by moving very slowly. Never stoping. A few people continued to pass me. I had thought the hiking pole would be more trouble than it was worth in the trough, but frankly, with my knee, I needed it to help keep the strain off of it, and it worked pretty well.

The guy who had told me it wasn't dangerous and this was his 7th climb -- recognized me as "Missouri" ... on his way back down. "Hey, Missouri, you made it!", he noted. He seemed to be genuinely congratulating me, and encouraging me at the same time. I don't think he'd expected me to get past the keyhole with my knee injury and my slow pace. He said I should be at the top by 11:15. It was 9:30 -- a little over an hour after I'd popped through the keyhole.

I decided to stop and eat a little more. What you need while hiking and climbing up here is energy, and I hit my trail mix and more dried cranberries, followed by a little jerkey to help all that last just a little bit longer. I was saving the Mountain Goat bar from Two Brothers for the summit. My water was holding up fine. But I was having to blow my nose a lot -- I don't know if it was the dry air, the coolness of it, or something in it. But my nose was getting kind of raw, and my pocket was filling with kleenex.

As I approached the top 1/4 of the trough, I noticed a familiar dress coming down the mountain. The Mennonite lady and her party. I snuck a picture in. It's just too good a story. A girl in a dress had summited. Beat me to the top. Passed me on the trail, summited, and was on her way back down long before I got there.

This is not a race.

Later it did occur to me that I have no way of knowing if she actually did summit. She may have gotten to the homestretch and said "nope". But somehow, I doubt it. I have no reason to believe she didn't make it up there (I think the guy in front of her there was in her party as well).

I'll tell you what. I've always said I'm a big fan of girls who aren't ashamed of being girls. And an even bigger fan when they're up to a challenge like this. Do it in a dress, and I'm quadruply impressed. This one definitely earned, as Vicki would say, her Bozo Booster Button today!

I reached the top of the trough at 10:22 am. There was a bit of a tricky part near the top. I looked it over and saw the way people were trying to get up to the right, which was possible for tall enough people with a bit of effort. But I could see a better, non-obvious circuitous route which was much more manageable. I think people don't see it because you appear to be backtracking by going that way. Well you are, but only about 15 feet. Much easier.

I stepped over a ledge at the top of the trough and whacked my knee. Ow! It suddenly hurt much worse. I realized my dose of ibuprofen .... the one I'd taken sometime after 4:00 am, was probably about worn off. I dug in my pack and got out my first aid kit. I had 4 ibuprofen left. One dose for a person my size. One guy stopped and asked if I was ok. I explained my situation pretty in a matter-of-fact manner, and he asked if I needed any Advil. I told him I had a dose for right now, but I'd really like to have one for the return trip. He gave me the four I would need. I think these were the same people that lent me the real live Ace bandage, Sarah and Mike Miziorko from Minneapolis. Thanks! I think I'm going to make it. I never thought of carrying enough ibuprofen for an inflamational injury on the trail. I will carry 16 from now on.

The next section between the trough and the homestretch is called the narrows. If the ledges didn't scare you, this just might. The drops were much more sheer, and the trail not nearly as wide in the beginning. But there were plenty of hand holds in the rock face of the mountain, and believe me, I used them.

Right at the beginning of the narrows on the southwest face of the mountain, you look down into this large pit, and quite a ways down is a large black rock that sort of resembles a hearse burried half way up its hubcaps in loose rock. Not surprisingly, it's called "the hearse", and I'd say of all the falls you wouldn't want to take, this would be the one. Again, it's hard to estimate distances, but this one was ... hundreds, if not 1,000 feet, and mostly just ... down. And a hearse waiting right there to pick you up. How handy.

A few people die on this mountain every year. This is the least dangerous approach, but it's also the one most people take. A small percentage times a large enough number yields a significant result. Today, I think somewhere between 30 and 50 people summited. On a late summer weekend day it would be three times that many, weather permitting. The most recent death I'd heard of was a guy who did not turn back due to bad weather. He was too close to the top to want to turn back, and believe me I can empathize with the drive. His friends turned back. Rescue found him later. At the top. Frozen to death. Jennifer made sure to send me that one. Thanks!

A few years ago a Japanese guy was blown off a ledge by high winds. Was it here?

Time was kind of in suspension by this time. It's kind of the same zone I go into in a long drive -- I don't pay much attention to anything but this moment, so the feeling of long periods of time passing kind of goes away. Don't ask me how I do it, I think it's a defense mechanism. It just happens. I don't remember much about the rest of the narrows ... only that they went generally down a bit and didn't seem to be very long. (I was right -- less than 20 minutes) And then there it was. The homestretch.

I think.

I'm going up that?

Yes-I-Am! The odd thing was that I could only see a very few people near me. There were probably 8-10 other people coming up and down that thing, and it looked almost straight up. It wasn't, but it looked it. And you had to look close to see them. But there were little moving dots at the very top. That's it. Let's go!

Mike had told me it was kind of like a staircase. And it was, kind of. A really really steep one, with a few places that were practically troughs of polished granite.... one extending about 15 or 20 feet. I wouldn't want to have to go over that in the rain. And as such, there was a lot of knee bending, but my ibuprofen dose had caught up and the pain was an annoyance, but not much more -- especially with the distraction of the peak getting closer. And it did take the better part of an hour for me to get up there. But I was over the edge and on the top by about 11:20 am. And I took my picture by the USGS marker on the highest boulder a few minutes later. And of course, we all took turns taking each others pictures at the top. Mine was timestamped 11:29 am.

The Longest Day, Part I

Tuesday, Aug 21

1:00 comes fairly early in the morning. However, the alarm on my altimeter watch dutifully woke me up as I had instructed it to do. I slept pretty well from about 9:00pm-1:00am, considering that I was about to embark on a trip I'd been simultaneously looking forward to and dreading.

I'm sure a lot of people don't understand this. Doing this hike, especially for a 43 year old flatlander, was going to be a lot of work. I wasn't underestimating it this time. My climb of Mt. Elbert -- which is really more of a high-altitude hike than a climb, was a lot of work. That was a 12 mile round trip with roughly the same elevation gain ... about 5,000 feet. It wore me out. It was about a 10 hour round trip for me, and I stayed on the top less than half an hour because it was cold and windy -- downright inhospitable -- up there. Plus I wanted to get down for an Elk Steak (that I never had, by the way) in Twin Lakes.

And what many people don't understand is why some of us do it anyway. The answer is, if you don't understand it, I can't explain it to you. And if you do, I don't have to say another word. All I can say is, try it sometime and maybe you will.

I had no illusions about this climb. It was going to be longer, after about 7 good miles of hiking steadily uphill, I was going to have to scramble over a quarter mile of large boulders and climb to a spot where the hard work would really begin. Longs, though certainly not the most difficult Colorado 14er to climb, is no walk-up. It's probably the most difficult I will ever attempt, though.

The ranger at the ranger station suggested starting at 3:00am. From all the accounts I'd read, I figured I'd better start at 2:00. She said "all the better".

I had washed and shaved before I went to bed, and packed my pack so all I'd have to do is put on my boots and hat and jump in the car and go. I'd scouted out the road and trailhead the evening before. Even so, I missed something. I turned on C66 thinking it met up with C7.... wrong. It's the next road to the east -- Mary's Lake Rd. Fortunately, C66 comes to a dead end at some campground after a few miles and I realized my error and turned around and went back. I only lost about 10 or 12 minutes

The trailhead parking lot was fairly empty at 2:00 am. I pulled up alongside a car where another hiker was obviously getting ready to go. Even this early I wouldn't be alone. I got out and started pulling out my pack.

The other hiker was from Nebraska, and though I couldn't see her obviously female, and quite a bit younger (23, as I later found out). I opened the conversation with "The insanity begins." She'd been planning this event for a while as had I. She had tried it before and had to turn back due to weather.

I had in my pack some jerky, some trial mix, a Mountain Goat bar I had bought at Two Brothers Deli, 5 quarts of water (about 10 lbs). Another 10 lbs of camera gear. A fleece layer, a waterproof rain slicker, and an emergency poncho. I also had a water filter in case I ran out of water. That's another pound. A sheath knife. Leatherman multitool. Portable anemometer. And a compression shirt in case I needed another layer. First aid kit. And my hiking pole. I even had my cell phone on the off chance that I'd get reception from the summit via Estes Park.

In my lower left parachute pants pocket (zip-off legs in case I got warm -- highly reccomended for summer hiking) I carried the smaller Nikon "walkabout" digital camera for quick documentary snap shots (plus it takes video which the digital SLR will not). I did not plan on getting the good camera gear out until sunrise to take some shots of the diamond face (I should be there by then - and right about that time) and some at the top. Topographical map in the right lower pocket. And a GPS (mostly for curiosity sake, but you never know) strapped to the backpack arm strap.

Last, but certainly not least, an LED headlamp strapped around my forehead.

I signed in and hit the trail at 2:15 am, moments after "Nebraska". She disappeared into the darkness.

Pretty much all I could see was the spot on the ground my headlamp illuminated, and the dim shadows of trees on either side of the trail. One by one hikers who started up the trail after me passed me by. I stood aside and let them go. They were younger, more fit, better acclimated, or some combination of the three. I kept telling myself "This isn't a race. The summit isn't going anywhere." No point in wearing myself out before I get to the boulderfield.

On the Elbert climb, I'd averaged about 1,000 feet an hour in elevation gain. I was on about the same pace here.

At one point I took a wrong turn, thinking the trail must go across a stream, but it vanished on the other side. I got the topo map out and looked at it. When I looked back up another hiker had passed me and was walking 180 degrees from the way I'd been facing, up the next leg of the switchback. Geez, I've really got to pay more attention. Well it was pretty dark. Since I never pointed my headlamp that way, I never saw the obvious about-face the trail did right before the stream.

A mile and a half or so up the trail I passed the Goblins Forest Campground sign. And at about 10,800 feet, the famous "Lightning Hazard" sign (3:30 am), warning of the dangers of lightning above the treeline, which I'd be at after climbing another 700 feet. Someone was stopped just ahead, taking a break and eating some "breakfast". I stopped, too, and turned off my headlamp while I ate some dried cranberries and drank some water. The sky was crystal clear -- black, with bright white stars searing holes in the cold, black backdrop. Breathtaking, really. Mark and I had noted how clear and distinct the Milky Way was from the campsite a couple of nights before. It seemed even clearer here.

We made some small talk, and both of us hit the trail again -- the other guy steadily pulling away from me. It didn't seem like long before the trees shrivelled and shrank away... and then a sight I'd read about opened up to the east and southeast. You could see the city lights of Boulder and Denver down on the flat. Wow. I really couldn't get a good picture of it without the tripod, but I did my best by getting the Pentax out and setting the "film" speed to 3200 and holding as still as possible. You get an idea of what it looked like -- but it was clear. You could even see traffic moving -- an we're talking about 40-60 miles away. Not many people get to see this. This is one of the reasons I'm here. If you want to experience something special, it takes some effort. Sometimes it takes a lot of effort.

The biggest thing I credit my father with is giving me the ability to go through long periods of discomfort, unpleasantness -- and discipline you'd really rather not force upon yourself -- without really complaining about it. You just do it, like the Nike commercial used to say. You just do it, and you don't bitch about it. Putting up hay all afternoon and evening in 97 degree weather with ridiculous humidity. When you're 12 and some of the hay bales weigh as much as you do. With bits of hay scratching you in places God never intended hay to go, including up your nose. In your eyes. Scratches stinging with sweat. Thirst. Exhaustion. None of that matters in the short term. Ticks, chiggers.... Or cutting wood all day in the snow, fingers, toes, and ears numb from the cold. There's a job to do and you're the one to do it, and it's not going to get done until you finish it. Don't get me wrong. I've seen "Band of Brothers", and I that's a hell of a lot worse than I've ever been through or ever hope to have to go through. Let's have some perspective. But I know what it took and how they did it.

And it extends to schoolwork, work-work, diet and exercise, and climbing mountains.

Lots of people can't do things because they won't try. It's amazing what you can do when you try and don't succmb to excuses as to why you can't do it. Gimme a Nike "swoosh"! Thank you!

Today it was getting up out of a warm, comfy bed at 1:00am and climbing a 14,000 mountain with a good 25-30 lbs strapped to my back. No, it isn't a job that needs to be done like the hay. But I can do it because I did the hay, and discomfort doesn't deter me from something I really want. Self discipline isn't just for the benefit of others. It helps you get what you want as well.

You think about a lot of things when you're hiking (or pretty much anywhere) alone in the wilderness. It's just you and your thoughts, and it's good for you. That's one of the reasons I like doing it. The sight of the city lights over the treeline at 5:20 in the morning was already worth the effort, and the day had hardly begun.

The tundra seemed to go on forever. I looked behind me and saw a stream of headlamps following behind me. Occasionally I could almost trace the trail in front of me with headlamps by looking ahead. It gave me an idea of just how far I had to go.

Hikers kept passing me over time as I meandered through the tundra in relative darkness. Sometimes I'd catch up with some when they were resting, but they'd usually pass me again. At one point a party passed me including a woman in a long cotton dress and a head covering -- probably Mennonite. Great. I'm being passed by a woman in a dress.

This is not a race. The peak will still be there when I get there.

The tundra started to give way to boulders, more and more of them. Not huge ones. Mt. Lady Washington was right there. Perhaps I'd reached the boulder field. But no. A young woman was stopped to the side of the trail ahead of me. I stopped and looked up at her. My headlamp revealed a "Cornhuskers" hat. "You must be Megan", I said. I had read her name above mine when I signed in at the trailhead. She was the second to sign in that day, and I was #3. She said she wasn't going to make it. Her ankles hurt. She said she had weak ankles anyway. I looked down at her unprotected ankles. "You need high-tops", I advised her. She replied that she didn't like high tops.

Back to that whole "doing what needs to be done" thing, I guess. At the very least, then, she should have a hiking pole. She should have one anyway even if she did have high tops. They help you catch your balance when you trip, slip, or stumble, and your arm absorbs the shock instead of your ankles. Well it was too late for her. We wished each other well. She said she'd be back another day.

By this time I was noticing an injury of my own. It was an injury I don't ever remember having before, but was the ligament on the inside of my right knee. I have no idea what caused it. It was sore, and every time I picked up and bent my knee very much at all, it hurt. Not terrible pain, but it was sore, and it was the kind of thing that could get worse. I was starting to be concerned that I wouldn't make it myself. I decided to take some ibuprofen and press on to the boulder field and possibly the keyhole and re-assess at that point. If it got worse I'd still have a good 8 hours to get back down before my planned return time of 4:00pm. I could take it easy and downhill wouldn't be as bad -- especially with the hiking pole.

The sun was up over the horizon within a few minutes from then, and I was presented with a very large series of switchbacks leading higher up the tundra, apparently ending at the boulder field -- which I couldn't see yet. But as the sun got higher in the sky, I was treated to a spectacular orange-gold bath of light over everything, the tundra, myself, Mt. Lady Washington, Storm Peak, and the Diamond Face of Longs. I stopped and broke out the Pentax again for this. One of them (below), I think, is THE shot of the trip. Another climber asked if I'd like my picture taken, and you know.... you bet. What a memory. Even if I don't make it to the top (as I often say when I'm hiking/climbing) I get to be here. Wow. Just.... wow. No adequate words to describe it.

It was a bit hazy from forest fires out west, but you could still see Trail Tidge road and the mountains farther to the north and west. In the morning twilight I even saw a headlight on Trail Ridge -- either that or the light on one of the pieces of road construction equipment. Whatever it was, it was cool.

Daylight, the spectacular view, and the proximity of the boulder field gave me the energy to press on. I'd been struggling with oxygen since about 11,500 ft (not that the previous 2,000 feet was a piece of cake).

The boulder field has real boulders. Big ones. Not that stuff strewn around the north side of the base of Mt Lady Washington's peak. These were often the size of cars and bigger. Mike had told me it's easier to boulder hop than to try to pick your way through them, and he was right. It would've been easier without the sore knee, but the hiking pole came in handy for minimizing the impact of that.

I could hear Boulder Brook trickling underneath the boulders, but I couldn't see it through them. I had recently read that it is believed that there's about a 100' thick glacier underneath the boulderfield -- the boulders are actually helping protect it. I guess they got deposited on top of what's left of the glacier a long time ago. At one point around 1930, there was even an Inn built up here to which people rode horses, stabled them there, spent the night, and then climbed the last 1.5 to 2 miles to the top in the morning. Certainly much safer that way as you wouldn't be tired when you got to the hard part. Within a few years a 2' crack developed in one of the walls, and they tore the whole thing down. It is now believed that that was caused by glacial movement.

There's also a cool story about a little girl's ghost up around the trough area, riding a tricycle -- the daughter of the Boulderfield Inn Keeper.

There are 9 campsites at the boulder field. It's tempting to reserve one, but you have to way ahead of time, and if the weather's bad the day you planned on going, that's it (unless you are crazy and reserved it all week or something). The boulder field is inhospitible. It's a field of big huge rocks at just under 13,000 feet, for Pete's sake. There are two latrines that you have to climb stairs to get to since they weren't about to dig down in the rock.... they built a big huge bucket and put a latrine on top, about 8-10 feet above the boulders. They have some system there to keep the sewage from getting in to boulder brook. It would be interesting to know how that works, but it appears to be powered by solar panels.

There's also no roof to these things. A man can stand an pee, and he'd be visible from the shoulders up to anyone on the boulder field. Smile and wave, I guess. But people who will hike here, much less camp here, aren't the squeamish type. Hats off to the Mennonite woman.

The sites themselves are areas cleared of boulders .... sort of... there are 4' walls of boulders built in semicircles around each site, which have mainly flat bottoms upon which one can pitch a tent. When you first reach the boulder field, you can't see these sites. They blend right in. Only the tops of the tallest tents poke above the rock walls, and not many are that tall.

I stopped and used one of the latrines (phew!!!! I think the contrast with the fresh 13,000 foot air made them smell all the worse!), and pressed on to where the boulders began to climb to the keyhole where I promised myself a rest, some breakfast, and a look at the knee.