Longs Peak – We went looking for danger.
What we found was a route so spectacular, we wondered how anyone could stay away.
Our assignment was to hike up the most popular Longs Peak trails and come back with photos.
The story was that finally, after almost two years, the Keyhole route – the easiest on this mighty mountain – could be climbed without an ice ax and crampons. The ramp of snow and ice had cleared from the Trough, a steep couloir, or gully, on Longs’ shadowy west side that stands between the route’s signature keyhole-shaped notch and the summit of this 14,259-foot peak.
Our editors asked us to go, because each of us has climbed 14,000-foot mountains. The photographer, Helen H. Richardson, is an experienced rock and ice climber. I’m a beginner as a rock climber, and I had successfully climbed Longs’ technical North Face route two weeks before.
We were to take every precaution. We weren’t supposed to get hurt or killed on the paper’s time.
We hauled insulated waterproof pants, waterproof jackets, a fleece jacket, a down coat, extra socks, a first-aid kit. With several liters of water and sport drink, with piles of energy bars and gels, we felt we were properly equipped.
We set out a little after 4 a.m.
Readiness is key
When the sun rose, we saw that many on the route weren’t as prepared.
Lots of cotton sweat shirts and denim pants – useless in a rainstorm – and lots of running shoes instead of the sturdy boots you would expect for a 15-mile round trip through harsh boulders and up slick slabs.
I thought of the grim facts reported in Sunday’s Denver Post: There have been 55 deaths on the mountain since 1884. There is an average of 60 high-mountain rescue attempts here each year.
Despite these concerns, the many people we met from California to New York were absolutely thrilled to be out. They shared an exuberant camaraderie, an intoxicating die-hard spirit, and many personal victories would be achieved this day.
The way to the Boulder Field, about 6 miles, is straightforward walking. The only challenge is carrying your pack in the thin air above tree line.
The Boulder Field is walkable, but as it rises toward the Keyhole, many use their hands to steady themselves, a technique employed more and more as we reeled in the last 1,100 vertical feet.
Stepping through the Keyhole notch was like stepping onto a different mountain. The bright, calm day turned shadowy and chilly. The broad, flat trail disappeared. The tumble of rough, broken boulders gave way to large slabs of smooth rock set at sharp angles.
Suddenly, we weren’t on a hike. We were on a real mountainside, and though the dry conditions made it easy to cross this section, known as the Ledges, we remarked that a careless step here would mean at least a broken bone or two, and maybe worse.
We would make that remark often as we continued, and marvel that more hadn’t been killed here.
And yet Helen snapped photo after photo, at times from the most precarious of perches.
Many in the crowd of hikers turned back, and we soon met a 19-year-old woman and her boyfriend retreating from higher up the mountain.
Falling rock ahead
We entered the Trough and gaped at its immensity. The steep couloir of scoured gray rock still had the feel of snow about it, and a rotten strip of ice mottled with stones lay off to our right.
While we scrambled up, rockfall became a hazard, as seams of rounded, fist-sized stones crisscrossed the slabs. Our feet easily disturbed them.
“Rock!” would go the call. “Rock! Rock! Rock!”
At the top of the couloir, the going gets vertical. An enormous stone blocks the path. Even with a few rock-climbing skills to draw from, making my way over this chockstone was a challenge. Fun, but spooky enough to get the adrenaline flowing.
As we popped over the Trough’s final obstacle, we were greeted by the entrance to the Narrows, a ledge only a few feet wide, that faces a sheer drop-off of hundreds of feet.
You have to grip holds in the wall on your left and step out onto the ledge. When dry, it is as safe as walking through your home – as long as you put your feet where they are supposed to be. But the mental battle the height creates here sends many away.
Majestic payoff awaits
The rewards of continuing are significant. Besides the elation that comes with working through your fears and the gift of endorphins exertion brings, there is the scenery.
As we walked along the ledge, we were provided awesome views of a glacier-carved wonderland, high-mountain lakes and, not so far away, the snow-tipped Continental Divide.
All that space is anchored by Longs’ high granite walls, and each turn opens to another dizzying scene of high, sweeping rock and fluted towers.
The scramble up the Homestretch is good times, lots of hands-and-feet climbing over sturdy rock with easy holds and fun footing.
And then you’re there.
We summitted at 11:20 a.m., plenty of time to follow the rule of thumb about getting off the top by noon to avoid summer’s thunderstorms.
Atop the broad, flat peak, we talked with the victorious. Among them, 12-year-old Rose Sulentic, and her father, Steve, of Pittsburgh.
They had trained for months to ready themselves for Longs’ demands. Rose sat calmly under her cap, chatting with her father as if she had done little more than come home from school.
Nearby, a woman called out, “I’ll give anyone $1,000 to carry me down.”
She got a lot of laughs, but no takers.
Suddenly, I took on the role of photographer, snapping pictures of parties standing on Longs’ highest point. A line formed. Someone would hand me a camera and rush to rejoin his group.
Through the various viewfinders, I saw big smiles and radiant faces. Couples arm in arm. Friends striking posses. Families unbelievably happy.
No wonder they risked it, I thought. How could you not?
Our task complete, we decided to get down while the weather held. Without having to stop to shoot pictures, we made remarkably good time, beating every goal we had set.
The many big steps you must take to get down the Homestretch and the Trough are no joke. With gravity working against us, my thighs soon turned to something like rubber.
Once we got past the Boulder Field, it was easy going. And with 2.5 miles to go, we realized we could make the parking lot in just more than 12 hours if we hurried.
Still, we only had 45 minutes to do so.
Bragging rights in the newsroom were at stake.
“Let’s book?” Helen said.
“Let’s book,” I said.
We started a kind of jog, and, after a while, just ran back to tree line, our big packs jumping on our shoulders.
From there we walked, catching our breath over the last, long mile.
12:13:42.
Chuck Plunkett can be reached at 303-820-1333 or cplunkett@denverpost.com.
