Longs Peak. I remember an uncle pointing it out to me from Greeley Colorado. About 50 miles away, it towers over the plains, the tallest peak visible from here. The next time I came across the name Long’s Peak, I was reading Centennial, by James Michener, while working in upstate New York. Shortly after reading the book, I found myself moving to Colorado. That is when I started telling myself "I will climb that mountain!"

July 13th 2003, the day I set out for Longs. After a fitful 2 hours sleep I brewed some coffee and headed out to the trailhead off Highway 7. Arriving there at 3:45 AM I double-checked my gear, laced up my boots and headed for a pit stop. The morning chill wasn’t as bad as I had expected, so I repacked my jacket underneath my poncho. By 4 AM I was signing the register and heading up the trail. It was still dark out, but I could see well without a flashlight. The only problem there was from other hiker's lights ruining my night vision. The hike through the trees past the ranger station was quiet and rather easygoing. I got passed by a few other climbers, but kept telling myself 'slow and steady'.

Coming out of the trees, I was amazed at the brilliant display of a star-studded sky. The sun was still about an hour from coming up, but the pre dawn light was enough to see by. Continuing up the trail I quickened my pace while telling myself to take it easy. I wasn’t worried about altitude sickness, but figured there was no rush to get to the top. I made a stop to watch the sun rise over the plains and grab a quick break. While stopped, I snapped a few pictures of the sunrise and looked at the terrain. I remember thinking that the wind must be terrible during the winter here and how lucky I was to enjoy such a beautiful morning. Not even a breeze, and I was comfortable in a short sleeved shirt. Heading out again I passed other climbers on their way up. Some set out as much as an hour earlier than I did and commented on how nice it would be to be young again. This got a chuckle out of me; the few who passed me in the trees were heading at such a clip that I felt I was standing still.

Continuing up, I noted there were still snowdrifts on some of the hills. This really just made me wonder: here I am hiking up a mountain, seeing snow, and it’s July! As I came around the trail, I got a good view of the Stone Beaver. I stopped to take a few pictures and gaze at this huge chunk of granite. I am still amazed at how pressure from two tectonic plates could push such a huge mass up and give it such a shape. I headed on my way, snaking around the trail, telling myself just a bit longer to the boulder field. Coming around the ridge, the boulder field was ahead of me. It looked like while someone was building the mountains they dropped one of the peaks and it shattered into millions of pieces, scattered around Longs. I continued on, following small piles of rocks as markers toward the keyhole.

Just short of the keyhole, I stopped for a rest and a snack. While munching on some granola bars, my thoughts kept drifting to the lightning warnings I had seen posted on the trail. Being 6’ 7”, I might as well have been carrying an aluminum baseball bat over my head while running in circles shouting “Hit me, hit me!” I pushed these thoughts aside and continued my trek up. Reaching the keyhole I had to check out the stone hut built for an emergency shelter. I couldn’t believe just how small it was as compared to the multitude of climbers that I had seen this morning. If foul weather did move in, there would be around 100 climbers trying to squeeze into a hut no bigger than a full sized bathroom. As I continued through the keyhole I stopped to chat with other climbers who had stopped for a rest. One said we were about 13,500 feet up, well on our way.

Heading on my way, I missed a trail marker, a small spray-painted bullseye, and realized the trail was about 50 feet below me. Here I questioned my own sanity and started climbing straight up. I figured, "What good is a mountain if you don’t climb it." While climbing up, facing sheer sheets of granite, attempting to locate toeholds, I thought how stupid this was. Before this the only experience I had was climbing in and out of bed. At least the heights didn’t bother me. The climb wasn’t too difficult, and I only slipped once. (By the way, the whole thing about your life flashing before your eyes is bogus.)

A rock I grabbed hold of let go, causing me to start sliding down. The only thought I had was not to mess my pants. I slid down about 4 feet before I had another grip on the mountain. Here I looked below me to see where I could have ended up. Strange that the only concern here was who would clean up the mess? Reaching the top of the ridge, I stopped for another breather, and noticed another climber back on the trail yelling. He was difficult to make out, but was letting me know I was crazy for ascending here. I shrugged and continued up the ridge towards the summit.

About 100 yards from the summit I noticed four climbers who had beat me to the top. Approaching them, one welcomed me to the top of Rocky Mountain National Park. 14,255 feet above sea level. I had made it. After inspecting the US Geological Survey marker, I decided it was time for lunch. Grabbing an available rock, I sat and joined the group. While breaking out an MRE I noticed we had company. A marmot had decided to make the summit his home. He was a rather curious little bugger, approaching within an arms reach, sniffing at my lunch. I reckon he was disappointed because I didn’t share. After snapping a few pictures, I explored the summit. I could just see Greeley to the east, and the rest of the plain stretched out before me. To the north, Estes Park and the rest of Rocky Mountain National Park were in clear view.

Now I was ready to make my descent. Two of the climbers I had lunch with were coming down at the same time, so conversation was plenty. One was an experienced climber and added his two cents about my ascent. He also thought I was nuts for making a climb up a 5.8 cliff with no experience. At least my descent was along the trail. If I had tried the same way I came up, I think I’d be insane. Going down was still pretty easy, the big concern I had was dislodging a rock that might tumble down and kill some innocent climber below. Heading down the trough, I got another perspective of Chasm Lake, surrounded by snow. Again, snow in July!

At the bottom of the trough I was shocked at the number of people still coming up. I was advised to be off the summit by noon, and started down at around 11:00 AM, but these people were still headed up, with more still coming through the keyhole. Across the narrows, my two companions decided to fall back and rest, while I kept my pace. At one point I had to stop to let others by me. The ledges were too narrow otherwise. While stopped, I made conversation with a group from Poland. They stuck out to me because they were bundled up in coats, gloves, and hats. Here I am in shorts and a tee shirt.

After reaching the keyhole, I descended across the boulder field, jumping from stone to stone. After the large stones were behind me I started a nice run down the mountain. When I was about two miles from the Ranger station I stopped to rest and realized how tired my legs were getting. Looking around for a telephone booth, I considered taking a cab the last couple of miles back. Unfortunately, no phone booth, and of course, no cab. I finally reached the trees, telling myself, "only about another mile." Down the trail I stopped along a creek to view a waterfall. It was a nice distraction from my shoulders and feet telling me it was time to rest. Another few hundred yards and I arrived back at the Ranger station. Here I logged back out, checking the time to see how long the trip was. Fourteen miles in ten hours, with an attained elevation of 14,255 feet. I had conquered the Stone Beaver.