| Full Circle on Longs Peak Trip Report |
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| Full Circle on Longs Peak   | 
| Page Type: Trip Report Location: Colorado, United States, North America Lat/Lon: 40.25595°N / 105.61638°W Date Climbed/Hiked: Sep 14, 2008 Activities: Mountaineering, Mixed Season: Summer | Page By: earthquakes Created/Edited: Sep 18, 2008 / Sep 28, 2008 Object ID: 444361 Hits: 583 Loading... Page Score: 88.94% - 15 Votes Loading... Vote: Log in to vote |
PreludeMemorial Day Weekend: 2005
Dyan and I had just moved to Colorado 11 months prior to our first foray into RMNP. We picked a hike that would take us up to Chasm Lake as our first outing and were excited to go. Being completely ignorant to hiking at altitude in late spring, we walked up the Longs Peak trail in nothing more than jeans, running shoes, and light jackets. No map, no compass, no GPS, no clue. I think we had a backpack with some snacks and water though. Anyway, it was a gorgeous day and our 9am alpine start seemed logical enough for us at the time. The sky was clear and sunny, though there was still some snow on the trail, “…that’s odd…” we thought for late May. By the time we got up above tree line to where we could see the Diamond Face, we were in good spirits and awed by the beauty of the landscape.
However, not even 10 minutes later, clouds had come out of the west and completely enveloped the mountain. Longs Peak was gone. Within minutes our blue sky had turned gray, it began to snow, and we began hearing thunder. “…WTF? I think we should turn around.” We at least had sense enough to leave then, but almost immediately upon turning around, we had become lost. Most of the trail was still covered by snow and not visible everywhere making retreat a non-trivial endeavor. The fog and snow from the sky hindered visibility enough to disorient us even further.
Wallowing through the willows, we became desperate, and Dyan began to panic a bit. I was beginning to get worried myself when out of the fog came a group of 4 climbers. Was I hallucinating? I’d never seen mountain climbers before in person. They were outfitted with helmets, with strange picks/axes attached to their packs, sharp pointy things on their boots and adorned with other garb I didn’t even recognize. They were a bit lost too. However, luckily for us, they had a GPS and finally got a position fix which led us all back to the trail.
We made it back to the car o.k. thanks to those mountain climbers. I’ll never forget that day. Three and a half years later I find it funny that I am now one of those climbers. I have finally returned to climb Longs Peak for the first time. I don’t know why it had taken me so long to do so, but on September 14th, Brenta and I climbed the mountain via the North Face route. It was my first ascent of the peak, and Brenta’s 8th.
The North FaceBrenta and I had wanted to climb a route on Longs called “Dialogue on Zen” for some time now. We were all set to do the route when for the past two weeks in a row, a storm dumped snow up in the high country. We knew that the route on the west face would be wet from the dripping water due to melted snow. Therefore we postponed the trip from 9/6 to 9/14. Brenta ended up climbing the Maiden with Brian and I had taken a break to do other things that day. We were excited to climb the route the following weekend but then yet another storm on Thursday and Friday that week dumped even more snow. Fortunately, the weather was supposed to be spectacular for the weekend.
By Friday evening we decided to try the North Face, Dreamweaver, the Notch Couloir or Kieners. We hadn’t settled on a route, and figured we’d figure it out at the TH. Upon waking up at 12:30am Sunday morning, I went outside to my car and was greeted with drizzle and dense fog. WTF? The weather reports said clear skies. Oh, well, I drove to the TH anyway and, reminiscent of our attempts at the Spiral Route on Notchtop last summer, I expected to meet Brenta and then head down to do a Flatiron.
I arrived at the TH at 2am and we decided that since we were here, we might as well go have a look. By 2:10am we were hiking up the trail. It was a quiet and eerie hike, the drizzle and fog doing its best to repel the beam of our headlamps. By the time we got to the Longs Peak and Jims Grove trail split, the fog was gone and we were greeted with clear skies and a bright moon. Lucky for us, it was an inversion. The hike went well, the miles melting away in the dark. A chilly breeze reminded us every once in a while that we would be cold today. There was a good chill in the air and the silhouettes of Mt. Lady Washington, Longs, and Meeker made for a surreal experience.
By the time we got up into the Boulder Field, we could see the headlamps of several parties ahead of us. There was the usual line below the Keyhole, and one group that appeared to be heading up the north face. We plodded along in the dark and passed several faceless groups who’d turned around, saying it was too icy past the Keyhole. Dawn broke as we passed the kneeling camel above Chasm View and there we ran into the party we thought were going to climb the north face. One of them asked us our route and when we told him our intentions, he gave us some beta on a missing eye-bolt for the rappels. I’m not sure what they were doing, but it appeared they were just there to take some sunrise picts from atop Chasm View. The beta turned out to be wrong as we found 4 eye bolts on our line.
Finally, with the sun up, we could see our intended route. There was a lot of snow still on the rock, but it didn’t look like there was any avalanche danger. The snow still clung to the slabs and filled the cracks and nooks in the technical pitch section. The initial going on the steep approach apron below the crux pitch was slow. The snow was deep and post holing became a real problem. Brenta had led most of the approach and I then offered to break trail in order to relieve him. As I began, there was one point that no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t make any forward progress. I was sinking in snow to my waist. I made every effort to move over to some protruding rocks. Even though I knew they would be more treacherous to climb being covered in snice, I thought it was my only option for getting up the route. I finally did so and was able to gain some altitude to where the snow was more consolidated. I then traversed to the west to another rocky outcrop, then back up north, then another traverse to the east, then due north again to the base of the technical section.
At the second rocky outcrop, we’d put on our helmets, harnesses, crampons and racked our gear. There were bits of ice falling off the face due to the sun, but nothing big and no rocks. At the base of the crux, I clipped into an eye-bolt and got out the rope. Brenta then made it up to my position and offered me the lead. Once tied in, I began my climb. There are two cruxes on this pitch; the first one is right off the bat. There is a chest high overhang in a right facing corner. Luckily there was a thick layer of ice for my feet. I had to beat away a lot of snow to find purchase with my ice tools in the cracks and clefts. Once I pulled the overhang via drytooling and cramponing on rock, I made my way up another 20’ before finding a gear placement. I cleared snow out of a hidden crack and put in a 0.75 BD Camalot. I could see my next piece of pro, one of the giant eye-bolts that loomed another 30’ away.
The climbing was difficult and not very secure. I had to work a lot for tool placements due to the snow build up in the crack. My left foot was in the snow filled crack, and my right foot was skittering on thinly snow covered slab. I fought my way up and endured the cold wind and occasional spindrift that rained down on me. The next 60’ or so only provided two options for gear. I fought and spent a lot of time clearing tiny cracks of ice and snow. I managed to get in a tiny tri-cam, and then a #4 or #5 BD stopper. Each one had to be tapped in with my pick. The tiny nut was placed just below the second crux overhang, again, only chest high. Above this there were two more eye-bolts closely spaced marking the end of the technical section. Crampons skittering again on snice covered slab, I pulled the crux, hoping my tools wouldn’t pop on the tiny pockets I placed them in. I slung the first eye-bolt, and then set up my anchor on the second and brought up Brenta. The views from up here above the cliffs were spectacular. It had been worth the fight.
He made his way up to my belay station in fine form and then continued to safer ground above me. We both un-tied from the rope, stowed it and began the rest of the climb. The snow was still deep even up here. We had to traverse to the west and climb a gulley before heading east towards the edge of the Diamond Face. The remaining route climbs several hundred feet of 4th class terrain to the top. Steep snow traverses interspersed with rock scrambling are required to reach the summit. While I didn’t feel the climbing was difficult, the consequences of a misstep are dire. I’d really rate the route class-3 X, if there were such a thing. If you fell and couldn’t self arrest, you’d quickly accelerate and tumble out of control and go over the Diamond Face. There, a free fall of nearly 1,000’ would be the reward for your lack of concentration.
The temps were cold on the face and as we made our way higher and higher I knew that we were going to be successful. Not bad for almost abandoning the climb due to the crummy weather below. I knew I was very near the top when I heard voices. There were two hikers already atop when we got there. They’d come up the Keyhole route. Upon setting foot on the enormous summit, I was greeted with a spectacular 360 degree panorama of Colorado’s majesty. Snowy peaks as far as the eye could see. The inversion still existed down to the east all the way to what seemed like Kansas. I dropped my heavy burden (pack) and plopped down to relax. The temps were warm up here unlike on the north face. We ate, relaxed and drank some water. Brenta pointed out most of the Indian Peaks named summits for me, as I’d never seen them from this side before.
Traversing the North Face |
I’d finally made it to the top of Longs Peak. It was my fifth Colorado 14er, a peak I’d gazed at for years. A peak that I’d wanted to climb via so many different routes. After the two hikers left, Brenta and I were the only ones on the summit. Such a beautiful day and barely a soul in sight, which was hard to imagine, what with all the stories I’d heard of the hoards of hikers making their way to the top every summer weekend. I finally gained the strength to get up off my arse and walk about the top taking pictures from each side. I peered over the east face down to Chasm Lake and Lamb’s Slide. I went over and got a glimpse of Pagoda, which I’d climbed the previous September, and the Loft. I peered down the west to get a view of the Homestretch, Trough and the west face. I spent a few minutes by myself reflecting on that hike I’d done with Dyan up to Chasm Lake over three years prior. It was a bit ironic that now I was one of those mountaineers, decorated with the clothes and tools of the trade. Back then, when I’d seen those climbers emerge from the fog, I thought they were crazy. I thought all mountain climbers were crazy. “There’s no way I’d ever do that!” I remember telling myself. It wasn’t long after that however when I was bit by the climbing bug.
Funny how things turn out sometimes. Descent, Reflection, Full-CircleBrenta and I talked for a while and enjoyed the day. After about 1 hour and 15 minutes on the summit, we decided to start down. We had at least another 6 hours of down climbing to get back to our cars. Ugh, I thought. I absolutely detest descending. I was already fatigued, sore and spent. The thought of walking with that pack for another 6 hours weighed heavily on my psyche. But it had to be done of course. The going was slow down the face to the rappels. Deep snow that was now even looser from the sun, made traversing the exposed slopes even more dangerous. At this point concentration is crucial, torturing an already fatigued mind.
On Rappel |
We made it to the rappel station without incident and approached the eye-bolt with extreme caution. The ledge above this section is icy and any misstep will end your day…badly. I gave Brenta an ice axe belay from safe ground down to the eye bolt. Once rigged, he rapped quickly, and then it was my turn. I hooked in and was down the wall fast. We rigged the last rappel from another eye-bolt doing two rappels, the last one being a full half-rope length of 30m to a broad snow slope. It was still steep here so we anchored ourselves via daisy-chain to our ice axes buried in the snow while we stowed gear. From then on it was a plunge stepping descent to the Boulder Field. When we were finally off the slopes, and onto rock, we stowed the remaining gear, crampons, harnesses, rack, and began the horrific slog across the ¾ mile long expanse of talus.
By this time we were really beat. We took frequent breaks and fantasized about 4WD taxis and how much we’d pay for a ride down! I was running on empty. I’d barely eaten all day. I was starving, but the thought of eating made me nauseous. I knew I needed calories, so I nibbled on some pressed fruit strips and choked down some salami and almonds. After what seemed like forever, we made it to Granite Pass and decided to stay on the Longs Peak trail instead of getting on the Jims Grove trail. Our packs weighed heavily on our shoulders and my feet were killing me. I detest hiking out in my stiff mountaineering boots. I was salivating at the thought of slipping into approach shoes. I never wanted to be off a mountain so bad in all my life. Our breaks became longer. Though I wasn’t in pain, the suffering was acute. My body was numb, and all I wanted to do was stop and sleep. Curling up next to a rock for the night was sounding very appealing to me. Most of the way back we were too tired to talk to one another, but then conversation eventually made an appearance and the hike back seemed to flow more quickly.
I’ve always had a curiosity and have contemplated climbing bigger mountains. Denali, via the West Rib or the Cassin Ridge, but whenever I am trudging down off a simple Colorado 14er or 13er, I regress back to thinking I’m crazy. “I hate climbing! I’m never climbing a big mountain! I’m never coming back to Longs Peak again!” etc. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not like this on every climb. However, for some reason this day, I was more fatigued than usual. I'd done a few trips earlier this summer without problem, and I enjoyed the exursion. Sometimes though I think the pain and the suffering that we climbers put ourselves through, the constant exposure to danger and death, is kind of absurd, if you stop to think about it. Why the hell do we do this to ourselves?
I woke up at 12:30a.m. after two hours of sleep, to drive 46.5 miles through rain and fog to walk 7.5 miles with a 35lb. pack up ~5,000’ feet of mountain to an altitude of 14,255’ while climbing dangerous steep snow, rock, ice, next to a 1,500’ abyss, suffering through the screaming-barfies, to spend 1 hour on top, then walk back down the same, (which is more dangerous), to rappel twice, (even more dangerous), then face another 6 miles of walking back out with about the same pack weight, eating hardly any food, drinking not enough water, to drive another 46.5 miles back home. Some would argue that we're psychotic.
I think the suffering must be some kind of drug though. As much as I hate it from the bottom of my heart while doing it, soon after I forget and am thinking about the next route. I think the pride of accomplishment erases the memory of suffrage. After our final break, we bolted down the trail. Our legs merely preventing our torso’s from hitting the ground while gravity pedaled us down the mountain. I swear that the trail grew 3 miles during the day. I thought we’d missed a junction and were going the wrong way. How could it take so damned long to get back? Finally, after an eternity, the parking lot appeared and I was never so happy to see my car and the sandals that awaited my tired feet inside. Brenta and I exchanged congratulations and promptly left for our respective homes. By this point I was finally able to think about food without the thought of vomiting. I heard a Chipotle commercial on the radio and almost wrecked my car.
Is climbing an addiction? I believe now that it must be. For how can I have such feelings of fascination coupled with excitement for a climb (…it’ll make ya feel good!), followed closely by guilt, fear, and nervousness (…I shouldn’t be doing this!)? When finally on the route, every burden in my life is forgotten about (…the high.), then, on the hike out I detest the whole endeavor, swearing I’ll never do it again (…the crash & burn.). But, once the euphoria of the suffering has worn off, I’m itching for another fix (…addiction.). All those years ago I thought I had been hallucinating, now I have become the hallucination. Will it ever end?
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