Long's Peak, Colorado

My graduate school mentor recommended that I climb Long’s Peak while conducting research in Rocky Mountain National Park.

It was late spring 2002, and in the depths of graduate school at the University of Arkansas, developing a thesis topic. My advisor was from Colorado and had connections with people researching high-altitude archaeological sites in the Rockies. I had been focusing on working with predictive modeling techniques using GIS (geographical information systems).

Out of these two combinations-high altitude archaeological sites and GIS predictive modeling- a thesis topic was born. I would spend the summer with an archaeology crew doing survey work in Rocky Mountain National Park.

My goal: to gather data on prehistoric sites at high altitudes and attempt to create a predictive model that could flesh out of the data possible attributes for the reasons that those sites were located where they were, then create a model that could show probabilities for locations of such places in similar areas that had not yet been ground surveyed. At any rate, I was on my way to Rocky Mountain National Park near Estes Park, Colorado, with a topic for a thesis to finish my graduate work.

By late June, I left Fayetteville, Arkansas, for Estes Park, Colorado, via road trip. This was my first time driving across the great plains, which was an interesting experience. Leaving the hills of the Ozarks into eastern Oklahoma, watching as the tree coverage dissipated into the grasslands, fields, and broken buttes of western Oklahoma.

Outside Guymon in the panhandle, the flatness and monotony of the long drive started getting to me. I wasn’t on an interstate but taking older state highways, which I enjoy doing on road trips if I have the time; you see much more exciting parts of the country that way. I wasn’t paying attention to my speed during this long stretch and began a slow progress from 70 to 90 miles per hour.

Before long, I see blue gumballs of a squad car appear in my rearview mirror. Oh shit! I say while looking down at the speedometer. I slow down, pull over onto the shoulder, and grab the insurance and driver’s license as the patrol car sits back behind me with flashing lights but no officer exiting the car for what feels like an hour.

I think cops like playing a game with you when they pull someone over for minor traffic violations, at least in past days, because they sit back there in their patrol car for what seems like half an hour with their aviator sunglasses on, looking over at their car computer, typing around on stuff. Meanwhile, you’re sitting in your car thinking, did I forget to pay that ticket five years ago, or what if my vehicle matches some search they put out?

The officer eventually extracts himself from the squad car, putting on his broad-rimmed police smokey hat, and does a slow, challenging stride up to my window, which I still have up with the air on since it’s 100 degrees outside. Plus, I love to see them bend down, look in at you, and do that knuckle tap on the window followed by the swirl of the hand to indicate to roll the window down.

The officer asked if I knew how fast I was going. I played dumb and replied. No, sir, I wasn’t paying attention.

Well, I clocked you a few miles back at 93 mph. The posted speed limit is 70 through here. What’s the emergency?

I explained to him that I was going to Colorado to do graduate research, that it was my first time driving across the plains, and that I got road hypnotized and just kept going faster without even realizing it. I added that it was so amazing how you could see so far, and it seemed like you never get anywhere, so I didn’t even notice that I was speeding up.

You know it is considered reckless driving at 30mph over the speed limit, he informs me.

No, sir, I did not know that.

It’s your lucky day, friend. I believe your story; you seem to be on the level and not intoxicated. Since it’s your first time across the great state of Oklahoma, I’ll let you off with a warning. So, you are not far from the Colorado state line. Slow it down and pay attention. The next guy may not be so understanding.

I thank him and continue on my way into Colorado.

I used to think there would be mountains everywhere as soon as I entered Colorado. I was let down in eastern Colorado by what looked more like what I had been driving across for the past two hundred miles of Oklahoma. More plains!

The amazing thing, though, is if you pay attention to the geography and have a GPS, you notice one exciting aspect of the topography heading west across the plains. The elevation slowly rises as you head west, even though the topography looks as flat as an Indiana cornfield. Beginning from central Oklahoma, you may be at 1000 feet above sea level at the start of the plains, but by eastern Colorado, you may be around 4000 feet of elevation. All without even noticing the gradual climb caused by the uplift of the Rocky Mountains some 70-80 million years ago.

Then once you reach some 50 miles east of Denver, you start to see the tops of mountains way off on the horizon if the visibility is clear. Then once you get to the outskirts of Denver, you see the snow-capped peaks reaching high into the sky along the spine of the continental divide, which is a majestic site!

I checked in with the National Park Service in Estes Park and was given access to a cabin about 15 minutes from town in a wooded area on the edge of the park.

The cabin was rustic, without electricity or an indoor bathroom. An outhouse was located outside, about 50 meters from the house. A fireplace for heat and a second floor contained bunks for those who stayed for short periods for various tasks. This cabin was all mine for the summer, other than the archaeology field crew, who would share it with me during the weekdays.

The crew showed up about a week after I arrived, which gave me some time to settle in and visit the Park Service’s local GIS technician and archaeologist to gather as much digital and hard paper data as I could that would be of use for working on my thesis model, and to do a little site seeing.

The archaeology crew was a group of undergraduate students from Eastern Colorado University led in the field by a graduate student and a head director, a professor of archaeology at the university. I had the privilege of doing survey work with the field crew throughout the summer as they surveyed particular areas for the National Park Service and the chance to visit and investigate prehistoric sites at high altitudes. High altitude sites were those defined as above treeline, typically around 11,000 feet in the Rockies.

Surveying with the younger students and living at the cabin, which was at an elevation of 9,000 feet, gave me a chance to acclimate to the thinner air and strengthen my legs by hiking around mountains all day. It also taught me about the weather in the Rockies during the summer, which can be violent and unpredictable. One thing that could be counted on during the warmer months of July and August was that by mid-day, one wanted to be back below treeline due to lighting storms that would form at the higher elevations in the early afternoon. These storms form fast and out of nowhere. The mountain peaks themselves create the build-up of these storms in very localized places.

While getting to know the students and the archaeologists while surveying and hanging out in the cabin in the evenings drinking beer and shooting at mice scampering about the place with a blowgun one of the students had brought, I mentioned that I wanted to climb Long’s Peak. This caught the attention of a few people.

Long’s Peak is the highest in Rocky Mountain National Park. Reaching a height of 14,259 feet and being known for its rugged climb and amazing views. The Keyhole route to the summit is one of the most challenging and the route I chose.

The Park Service quotes this route as, “The Keyhole Route is not a hike, and it is a climb that crosses enormous sheer vertical rock faces, often with falling rocks, requiring scrambling, where an unroped fall would likely be fatal. The route has narrow ledges, loose rocks, and cliffs. (Rocky Mountain National Park Service website).” One other student also caught the climbing bug and agreed to accompany me.

We waited until about mid-July for the chance to make the ascent since this would give us a few weeks of working and hiking around high and sometimes very steep terrain while doing the survey work. This would also give us the most daylight and the best chance of not hitting significant snowfall, which can happen at those altitudes at any time of year though less likely in the middle of summer. The main dangers were the route chosen and the need to get back below treeline by midday to avoid any potential lightning storms forming by then.

The night before me and the other student, Grant (I can’t remember his name exactly, it’s been over 20 years, and I lost contact with him after that summer), decided that we would head out at 3 am the following morning. The Keyhole route is a 15-mile round-trip hike and scramble that can take 10-12 hours for a decent climber. We went out and had an excellent dinner high in carbs to prepare ourselves for the next day, preped our packs, and ensured our handheld radios were functioning. The trailhead wasn’t far from our cabin, and we managed to get to it shortly after 3 am to begin the trek under good weather.



The first few miles of the trail are through dense pine forests with many switchbacks that gain altitude from the start, around 9,500 feet, until you hit the treeline, around 11,000 feet. It was during this that Grant’s knee started bothering him. He had knee complications in his past, and as we got nearer the treeline and went into more steep and rugged terrain, Grant informed me that he would not continue to the summit.

I’m sorry, Chris, but I can’t do this. My knee is hurting too badly.

Hey man, it’s ok. It’s better not to push your luck, get higher up, and then be in a pickle to get you back. I understand, and you gave it a shot.

Thanks, man. Are you sure you want to continue this on your own?

I’m doing this. Besides, we’ve seen other people along the way, I’m sure there’ll be others, and if I feel that I’m not going to make it, I’ll come back myself.

Alright, dude. Best of luck. I’ll keep the radio on back at the cabin. Radio me if you run into problems.

Grant headed back down, and I continued my journey out of the treeline into the first scramble for the Peak of the Boulder field.

The boulder field is a long stretch of giant boulders, many the size of houses, that you must navigate and clamber through following stacked rock cairns. At this point, you are at 11,000 feet and above, and your lungs begin to burn while climbing over and around the boulders becomes a gasping-for-breath affair.

You reach the Keyhole just beyond the boulders at an altitude of 12,800 feet. The Keyhole is a notch between two ledges that looks like a giant hole. From this position, one gets an outstanding view of hundreds of peaks, many of them snow-packed and at about the same elevation as you are standing at or higher, as well as Long’s Peak itself reaching up another 1400 feet. I was lucky to get a clear view at the time and managed some quick shots with the disposable camera I had bought. Cellphones with good cameras were still some years off.

After the Keyhole, you proceed along the Ledges, with the path to the Peak being marked by red bullseye spray painted onto the rock walls along the way. Careful footing is required along ledges as often you are on the edges of cliff faces that drop hundreds of feet below. Your huffing and puffing at any rate, so going slow is no problem; once past the ledges, you then hit the Narrows, which is an even narrower path that you traverse across sheer verticle cliffs plummeting far below, even higher than the ledges; once through this, you’re on the home stretch for the Peak.

The homestretch is an intimidating cliff face of some 200 feet that you must scramble up nearly vertically to reach the summit. When looking up at the thing, you think it’s crazy to do without ropes, but the bullseyes mark the best ascent where there are plenty of hands and foot holds to make it climbable. By this time, you are more than determined to finish it.

I managed the final ascent in good time and reached the summit at about midday, and I could already see clouds forming around the Peak. The top of Long’s peak is a large flat plateau about the size of a football field strewn with large rocks with a giant cairn near the center that harbors a container with a log book that one can sign and put in remarks.

I signed the log book, took off my pack, and set back against some boulders to take in the view and gobble down some grub I had brought with me. I couldn’t stay long as the winds were kicking up something fierce, and it was brutally cold as it swept across my sweat-covered body.

A few other people also reached the summit, along with a sizeable population of marmots who lived on the Peak to take advantage of climbers’ packs hanging around. Marmots are the size of raccoons and funny furry buggers, but watch your pack! Sit it down and leave it for a few moments; one of them will be into it in no time, trying to get at any edibles, even things you wouldn’t think they’d try to eat.

I made a try at the radio and managed to pick up Grant back at the cabin, though broken up.

I made it, man! All 14,259 feet of her! My first 14’er!

Awesome, man. Get some shots!

Just about that time, I saw a bright flash and heard the loud crack of lighting. It was like an artillery shell going off as the cloud bank began to swell over the Peak, and the lighting wasn’t above you; it was right next to you. You could feel the electric current through your skin and hair, and with that, I and the others began to scramble off that Peak in a hurry.

We got down the steep summit approach, and by then, the storm was in full force; wind, rain, sleet, and snow were pounding us as lightning flashed through the cloud bank that sent visibility down to a few feet. I have never seen anything like that, and it was awesome but downright scary. I saw several people duck under a giant boulder on a ledge, and I followed them.

Me a couple of guys and a woman were tucked under this boulder as hell was unleashing just outside of our tight enclosure.

What are we going to do? One of them shouted out as lighting cracked just past our shelter.

I remembered one of the park officials telling our survey crew never to stay above the tree line even if stuck in a storm because many people had done what we were doing, crouching under a big rock only to get fried by lighting. The best you can hope for is to keep descending and get down as quickly as possible, at least to the trees. I told the others this, but they said they would wait it out; I jutted out and kept going.

It got pretty hairy on that descent, and I nearly went off a cliff in thick fog as I got below the main storm. The fog was so thick that there were only a few feet of visibility, and I could not see any markers.

I heard voices below me and called out, “Hey, is this the route!” Then there was nothing but silence and the fog. Then I heard voices again, so I continued in that direction down.

A rock gave out from under me, and I went sliding some 30 feet before I was able to stop myself. Once I did, just in front of me the fog gave way to a cliff beyond where I managed to stop. Much further, and I would have gone over the edge. I never explained the voices; only I added it up to others further down the mountain where the echo of their voices reached me, but mine didn’t reach them. It was a very eerie experience.

I eventually made it back to the cabin alive and utterly exhausted. One thing I learned about serious mountain climbing, you don’t conquer the mountain; you overcome yourself. All the times you think of giving up and just going back but deciding to keep going is one of the biggest challenges of such adventure.