When I was in college, I got lost on Longs Peak.
The mountain had never been on my to do list. Maybe it was because I had so many other options close by that were beautiful, challenging, and fun. Maybe I had heard enough stories about the “mountain that eats people” that while I wasn’t afraid, I was equally not intrigued.
But when two cute flatlanders came to visit my parents and needed a guide to try the grand slam, my neutrality leaned into saying yes.
We did a lot of things right. We were all healthy and fit. We left 3 am early, grabbed lots of food and water, had emergency gear, and detailed instructions. But none of that mattered when we circled around the back, an early storm came in, and we couldn’t find the next stack of rocks to lead us home. This was pre positives like the All-Trails app and painted bulls-eyes.
Having thought we got lucky with an small, early storm, we continued around the mountain, attempting our best. But that afternoon, as we climbed the next ridge to get a better directional look, dark storm clouds descended. West of the mountains Armageddon was approaching fast.
We wedged ourselves under small shelters of boulders while lighting struck the ground around us at 14 thousand feet. The night before my younger sister had worried I would die on the mountain and made me promise to come home.
I try really hard to not break promises. It was that promise that clung and pulsed internally that drove the next 12 hours of making our way down. A trio that got separated, a cliffhanger moment or two without climbing ropes, bushwacking along a river while flashlights burned out and cold settled in, we eventually made it down. In the chaos there were moments of grace and hope, like when the clouds parted and lit up our path to Mills Lake, whose white rocks shone and I finally knew where we were, and the car of early backpackers on the road at 3 am who graciously lent a couple of swamp looking creatures their phone.
The rangers told us we should never have survived.
But by God’s grace I go.
Fast forward two decades-ish. My brother set his “Captain America Goal” for his 40th birthday. It was to climb Longs Peak and I was invited to join.
Wrestling with the decision, I eventually said yes, but only promised to go to the keyhole and I'd take each next section one decision and step at a time.
This time around, the weather was beautiful. We left for the trail at 1 am, had more advanced gear, food, water, helmets, GPS tracking...we were ready.
The night stars were as beautiful as was watching the sun rise. Great conversation, good snacks, and one step at a time we both summited the mountain. At the summit, you truly felt on top of the world looking 360 degrees around at all the valleys below. The climb had been difficult, really difficult, but we had made it. I loved sitting there with my brother having accomplished the first half.
And thus enters the paradox.
We should have never been on that mountain.
In English class we discuss paradoxes as two contradictory statements that can both be true or a person/thing that has opposite qualities. (This is different than postmodernism philosophy “every perspective is equally valid.”)
Longs Peak is my paradox.
I am so incredibly thankful for the summit. I am beyond proud of myself. There is something deeply meaningful when we do very hard things—things that require us to use every ounce of our mental, physical, and emotional capabilities—and we overcome.
Also, I would never want my children, spouse, students, or family to attempt it. Because here is the other side of the story. Longs isn’t for the top 10-20%. It’s for the top 3-5%.
Out of all the people we passed, only a handful had the skill and stamina to be on that mountain. Most were shaking and scared, many experiencing dizziness and headaches from the altitude, some started the trail too late, and truly the last 1.5 miles one wrong step can end your life.
So here is my other story reality, not in a beautiful bow:
While I had trained, I had not trained enough (oh writing deadlines and sitting that get extended). We had already pushed the date back because my family had a knock-you-down virus for about three weeks I just recovered from. While we left early, we got terrible sleep the night before. I had many flashbacks on the mountain and, luckily, an amazing brother who let me stop to breathe, cry, cuss, or pause at any time. He talked me through those hardest moments or simply gave a needed hug.
And we’re not college kids any more. I’m a wife and a mom. In a world of so many uncertain steps, if something had happened, could my kids live with that story? Or would they forever wonder why I would attempt such a dangerous thing? Would they question if I loved them?
I’m so incredibly proud of myself. Reconquering the mountain was important and meaningful. AND...The risk was not worth it. I love my family too much and there are wiser, challenging options for me.
The night before, when we checked out the trailhead, we ran into a great group of guys from Kentucky who were also out for a 40th birthday. The birthday boy put it this way: “If you look at these pictures and warnings, I don’t think they really want anyone climbing this mountain.”
Yep.
Right at that moment a pair of college girls from Michigan made it down. Streaked with dirt and tears, they were shaking. They had hiked that afternoon to Chasm Lake and got caught in a lightning storm. We talked a bit, and I tried to comfort them while also letting them know that the next lightning storm would probably cause a flashback. The irony and cyclical nature of life spoke clearly in that interaction.
But by the grace of God we go.
One final thought, that’s not a paradox:
As we have grand adventures, it is important to tell whole stories. It’s why I included my conflicting experience.
In prepping for Longs this time, I watched many videos of other hikers with go-Pro cameras. I read blogs. I dove in mentally. Many of them said a version of ‘the pictures make it look worse than it is; it’s really not that bad.’
I disagree. It really is that bad.
The cliffs are that steep. The rocks you scramble are that difficult. The altitude will likely impact you. Many don’t reach the summit. It will take your full attention physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually that last mile and a half. And if you lose that focus, or nature intervenes with difficulty, you may become another statistic or cautionary story.
I love what the true experts said. The top 3-5% who work in the mountains and climb it weekly to take pictures and give updates so that us regular people have a realistic idea of what we’re getting into. I will leave you with their wisest perspective shared in a sign:
“KEYHOLE ROUTE AHEAD. DO NOT CLIMB IF UNPREPARED. The Keyhole route is a climb that requires scrambling on exposed narrow ledges, loose rock and steep slabs. Sudden changes in weather may create high winds, lighting, rain, hail, snow, freezing temperatures and ice covered rock at any time. A slip, trip or fall could be fatal. Rescue is difficult and may take hours to days. Self-reliance is essential. Stay on route and be willing to turn around at any time. Safety is your responsibility.”
May we all choose well as we navigate the paradoxes in life. May we learn with each moment more about ourselves and the world. And as importantly, may we tell the truth that paradoxes exist and the difficult reality of choice with one another.
As for me, I will tip my head and nod at Longs Peak as I drive by it in the future. I have no plans on going back. Instead, I’ll lean into the other beautiful journeys and trails and stick to hiking the continental divide.
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