My hike began on August 9 in the 2 a.m. darkness. You have to start early to reach the summit before summertime thunderstorms hit the high elevations. A headlamp lit my way through Goblin Forest, the star-studded sky still pitch black overhead. The first two and a half hours of trudging uphill were in the dark. Ahead headlamps farther up the mountain allowed me to connect the dots of the route. Then a tinge of rose gold glimmered on the horizon and a shooting star whizzed through the fading night.
Sunrise hit approaching the Boulder Field. There's a small stone hut built near the base of the cantilevered Keyhole rockform where I momentarily ducked out of the wind. Once through the Keyhole it is only a mile and a half to the summit, but the way is intensely vertical. To get there tiptoe across the Ledges, clamber up the steep Trough and through the exposed Narrows (following the spray-painted yellow and red targets), then scramble to the summit on the smooth tilted granite Homestretch.
Standing on the summit is to see the world as only an eagle does. Ripping winds whipped up and then dispersed frenzied clouds. A few thousand feet below the sapphire waters of Chasm Lake glittered in the sunlight. The plains were flat and brown through the haze and the tiny, shadowy hulks of downtown Denver's skyscrapers barely stood out against the fields and farms, roads and reservoirs. Finally, I was able to look and see what it looked like looking back from Longs' barely reachable summit to which I had so often looked from Denver.
Sunrise hit approaching the Boulder Field. There's a small stone hut built near the base of the cantilevered Keyhole rockform where I momentarily ducked out of the wind. Once through the Keyhole it is only a mile and a half to the summit, but the way is intensely vertical. To get there tiptoe across the Ledges, clamber up the steep Trough and through the exposed Narrows (following the spray-painted yellow and red targets), then scramble to the summit on the smooth tilted granite Homestretch.
Standing on the summit is to see the world as only an eagle does. Ripping winds whipped up and then dispersed frenzied clouds. A few thousand feet below the sapphire waters of Chasm Lake glittered in the sunlight. The plains were flat and brown through the haze and the tiny, shadowy hulks of downtown Denver's skyscrapers barely stood out against the fields and farms, roads and reservoirs. Finally, I was able to look and see what it looked like looking back from Longs' barely reachable summit to which I had so often looked from Denver.
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