Same Same

I reach the Longs Peak East Trailhead a little after 4:30 a.m. The parking lot is empty, which isn’t surprising for such an early hour on the penultimate day of 2018. I’d been staying across the way at the Dao House for a few days with Matt, my 17-year-old cousin, who’s visiting from Phoenix, Arizona.

Earlier in the week, we’d hiked up to Chasm Lake in a complete whiteout, only getting a view of the Diamond (the East Face of Longs Peak) when returning back to the lodge. I kept hoping that the fog would lift, so he could get a close-up perspective of the majestic mountain. Despite the lack of visuals, he’d still been highly enthused by the outing, frequently commenting on the ethereal beauty of this winter wonderland. I have ran and hiked this trail dozens of times over; it’s easy for me to gloss over the lower parts of the mountain with my attention only focused on the view up ahead. Through Matt’s eyes though, I’m reminded that even socked in, the place still conjures a distinct feeling of wonder and that every inch of the mountain can capture the imagination.

When I mentioned that I’d be getting up early to cap off the year with a final summit of Longs Peak, he asked me in an anxious tone not to go.

“Why would you? It’s cold and dangerous up there.”

I told him that I’d be fine, that I frequently scale the mountain in the winter, and that there was no need to worry. He shrugged, seemingly unimpressed by my canned response and told me to be careful.

I pull the key out of my truck’s ignition, muting Ornette Coleman’s strident saxophone solo, and sit in silence for a few minutes. I take a few sips of my now cold instant coffee before donning my spikes and starting up the trail. My headlamp flashes on a couple of signs posted at the ranger station that picture two missing persons out somewhere on the mountain.

As I jog up the icy trail in the dark, I can’t get Matt’s comment out of my head. “Why would you go?” While I’d glossed over my response in the comfort of the hotel room, his question now felt more immediate and ominous. Had the frequency of my visits up the peak numbed me to its dangers? Had I become complacent to the risk of winter travel? Why was I up here in winter by myself at such an early hour?

Doubt doesn’t necessarily signify a lack of confidence. Rather, it can help us dig deeper into the nuances of what we perceive as certainties. In the context of running up mountains, fitness is a double-edged sword that can both enable adventure, yet also create a false sense of invincibility. I shouldn’t assume that familiarity means that I am immune to the risks. The true value then for repeatedly scaling mountains lies not in the similarities of each outing, but rather in the commanding necessity to pay attention to its ever-changing environment.

I reach the base of the Loft couloir as the sun peaks over the horizon. A faint set of footprints form a line up to the ice-stained headwall. The snow shimmers like tinsel on a Christmas tree in the early morning light. Dense lenticular clouds with hues of pink and orange ripple in the background of the wind-sculpted cliffs. This is one of the most spectacular sunrises I’ve ever experienced on this mountain. With such a scene unfolding, the why of my being here seems obvious. Who wouldn’t want their senses flooded with such visual bliss? As the cold creeps in though, the moment rapidly dissipates. As I resume my upward progress, I feel deeply grateful for my body’s ability to transport me to such a place. Yet, as the breeze picks up, I’m also aware of the mountain’s stark indifference to my presence, a chilling prod to stay attentive and humble.

Call for Comments (from Meghan)

  • What motivates you on an adventure in severe weather, like in winter’s bitter cold or perhaps in extreme heat? Or, asked as Joe’s cousin did, why would you go?
  • What do you make of that relationship between familiarity and perceived risk to which Joe refers? How do you remind yourself to stay alert and aware of your surroundings even when you know and feel comfortable in them?

All photos: Joe Grant

Joe Grant

frequently adventures in wild places, both close to home (a frequently changing location) and very far afield. He inspires others by sharing his words and images that beautifully capture the intersection of the wilds, movement, and the individual at Alpine Works.

There are 4 comments

  1. Mike B

    I remember listing to Neil Beidleman speak one time about the “Into thin Air” events and that notion of the effort/focus/will to do great things can also be your undoing. That thought has stayed with me each time I go into the mountains at any time of year (summer lightning and winter cold). It doesn’t prevent me from going, but it certainly heightens my attention to mountains.

  2. Julia Halsne

    My thoughts immediately after reading this is how I as a woman am constantly balancing danger with decisions to run. Is it safe, do people know where I am running (my route) and when I should return? Do I have the ability to defend myself or call for help if something goes wrong? Since I am in an urban setting, my biggest danger is other people, bikes, and cars. When I run the trails, I mostly run with company. If I have to run long distances alone, I always tell my family where I am going, my route and when I should be back. I bring my cell phone, but not everywhere I go do I get service so it might be limited in what I could do if I run into trouble. It seems to be just part of my routine that I consider safety – whether it is personal safety or dangers from the trail location (weather or terrain). My other concern, is I often space out when I am on a long run and might miss-step because I am not concentrating on foot placement depending on the technical nature of the terrain.


    As I get older I am constantly reminded of the many dangers running solo has. Although I still crave these adventures and act on these feelings often, I struggle with the results. Having children might impact decisions, actions and feelings but truth be told I want to pass on this spirit to my kids more than anything I could possibly think of. Thank you for sharing this article. Keep climbing-Cheers Warren

  4. Marcy Beard

    I had a ranger tell me recently something to the effect of, “If you get in trouble and have to stop, you’re going to be very cold.” Indeed. Winter should keep us mindful of possibilities. And maybe I should pack a little more clothing.

Post Your Thoughts