This story was originally shared with us during our Story Contest by Lucy Sagues, who is was a 2025 SCC Youth Backcountry Crew Member . The contest has ended, but you can still share your stories with us for possible publication on The Field Guide! Please email your stories (and any accompanying photos) to communications@conservationlegacy.org.
Lucy is awoken by her tiny Walmart clock. It beeps once. She immediately stops it. Already dressed, she found sleep elusive that night as she quickly slipped out of her sleeping bag. It’s 4:05 a.m. in mid-July at 11,000 feet, and frost clings to every object in the meadow like a second skin, glistening and unwelcome. She steps out into the dark morning, seeing two other headlights heading toward the camp kitchen. It’s a full rest day today–a day to do whatever people on the crew want so they can be ready for another four days of trail work.
For Hatch, Delyla, and Lucy, though, it’s a day of challenge. Lucy’s been eyeing this mountain on a map for a couple of days. At the camp kitchen, little is said, their minds fixed on the climb ahead. Lucy sat crouched on the frozen ground, slowly spooning cold oats into her mouth, appetite nowhere to be found. By the time 4:30 rolled around, they all silently knew that it was time to start. Soon enough, Hatch and Delyla were off, about fifty feet up the trail from Lucy. The trail started off clear and easy to follow, but after ten minutes into the hike, it started to braid and disappear into the thick brush. At this point, Delyla and Hatch were over half a mile away. All she could see in the pitch dark is the faint headlamp lights bouncing in the distance. Her breaths were shallow and rapid — not from the climb, but from the space growing between them.
The brush eventually fades as she nears the top of the hill, but as she sees Hatch and Delyla, she knows there isn’t any time to take a break. They have to make it to the peak in time for sunrise. Even though there is more visibility now that it’s 5:20, it’s only enough to make out rough outlines of the jagged mountain ridge. After regrouping, they decide to begin hiking up without knowing what lies ahead. Eventually, grass turns to scree and soon they are looking at several steep gullies that don’t look very promising. To the left, however, there is a slight window where the high alpine grass continues and a very small gully lies. They head up in that direction, clawing onto the frosty tufts of grass, each grip a silent plea not to fall to the depths below. Climbing out of the gully, Lucy scrambled along a skinny ridge until she reached a rocky plateau that stretched endlessly in front of her. Once again, she fell behind the others. Then, little by little, she could see the other two come into view. She made it to the peak. As they take in the view, jagged mountains plunging thousands of feet surround them on all sides.
In one direction, she can see the very tops of the most prominent fourteeners in the San Juans, like Eolus and Windom. Looking west, she can see Perins Peak in the far distance. Looking east, the mountains never seem to end in the sprawling Weminuche Wilderness. It was 6:30 now and they might just make it in time for breakfast back at camp if they hurried back down. This idea quickly was dismissed when Hatch suggested, “How about heading down the other side of the mountain? It would look sick on the Strava map!” Peering over the side of the ridge, all they see are cliffs, untouched by the sun, cold and sharp. They start climbing their way down until they reach the main part of the scree field. They cautiously started descending in a Z-formation, careful not to let scree hit the lower hiker.
During what seems like forever yelling “rock!” and listening to the pikas taunt them, they make it down to the lower part of the valley. As soon as they reached the alpine grass, they took off knowing that camp was far, but no longer felt out of reach. In the stillness of that alpenglow morning, a new idea took root in her – that she could do hard things, and maybe even love doing them. Even though the wild didn’t praise or reward anyone, she felt fulfilled the moment she stepped on top of her mountain.
