Marjorie Ogren

Marjorie Ogren was born on a farm in Minnesota in 1920. She married Kenneth Ogren in 1949. They have two sons and a daughter, living in Minneapolis, MN; Seattle, WA area; and Santa Rosa, California. After living in the Washington, DC, area for forty years, of which seven were in Paris, France, Marjorie and Ken moved to Estes Park in 1989. They have been residents of The Academy in Boulder since 2002.

Climbing My Backyard

“It’s been said, “Anyone’s a fool who doesn’t climb Long’s Peak once. And anyone’s a fool who does climb Long’s Peak twice.  It’s likely you’ll share the summit with a dozen or more climbers but on a clear day the view is unforgettable,” wrote C.W. Buchholtz in Rocky Mountain National Park: A History.  I never really understood this statement until August 31, 1991. I recall countless times prior to this day, watching the view of Long’s Peak from my kitchen window, regretfully telling my friends that I’ve yet to conquer the mountain. After living this episode several times, I realized that I had no choice but to make that trip. I owed it to myself to take advantage of the natural beauty that was my backyard. 

It was August 30, 1991, the night before my husband, Ken, and I departed on our journey. We really had just about everything done--our packs were ready, the water, food, and the medical kit. We had dinner on the deck at 4:15 pm and were in bed with the telephone covered up by 5 pm. I took a Halcyon pill and went to sleep, even though we were both pretty excited. Ken kindly tapped me on the shoulder, trying to wake me up. I opened my eyes and realized that it was 10:30 pm and we were about to embark on our third attempt up Long’s Peak. But this time would be different because I knew that it was now or never. I was 70 years old and I was going to climb the 14, 455 foot mountain that had successfully beaten me two times before. 

I closed the door behind me and headed to the car. It was completely dark out at this point, truly peaceful and serene. As we were driving along, I looked off into the night’s sky and saw several constellations like the Big Dipper. I could see the moon radiating over the mountain. I was thankful that it was so bright because this would be our only other source of light if our flashlights failed us. I started daydreaming about what could be in store for us tonight and I suddenly found myself reliving my first two attempts. 

Climbing Attempts

On the first, I was about halfway up above the tree line when a sleet storm came upon us. We knew if we continued we would put ourselves in severe danger, so we reluctantly turned back. It was extremely chilly and despite the waterproof jackets Ken had at the bottom of his pack, he was very concerned that I would get hypothermia and made sure to cover me up for the rest of the time. The next attempt was halted by another storm that prevented us from leaving our house. 
I finally snapped back to reality. This was a new day and I wasn’t going to let my past experiences disturb me. I would get to the top of Long’s Peak today!

We stepped out of the car and went straight to the sign-in box. Then we were off! We used our flashlights all through the forest, but once we hit the tree line, the moon was bright enough. It seemed that we were the only ones there, though when we parked many other cars were in the lot. We got to Granite Pass the same time as about two weeks prior, followed by our arrival at the Boulder Field. I thought to myself, “Jeez, that’s big!”

I was so overwhelmed by my surroundings, so many things to take in. The campsites have rock enclosures that looked to me like igloos with no roofs. Campers were just waking up to the rising daylight while I watched the sun hit the keyhole and the high peaks to the right. 

What a view! The boulders seemed infinite. It was extremely challenging to get through the keyhole, not to mention the long trek around the mountainside on narrow ledges. The trough was deceiving. It appeared to be easy until we were climbing completely vertical on no trail. All the young people were having oxygen problems, but not us. We came prepared and ready to conquer. As we reached the top of the trough, we had great difficulty pulling ourselves up, but people were helping each other and we made it. 

   Click image to enlarge

To our dismay, another narrow ledge was waiting for us at the top. It was consumed with finger holes, leaving no room for both feet at a time. I was petrified. Ken had his doubts and asked me if I wanted to continue. To be honest, I was hesitant, but we had come too far to stop. At this point, we had been climbing for about 10 and a half hours and we were finally coming up on the home stretch. As we slowly pulled ourselves up to the summit and over the rim, we saw a group of hikers and climbers awaiting our presence. They broke out into applause and congratulated us. I said to Ken, “They must think we’re fossils.” I knew that tons of people older than us had climbed Long’s Peak, so I didn’t think we were worthy of the attention we were receiving. 

Following tradition, we had our pictures taken. We stayed up there for a bit to observe a view that we would never see again. We could see Mills Lake and mountains that we would only be able to appreciate for this moment. The view was all too breathtaking to put in words. A man came over and took our picture and said, “I hope I can do this again when I am your age!” As I smiled back at him, I replied, “All I want is to see that picture in the Denver Post tomorrow!” 

The next morning I went into my kitchen and looked out the window at the view I had seen dozens of times before. Long’s Peak looked wonderful in the morning sun, but my first reaction was how foolhardy I was to get us off on a trip like that. Anything could have happened, but I’m glad we did it together.