The “Alpine Start” is a revered tradition in hiking circles. Hiking guides, outdoor forums and trail reviews ooze with the same advice – arrive early, and have your boots on the trail by sunup. 

It’s objectively good advice. Popular trailheads in New England are often overflowing by dawn – somehow, despite your blaring 4 a.m. alarm, there are already 26 Subarus jammed into the tiny lot, and you’ve arrived just in time to snag one of the last two spots. In winter and spring, the early morning chill means consolidated snow, offering easier hiking and dry feet. Completing a hike well before dark is certainly safer than navigating down scrambles by the glow of your headlamp. A few extra hours of daylight offer a greater margin in which to resolve errors or accidents. If nothing else, your favorite burger place closes at 8 p.m.

But I’ve never been an early riser. No matter how excited I am for the spectacular trail miles ahead, no matter how strong and delicious the coffee is, no matter how powerful my distaste for navigating afternoon slushy mashed potato snow, I never look forward to those accursed pre-dawn hours. 

And so, I have instead become a staunch proponent of the late start, and the glory of a well-planned sunset hike.

By the time you arrive, well-rested, at the crack of 3 p.m., the bright-eyed early risers have completed their hikes and abandoned their premium trailhead parking spots for those in front of the burger place. Those folks that still remain are on their descents, offering a stream of contented smiles and helpful summaries of trail conditions as you begin your ascent. Toward the summit, you have the path to yourself, now sharing it only with the occasional crepuscular creature who was, no doubt, also waiting for the crowd to thin before beginning its golden-hour scavenging.

Recently, several cold-hardy friends and I planned a late-day foray up our beloved Mount Moosilauke. Perhaps the best night for a sunset hike is that of the full moon, which rises opposite the setting sun, and we were fortunate to have a tolerable weather forecast for such an evening. After a peaceful (if not a bit slushy) ascent, we arrived on the summit as the last rays of sun backlit elaborate formations of rime ice. We wrapped ourselves in down and wool and reflective bivvies against the frigid wind, leftover ravioli steaming from a thermos, and cheered on the sun as it inched toward the western horizon. 

Counterintuitively, the most-spectacular sunset show often occurs in the eastern sky. Beside the snowy Presidential peaks to the northeast, the brightly illuminated full moon rose into the lavender-and-pink gradient of the Belt of Venus. Prominent Moosilauke, with the setting sun also at her back, briefly cast her triangular indigo shadow on the Earth’s atmosphere just east of the moon.

As the dark descended, we figured it was time for us to do the same. The stars began to show themselves one by one as we packed up and headed for treeline. The deepening cold had consolidated the trail into sturdy, smooth snowpack, and we hiked down in near silence, a stark contrast to our delighted squawking at the astronomical beauty we had witnessed on the summit. Our crunching microspikes and the gentle hoot of a barred owl were our only soundtrack. 

Where the spruce forest faded into ghostly moonlit birches, a cow moose clattered past, barely seeming to notice her startled human admirers. Perhaps she, too, was stunned by the dazzling perfection of the evening.

We returned to our vehicles, tired and chilly but wildly fulfilled. Though the burger place had indeed already closed, we’d had the forethought to stash a half-dozen maple donuts in the trunk, and savored them – or inhaled them, depending on who you ask – while admiring the crystalline stars and our old friend, the full moon.

The later sunsets of spring and summer allow for even the latest risers among us to enjoy sunset from these mountain summits we’re so lucky to know. Choose an evening with a palatable forecast — low wind and warmer temperatures allow you to soak in the beauty for longer. Bonus points if you find a night with a full moon, an eclipse or a meteor shower. Always bring the essentials with you: warm layers, extra light sources, a detailed plan and reliable companions, especially if they’re the type who share their snacks and make up funny constellations. 

And perhaps most importantly, don’t forget to bring your sense of wonder — you’re guaranteed to use it.

Emma Kluge is an educator and naturalist who loves to explore the trails and back roads of North America’s wildernesses.