14,309ft. | San Juan Range | 44/58

Snowmass Mountain kicked my post-quarantine patookiss both physically and mentally, but consistent with all of my past miserable-at-the-time mountaineering experiences, I blocked out the misery part and was already craving and scheming the next adventure by the time I arrived back at the car. (I believe we call that “type II fun.”)

A lot of the peaks I wanted (or needed, though needed is arbitrary and tied to a to-do list, which I try to work against) were a long drive and still held an unpredictable amount of snow come late-May.

Upon my return home, I spent a day or two striving to be realistic and then I snapped. “Do you want to hike your first 14er this week?” I asked my ambulance partner.

I’m certain I told her all about Mount Snowmass in full — she saw my windburnt face and chapped lips and I’m certain I showed off my bruised and raw legs — the battle wounds from my choosing not to put on gaiters (or even switch from shorts to pants) when I should’ve. I’d like to think I warned her of the amount of snow still out there and the frustration yielded from post-holing for miles, but its possible I didn’t do that part justice.

Was Uncompahgre Peak a good first 14er? Mountain wise, sure. Condition wise, I’m am truly so proud of her (and impressed that she accepted not one, but four more invitations to join me up summits throughout the upcoming months).

As I read up on current conditions, and watched a video a good friend of mine produced from his experience on Uncompahgre the week before, I was certain of two things:

1. Conditions on Uncompahgre were presently snowy, but safe and doable.

2. I had absolutely no interest in attempting to get my Forester to the upper trailhead.

The two of us discussed our options — trailhead camping at the road, versus backpacking, versus spending the night in a nearby town and getting an early start .. given the original vehicle situation, her in-process collection of backpacking gear and my lack of sleep during my snow-camping Snowmass experience the week prior, we decided on the latter option.

In the midst of all of the planning and scrambling, we gained a third person, a second dog and a Jeep thanks to a friend I had met on Mount Bierstadt two months prior agreeing to tag along.

I booked us all a “cheap” airbnb in Gunnison, which was certainly cheap in value but did not end up being cheap in price. (Our host, who requested we tell his neighbors we were his friends should we encounter them, penny pinched us for just about everything, before showing us our sleeping arrangements — the smallest full bed there ever was and an air mattress that deflated hourly throughout the night).

All of that to say, thanks to a delayed arrival due to a temporary accident-closure on Monarch Pass, the aforementioned air mattress fiasco, my dog having an adverse reaction to the CBD I gave him in an attempt to calm him for a night in an unknown place (he spent all night grumpily and anxiously pacing instead) and a pre-sunrise alarm, the plan to get more sleep by staying somewhere with a roof absolutely backfired.

But as one of my most trusty adventure companions says: “it’s not an adventure until something goes wrong” and there we were — three people and two dogs, crammed into a Jeep (smiles per gallon, ya’ll) on our way to Lake City at dawn. Thanks to the last-minute vehicle change, we were able to make it to the top trailhead, which cut four miles off of our round trip and almost definitely attributed to our successful summit.

It wasn’t long before we began (and never stopped) post-holing. That aside, the day was beautiful and the company was prime — the sun stuck around, multiple honey stingers were consumed (and discovered by some), trail-naps were taken, Simple Plan was scream-sung and we spent nearly an hour on the summit together soaking in a first, a thirty-second and a forty-fourth time being on a unique 14er. The surrounding mountains covered in a sea of snow with spring-growth popping through was new view for me, and though we did see one other person from a distance, I am almost certain we were the only ones to stand atop that particular peak on May 26th, 2020.

The trek back down was a lot of the same, but in reverse. When we got back to the trailhead we cracked open the summit beers I’d accidentally left behind and wrung the water out of our socks before making our way back down the stream-crossing and four-wheel drive road.

We arrived back into town and cell phone service, to a message from our previously compensation-hungry airbnb host. He notified us that no one was scheduled to stay that night and said that we were welcome to stay for free if we wished. We presumed it was because he heard the hourly air-mattress pump and wanted a better review, we responded with a solid “no thank you,” and left a undeservedly kind review anyways before stopping for some well-earned (and always better tasting) pizza and then making our way home.

All in all, this trip sure was a good one. It filled my still-restless-quarantined-adventure-heart to the brim and there is a 10/10 chance I will tackle Uncompahgre Peak again — 12/10 if it was with the same crew. Speaking of the crew, when standing atop Uncompahgre Peak together, the friend I met on Mount Bierstadt became the sixth person I’ve met on a 14er that I’ve summited an additional(s) 14er with — between mountain climbing and snowboarding and breweries we still hang out frequently and have met and befriended many of each other’s close friends. Honestly, the views are great but it’s those kinds of stories that truly maintain my adventure fervor.

Thanks for the memories, I’m addicted to them ..

.. HEARTBREAKER, heartbreakerrrrr, heartbreaker. (Addicted, Simple Plan)