My Happy Place

Everyone has one location that makes their heart sing, one place they return to over and over during daydream escapes from daily monotony. It could be a white-sand surfbreak, a sprawling desert maze, a West Texas ranch, an ancient European city, a high alpine basin, a Minnesota lake, a suburban home with a white-picket fence, a Gulf Stream fishing vessel or any infinite number of things. No one is better than another. It's up to the individual to decide what speaks to them, and for me, that place is the San Juan Mountains of Southwest Colorado.

Let's not beat around the bush. Most of the mountains in Colorado are nothing more than big, rounded lumps. That's not an insult. Those peaks are enchanting in their own right, and I always look forward to returning to the Sawatch and Front ranges. The San Juans, however, can be summed up in one word: inspiring. These dramatic peaks rise defiantly, thrusting skyward in jagged pinnacles and sweeping, aesthetic ridgelines. I'm rarely in a better mood than when I'm driving to the San Juans, and each time I lay eyes on them I feel born anew.

Staring at them on innumerable trips on U.S. 550 while I lived in Farmington, N.M., these are the guarded summits that dared me to become a mountaineer. The San Juans are my happy place, and to steal from a famous quote, to me they give lavishly. A day removed from a five-day Fourth of July vacation to SW Colorado with Kate, I feel rejuvenated, reinvigorated and re-energized. I'm not even sad the trip is over. Of course, that's mostly because I'm already planning a return over Labor Day...

I'm failing to find the words to describe this singular place and the ways it makes me feel. I'll quit while I'm somewhat ahead. Pictures can do a better job, anyway: