I'm not sure exactly how the idea first arose – it was one of those demented plans that happens when you give a group of outdoor-obsessed millennials unlimited access to free beer. My group of friends has always had a penchant for grueling outdoor sports, followed by libations and wistful relaxation. So it was a logical extension that eventually we make the refreshments part of the objective.

Our college years had burned us all out on the concept of house parties – the same tired parade of gelled-up hair and bad decisions punctuated by sticky linoleum and loud music. Stumble home and then spend the next twelve hours feeling sorry for yourself. Repeat. For my friends and myself, it was always a bee-line to the keg, and then a rush to the back patio to drink our beer with some fresh air and nice conversation. Even at grungy frat parties we were looking to avoid the buzzing thrum of the crowds and thirsting to get outside.

My group of friends had almost-literally grown up in the woods. Myself: an eagle scout from a small mountain town in Colorado, and my friends: lifelong outdoorsmen constantly thirsting for the next adventure. So it was no surprise that as the college years progressed we spent less time hunting the next raging house party and more time hunting the next summit.

Thankfully, questionable ideas have always been the centerpiece for most of my friendships.

Of course, we're hardly the first people who thought to drink beer on top of a mountain; people have been celebrating hard-fought summits with frothy suds for decades. In fact, drinking beer is so integral to the spirit of outdoor adventure that I've frequently seen climbers count the cans as part of their total pack weight. Many whitewater rafts have permanent beer holders, and mountain biking has entire breweries dedicated to the sport.

Still, most hikes end with one or two drinks back at the car while relaxing. Throwing a kegger on the summit was a pretty aggressive new twist on the concept. Thankfully, questionable ideas have always been the centerpiece for most of my friendships.

After graduation I landed a job as a brewer, making some of the delicious craft beer that Colorado is now famous for. As luck (or fate) would have it the brewery that hired me is known as the preeminent beer for outdoor adventures – every marketing campaign features a beautiful landscape, famous explorer, or outdoor sport. Finally, the two passions of my life had reached a beautiful convergence.

My obsession with the outdoors progressed in tandem with my career in the beer industry, and it seemed that the marriage of the two was hardly an accident. Every person in the brewery would sweat it out Monday through Friday, then head straight for the mountains for a weekend of adventure. The office even incentivized our wanderlust with free beer and merch in exchange for photos of said beer and merch in spectacular places. So one day, amid a haze of testosterone-fueled ambition and beer-clouded judgement, we decided to forgo the classic Saturday pub stumble and throw a full on kegger on the summit of one of Colorado's highest mountains.

We ended up choosing Humboldt Peak – a long but gradual climb nestled in the heart of the towering, jagged Sangre De Cristo mountains in the southwestern corner of the state.

The first challenge was picking the peak. Due to the nation-wide fame garnered by Colorado's 14ers (we have 54 mountains that are over 14,000 feet tall), the summertime trails are often packed with hikers eager to claim a summit. Too close to Denver or too easy of a climb, and we would be innundated with too many thirsty adventurers. Too remote or too technical, and we would be signing ourselves up for a drunken rappel that'd be unsafe and irresponsible no matter how experienced we felt. We ended up choosing Humboldt Peak – a long but gradual climb nestled in the heart of the towering and jagged Sangre De Cristo mountains in the southwestern corner of the state.

Once the peak was picked, the rest of the planning was easy. We opted for a wonderful, limited-release IPA (this was a celebration, after all) and found a backpack that fit the keg perfectly. Since the keg backpack would be pushing the maximum load any one person would be able to climb with, we opted for shared duties on the rest of the supplies – evenly splitting the snacks, rain gear and water among ourselves to keep the loads fairly even. We spent the night before the hike camping at the base of the mountain, sharing stories of past hikes with the casual one-upmanship that perpetuates any machismo story-hour.

Since afternoon thunderstorms are a frequent issue in the Colorado Rockies we started before dawn. The few brave hikers on the trail at that early hour greeted us with a mix of reticence and excitement at the prospect of summit beers being served on draft. It didn't take long before the spirit of the day overtook us and we tapped the keg mid-hike for some slopeside libations. Gotta stay hydrated, right?

Since our climb totaled nearly a full vertical mile of climbing and the backpack with a full pony keg weighed 70lbs, we split the hike into shifts. Progress was slow but steady, with every member of the team more than willing to take their turn carrying the weight.

It didn't take long before the spirit of the day overtook us and we tapped the keg mid-hike for some slopeside libations. Gotta stay hydrated, right?

As we crested the final summit push we saw a small group of hikers already at the top, deep into their celebratory snacks of cheese and summer sausage. It's fairly common to share a beer or two on top of a 14er (though not usually quite like this), and that tradition was going to stay alive and well with us. We dropped the keg, pulled out a big stack of compostable cups, snacks, and some costumes we had brought, because why not? The party was officially on.

The most charming part of the whole thing was the excitement and eagerness to participate from every single person on the summit. They had left their homes expecting a grueling hike, a brief relaxation on the summit, and then an uneventful retreat back to their cars. But as the beers started flowing and the party rose, we soon had a full assortment of hor d'oeuvres – a big flat rock became a makeshift table which was quickly filled with trail mix, beef jerky, cheese, and protein bars. High fives and smiles were the currency for which drink orders were placed, and the the hours flew by as we posed for pictures and shimmied to the barely audible music coming from a nearby iPhone.

Before we knew it the snacks were gone and the keg was kicked. The impromptu crowd of attendees was just the right size for a gentle glow of beer-induced bliss without becoming inebriated to the point of danger, and we all said our wonderful goodbyes and headed down the mountain amidst the first gentle snowflakes of the autumn season.

The party envelope had been pushed, and our personal bars raised. We learned that we aren't alone in our love of nature that trumps a love of parties, and that a dumb idea like a summit kegger can turn a full group of strangers into friends. The icy winds and graupel pelting our faces was no match for the adventurous spirit and camaraderie shared on the mountain that day, and no barstool will ever compare to the kegger at 14,000 feet.

How to Throw a Kegger on Top of a 14,000' Mountain