I've always believed the best adventures begin before you have time to think them all the way through. My boyfriend, Mike, would disagree.

We were at a typical Friday night get together with friends when I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard the question, "Want to hike St. Mary's tomorrow?" echo in my ears. As soon as I was able to comprehend those words, out came my answer, "YES!"

The voice was my friend Erika Nunlist's, a recent graduate of Polson High School. Her parents, Shannon and Mark, were sitting across from us enjoying some fiesta-themed snacks and tossing around ideas for the upcoming weekend. After all, the days are getting shorter and opportunities to hike fewer before fresh snow packs in the taller summits.

East St. Mary's Peak sits at 9,424-feet, with the route gaining 5,768 feet of elevation in about 3.5 miles. Erika and I had been trying to arrange a trip to the top all summer long. We knew it would be a challenge. In fact, each time we'd asked for advice from friends who had already done it, we were given increasingly discouraging responses.

At first, it was ,"That's a tough one!"

Or, "It's a slog!"

But then it turned into, "I couldn't walk for a week!"

And, "That's easily my least favorite hike, ever."

We'd heard horror tales of pure misery from some of the most athletic and outdoorsy people we knew in the area, so, needless to say, we were determined to attempt the beast for ourselves. Thing is, Mike has only lived in Montana for about a month, and he'd never been into the rugged Mission range at all. His last trek at altitude was at Boy Scout camp in New Mexico, years ago. While he's certainly no slouch, and a superb rock climber who regularly kicks my butt on hikes of moderate difficulty, I wasn't sure how he would do on this monster of a peak. And neither was he. Unlike Erika and I, his motivation to suffer for a little inner glory was minimal. Still, he said he was game to give it a whirl.

We met the Nunlists in Polson at 6:15 a.m. and drove south to St. Mary's Lake as the sky transformed from black to purple, vibrant pink to pale blue. The valley was scattered with a mix of dark clouds and sun. Rain fell in patches all around us, but the atmosphere above our destination was bright.

The trail starts from a campsite at the base of St. Mary Lake's northern shore. It's very unassuming, and would probably be hard to find if you weren't looking for it. Mark set the pace for our group of five, leading us along a dry creek bed at what felt like a 45-degree angle for about an hour before allowing us our first break. He wasn't exactly a slave-driver, just a man on a mission, and I appreciated the steady attack.

In two years of exploring the Missions, I've had one unlucky experience after the next. Some would call bad luck in the wilderness bad planning, but I beg to differ. The Missions are a different breed of mountain. One minute you are trucking along at a good clip, the next, you're peering down a cliff and wondering, "What happened to the trail?"

According to Mike's altimeter, we had gained about 1,500 feet in an hour. This wasn't so bad, we agreed as a group. All except for Mike, who wouldn't really look at me and refused to smile for a picture. I thought to myself, oh boy, I very well might be single by the time I reach flat ground again.

Still, we climbed some more, leaving the confines of the forest for open tussock grasses along the narrowing ridgeline. The occasional tree was now short, stumpy and maimed, and the trail began to wander around a few small rocky cliffs. The peripheral views were already unreal. From high above, the Jocko Valley was a sea of green rolling hills as far as the eye could see. To the right were the dark jagged teeth of Gray Wolf Peak and to the left, the conical West and East St. Mary's peaks dominated the scene before it dropped abruptly into the checkerboard of the Mission Valley's yellow and green fields.

It wasn't long before the grasses turned to shale and the ridge flattened and turned west toward the peak. With thunder clouds looming, the Nunlists picked up the pace. I was almost running to keep up, happy to have my trusty trekking poles for balance. We hit fresh snow just before the final push to the summit. Now, we could clearly see Gray Wolf and No Fish Lake sparkled like a gem at the bottom of the basin.

Vacation Pass spread out to the right as we kicked steps for a short stretch before Mark's trekking pole lifted me above the crest of the summit. An avid back country skier, he described the view in all directions and pointed out the lines he would ski in the winter. I was just so happy to reach the top. Looking back, Mike shared his first smile of the afternoon, having bagged one of the highest peaks on his first attempt in the Mission Mountains.

It was only 10:30 a.m., so we'd conquered the mountain in under three hours. Thunder cracked above the valley as we soaked in the miraculous 360-degree view. Now, it was time to start the steep, long and quite miserable trip back down.

Back at the cars by 2:20 p.m., Mike and I decided that yes, "it was a tough one." Yes, "it was a slog." I can tell you, yes, we too "could not walk" normally for at least a few days, but alas, it was easily one of my favorite hikes, ever... it's just not for the faint of heart.

Then again, this was a story about climbing a mountain, not a walk in the park.