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Steamboat Springs — It's 6:30 a.m., a friend is kicking my tent and hollering something about fishing. In the distance, a chainsaw already is roaring.

A sea of mud awaits beyond my Coleman-produced doorstep.

It was a big week for me in terms of checking items off of my "Must do while in Colorado" list. I met up with a group of high school friends who were camping near Grand Lake, put up a tent without instructions, spent my first Colorado night outdoors, passed a morning away fishing and spent seemingly endless hours cold, wet and muddy.

All told - thanks in large part to the fine work of the employees at Grand Lake Brewing Company - the trip made for a heck of a three-day escape.

That conclusion wasn't obvious the entire time, however.

The trip's primary problems were that May isn't exactly the best time to be camping - I'm pretty much a novice, remember - and that the beetle kill problems near Grand Lake render those around Steamboat Springs minor.

We put up a couple tents overlooking Lake Granby on some land owned by a friend. The pines all around were long dead, and when rain swept through the area, our site turned into a quagmire.

I've missed thunderstorms. They are one of the best (and worst) things about Kansas. I love blazingly bright sunny afternoons with a colossal white thunderhead building to the west, then when it gets closer, how the sun will remain shining even as the sky slowly turns to a deep, dark gray.

Those that rolled through Thursday were the first I've seen since moving here in February, and the muddy disaster they left in their wake did a lot to spoil the romanticized view I have of raging storms.

Then there was fishing. I've never been much of a fisherman, the majority of fish I've caught meeting their end via trotline in the pond behind my parents' house. The small amount of pole fishing I've ever done has mostly been fruitless.

I'd love for that to change in Colorado's lakes and rivers, though it's not looking good so far. The 6:30 a.m. wake-up call earned our party of five a whooping three fish - little ones that we'd have thrown back had they not immediately become our only source of pride.

I learned this weekend that I've got a long way to go. About the only thing that went off seamlessly was cooking S'mores, but that became a one-night victory when I left the ingredients in the rain.

I also learned that, slowly but surely, I'm growing acclimated to living here. My friends, some of whom have vacationed in the mountains dozens of times, growled all weekend when they had to hike up a small hill to our camp. That hike pales in comparison to the one I have to make every time I "ride" my bike up Fish Creek Falls Road to my apartment.

When the cool afternoons gave way to cold evenings, my friends shivered while I relaxed in the ski gear and extra coats I packed.

That all amounts to a small victory, but given the size of our fish, one I'm happy to claim.