CDT: A Cabin, Trail Magic, and Mountain Majesty – Salida to Creede

The stretch from Salida to Creede offers a mix of exposed ridges and serene forest paths, leading us ever closer to the elusive San Juan Mountains. From the warmth of trail magic at a cozy cabin to the wild beauty of moose sightings and golden aspens. Each step feels like a celebration of autumn’s brilliance and the unpredictable journey of thru-hiking, where every moment holds a new surprise.

CDT Day 94 — Cozy Cabin

Getting dropped off at Monarch Pass to tackle our next stretch to Creede

As usual, town chores stretch later than expected, and it’s early afternoon by the time our friend Moxie drops us off at Monarch Pass to pick up the trail again. The day is a stunner — blue skies dotted with fluffy white clouds, the surrounding mountains lightly dusted with fresh snow. Down here, 1,000 feet lower than where we left off, there are only some patches of snow left on the trail. And it doesn’t get much higher for the next days. The forecast looks promising, and we’re optimistic it’ll all melt away soon.

Back in the wild

Our plan is to hike to Creede and reassess. If the weather holds, we’ll take the longer red line route through the supposedly breathtaking but exposed San Juans. If it turns dicey, we’ll pivot to the much shorter Creede Alternate.

Climbing a ridge, we’re greeted with sweeping views of snowy peaks towering on the horizon, their majesty underscored by the clear, crisp air. It feels good to be back in the wild. Along the way, we come across a small, open-sided shelter — Appalachian Trail-style. It’s nothing fancy, but in a pinch, it would do fine against bad weather.

But then, just four miles later, we hit the jackpot. Dropping down into a forested valley, we follow a dirt road to a little slice of CDT magic: a cabin maintained by the Heart of the Rockies Snowmobile Club. It’s like a piece of New Zealand’s hut system transplanted to Colorado. Inside, there’s a stove with a stack of firewood ready to make things toasty, and three cots that fit us perfectly since another hiker is already here. Mice are to be expected, of course, but there are nails to hang our food.

Cozy cabin from the Heart of the Rockies Snowmobile Club

The logbook reveals that two thru-hikers took shelter here during the recent snowstorm, and it’s easy to see why. This place is the perfect refuge — a cozy haven in the middle of nowhere. It feels like the trail is taking care of us today.

CDT Day 95 — Back to 26 miles

The night is filled with the faint rustle of mice, but luckily, our food and gear emerge unscathed. The day unfolds without much fanfare, but it’s a welcome reprieve from the relentless challenges of the past weeks. The terrain, while still filled with ups and downs, is far gentler, allowing us to hit bigger miles.

Morning offers the best view — a majestic snowy peak framed perfectly before us. Beyond that, the trail dips into dense forest for most of the day. The snow is icy early on, but quickly vanishes as we drop elevation. A 12-mile dry stretch could have been daunting, but the cool temperatures make it manageable. By the time we reach the next water source, darkness has already settled in, and we pitch our tents under the stars.

The morning offers the best views of the day

The trail feels busier today than ever. Many hikers got backed up by the snowstorm in Salida. Familiar faces reappear — Cookie, Triple T, and the ever-adorable Tucker. Tucker, the cuddliest dog on the CDT, demands attention in the sweetest way, insisting on two-handed pets. Even as someone who doesn’t usually connect with dogs, I can’t resist his charm.

Cuddle Break

Talk of the San Juans dominates the conversation. Will we brave the full route or take the Creede Cutoff? Everyone agrees to wait and see how the weather unfolds. For now, all we can do is cross our fingers and keep walking.

CDT Day 96 — Easy Miles with Trail Magic Finale

The day is a blur of audiobooks and steady walking, my mind lost in the stories while my feet find their rhythm. Out here, I finally have time to indulge my inner bookworm again, devouring one story after another. With just 2,600 feet of elevation gain, it’s the easiest day we’ve had in weeks, even with two steep climbs thrown in.

The temperature swings are wild. The morning starts bitterly cold, but by midday, the sun blazes, and I’m sweating my way up the climbs, back in shorts and shirt. Colorado feels like a chaotic era in the book Three Body Problems, actually most of the CDT relates to it. Every time, we get back into the sun, we shout “Rehydrate!”.

Crossing a highway, we spot a truck and a few hikers walking away. At first, we think they’ve just been dropped off, and it turns out to be Case, a former CDT hiker. He’s helping Tucker’s crew slack pack for the day and has brought along supplies. Case is treating us to some Gatorade, while Tucker barks insistently until we give him his beloved pets.

As the day winds down, we stumble across the group again just before our planned campsite. They’re gathered around a glowing campfire, laughing and sharing stories. Before we know it, they’re handing us hot dogs, fresh salad, and more Gatorade — a feast we weren’t expecting. Tonight, we stay with them, full, content, and grateful for the lovely surprise. The magic of the trail never fails.

Trail Magic by the campfire

CDT Day 97 — Back to the Beauty 

We hike with the group for most of the day, starting with a herd of pronghorn that lets us get surprisingly close, moving casually instead of bolting as usual. Elk bugles echo through the air — a haunting, otherworldly sound. We don’t catch sight of the elk, but their calls alone are magic enough, filling the moment with wild energy.

A herd of Pronghorn

The temperature is as fickle as ever: ice-cold at dawn, layers shed within half an hour, and hot by midday. Even some pesky biting flies make a comeback, but I’ll take the warmth over snow and cold, especially approaching the long anticipated San Juans.

We gently climb through a grove of golden aspens that glow under the morning sun. Their leaves cover the ground like autumn confetti, a quiet celebration of the season’s cycle.

Golden aspen leaves cover the ground like autumn confetti, a quiet celebration of the season’s cycle

A wet feet river crossing leaves my feet squishy and leads to some sore spots later. My shoes are pretty worn out by now and scream for replacement. We stop for lunch by a dirt road, where Case and Tucker are waiting with the truck. There’s a nice bonus — a privy! You can hear random curses from the group slapping various parts of their bodies fighting back against the flies. We dig into a Vietnamese pasta salad. Turns out rice noodles refuse to cold soak, so the stove makes a rare lunchtime appearance.

Taking a break after a wet feet river crossing

The afternoon climb is long but mercifully gentle, taking us into a valley bursting with fall colors. Fiery foliage blankets the mountainsides as we head toward San Luis Pass. On the way, a moose cow appears on the slope above us, a quiet, majestic figure watching us pass.

Climbing to San Luis Pass

The others stop to camp before the pass, but we decide to push on. It’s still early, and we’re eager to reach town tomorrow. We’re going to take the longer route on the red line while the others will take the Creede cutoff into town. We hit the saddle at golden hour, and it’s a showstopper. To our right towers San Luis Peak; to our left, jagged rock formations rise dramatically. Ahead, the trail clings to the mountainside, leading to the next saddle.

Climbing to San Luis Pass

Pikas dart about, preparing for winter with mouthfuls of grass to isolate their homes between the rocks, and the sunset lights up the sky in fiery hues as we crest the final saddle. We camp high and exposed, but the snow is gone, the weather is calm, and the views are panoramic. This spot, with its flaming sunset and serene silence, feels like a reward — a reminder of why we hike.

A fiery sunset on San Luis Pass

CDT Day 98 — To Creede on the Red Line 

Waking up at our beautiful campsite

Seventeen miles to Spring Creek Pass, and the trail delivers a feast for the senses. The elevation gain is no joke, but the scenery makes it worthwhile. A moose greets us in the soft light of early morning, then we’re back on ridges — walking saddles, staring at snowy peaks near and far. Some of the mountains jut out like shark fins, razor-sharp against the sky.

A morning moose

Then we’re back on ridges — walking saddles, staring at snowy peaks near and far

Rain threatens all around during lunch, misting the distance like a curtain of gray. Eventually, it finds us — first a sprinkle, then a quick hailstorm. It’s fleeting, just a reminder of the unpredictability out here. Most hikers opted for the Creede Cutoff, a shorter and easier route to town, but we’re glad we chose the red line. This stretch is too beautiful to miss. 

A hailstorm passes quickly

We hit the highway by 4 pm, tired but satisfied. The road isn’t busy, but cars heading toward Creede are more frequent than those bound for Lake City. We decided to go to Creede to give us the most flexibility with our future San Juan plans. As we usually send ourselves resupply packages, we have to decide ahead of time where they are going to. And it’s only 10 minutes more to Creede than Lake City from here.

Our thumbs land us a ride fairly quick, and we wave goodbye to hikers hitching the other way. I feel bad for them as rain rolls back in, soaking the roadside.

Unfortunately, one of our packages is lost in the USPS universe as the tracking never updated. It contains a bunch of expensive gear: Much needed new shoes for me, a puffy for Ryan, microspikes for both of us, just in case. 

Creede, Colorado

The CDT hiker hostel is packed — loud, bustling, full of hikers. I’m craving peace but settle for a quick shower and laundry before heading to the grocery store. On the way, we spot familiar faces at a restaurant and join them for dinner. At first, it’s nice, but as the group grows, so does my discomfort. The social situation quickly starts to overwhelm me here, too.

Conversations turn into overlapping chatter, with topics ricocheting like pinballs. People crosstalk, nothing lands, and I can’t keep up. Ryan seems to thrive in it, part of the swirling energy, which seems like a magic trick to me, while I feel myself sinking into silence. I try to stay present, but eventually, I just let myself disappear. Socializing has never been my strong suit — especially not in big groups. I rarely click with people, and then it only works in very small groups.

Later, we decide to pitch our tent outside the hostel. It’s full inside, and honestly, I can’t imagine trying to sleep on the floor in a room crowded with people. I crave peace and quiet. It’s so weird to me that most other people seem to enjoy the social part of thru-hiking so much, and me, I just feel like a misfit like I do in normal life.

The tent feels like a haven, even with laughter and voices carrying over from the hostel. I lie alone, cocooned in my sleeping bag, listening to the world buzz just outside. And yet, I feel as far away from them as possible. Welcome to the life of an autistic girl in a neurotypical world. 

I want to see the world, but I want to stay hidden from it. It’s a strange contradiction, one that feels natural to me. I don’t like to be perceived. The trail lets me walk that line, moving through our beautiful world without most of the noise and social implications.