CDT: A Dance with Altitude in Colorado

The CDT is an ever-changing journey, full of breathtaking highs and challenging lows. In this stretch from Steamboat Springs to Winter Park, we traverse rugged ridges, get into high altitude, camp alongside wild rivers, and marvel at the first aspens. Days blur together with storms, steep climbs, and the constant rhythm of pushing forward, reminding us that every moment, even the hard ones, is part of the adventure.

CDT Day 76 — The First Aspens and a Fox make an Entrance

The morning starts with a win: We pick up our resupply package at the post office. Turns out, forgetting about Labor Day worked in our favor — yesterday’s unplanned zero lets us snag the goods on Tuesday. We also pack out a sandwich from Yampa, the spot locals recommended to us. Pro tip: Find the best sandwich in town and pack it out. Avoid Subway, though — not just because it’s definitely not the best, but because their sandwiches turn into soggy disasters on the trail. Trust me on this one.

We skip a tedious highway road walk with a hitch from Steve, and then hit a nine-mile dirt road stretch. At first, the heat presses in, but soon we duck into a shady forest where towering white Aspen trees sway and whisper in the wind. As we ascend, the occasional ATV or truck whirs by, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

 

A few raindrops tease us, but never escalate into full rain — just enough to cool the air. As the sun dips lower, we trade the smoother dirt for a rockier road that climbs steeply. Golden light filters through the trees, painting everything in warm hues, and then twilight falls.

Out of the shadows, a fox darts across the path ahead — sleek, silent, and mesmerizing. We stop, stunned by its beauty, before pushing on in the deepening dusk. Finally, we find a flat sheltered campsite, next to some hunters. Dinner is the Yampa sandwich, which tastes even better under the stars. Nothing beats ending a day with good food and the wild all around.

CDT Day 77 — Pack Goats and Thunder Up The Ridge

The day starts with cold, wet, and socked in by clouds. We trudge along the dirt road in full rain gear, thick mist swirling around us and swallowing any chance of a view. I’m grateful for my gloves, freshly reclaimed in Steamboat Springs; they’re saving my fingers from the chill.

Finally, the dirt road ends, and we’re back on a trail. A downhill stretch leads us to a small creek, where the sun dares to peek out just enough for a quick bask. We spread out like lizards on rocks, soaking in the weak but glorious warmth — photosynthesis at its finest.

Soon, we’re climbing again and meet Dave, a crossbow hunter with an entourage of pack goats. Yes, goats. They follow him like dogs, nosing curiously at our gear and nibbling at everything within reach. They’re adorable, and I can’t resist giving them a few pats. Dave explains their role: If he bags anything, they carry it out. Low-maintenance too — they eat the grass as they go. Hunting season has clearly begun, as we spot more hunters along the way.

At the top of the climb, a ridge greets us, shrouded in clouds. Cool rock formations peek through the mist, their jagged shapes framed by the eerie gray —mystical and hauntingly beautiful. We climb higher, round a bend, and then bam! The clouds part, and the sun floods the world with light. Below us lies a stunning valley, and Sheep Mountain towers majestically ahead. The view is so sudden, so breathtaking, we immediately drop our packs and declare this our lunch spot. Sunlight dries our soggy gear while we marvel at the scenery.

As we move on, the altitude starts hitting me again. Sheep Mountain looms, but thankfully, the trail skirts around its peak. I sigh in relief when I realize the hardest part of the climb is behind us. The sun stays with us until the next climb.

The next climb, up Parkview Mountain, proves to be the biggest challenge of the day. Rain returns, then thunder, and soon it’s hailing. The exposed ridge ahead looks risky, so we detour into the forest and find a decent campsite. Blue skies begin to reappear, teasing us, so we wait it out with a peanut butter snack break. (Side note: I discovered chocolate peanut butter, which makes me finally enjoy peanut butter).

When the sun finally returns, we push onward, aiming for a saddle on the ridge that promises shelter and water. Thunder grumbles again, and the west side of the mountain grows ominously dark, almost night-like, while the east stays sunny. We’re hoping this one is passing us and it does. The light is beautiful, and clouds weaving around the mountains.

But the wind and cold return with vengeance. The ridge fight is brutal. Clouds roll in, visibility drops, and the wind bites at every exposed inch of skin. Gloves and rain jackets come back out, but the chill seeps in anyway. Just as our legs and hands start to go numb, the clouds lift briefly — mercifully — to reveal the cluster of trees we’ve been aiming for. We hurry toward them, pitch the tent with frozen fingers, and dive inside.

 

CDT Day 78 — Slow and Steady Wins the Altitude Game

Rain patters on the tent through the night, but by morning, the sky clears, though the air bites with cold. Summer is bowing out, and we’re bundled up in every piece of clothing we have as we tackle the final ascent of Parkview Mountain. This section is infamous for hosting the steepest mile on the CDT, and lucky us — it’s how we start the day. Nothing like waking up with a lung-busting climb at high altitude, right?

As we trudge upward, clouds roll lazily over the ridgeline behind us, framing a cinematic view of two hikers far below, inching their way up like we did. High altitude always needs a bit more than just putting one foot in front of the other. A common misconception is that there is less oxygen at higher altitude. But the oxygen concentration remains the same, just the air pressure is lower. So, our bodies cannot take in as much oxygen as they usually do. So, our muscles and lungs have to work harder, and we can get altitude sickness. The best way to work with that, is to take it very slow. I mean, annoyingly slow. The kind of slow that lets you breathe easy. As slow that I can think, I could go faster.

The steepest mile of the CDT isn’t that hard with this technique. Slow and steady, we’re making our way up to the hut at the top of Parkview Mountain (12,296 feet). Every mountain is higher than the one before since we entered Colorado. The view is breathtaking, literally and figuratively. We can see the ridge we just came up on, the two other hikers still making their way up to the top, with clouds hugging the ridge.

Descending the ridgeline feels like stepping into another world. Vibrant, colorful rocks remind me of Rainbow Mountain in Peru. Shaded slopes glisten with frost, looking oddly like frozen schnitzel. Carefully, we make our way down, stopping a trillion times to marvel at all of this. Many switchbacks leading us down, and I wish there would have been some switchbacks on the other side. Pikas dart between the rocks, their high-pitched calls filling the air. One, perched majestically on a boulder, seems to declare itself king of the pikas.

We drop into a forest, warmth finally returning. Puffy jackets and gloves come off as we make our way toward a road, framed by striking rock formations. But as soon as we cross the road and climb back up the other side, the trail turns gnarly — eroded, rocky, and winding through a burn area. So, our progress is slow today.

By lunchtime, we reach a chilly little valley with a river. Clouds blot out the sun, forcing us to huddle in our layers while we eat. Just as we’re wrapping up, a hiker named Hop zooms past us, living up to his name by literally hopping along the trail. He’s absurdly fast, despite chain-smoking both tobacco and weed. We’re baffled — and slightly in awe — as he disappears down the path, only to reappear every time he takes a break.

The afternoon brings another climb, this time to a pass in three manageable steps. With switchbacks smoothing the way, it feels less punishing than the morning’s ascent. As the terrain opens up, the sun returns, lighting up massive mountain walls and Bowen Pass to our right. The views are spectacular, though the chill remains. Only the climbs warm me enough to shed my gloves.

At the top, we take in the landscape: A rugged valley behind us, and a serene green one ahead. Two hunters sit nearby, scanning for elk with binoculars. They ask if we’ve spotted any, but I can only offer up squirrels. I’m not sure if this area around the trail is a good choice, as we hikers must scare them all away. But I’m okay with that, as I don’t want these majestic animals killed. I can’t imagine looking at these beautiful creatures and thinking “Oh, how awesome, let’s kill it” but it’s something I will never understand. I never attempted hunting in my entire life.

Hop bounds past us again as we start the descent, all downhill from here — a welcome change after 5,300 feet of climbing today. Today, I handled the altitude much better. I made sure to stay well hydrated and to take it slow. More acclimatization helps too, for sure. The lower we go, the warmer it gets, though the day’s chill clings stubbornly. Must be some kind of meteorological low, at least that’s what I hope for. Please don’t let summer be over just yet.

We cross a lot of little streams, water gurgling everywhere. Eventually, we find the perfect campsite: A flat spot above a stream, complete with a convenient log bridge to keep our feet dry. It’s a quiet end to another breathtaking day on the trail.

CDT Day 79 — Rocky Mountain National Park, Grand Lake and the Colorado River

The day starts with frost coating the meadow beside our campsite. Despite being at a lower altitude than the previous night, the cold bites deep, and my fingers remain chilled even in gloves. Everything glimmers in the early light, though, giving the frozen landscape a quiet beauty.

We set off downhill toward the road, soon crossing the Colorado River. At this point, it’s a modest stream, difficult to reconcile with the mighty river that will later carve the Grand Canyon. Crossing into Rocky Mountain National Park comes with a tough decision: Hike 24 miles through the park in one go or take a 4.6-mile shortcut since we lack a permit to camp inside. We choose the shorter route, adding the longer loop to our ever-growing “next time” list.

The trail leads through a vast burn area, a stark landscape where the morning cold gives way to surprising heat. I strip off all layers in one go, relieved to feel the sun’s warmth. While resting, we spot a massive moose grazing near the river — a silver lining of the open terrain of a burn zone.

 

By lunchtime, we reach Grand Lake, one of the rare CDT towns located directly on the trail. It’s a picturesque place with shimmering blue waters and a peculiar vibe. Fancy vacation homes and boats line the shores, giving it an air of exclusivity. Friendly locals aside, the town feels oddly artificial, like it exists solely for tourists. Grand Lake is very expensive, from restaurants to resupply.

Lunch at Firefly delivers one of the best European-style pizzas I’ve had on trail, but the Caesar salad is a letdown — $13 for some prepackaged romaine and dressing. After eating, Ryan suddenly looks ill — pale, his lips loose all color, his eyes sink in and get dark shadows, and he’s sweating. It’s alarming, but after sipping some Coke for sugar, he recovers quickly. A strange episode, but thankfully brief.

Resupplying at the local grocery store is shockingly expensive. Our modest haul — couscous, ramen, snacks, and a few indulgences like vegan Ben & Jerry’s and Mexican Coke — costs $50. We’d hoped to pack out sandwiches for dinner, but every shop selling them closed unexpectedly. Alright, then I guess it’s no sandwiches for dinner and back to the dehydrated food. I have enough, we’re ready to leave this place.

We hike out in the afternoon, a practice known as a “hero” (in and out of town on the same day). Walking along Grand Lake’s shores, we pass luxury homes with private docks. Shadow Mountain Lake comes next, and I can’t resist a dip. It’s hard to believe I froze my butt off this morning, but the cool water is refreshing, especially since we skipped showers in town. Feeling much better after, I even change my socks and underwear. Fresh socks feel oh so good.

The trail follows the Colorado River, which has grown significantly since we first crossed it. Geese honk in the meadows and paddle in the river as we make our way to the national park boundary to camp legally. Our site for the night is idyllic — right by the river, with the crescent moon reflecting on the water.

 

However, we’re not alone. A curious fox wanders into camp, showing no fear as it eyes our dinner. We shoo it away repeatedly, but it keeps creeping closer, clearly accustomed to scavenging from hikers. While it’s thrilling to see a fox so close, its boldness is concerning. After dinner, we secure all our food in our Ursack and up in a tree, just in case. As the night deepens, the fox finally retreats, leaving us to enjoy the quiet beside the flowing river. 

 

CDT Day 80 — Meltdown

This morning hits hard, and not in a good way. I wake up feeling utterly drained — mentally, physically, emotionally. A heavy cloud of stress hovers over me. There’s the weight of family troubles back home, the pressure of work responsibilities, the challenges of hiking with a partner day in and day out (no, it’s not always just sunshine and rainbows when hiking with your partner), and now my air pad has sprung another leak, leaving me sleepless and sore. My foot aches, I’m nauseous, it’s freezing, and the thought of winter looming ahead with endless miles to cover feels crushing. You get the vibe. 

The spiral takes hold, and everything feels impossible. When I get like this, I can’t eat — my whole body rejects the idea. Moreover, getting out of a toasty sleeping bag into the uninviting cold outside in the morning is something that needs a lot of willpower, and I admire everyone who does that easily. I’m as far away from a morning person as you can think of anyway, the cold doesn’t make it much better. Morning is slow, painful, and heavy. I’m having quite a meltdown today, and I’m going to spare you the details.

We follow the Colorado River and later catch sight of Granby Lake from a high vantage point. Falcons glide between the treetops, but even their grace can’t pull me out of my thoughts. It’s one of those days when thru-hiking feels like a chore, not a dream. I’m sure everybody has some days when they don’t feel like hiking at all. But we do it anyway because that’s what we do to make it all the way across an entire country in a season. If you are a Thru-Hiker, I would appreciate your honesty about that. I highly doubt everybody is always happy for the length of entire five months. And if you’re not a Thru-Hiker yet but want to be, be prepared that not every day will be magical.

Eventually, we descend to a dirt road and find a campground with a small store. It’s already noon by the time we arrive, with only six miles behind us. But grabbing a soda and chips just before the store closes for lunch feels like a win.

By now, the sun has transformed the morning chill into sweltering heat. I can’t grasp how cold it is in the morning and how hot it gets a few hours after as soon as the sun hits. We navigate the busy dirt road toward Monarch Lake, dodging crowds of muggles on a Saturday. Finding a bridge, we stop for lunch, cooling our feet in the icy water below. The cold water helps clear my head, and eating restores a bit of energy.

After lunch, a steep climb awaits, but oddly enough, it’s what I need. My legs find their rhythm, and I power up the hill without stopping, the momentum carrying me forward. At the top, the forest offers shade but no views, just a quiet stretch to catch my breath.

Thunder begins rumbling even though the sky above is blue. Eventually, dark clouds roll in, and we find shelter at a parking lot restroom to wait out what seems like an impending storm. The storm never fully arrives — just a brief burst of hail and a few raindrops. Relieved, we push on through dense forest dotted with babbling streams.

Just after sunset, we meet a father-son duo day hiking with their dog. Suddenly, the dog bolts, disappearing into the trees. Ryan sees it run uphill, but the dog doesn’t respond to their frantic calls. It’s heartbreaking to watch the pair search as night closes in, especially since they aren’t equipped for darkness. Ryan stays to help, while I continue ahead to set up camp.

Pitching the tent alone in the encroaching darkness is eerie. The woods feel vast and empty, and every sound seems amplified. Eventually, Ryan returns, but the dog hasn’t been found. It’s a terrible situation — they can’t go home without the dog, but they also can’t linger in the wilderness overnight. Ryan left them his headlamp, and we hope they can get him. We settle down under the stars, framed by tall trees. Dinner feels somber as we can’t stop thinking about the dog and its owners, but at least the sky above offers some comfort. 

 

CDT Day 81 — A Stunning Ridge Walk and Summiting James Peak

We start the day late, at 8 am, with warmer temperatures and a much brighter outlook. The first climb takes us through a burn area up to Devil’s Thumb, reconnecting us with the top of the Divide.

At Rollins Pass, the views are spectacular — an alpine lake set against jagged peaks, the kind of scenery you’d expect after miles of effort. Yet, there’s a road here, and you can simply drive up and stroll a few minutes to the same breathtaking view. Rollins Pass has a rich history — it once hosted a train route and even a hotel in the 70s. Imagining a warm meal at a mountaintop restaurant stirs a bit of longing.

We get a message from Brian: They made it out safely with the dog! After a long wait, the dog finally accepted the leash, and Ryan’s headlamp saved the day as their phone died. Knowing Ryan’s kindness made such a big difference warms our hearts, pairing perfectly with the stunning scenery.

The ridge walk that follows is otherworldly — alpine lakes glisten at every turn, framed by snowfields and dramatic drops. We only have to get closer to the ridge and peek over to see a lovely new view of blue-green shimmering lakes and some old snowfields, a 1,000 feet drop below us. Though most hikers take the road below, we can’t fathom skipping this beauty. The trail isn’t always obvious but is marked by poles, leading us through some of the best vistas Colorado has offered so far.

We follow FarOut’s comments in search of water but realize too late that they refer to the road, not the ridge. With only a liter each, we ration carefully, trusting it will last until we descend from James Peak.

At Rogers Pass, we stop for lunch before tackling the climb to James Peak. We can already see the trail winding its way steeply up there. Our cold-soaked couscous salad recipe has hit its stride — avocado, cheese, green onions, cherry tomatoes, and Tajin. It’s delicious and energizing, preparing us for the challenge ahead.

Dark clouds roll in as we climb, sparking worry about storms at high altitude. Luckily, they skirt around us, leaving us in sunshine while thunder growls in the distance. The climb is tough, but the jaw-dropping views behind us soften the struggle. This is the Colorado I dreamed of — wild, high, and beautiful.

At the summit of James Peak (13,271 feet), we marvel at the sweeping landscapes. An alternate route tempts us with a scramble along the ridge to Flora Mountain, but with the hour growing late, we stick to the main trail. I don’t think you can go wrong either way, everything is just gorgeous.

Descending, we pass Loch Lomond — oddly named after the big Scottish lake. There is a parking lot right beneath James Peak. So, you could go up James Peak and over the ridge towards Flora Peak, bagging three more peaks on the way, and back in a beautiful and challenging day hike. If you like in the Denver area, I would highly recommend looking into that. It’s part of the Pfiffner Traverse, an adventure worth exploring someday.

The descent ends with a forested section and a much-needed water source before we climb again toward Bill Moore Lake. Evening paints the clouds in soft pinks and oranges, and as we approach camp, we catch sight of a black bear and her cub at the forest’s edge just below us. It’s a fleeting, magical moment.

We reach the lake just as darkness settles, feeling accomplished after the trail’s biggest elevation gain yet — 6,500 feet in one day. Dinner is hearty: Bean soup loaded with cheese, chips, and a mudslide dessert.

Tomorrow, it’s a short hike to Berthoud Pass, where our PCT friend Vinny will pick us up for a much-anticipated zero in Boulder. For now, we drift off by the lake, hopeful for a sunrise view to cap off this incredible day.

CDT Day 82 — Mount Flora

We wake up to a serene view of Bill Moore Lake, its rocky cliffs glowing golden in the morning light. With only six miles to Berthoud Pass, where Vinny will pick us up at lunchtime, we take our time. So, we sleep in and get out late, which means 8am in the thru-hiker world. The best about this is that it’s not crazy cold anymore.

The climb to Mount Flora is steady, gaining 1,800 feet through well-graded switchbacks. The trail winds through a boulder field, expertly laid with flat stones that feel like a gift to our tired feet. I focus on breathing and my rhythm, and notice how much more comfortable I feel with the altitude compared to our early days in Colorado.

Near the summit, the wind turns sharp and cold, so I stop to pull on my puffy. We reach the peak and hunker behind a wind shelter of carefully stacked rocks, taking in the views.

The descent is a dream — soft dirt trail, easy on the legs, with no need to watch every step. Day hikers pass us on their way up, and it’s clear why this is such a popular hike. The views are stunning, the climb manageable.

Walking the ridge, we’re flanked by beauty: A glistening lake on one side and the highway far below on the other. These past two days have been some of the most breathtaking on the trail. Colorado certainly doesn’t disappoint. If you only have a bit of time to do one part of the CDT, make it Colorado. And make it mid-August to mid-September.

  

At Berthoud Pass, we settle in to wait for Vinny. Chatting with fellow hikers and friendly passersby in the parking lot, we’re gifted two bananas — a rare and treasured treat out here. We catch up with three CDT hikers fresh out of Winter Park, a typical resupply stop we’re skipping in favor of Boulder. Tonight, we’ll trade trail food for hearty German cuisine. I can already taste it.

Zero in Boulder

We spend a few days in Boulder with Vinny. It’s the perfect place to rest, refuel, and gear up for the next leg of the trail. Boulder is a beautiful town, though incredibly pricey — apparently, the fair market rent for a two-bedroom apartment here is $1,911 per month.

The town is as outdoorsy as they come. Everywhere you look, people are biking, hiking, or just out walking — something that always makes me happy to see. And the Subaru Outbacks! I lost count of how many times I mistook someone else’s wine-red Outback for Vinny’s.

Downtown Boulder is charming, with pedestrian zones and cafés spilling out onto the sidewalks. We hit up a cool rooftop bar where you can bring food from the downstairs food hall. The risotto we share is surprisingly the star of the meal. We also indulge my craving for Schnitzel at a Czech/Polish/German restaurant. But my absolute favorite spot? The Dushanbe Teahouse.

The teahouse is a true gem — a stunningly intricate building inside and out, with a calming atmosphere and friendly staff. The tea selection is excellent, the desserts divine, and the apple strudel? Better than the one at the German restaurant, hands down. If I lived in Boulder, this would be my go-to place to unwind.

These few days off-trail have been restorative. Boulder’s energy is inspiring, with its blend of outdoor adventure, mountain views, and good food. But as always, the trail is calling.