CDT: The Last Steps

After 5.5 months of challenges, triumphs, and the inevitable hardships of a long-distance trail, the final stretch of the CDT is in sight. Our walk to the Mexican border is nearly complete, with just a handful of miles remaining. As the trail winds down, the real reward isn’t just the destination, but the story woven through every moment of the journey. This final stretch is about the quiet, reflective moments on the trail, the excitement of reaching the terminus, and the bittersweet emotions that come with the end of an epic adventure.

Only 155 miles left to our goal, the Mexican border. Maybe I’m really going to finish an entire thru-hike in one season, after I had to split the TA into two parts and then couldn’t reach the border on the PCT because of fires.

We leave Silver City behind and start trudging along a highway. We are doing this for like an hour, cars, and trucks racing by, no shoulder, walking in grass that turns my socks into pincushions, later there is only a ditch. I get really anxious. It’s loud and dangerous. I don’t like it. I’m okay with dirt road walking or lonely asphalt road, but I’m not okay with this. So, we decide to throw our thumbs out to hitch the remaining 10 miles of the highway. Yes, boo, but I don’t care about having a tombstone with the words “Died, but with a continuous footpath”.

It takes a bit, but finally a truck pulls over. Frank, on his way to hunt turkey, saves us. I slide into the back seat and oh, hello rifles — two of them, inches away from my limbs. I’ve never been this close to a gun in my life. In Germany, I wasn’t even allowed toy guns as a kid. Here I am, cozying up to the real thing. I’m a little worried if they’re secured and unloaded, which they probably are, but who knows, so I’m careful not to even slightly touch them with any part of my body. It still makes me very anxious to be around guns so much in the USA.

Frank is really nice, we talk about hunting and the CDT, and when we part ways, he hands us homemade deer jerky that’s cracker thin, crispy, and flavorful. It’s a peace offering from a culture I’m still learning to understand, and it tastes pretty good.

With that stressful highway section behind us, we stride onto a quiet dirt road. Way better. We get to a water tank that has surprisingly clear water. It’s much needed, as there isn’t much to be expected for a long time. I’m glad not having to drink any barnyard water anymore. We filter water and munch on our packed out sandwiches for lunch. Silver City is the first trail town in New Mexico where we were able to find sandwiches. I missed this.

We continue on the dirt road and then take a wrong turn. I’m thinking about how the trail looks more like a dry sandy riverbed until we realize that it actually is one, and we missed the far from obvious trail junction earlier. This one also later leads us into something that looks like a dry river, but at least it’s the correct one. 

Despite the navigational hiccup, the scenery more than makes up for it. There are some cool rocks, cacti and oak trees on the side of the trail, and we stop a lot for pictures. Deer with white fluffy butts are bouncing away from us. What is it with the unusual bushy bottoms in this state? Both squirrels and deer have them here. New Mexico towns might have been disappointing (except for Silver City), but the landscape rocks. Literally.

CDT Day 136 — The Last Times

We wake to a short but intense coyote concert at 2 am we don’t remember buying tickets to, their howls cutting through the cold night air. After a hasty mid-night bathroom break, the chill clings to my skin, and it takes forever to warm up and go to sleep again, snuggled back into my sleeping bag.

By morning, the tent is frosty, ice glazing the inside of the walls like nature’s cold artwork. It takes us longer and longer to get going with every passing day. The thought of leaving the warmth of my sleeping bag for the freezing first 30 minutes of hiking is less than enticing. But once the sun starts to rise, the warmth seeps into the world and our bodies, and the cold is easy to forget.

The trail is sandy, and we trudge along, half-heartedly exclaiming, “Oh, look, another cactus!” here and there. Our lunch goal is Burro Mountain Homestead, a campground with a small store promising sodas, that’s supposed to be open today according to FarOut comments. To save a mile, we decide on a cross-country route, a choice we quickly regret.

Fences for private property unexpectedly spring up, and we find ourselves navigating around them. On top of that, the desert offers its own little souvenir — spiky things. Cat’s claws (big black ones) latch onto my leggings and socks, making me look like a spiny hedgehog. Then there are the grassy poky ones, the cactus needles, and the tumbleweed goat heads. They all seem to have a particular fondness for our feet.

We make it to the big campground, where we are a bit confused as there is a locked gate in front of us. But in the FarOut comments I get confirmation that this is the right gate and what the code for the padlock is. All is good. We go down the hill towards the office to get sodas, only to find the store to be closed today. Dang.

No sodas, but the activity center is open and offers a nice little oasis for CDT hikers. We spend the next 20 minutes pulling pokeys out of our socks, shortcuts aren’t always shorter. It’s warm inside, with a sink, bathroom, microwave, coffee machine, Wi-Fi, and outlets. There’s even a pool table and board games. CDT hikers can stay in the campground for free, and there are showers and laundry. But today, we’re just here for lunch and to grab water. There is not much water to find on this section between Silver City and Lordsburg.

Deer roam the campground like they own the place, unbothered by the presence of people. One gets a bit too curious about our stuff while we’re inside, and we have to shoo it away. 

Eventually, we drag ourselves back out and head on, up Burro Peak — at 8,035 feet, the last high point on our CDT journey. As we reach the snow left over from last week, it’s icy and slick underfoot. We tread carefully in some parts. The view from the summit is decent, with quite some mountains stretching out around us. The golden sun casts its light over the hills and plains below. We take in the view, maybe the last one we’ll have.

Oh my, we’re already in the stretch of “lasts”. The last mountain top, the last full moon, the zero… and Mexico, just 119 miles away. My mind already races with thoughts of life after the trail — how to get back to California, to-do’s before and after returning to Germany. It’s easy to get lost in the logistics and forget to cherish these final moments.

As the sun sinks lower, it spills through the trees, making the icy snow glitter. We make our way down the mountain, and find a nice campsite before it’s dark. I don’t even remember when we set up the tent in daylight the last time. There is no point in rushing anymore, we’re on the home stretch, and finding a campsite in daylight is much easier. The wind is howling around us, but we have a nice sheltered spot. We only need to take care to not step into the cactus next to our tent when having to go out in the dark.

CDT Day 137 — A Crystal Throne and Skunk Water

The morning greets us with warmth, the kind that feels like a long-lost friend. We continue our descent from Burro Peak, which gives us a nice view. We get to a water cache at the trailhead that doesn’t only have plenty of water (thank you, Nana Man!) but also Gatorades. What a treat. It makes up for the missed soda yesterday. It’s the little things, right?

We start our next and final climb before Lordsburg, the heat pushing up the temperature. I can finally walk in just my shirt and shorts again. But it also means sweating. I start regretting I didn’t take the opportunity to shower yesterday. But yesterday, I didn’t feel that gross. Now I do. We get to the top, where we drop our packs to walk to the “summit”. There are some cool white Quartz rocks and one of them forms a crystal throne. We sit down in the recliner and enjoy the views from here, feeling like royalty in our dusty shorts. The world spreads out before me, and for a moment, it feels like I’m sitting at the edge of everything.

The rest of the day is downhill, and we follow a dirt road for a while. We cross the 100-mile marker, which means it’s only 100 miles left to the border for us. Wild. After 5.5 months of hiking, this journey comes to an end. Recently, my body feels much stronger again after Colorado almost broke me. Ryan feels tired, though. I don’t know what to think. Part of me wants a break, another part doesn’t want it to end. It’s a strange feeling, being so close to finishing something that has shaped so much of the past months.

We reach the last water source before town. FarOut comments tell us that a dead skunk was removed from the tank 10 days ago. Some hiker must’ve forgotten their cold-soaked skunk. I’m not very keen on drinking that water. Unfortunately, the pipe where the water flows out is submerged and therefore useless. I think about it for a while, look around for other solutions, but finally, I have to surrender and take the skunk water.

We leave the road behind and follow a sandy trail that cuts through the desert. No trees, no shelter, just wide open space filled with shrubs and cacti. Luckily, we need no shelter, as there is no wind. We hike into the sunset while the lights of the town of Lordsburg start flaring up. It’s a beautiful sunset, the kind that turns the sky bloodred. It’s so pretty, we keep hiking until nightfall. In the twilight, an antelope with a fuzzy white butt streaks across the desert in front of us. It’s like something from a dream.

Then the trail shifts into a cross-country section, and things get confusing. The path blurs, and we can’t quite figure out where it’s going in the dark. So, we stop for the night. Only 10 miles left to Lordsburg, our last town stop. We plan to hero through — no overnight stay, just a quick resupply. But for now, we rest.

CDT Day 138 — Heroing through Lordsburg

Our day starts with a sunrise that paints the entire sky into shades of pink. We navigate from one post with big white CDT signs to another, trying to find some kind of trail in between. Lordsburg seems so close, but there is no direct line to get there. In the end, just before we hit the highway, we can’t find any trail at all anymore and walk through the nasty pokeys towards the barbwire fence. What is supposed to be a gate, turns out to be just a spot where we can crawl under the wire.

Most of the gates around Lordsburg are a dream compared to the ones we’ve faced before. I just learned that the CDTC installed 52 new gates in this area this year, and we can tell as these gates are super nice. Easy to open, and we don’t risk getting tetanus from cutting our legs open with some surprise springs. Thanks to all the volunteers for that, making it safer and easier for us.

Then, it’s highway walking into Lordsburg, alongside a lot of trash. But there is a really good shoulder to walk along, it’s not very long and music helps with the noise. So, it’s a nice walk as far as highway walks go.

By 10:30 am, we’re in Lordsburg and hit the grocery stores (Family Dollar and a local supermarket are the choices) for a quick resupply. But our package is stuck at the post office — closed for Veterans Day. We leave the good food behind, knowing it’ll be waiting for us when we return from the border. So, our resupply is a bit sad. We will pack something out for tonight and have Shepherds Pie for the last night. But in between we’re back to ramen bombs, couscous and Hamburger Helper lasagna (I don’t even know if this is edible as we never had that one before). But we only have to suffer through some bad food one last time.

We go to McDonald’s, one of the few places open today, and run into Randi, who just finished his thru-hike yesterday. It’s great to see him one last time before our paths split. We can take showers and charge our powerbanks in his room. I’m doing a quick hand wash of some smelly things and put them in the solar dryer (aka outside in the sun).

At the hotel, we run into familiar faces: Triple T, Chef, Neo and Flood. We congratulate them all on finishing. It’s been an honor to meet all of you, guys. May the wind be always in your back, may the pokeys stay out of your socks, and may you always find your way back to the trail.

Clean and charged, we head next door to the Mexican restaurant. It’s “California Style,” which, apparently, means not spicy. Perfect for me. I’m not a fan of the heat. We pack out burritos for dinner tonight. They have a super burrito that is as big as my fore arm. I’m good with a normal-sized one to go and a Pozole soup for now, on which I burn my tongue.

Chef, who just completed his Triple Crown, joins us for a chat. His last year has been huge: PCT, TA, and now the CDT. He’s thinking about taking next year off. I totally get it. We’re both exhausted, and after one thru-hike, the thought of doing more seems a little overwhelming. Next year’s hikes will be much shorter—under 1,000 miles, for sure. Chef, who just completed his Triple Crown, joins us for a chat. His last 12 months has been huge: PCT, TA, and now the CDT. He’s thinking about taking next year off, he’s tired. I get that, we’re tired, too. After just one thru-hike in the last year. Next year we will do shorter hikes again (what one considers short, meaning under 1,000 miles).

After a warm goodbye to our fellow hikers, we leave Lordsburg behind. It’s time to hike to this border. 85 miles left. The end is so close now. 

As the day winds down, we’re treated to one of the most stunning sunsets I’ve ever seen. The clouds seem to set on fire. In every direction, it’s like a different painting. Behind the mountains to the left, there are pink, blurry clouds. To the right, a blanket out of violet clouds. In front of us, clouds that look like a storm system or mountain topography from space, changing color from pink to red to violet. They call New Mexico the “Land of Enchantment.” Maybe that’s what the “Enchantment” of New Mexico is about: these gorgeous desert sunsets.

The warm weather continues, and we’ve got great conditions all the way to the border. It’s the perfect way to finish this epic journey. We can even sit outside our tent, to eat our Burritos, the stars starting to pop up in the sky. The moon is getting close to full, and Venus is still hanging around, keeping us company during these last weeks. 

CDT Day 139 — Trail? What Trail?

I wake up at 5 am, looking into a sky full of stars, savoring one of the last sunrises I’ll get on the trail. There’s something special about mornings out here, a quiet, peaceful moment before the day heats up.

The trail meanders through a landscape of shrubs, sand, and rocks — true desert terrain now. And, the heat starts creeping in fast. It’s mid-November, but out here, the desert doesn’t care about the calendar. I can barely imagine how much hotter it must be for the Northbounders passing through in April.

My frustration grows as the white CDT trail markers get further and further apart, so we can’t spot the next one. I think I’m on track, following the trail by the footprints that appear like breadcrumbs. But then it’s gone, just vanishing into thin air, telling me “April’s fools”. And have to go find the actual path again. Honestly, I’m sick of this game of “good luck finding the trail.”

It’s time for a lunch break to recharge. We reach a tire full of decent-looking water, and a nice breeze is blowing. For a moment, the world feels calm.

I let Ryan take the lead for a while, hoping for a break from the navigation. Soon, it gets easier to follow the trail as the terrain opens up. With less vegetation, the white signs become visible again in the distance. The sandy ground stretches out before us, dotted with low bushes that seem to be growing further apart. But the wind picks up in this open space, the only thing left to break the gusts is the distant mountains rising on the horizon.

I have a hard time staying present. My mind is already busy with everything that comes after the hike. It makes me sad that I can’t keep my attention to the here and now. It’s a problem I deal with regularly, but now I really want to enjoy these last precious moments. The unusual bonus of having cell phone coverage out here doesn’t help either.

And, thinking about this being the last few days makes me sad, too. I kind of just want to stay out here, being a feral desert woman and getting my own FarOut icon. Going back to what awaits me in so-called normal life doesn’t seem very desirable. But maybe life is like a thru-hike. You just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and eventually, you reach the top of the mountain or finish a journey from Canada to Mexico. For now, I put my phone on flight mode, silence the distractions, and watch the sunset.

By the time the last light of day is fading, we reach a water cache near the road. With the wind howling, we decide to cowboy camp. Maybe for the last time? Only the desert knows.

CDT Day 140 — Last Side Quest

The morning is colder again. I’m wrapped in my puffy, the chill creeping into my bones as we start a gentle climb toward a saddle — well, a mini version of one. But there’s something captivating about the ridgeline to the left, where cool rock formations rise against the mountain.

Mentally, I don’t feel well today and I can’t find out why exactly. I woke up tired, and I have the feeling that I don’t have enough food. Two big factors that can really mess with your mood. Beyond that, I can’t pinpoint the reason, but I feel apathetic. Numb. It’s like I’m going through the motions without any real spark. I don’t even have the energy to say much. Has the post trail depression already kicked in? Dear brain, we still have two days left, and I’m still out here hiking — can we hold off on the imbalance for just a little longer? Thanks.

We have lunch by a water cache. Technically, you could just hop from one cache to the next, but there are a few decent water sources scattered along the way too. I heard that only the last stretch to the border really depends solely on caches, so we’re not quite there yet.

After lunch, we go on one last side quest. There are some pueblo ruins near the trail, and a mix of cross-country and dirt roads gets us there. We explore a handful of buildings, most made from clay, worn down by time. The foundations are a mix of cement and rocks, while the window and door frames are wooden. One of the buildings is made entirely of cement and rocks, which makes it the most well-preserved one. This place is called Old Hachita, an abandoned mining settlement. There are still remnants of old mines around, extracting ores like silver and copper. As the mines became less profitable, people moved away, leaving behind a ghost town. A small town called Hachita lies a bit further east, probably established in a more accessible area with better transportation routes or closer to newer sources of economic activity, which could support a more stable community. There is nothing touristy about this place, no parking lot, no signs, no explanation. Anyway, it’s an interesting excursion on an otherwise rather unspectacular day.

Next, we reach a water source shared with a bunch of black cows. As usual, we announce ourselves, but they still get spooked when we approach. It turns into a brief dusty stampede until they realize we don’t mean any harm. They just stand there, staring at us while we fill up our water from the spigot, eyeing us with their big cow eyes. Only one cow seems unconcerned, continuing to happily chewing on some green grass right in front of us. Probably wondering why the others are not eating this delicious treat.

We push on a little further before setting up camp next to a tree. The moon is almost full tonight and it’s so bright, it casts shadows on the ground. Not the best for stargazing, but it’s still a pretty sight. Only 35.5 miles left to the border. Just two more days.

CDT Day 141 — Last Trail Magic

Today feels easier. We mostly follow a dirt road, which gives us a bit of a break. As we’re walking, we spot a hiker coming toward us. For a moment, I wonder if we’re about to meet a very late Northbounder. His name is Mad Viking, and he’s on a section hike. His legs are covered in bloody scratches, and I ask him if he took the notorious part of the trail that’s difficult to find and supposedly tears up your legs. We’ve been debating whether to take that route or opt for the bypass on the dirt road. Mad Viking confirms my suspicion, and that settles our decision to take the road. My legs are already decently scratched up from the sections of “trail” before, but not as bloody as his. I’ll pass on “suffering one last time”. Having to eat ramen for lunch is suffering enough.

Mad Viking also shares that he saw 12 SOBO hikers yesterday. We haven’t seen a single person since leaving Lordsburg three days ago, so it’s good to know we’re right between the bubbles of hikers. I like that, it probably means we’re going to have the terminus for ourselves for at least a few hours. When I reach the border, I want to be fully present — to feel everything, process everything, and take it all in. But social situations are so demanding for me. They require my full attention, and when I’m caught up in them, I can’t focus on anything else. So, I’m hoping for some quiet, time alone when we reach the end.

We reach the last highway the trail crosses, a quiet road with only a couple of semi-trucks and border patrol passing by. We stop at a water cache to fill up and take our first break after already covering 10 miles by 11 am. While resting, we find a lonely garlic clove — a little unexpected bonus to our sad ramen lunch later.

We reach the junction between the infamous part of the trail and the dirt road. Without hesitation, we aim for the road. Lunch is a simple affair on the side of the road, getting a tiny bit of shade from some low shrubs. It’s a monotonous walk, but it has a major plus (apart from not getting scratched bloody): Trail Magic! It’s the same road that leads to the Terminus that cars take to pick hikers up from the border.

First, we’re lucky enough to meet Charcuterie, who’s driving a car full of hikers. There’s Three Moons, who pulled off a 62-mile push to the Terminus, along with Soup and her group. All happy and smiling while we congratulate them. They gift us Gatorades, Dr. Pepper, and snacks.

The second car is Tagues Dad, who drove all the way from California to pick up his son. His car is packed with hikers too: Lennon, Grazer, Heather, Dragon, and Tague. They hand us Coke, Sprite, grapes, and some more candy (just what Ryan needed since he was running seriously low on snacks). We’re in hiker heaven. They even tell us that they left some water at the border. The trail provides one last time.

We finish the 10-mile road walk at the last water cache, where we find more soda and M&Ms — courtesy of Tague’s generosity. We grab a soda to celebrate at the border and fill up our water to get us there.

Turning into a wash, we follow the trail for two more miles under the bright, silvery light of the full moon, while Venus is guiding us. We stop by a Big Tree — this tree even has its own icon on FarOut, making clear of what a rare sight a tree is down here. The last decent tree we saw was the one we camped under last night.

We pitch our tent for the last time, right under that tree. The view of the moon is perfect, and I finally get to put together the charcuterie board I’ve been dreaming about: cheese, cherry tomatoes, and the grapes from Tague. It’s a perfect appetizer, with the shepherd’s pie we saved for this occasion as the main dish.

As the cicadas put on their little concert, I look at the moon shining through the pinholes in the roof of our tent. The tree’s branches cast beautiful shadows on the walls. I take it all in, savoring this final night on the trail.

CDT Day 142 — The Terminus

I didn’t sleep well last night, waking up frequently to check my watch, eager to start our final day. The excitement is buzzing through me. I wake Ryan who is snoring just before 6 am, and we watch the daylight break over the desert for the last time on trail. The birds sing their morning songs to us, as we begin our last steps on trail — taking down our tent, packing our backpacks, and saying goodbye to every step, each moment that has carried us this far.

We follow the wash for a few more miles, not without getting lost once or twice (not for the last time). But even getting off-track doesn’t dampen the moment. Stepping into the sunlight on a cold morning for the final time feels sweet. We climb the last rise on the CDT, a gentle incline, and from there, it’s all downhill to Mexico.

We turn onto a dirt road, and rocky mountain ranges start to appear around us. In front of us lies a hazy plain with more mountains jutting up through the mist. I appreciate every piece of desert vegetation: the different kinds of cacti, yucca, shrubs, ants marching, a few birds circling above, and the rocks in all their varied forms.

We’re beginning our final countdown. With 3 miles left, I feel torn — part of me wants to be there, and part of me doesn’t. My emotions are all over the place. Happy, sad, and everything in between.

2 miles left: I’m looking at all these footprints in the sand. So many people have walked this path before us — some we got to meet, thousands of others we didn’t. I think about them, their footsteps in the dirt, while we wander off trail one last time through the brush.

1 mile left: My heartbeat picks up. It’s like a kid’s anticipation of Christmas morning. One more small hill, and there it is — the little pavilion and the monument. I try to stay present on these last steps, looking at every rock, every bush, a flock of birds taking flight just ahead of us.

Mile 0 – Nov 15th, 11:59 am:
And then, I’m there. Touching the monument we’ve been walking toward for the last 5.5 months and the tears are coming. I finally did it. I finished the CDT —the first long thru-hike I was able to complete in one season. It’s a great feeling. With having that painful bone necrosis in my left foot for over a year now, I didn’t think I was going to make it, just taking it day by day, curious how far I would come. There were at least two times I thought that it would be over, that the bone finally broke — the first time in Darby (Montana in July) and the second time in Steamboat Springs (Colorado in September). Before I started the CDT, doctor’s told me to just stop hiking — screw them! They told me I couldn’t, so I did. Just imagine all you could do if you trust yourself.

We might be the ones that have been out here the longest. We started with the first handful of hikers on June 6th, and now we’re finishing with some of the last on November 15th. We might not be the winners of “the last one at the border” but maybe we’ve got the title of “longest on trail”. That’s exactly the kind of win I want. 

The wind picks up, dust swirling in the air, covering us and our gear with dust. We have it all to ourselves, going through the emotions, both in our own ways. It will be a few hours until our scheduled ride is going to pick us up. Then Saint arrives at the terminus and we happily take photos for each other. Shortly after, Jeff shows up to pick him up, and offers us a ride too. We’re eager to get out of here, as the wind gets stronger with each minute, blasting us with sand.

He’s driving us along a one-way dirt road to meet our ride with Tim. Jeff turns out to be drunk and a daredevil of a driver. I’m fiddling a while trying to figure out how to get my seatbelt to work, hoping I don’t end up flying through the windshield in the middle of nowhere. I usually don’t get car sick, but I don’t feel well at the end of this. We got a Garmin message out to Tim, who’s waiting for us at the Hachita store, and I’m relieved when we finally get out of Jeff’s car and into Tim’s. At least Tim didn’t need to go down that awful dirt road for 1.5 hours.

Tim is a really nice guy. He tells us that this is not the first time that he hears this kind of story about Jeff. We’re grateful for him, and we invite him to dinner after we take quick showers in our room. 

The CDT has been a teacher, a friend, and at times, a fierce adversary. But through every challenge, every sunrise, and every step, it’s shown me that the end is not just a destination — it’s the collection of all those moments along the way. As I leave this path, I know that this is just one chapter. The story isn’t over. The next adventure is already waiting, but I’ll carry the essence of this one with me forever. Hiking is not about escaping life but discovering it in its purest form.