CDT: Thunder Snow – A Farewell to Colorado

The stretch of trail between Pagosa Springs and Chama feels like a microcosm of the CDT experience — grueling challenges, awe-inspiring beauty, unexpected connections, and the ever-changing moods of the trail. From navigating snowy storms and rocky mazes to basking in campfire warmth and catching glimpses of small-town charm, each day brings its own rhythm and surprises. This section marks our farewell to Colorado and our first steps into New Mexico, a symbolic turning point in the journey southbound. Here’s a glimpse into these memorable days, where every sunrise, coyote howl, and steaming BBQ plate weaves into the story of this grand adventure.

CDT Day 106 — Escaping Pagosa Springs

After three long days stuck in Pagosa Springs nursing Ryan through some stomach-flu-from-hell ordeal, we finally make it back to the trail. I’ll spare you the grim details — just know it was as bad as it sounds. This is the second time Ryan’s been hit by this mystery sickness, and this round took no prisoners. Meanwhile, I remain bafflingly unscathed.

I’m not completely convinced that Ryan is ready yet, but he’s confident to go for it. I’m definitely ready to leave this very pedestrian unfriendly town. Yesterday’s highlight was missing the last bus and hoofing it an hour along the highway. No sidewalk, just the reek of sun-baked roadkill as a pungent serenade. A true urban nightmare.

Pagosa’s accommodations are an exercise in compromise. Stay downtown, and you’ve got shops, the library, and the post office — but your grocery choices boil down to the overpriced Natural Grocers. Stay Uptown, and you can shop at Walmart or City Market, but you’re marooned as there is no bus on the weekends. So you choose your misery: Financial ruin or a death march along the highway. Or just stay out of town on the weekends. 

This morning, we trudge to the edge of town to hitch a ride. Salvation arrives in the form of a truck and Trail Angel Bee God. Bee God is a beekeeper and chats about his life, proudly sharing that his 70-year-old wife just crushed a 5k run. He envies our journey, but honestly, I’m equally inspired by their zest for life. My mom, the same age, struggles to walk and battles dementia — aging well is a gift.

Bee God drops us at Wolf Creek Pass, where we refill water from a stream and meet a gaggle of tourists snapping photos at the Continental Divide sign. Ryan dives into his usual “thru-hiker tale,” charming them with our story. I hang back, letting him soak in their admiration. To me, this journey isn’t heroic or special — it’s just walking. It’s deeply fulfilling, sure, but not earth-shattering, I’m only serving myself.

Finally, hiking feels easy again. I’m not getting out of breath anymore, and I feel stronger. I had a hard time on the last days through the San Juans. The three days of rest did me good, too. Time flies by as we climb from the highway into the skiing area with some lonely old-school chair lifts that patiently wait for winter to come. A warming hut tempts us, but with the weather so perfect, we bask outside instead. October hiking in Colorado — who’d have thought? And we stressed out so hard about being out of Colorado by the end of September. This year, there is no worry. Of course, Colorado having the hottest September recorded is not good news in the grand scheme of things, but for us hikers it’s great. I think the CDT SOBO is THE thru-hike of the year 2024. The PCT got plenty of fires and the AT got floods. We certainly got the more convenient side of climate change.

Warming hut on the top of the ridge

We navigate scree fields, where I manage to ricochet a rock into my ankle. It’s a sharp, searing pain, but thankfully, just a bruise. We’re taking a break to take some deep breaths and enjoy the view as a nice side effect. Ryan’s pace is slower — he’s still shaky after his stomach ordeal, having eaten next to nothing for days — but he’s holding up. Blowdowns litter the trail like nature’s obstacle course, forcing us to crawl, climb, and scramble our way through. Of course, I can’t make it without scratches. I’m really not good at this “Mission Impossible” game. My motor skills are not the best, plus lacking spacial awareness. A feature brought to you by Autism. Stumbling over rocks, tent stakes, my own feet and trekking poles are a regular occurrence out here. 

By dusk, we reach Bonito Pass and pitch our tent, fortified with a rainfly borrowed from fellow hiker Deidre who happens to live in Pagosa Springs. One of our rainfly zippers broke just before we reached town, and we weren’t able to repair it. This way, we’re able to close all doors tonight to stay warm. I almost forgot how cold it gets up here after sunset. We probably need some time to adjust to that again. Over dinner, we savor the luxury of packed-out sandwiches — Ryan’s first real, solid food since his sickness. He’s pale and thinner, but eating again feels like a victory.

Today felt like the start of something good. Here’s to getting back into the groove and letting the trail work its magic.

CDT Day 107 — Another Round of Thunder Snow

The day begins with a familiar, unwelcome guest: nausea. It creeps back into my system, and I can’t pinpoint why. Maybe it’s the altitude, maybe something I ate, or maybe just the trail playing tricks on me. We run into Chewy, Chimney, and Tripod, a trio of hikers we haven’t seen in days. Turns out they took a detour to the hot air balloon festival in Albuquerque — an enviable pit stop, though hard to imagine now as the trail pulls us higher into the mountains.

Running away from the looming thunderstorm

The climb leads us into an open, breathtaking expanse, the kind of terrain that makes your heart race for all the right reasons — until the weather changes its tune. A thunderstorm rolls in, bringing snow and an icy chill that clings to every layer. Thankfully, no lightning strikes, but we hustle to escape the exposed ridge, rushing down to lower ground. The snow feels like a warning: Colorado is done with us, and maybe we’re done with Colorado, too.

Thunder Snow is hitting us

When the storm calms, we find a spot for lunch, though “lunch” feels like a loose term. Cold-soaked mush doesn’t hold much appeal when snowflakes drift down around you, and it’s hard to muster enthusiasm for anything. I crawl into my sleeping bag to warm up, feeling like a hiker burrito — wrapped in down and wondering why I ever left Pagosa.

Making our way down to have lunch

The weather keeps us guessing. One moment we’re bundled up in every layer we own — leggings, fleece, puffy, rain jacket, two pairs of gloves. The next, the sun bursts through, turning the trail into a sauna. Off come the layers, all at once, like we’re performing some chaotic hiking striptease.

A few hours and a climb later: Golden hour

The terrain today is kind, with gentle climbs and not too much elevation gain. It feels good to push further, our first 22.5-mile day in what feels like forever. By the time we tackle the final climb, the sky is darkening, and the moon begins its slow ascent behind the mountain. It casts a silvery glow on everything, turning the trail into something out of a fairytale.

Final climb of the day while the sky is darkening

Finding a campsite in the dark isn’t easy, but we manage to carve out a spot in the lumpy grass. Droplets glisten like tiny eyes under the beam of our headlamps, blinking up at us as we set up camp. It’s magical in a quiet, eerie way — a perfect end to a day where the trail reminded us of its beauty, its fury, and its ever-changing moods.

CDT Day 108 — Coyotes and Campfire Vibes

Exactly at midnight, the coyotes put on a show. Their howls break the stillness of the night, a haunting mix of laughter and eerie howling. It only lasts a minute, but it lingers in our minds as we drift back to sleep. 

Morning greets us warmly, the sun hitting us almost immediately as we pack up. No mountains or trees to block its rays — a rarity lately. For the first time in ages, I start hiking in shorts, though I keep my gloves on. It feels like a rare triumph over the lingering chill of recent mornings. On our way down, we see a few of the coyotes that woke us up last night, dotted along the mountain slopes.

The trail is gentle today, but we are dragging a bit again. Along the way, we pass a series of serene lakes, their still waters reflecting the deep blue of the sky. We stop at one for lunch, sprawling out in the sun like lizards soaking up the warmth. It’s bliss.

Soaking up the sun

Later, the trail winds through a tricky rock maze. Cairns, meant to guide us, blend into the jumbled landscape, and we lose the trail more than once. It’s a game of hide-and-seek with the route, testing our patience and our navigation skills. Eventually, we find our way through.

Navigating a rocky maze

We reach Dipping Lake with daylight to spare, setting up camp at a perfect spot right by the water. With time on our hands and water nearby, we treat ourselves to the rare luxury of a campfire. Its warmth and flickering light make the evening feel cozy and celebratory. We sit close, letting the flames soothe our tired bodies as the stars begin to scatter across the sky. The next day in town, we will learn that the Northern Lights appeared right above our heads only 30 minutes after we went into our tent. What a bummer.

Campfire by Dipping Lake; without Northern Lights. Still nice, though.

CDT Day 109 — Townday in Chama

Early morning on the CDT

15 miles stand between us and town, a bit more than we’d like for a town day, but yesterday didn’t go quite as planned. We hit the trail at 7 am, catching a spectacular sunrise as we climb the pass. From the top, the view is pure magic  — a valley ablaze with fall foliage and rolling hills stretching ahead, inviting us onward.

The view is pure Colorado magic

The miles pass easily, with just a few blowdowns and minor speed bumps slowing us down. We keep breaks short, pausing only to grab water, and reach the road by 1:30 pm — just in time for lunch. We’re treated to the last trail magic in Colorado, by a cooler full of sodas, right by the trailhead. At Cumbres Pass, we spot Shovel and Ready already working on a hitch. A woman approaches us, excited to meet CDT hikers. She helped build the trail here and loves seeing people enjoying it. It’s a nice reminder of the community that supports us along the way.

Cumbres Pass

Soon, we score a ride for all four of us, which is always a little tricky. We squeeze in the backseat, our packs in the trunk. The local couple driving us is friendly, and we swap stories as we head into Chama, officially entering New Mexico. Technically, we’ll cross the state line on foot tomorrow, but it feels like a milestone nonetheless.

Our first stop is the post office, where — thankfully — our resupply package is waiting. We grab lunch with Shovel and Ready, a Canadian couple. It’s his first thru-hike, but she’s a seasoned pro, having tackled the PCT and the Great Divide Trail. But Shovel seems to keep up just fine, all smiles. The funny thing is that we were mirroring each other as a couple. He’s the chatterbox, getting distracted easily, she’s the planner, making sure everything stays on track. She washes her hands before eating; the guys dive straight in, too busy talking to care.

In the afternoon, we stumble upon a gem: Chama’s historic narrow-gauge steam train. With a CDT hiker discount and two of the last available seats, we can ride it tomorrow to get back to the trail, as there is a station right at Cumbres Pass. It’s a rare opportunity to experience a piece of history, and we’re thrilled to snag it.

As we explore town, we run into Nana Man, a trail angel who’s traded hiking for helping. True to stereotype, he’s driving a Subaru Outback, loaded with supplies. He generously gives us a lift to our motel on the far side of town, conveniently near the grocery store, and even offers to drive us to the train station in the morning. Everything is falling into place.

At the motel, we revel in hot showers before tackling resupply. Of course, shopping takes forever — we’re hungry and scatterbrained, darting between aisles as snacks and ideas strike us. Lesson learned: don’t go shopping hungry and uncoordinated.

Dinner takes us to a BBQ spot over a mile away. What seemed close in the car feels like a trek on foot, but we make it. After a 30-minute wait, we dig into plates piled with meat and two sides. At $17.95 for a hearty meal, it’s a steal. I can’t finish mine, so leftovers are earmarked for tomorrow’s dinner.

As the day winds down, I read about the comet visible this weekend — western horizon, just after sunset. It’s a fitting sign as we leave Colorado behind and step into the next chapter of this adventure. New Mexico, here we come!

Chama, last town stop before hiking into New Mexico