The CDT Part 3: Towards Colorado (Frustrations of San Juan)

If there was ever a path that requires a lot of flexibility and patience, it’s the CDT. I finished New Mexico in 30 days (which included several zeros due to illness and then taking multiple antibiotics) and arrived in Colorado right after and during the late season snow storms. Although this was a year with less snow, the snow in late May made the snowpack unstable and soft.

I quickly learned that alpine outings didn’t help while walking on continental snowpack, and found I was making holes with every step I took, sometimes above my chest. While I have experience with snow from the high snow years of 2019 and 2023 in the Sierra Nevada, this type of snow was different. Incredibly soft, like a snow cone. While there were patches of green, it didn’t make up for (I think) the amount of post holes.

Admittedly, I had high expectations about my ability to handle Colordado’s snowpack. After completing 100 miles in the Sierra in 2023 before being hit by blizzards, and completing almost the same route in the heavy snow year of 2019, I thought Colorado would be challenging, but manageable. Especially since 2025 was a year with less snow. In fact, that’s all anyone can talk about: that Colorado had experienced a dry year. Those of us who arrived in Colorado at the end of May had to brave the latest snow storms.

The San Juans and the waterfall rescue

I entered San Juan and spent a couple of preliminary days postholing before deciding I wasn’t interested in traversing the snow cone-textured snowpack. My experience was not unique. However, I realized that I was no longer trying to prove my skills in the snow as I finally did in 2023. After repeatedly drilling (again) up to my neck before 6am, resulting in my hands sinking into the snow and a funny army crawling on my stomach just to make progress, I decided that enough was enough. I admired those who passed by, but this time it couldn’t be me.

Another hiker and I went to a CDT alternate. We descended a few thousand feet straight off the mountain from about 12,500+ feet. We punched holes in the deep snow for hours as we navigated down. My topo map showed a side trail as well as several miles of cliff. As with all snow trips, we used the map to take the safest and most direct route, but unfortunately we kept brushing the edge of the cliff and were unable to descend.

We moved slowly as the north side of the mountain was under over 12 feet of slushy snow. The problem was not the depth of the snow, but its consistency and quality. I also recognize how funny it sounds to talk about snow this way, and I almost think to myself: poor snow. Its quality is simply what it is. Any water is good for Colorado and I’m just a dumb hiker in the mountains.

We drilled posts along this cliff for hours, moving at a snail’s pace. Exhausted, I led us back to the side trail, where we crossed a frozen waterfall and a ravine under perhaps 10 feet of ice and snow.

I saw bear and moose tracks coming down the ice and snow ravine, which gave me hope that the snow would hold our weight. After testing the stability, and fully aware that there was water running 10 feet beneath our feet, we carefully descended with our ice axes to the valley floor. There was a layer of mud under our feet, but fortunately underneath there was solid ice and snow. After a few grueling hours climbing and stepping over hundreds of fallen trees, we finally reached dry land.

The frozen waterfall/ravine

Taking almost zero photos this day, this doesn’t do the number of trees justice!

Flexibility and reconsideration of supposed failure

All in all, my experience in San Juan was trial and error. Of snow storms and changed plans. Realizing that I didn’t want to push myself in the muddy conditions. I completed the alternative to Pagosa Springs, where I stayed for several days (with other hikers and a kind trail angel) to wait out a late snowstorm before re-entering San Juan.

I backed out shortly after before admitting my losses and plugging the “blue” and “green” alternatives back into the CDT. With my snow ego bruised, I prioritized moving forward on Colordao. What made me change was even deeper, slushy snow and deep, painful holes.

Although the trail supposedly had more dry patches, I wouldn’t entertain the idea of ​​another week or more of 10-mile days. And I knew Creede Cutoff had a little explosion section. After my initial descent of the waterfall and my purge climb, I wasn’t interested in this either (and, decently, cut off).

While I could, or maybe should, have kept going in the slush, accepting low mileage and frustrating days, I recognized that my brain was screaming at me to stop. A year of travel and an international evacuation left me exhausted and exhausted. Not completing the San Juans was humbling and a reminder that snow conditions are different in different mountain ranges. Nature always wins, and I was relieved to get back to walking my standard 30+ mile days on the two CDT alternatives I linked.

Moving north and why we walk

I felt lucky to continue moving north, after comforting myself with the thought that it was okay to accept that my needs were different. The alternative followed a series of dirt roads and eventually connected back to the CDT. Colorado’s early years were an immediate lesson in patience. A reminder that I was walking to accept the conditions and know the lands I walked through. Not walking through the snow to prove that I could do it.

I’m good at respecting trail conditions and weather, but I’m generally bad at listening to my needs. This time I did, and the green alternation with its dirt roads and open skies brought me back to the CDT.

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