Day 94 – New Mexico’s whisper

In New Mexico, the wind is a gentle whisper, a soothing caress compared to Colorado’s raw, biting force. The final state of my CDT thru hike. I must admit that I am not sad about the end coming closer.

The aspens shine golden, soft, warm light flows between the trees and across meadows. The Continental Divide stretches out like an invitation, its terrain kinder and more forgiving.

“Oh, Colorado was rough on you?” New Mexico seems to say with a wry smile, shaking her head in mock disapproval. “She’s always like that – loves to toy with you hikers. Come on, take my hand. Let’s go home.”

The Continental Divide Trail unfurls through endless expanses of golden grass, weaving into pockets of forest that feel… cozy. It’s hard to describe but anyone who has hiked this trail southbound will know what I mean.

Campsites are everywhere – sheltered, flat, on soft duff, complete with logs perfectly placed to sit on. After weeks of squeezing my tent into awkward gaps between the only five trees around, cowboy camping behind scrubby bushes for a sliver of wind protection, and lying on rocky, uneven ground, New Mexico was a treat.

Cows are my trail companions again, their black, brown, and shaggy fur dotting the landscape. They’re not alone. Around every bend and behind every bush, hunters – men clad in camouflage, rifles or crossbows slung over their shoulders.

3 hunters vs 1 dirty thru hiker

On my second day in New Mexico, I was walking down the trail when I noticed three men ahead of me. They were tall, in full hunting gear, weapons in hand as they moved steadily through the woods. I stopped in my tracks. For a moment, I just watched them like characters in a story I didn’t yet know.

Back in the summer, I would have been nervous – three armed men in the wilderness while I hiked alone was a scenario that once unsettled me. But months on the trail had changed that. I’d met hunters, chatted with them, learned about their craft, and started to understand the pull of the hunt. Now, I felt no fear, just curiosity.

I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. But before I could call out a friendly hello, I noticed their demeanor shift. Their movements became tense, deliberate. Their heads swiveled as they scanned the trees around them.

“Dang,” I thought, “they must have spotted an animal. Better be quiet and not ruin it.” I crept forward, suddenly excited at the idea of maybe witnessing a shot in action.

Then one of them turned and saw me. His posture softened immediately, and he barked a nervous laugh. “You scared the crap out of us,” the younger man said, lowering his weapon.

“Me? Oh, I’m sorry,” I replied, flashing my most innocent smile before striding past them with purpose, doing my best to hold back a grin.

As I continued down the trail, I couldn’t help but think, I don’t know what’s more surprising: that they couldn’t tell the sound of human steps from an animal, or that three fully armed men got spooked by me – just a thru hiker, unarmed and unassuming.

The thought made me laugh quietly to myself as the forest swallowed me up again.

Day 95 – all humans gone

Cows. Lots of cows but I did not see a single person all day. I think that’s the first time since Idaho that this has happened on the CDT. Good water sources become more sparse and I camel up a few times to avoid the delicious, green-brown, cow pond smoothies.

Day 96 – a detour to Santa Fe

I’m on the phone to the hostel in Santa Fe, when an older lady walks towards me. Her face looks like she’s about to tell me off for something and she starts talking to me although I’m obviously making a phone call. I drop the phone slightly annoyed. Ghost Ranch has been a little disappointing but I am not sure what I was expecting, maybe more than just buildings? The lady approaches me.

“Are you a CDT hiker? Do you need a ride somewhere?”

She caught me by surprise. She’s a trail angel.

“Yeah… to Santa Fe?”

“Sure, get in”, she offers a smile.

Ms. J is from Silver City, a small town nestled in southern New Mexico, and became acquainted with thru-hikers last year. Driving around her town when she noticed people with massive backpacks, sunburned faces, and dirt-streaked calves. Curious, she started talking to them and before long, she found herself shuttling them to trailheads and post offices.

Now, her car, a sturdy thing, had been transformed into a makeshift camper. Filled with camping gear, blankets and other supplies.

I sit cross-legged on the floor of the backseat, wedged next to a box of canned goods and snacks. The ride is a little cramped, but something about the coziness made it feel right. As the car rolled down the highway, our initial small talk gave way to deeper topics – migration, politics, mental health.

Whole Foods and head lamps

The Santa Fe International Hostel is one of those places that feels like it’s been part of the landscape for ages. The building is old, full of rustic charm. The real draw, though, is the full kitchen. And when I say “full,” I mean it’s a feast. On weekends, the hostel is practically overflowing with donations from Whole Foods: fresh fruit, veggies, loaves of bread, pastries, cakes, cheeses, eggs, yogurt, and even coconut cold brew. It’s where your hiker hunger goes to die.

Plus the people are incredibly kind. Probably my favourite hostel “on” the CDT.

Besides the hostel, the only place I wanna point out in Santa Fe is the outdoor shop called “tourist”. The owner stocks several cottage brands, all kinds of essentials plus a massive used gear section. I bought a new headlamp and it was the same price as online.

I roll over in my bunk, the morning light spilling through the windows. The kitchen doesn’t open until 8, and without the promise of coffee, there’s no real reason to get up just yet.

An hour later, I’m sitting in the hostel’s quiet patio, cradling a steaming mug of black coffee – the kind that feels like liquid gold. I hadn’t planned to take a zero, but here I am. 

“Can I join?” A woman with dark hair appears, followed closely by another with blonde curls. They settle at the table, and before long, we’re talking like old friends.

“We’re attending the Human Design conference,” Nicole explains, her voice warm and casual. Minutes later she’s excitedly reading my chart.

The day slips by in a haze of relaxed conversations, the comforting weight of doing nothing. My zero in Santa Fe turns into a slow, easy day spent lounging at the hostel, eating slices of rich cheesecake, and, eventually, booking a concert ticket for after the trail. It feels good to have something to look forward to – although it is a deadline, but this one brings excitement instead of pressure. Now, there’s a mark on the calendar, reminding me that the end is near. The CDT is almost over.

Day 98 – new weird named friend unlocked: Pringles

I follow the irresistible scent of fresh coffee into the hostel kitchen. I’m not the only one up early.

“I hiked the PCT in 2022,” Pringles says casually while cracking eggs into a pan, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

My eyes widen. “No way.”

We slip into an easy conversation about the challenges of long-distance hiking, the highs and lows of the Pacific Crest Trail.  His home state North Carolina. The connection is instant – there’s a shared understanding between us, a bond that only thru hikers seem to have.

The hostel had been a cozy home, but it is time to get going and soon, I’m on a bus, leaving Santa Fe behind. 

Christmas route in October

I don’t make it far into the desert when I see another thru hiker in the distance – Inspector! I smile and wait for him to catch up. I’ve met him back in July in Leadore, Idaho, then ran into him again in Encampment, Wyoming, a few times in Colorado and now we’re on schedule to finish the CDT.

“Woah did you get into that storm in the San Juans?”, we exchange stories and plans for the New Mexico section, before I take a side trail to reconnect from the green to the red line (the official CDT), climbing up to the mesa for sunset views. This is called the Christmas route, you will find it in the FarOut App comments.

Day 99 – on the old CDT

“Hi Pinecone :)” is written in the sand in the middle of the burn area. I tilt my head, I’m not sure who this is from.

Lumberjack and I agreed to meet in Cuba and I am a bit behind. 

The days in the desert feel like they’re slipping through my fingers. The light fades faster now. Late afternoon, the sun sinks lower, casting long, golden shadows across the land. But then, the light is gone, swallowed by the horizon. And least it’s not freezing cold as it was in Colorado.

That night, I find myself on the old CDT, the forest closing in around me as the last light disappears. The trail – if you can even call it that – is faint and overgrown, just a suggestion of a path weaving between the trees. My headlamp slices through the dark in a narrow beam, illuminating a few steps ahead, but it’s not enough. Bushwhacking in the dark in the dark maybe wasn’t the smartest of ideas. The comments said this route is still maintained?

My GPS is no help. I decide to trust the comments left by other hikers and bushwhack back to where the trail started to be overgrown, scanning the area carefully this time. 

“I think there’s a trail there”

My GPS still tells me I’m off but the trail becomes more visible now and heads the right direction. I cowboy camp in the thick underbrush. Another great thing about fall in New Mexico: surprise storms are pretty unlikely.

Day 100 – Cuba, not the country

It’s almost hot as I walk into Cuba, New Mexico, the heat feeling like a luxurious treat. Eyes follow me from shaded porches and windshields, the way small-town gazes tend to linger a little longer. A whistle sends shivers down my spine, I keep my head down and march on.

Ahead, the dusty parking lot of a supermarket, the kind of place that sold everything from groceries to hunting gear. Outside, a tall, lean figure was crouched near the entrance, methodically organizing packets of food.

“Hobos everywhere”, I exclaim in German, laughing. Lumberjack turns around with a smile, knowing before seeing me that it’s me. We hug like old friends, it truly feels like we have known each other forever after running into each other on the CDT again and again.

I excuse myself into the store, feeling ravenous. Equipped with ice cream, pasta salad and a can of diet Dr. Pepper, I return to continue the conversation. Followed by a trip to the post office and a fried chicken lunch. Hiker hunger.

made up your mind

A somber realisation sets in: I gotta catch the post office before midday in Grants in three days. 104 miles in less than 3 days. 

Lumberjack looks at this watch, “you basically have to hike now”

I dismiss him with a wave, “I’ll just night hike”

This might be the last time I see Lumberjack on the CDT and besides the 18 year age gap, we’re on the same page about life. He has this calm, safe aura where I feel like I can be myself and speak openly. Plus, we both plan on fundamentally changing our lives post thru hike. Hence, I am not in a rush to leave. The CDT is also just a trail.

Empty plates and crumbled up napkins between us, I slowly unfurl the little plan I have hatched in the last days. My explanation ending with ‘maybe, I don’t know’ and a shy smile. He looks at me with his bright blue eyes for a moment, his tan skin etched with fine lines, a map of years spent under open skies. Years well spent.

„Sounds like you made up your mind“, he nods approvingly and there’s a little crack in my chest, an old one, that fills up with light in that very moment.