Colorado's Low-Key, High-Elevation Western Slope is Ripe for Adventure
Rebecca Stumpf
I am scaling 1,000 vertical feet of purple sandstone in Colorado's Sneffels Range and, despite being a nonclimber, feeling weirdly relaxed about it. The steep route is laced with a via Ferrata—the system, invented in the Dolomites, of metal handholds, footholds, and cables that climbers can clip into and follow all the way up. “Nose over toes,” my guide instructs—in other words, not pressed up against the rocky slope, as anxious greenhorns often are. Near the top we scuttle through an old mining tunnel and traverse a 230-foot-long cable bridge before stopping to take in the scenery below: the 922-person town of Ouray, cozily enveloped in mountain peaks, and the butterscotch-colored Uncompahgre River.
This was exactly the kind of adventure I was seeking in Colorado's Western Slope. My visit to this region was targeted: I'd focus on the higher-elevation 70-mile stretch that runs between Durango and Ouray, one of the best (and still somewhat off-the-radar) outdoor-recreation corridors in America. Diehards descend in the winter for ice climbing and backcountry skiing. In the summer, more casually outdoorsy types like me come for hiking, gravel biking, jeep touring, fly-fishing, and cable-assisted climbing—and for the solitude that's become harder to find in Colorado's more accessible mountain towns since the COVID-era outdoors boom. The nearest big-name resort to this rugged part of the Western Slope is Telluride, an hour or so away even in the best travel conditions.
No one else was scaling the two-year-old Gold Mountain Via Ferrata my first morning in Ouray. After getting a ride down from the top, I headed to another of the town's new additions: the Western Hotel, where the stripped-down Old West decor had everything I'd hoped for (bearskin rugs, leather-upholstered headboards, freestanding tubs, exposed ceiling beams) and none of the Victorian overkill of many of the area's other historic hotels.
The place comes by its heritage feel honestly: It's one of the few 19th-century wood-frame hotels left in the West. A $15 million overhaul has given it a Nordic spa and an upscale restaurant, the Grill at the Western, which specializes in open-fire cooking. The juniper-roasted duck breast and a Calvados daiquiri, with the perfect amount of rustic apple tang, were just what I needed after hiking all afternoon along several of the well-maintained trails that encircle the town.
From Ouray I drove north along steep switchbacks. The 25-mile segment of road that runs to Silverton is called the Million Dollar Highway, which refers either to the construction cost or the precious metals supposedly embedded beneath it—no one seems to know for sure. But the moniker might as well refer to the priceless views of sandstone peaks and roaring gorges, especially the ones I pulled over to admire near the 11,000-foot Red Mountain Pass.
From those heights I wound down into Silverton, a landmarked former mining town that sits at 9,300 feet above sea level. It feels grittier than many of Colorado's other rehabbed mining outposts, with a good number of its colorfully painted storefronts catering to passengers from the out-and-back steam-powered train from Durango. My main reason for stopping was to spend a couple of days hiking and fishing in nearby San Juan National Forest.
In the end, I did most of my “hiking” in wading boots, hooking and releasing beautifully speckled brook trout along the way. Part of me yearned to be car camping, but a larger part of me was more than happy to crash at the Wyman Hotel, a 15-room property with minimalist bedrooms, a modern color palette of pale pinks and rich blues and greens, pressed-tin ceilings, and a low-key lounge serving craft cocktails and natural wines.
Having trudged up and down my share of streams and hillsides by now, I treated my sore muscles to an afternoon at the Durango Hot Springs Resort + Spa, where my outdoor circuit included a Japanese-style soaking tub and a plunge into 46-degree water. Thanks to a $14 million renovation, the offerings have expanded to 32 mineral pools in a botanical-garden setting, 13 of which are adult-only; a Zen garden area with additional pools will open in 2025.
Feeling nicely wrung out, I checked in to the Rochester Hotel, which opened in downtown Durango in 2022 and has the same midcentury–meets–Old West aesthetic (and the same owners) as The Wyman. It was my base for the last two days of the trip, during which I fished the turquoise Animas River, which runs right through the city, and sampled several of the excellent coffee shops in this college town of around 20,000, which resembles a mini Boulder. The best meal I had in Colorado was at Ore House, a cozy steakhouse below street level that has been around since 1971. Expecting meat-and-potatoes staples, I dined instead on lobster panna cotta and mushroom-dusted dulce de leche ice cream.
Durango remains, at its heart, a hard-core mountain biking destination, and I ended the trip by taking a spin with the young coach of a local racing team. The city's big new attraction is Durango Mesa Park, which was created from a recent donation of 1,850 high-desert acres and features more than seven miles of new multiuse trails. Since it was still under construction when I visited, my guide took me to the adjacent Horse Gulch recreational area. Recent rains had released the scent of mountain juniper and helpfully packed down the clay-rich dirt. It was a beautifully winding ride that was over all too quickly—and the perfect finale to a week of high-altitude outdoor adventure that had been just the right amount of roughing it.
This article appeared in the September/October 2024 issue of Condé Nast Traveler. Subscribe to the magazine here.
Originally Appeared on Condé Nast Traveler
