Discover Tranquil Southwestern Colorado Mountain Towns: Hot Springs, Hiking, and Boutique Lodging

Colorado is an outdoor paradise, but escaping the crowds can be a challenge. Here’s how to plan the perfect road trip through Southwest Colorado, which is less-visited, but just as spectacular.

When it comes to mountain playgrounds, Colorado has an embarrassment of riches. Boulder, a college town with seemingly endless hiking and biking trails and a burgeoning dining scene, was the one that lured me away from New York City six years ago. It seemed like I had only just begun to explore my adopted state’s best-known outdoor destinations, like Aspen and Breckenridge — then, with the onset of COVID, every other urbanite had the same idea.

So last July, when the pandemic surge had slowed, I set out on a weeklong road trip to explore southwestern Colorado, a corner of the state that still feels off the beaten path. It’s home to historic train towns like Del Norte and Silverton, which once linked mining centers to vital trade routes. After the mines dried up, the wild stretches of river near these remote outposts began to attract rugged outdoorsy types and, more recently, young entrepreneurs with pioneering spirits. Consequently, some of them have opened chic hotels, memorable Airbnbs, and hip art and music venues to complement the region’s natural beauty. I couldn’t wait to dive in.

Buena Vista

From Boulder, I zipped down Highway 285 and reached Buena Vista in just over two hours. Surrounded by the Collegiate Peaks, some of the tallest mountains in the Rockies, this riverside town has been shaped by centuries of boom and bust. In the 1880s, it was an unruly railroad depot, with 68 saloons and numerous brothels and dance halls. Its residents — desperados, gamblers, and frustrated prospectors — earned it a reputation as one of the most lawless places in the West. By the 1920s, Buena Vista’s lucrative lettuce-farming industry led to an annual harvest celebration marked by rodeos and airplane stunts. However, by the 1980s, the Wall Street crash devastated the town.

I arrived at mid-afternoon, and reggae music drifted from a stretch of river where dozens of kayakers and paddleboarders were navigating rapids, while a band set up on an adjacent lawn lined with food trucks. If it hadn’t been for the alpine backdrop, I would have sworn I was in Austin, Texas.

Forty years later, when Jed Selby rolled in, nearly every storefront was boarded up. The pro kayaker, then 24, saw opportunity just east of town in the rolling Arkansas River, one of the largest tributaries of the Mississippi. Instead of seeing the town as another skiing and climbing mecca like Vail or Crested Butte, Selby envisioned a future based on a free public whitewater park — a section of riverbed with artificial features to create waves and chutes for paddlers, surfers, and tubers.

“Surf’s up,” Selby yelled as he waved me over and shoved a paddle into my hand. “Welcome to my little stretch of paradise.”

I grew up surfing ocean waves on the Jersey Shore, but quickly learned that the niche sport of river surfing is completely different. Geared up in a wet suit, life jacket, neoprene boots, and a helmet, I paddled into the water on a sturdy inflatable board. Once I felt it catch the man-made wave, I popped to my feet. My ride lasted only a few seconds before I fell off. Selby took a turn, effortlessly spinning 360s in the wave.

When various locals described Selby to me as the de facto mayor of Buena Vista, I wasn’t expecting a guy with X Games athleticism and a passion for jam bands like Phish. However, he’s also a student of urban planning with a head for business. As we chatted over craft beers in town that evening, he explained that the neighborhood known as South Main was once a landfill set for development until he and his sister, Kate Urban, transformed it. “When I moved here, there was a prison and a retirement community,” Selby said. “This town had no young people, no nightlife. I saw a blank slate.”

The mixed-use area now blends Craftsman-style bungalows and Victorian homes with small businesses like Eddyline Brewing and cult burger spot Buena Viking (entrées $10–$18). All of these establishments have easy access to a network of trails and two free bouldering parks. The development’s success has made it a model in how outdoor recreation can revive rural mountain town economies.

Today, Selby also has two boutique hotels in Buena Vista. The 20-room, French countryside-inspired Surf Chateau (doubles from $300) opened in 2014, and the 42-room, Scandi-minimalist Surf Hotel (doubles from $300) launched in 2018. Both are filled with hip urbanites. Surf Hotel features a cocktail bar in the lobby, the Ivy Ballroom as a music venue, and a summer concert series in the town square.

Once in my second-floor room at the Surf Hotel, I ordered room service to enjoy pizza — Canadian bacon and goat cheese — while watching a concert from the balcony. From my perch, it was easy to spot Selby, rocking Tevas and a tie-dyed Grateful Dead shirt in the front row.

Salida

Thirty minutes by car from Buena Vista, Salida has emerged as another hub for outdoor adventures. Paddlers, kayakers, and river surfers from all over come to test their skills at its whitewater park, which includes a river slalom.

The downtown area, Colorado’s largest historic district, channels a sporty-meets-artsy vibe. Victorian-era buildings are decorated with colorful murals, while cycle shops, running stores, and art galleries line the main street. After settling into my apartment-style Manhattan (doubles from $225), I visited Howl Mercantile & Coffee, which offers a selection of outdoor essentials (axes, hiking packs, camping blankets) and handmade crafts (porcelain pins and bandanas printed with Old West imagery), perfectly capturing the Salida vibe.

Over the next two days, I watched kayakers and hiked the nearby Hunt Lake Trail, a seven-mile out-and-back that sits just below the Continental Divide. Although a few steep sections left my quads sore, the terrain was easy enough to allow me to enjoy sights like the remnants of a mine shaft tucked into a cliffside. After the hike, I dined at the Fritz (entrées $10–$30), a gastropub featuring dishes like duck confit and house-made pâté.

Little Red Hen Bakery motivated me to wake early the next day. This local staple mills its own flour and opens at 6 a.m. to sell whole-wheat cinnamon rolls slathered in icing and breakfast bagels made with eggs and chiles sourced from nearby farms. I chased both with strong coffee from local roaster Mountain Phoenix before getting back on the road.

Del Norte

I drove south on Highway 285 into the San Luis Valley. It’s remarkable that the rural communities along the road were once prosperous boomtowns along the old Santa Fe Trail in the 1880s. In recent decades, this ranching and farming region has become one of the most impoverished in the state. For miles, I was the sole car whizzing past wheat fields and grazing cows. The solitude and scenery were so meditative I turned off my music to soak it all in.

Previously, there was little reason to visit Del Norte, the one-stoplight town often jokingly referred to as Dead Norte. However, a renaissance is underway — thanks to newcomers like Corey Hubbard and her husband, Ryan Methfessel. When COVID derailed their plans to relocate to Greece, they embarked on a road trip west and fell for Del Norte’s alpine desert landscape and self-reliant community.

They purchased an antiques shop on the main drag and reinvented it as the General Specific Store, featuring a carefully curated collection of art and curiosities. Hubbard, with her vintage style, mentioned that customers are often surprised to learn she lives in the rural community; I admit I was, too.

The community’s renaissance is also fueled by other recent additions. Two spots that caught my eye were Raisin’ Rye, a sourdough-focused micro bakery, and Mellow Moon Lodge (doubles from $120), a restored 1940s motor lodge. Jessica Lovelace, the owner, greeted me at check-in. Burned out from a career in design for brands like New Balance, she purchased the run-down property while visiting her husband’s family in the area. Since then, 10 rooms have been updated with organic linens and retro design touches. Her husband, Sam Bricker, opened a cycle shop in the hotel to cater to the mountain bikers who visit the extensive single-track network.

Lovelace invited me on a tour of Del Norte on cruisers from her shop. “Everyone thought I was a city girl when I arrived, but this town is bigger than the one in Washington where I grew up,” she explained as we pedaled down Grand Avenue. We stopped for pints of Sipster Hazy IPA at Three Barrel Brewing, before visiting the Windsor (doubles from $183), a 20-room brick hotel with a simple façade stretching nearly half a block.

Silverton once drew prospectors for the gold and silver in its hills, part of the jagged San Juan mountain range.

One of the oldest hotels in the state, the Windsor was destined for condemnation in the 1990s, but two local philanthropists rescued it. Nowadays, it’s a social nexus again, thanks to a food truck and entertainment, including film screenings in the courtyard. “This is our community anchor,” Lovelace said.

We were joined by a handful of her friends, including Hubbard, Methfessel, and Adam Gildar, a Denver art gallery owner and program director at the Frontier Drive-In, an old theater in a neighboring town being reimagined as an art venue. We feasted on po’boys from the food truck, and when Hubbard mentioned the hotel bar served a fantastic Corpse Reviver cocktail, we ordered a round.

“No one ends up here by accident,” Lovelace explained. “There are longtime Hispanic and ranching families from the boom years and new artisans coming to the area. What we all have in common is gumption and idealism.”

After a second round of Corpse Revivers, we headed across the street to Hubbard’s General Specific Store. She led us upstairs to a ballroom with high tin ceilings and original wallpaper that was peeling from the walls. She has begun hosting community events such as art shows, readings, and potlucks. “I see myself as a social entrepreneur, creating spaces for human connection and conversation,” she explained. We talked late into the night, and I came away feeling inspired by the group’s camaraderie. By the time I left town the next day, I was convinced I should move to Del Norte too.

Durango

I skipped breakfast the next morning, knowing my 2½-hour drive along U.S. 160 would end at James Ranch (entrées $10–$15). The farm, just off Highway 550 in Durango, exemplifies that change in the region isn’t just bringing in new blood. Rather, it’s also encouraging a younger generation of locals to stay and invest in their communities.

When Dave and Kay James bought their cattle ranch in 1961, they never imagined their children would return home as adults to take part in the business — or that their beef would become pilgrimage-worthy. Cynthia James Stewart put James Ranch on the food lover’s map a decade ago when she began selling grass-fed beef burgers made by her brother, Dan James, from a cart on-site. In 2019, the family opened a proper restaurant, the Grill, along with a market selling the farm’s organic produce, eggs, and cheese. I grabbed a table on the terrace and devoured a juicy burger topped with cremini mushrooms, caramelized onions, and rosemary aioli.

Another local contributing to the Durango experience is Kevin Wright, who opened the Nugget Mountain Bar (cabins from $250) in 2018. Located about 40 minutes outside of town, this ski-bum watering hole — set within a historic cabin — has a loyal following for its live music on the patio. “So many bars cater to tourists with fancy cocktails and high prices,” Wright explained when I stopped by. “I wanted this to be a community bar.” In 2020, he built two tiny houses nearby — Kerouac Cabin and Hemingway’s Hideout. Outfitted with hot tubs, fireplaces, and books by their respective muses, they provide a cozy base for skiers and hikers.

This area of Colorado is also known for its hot springs, which the native Ute people referred to as miracle waters. For centuries, the pools were used for healing ceremonies. There are dozens in the area, but Wright clued me into his favorite, the newly renovated Durango Hot Springs Resort & Spa. Originally called Trimble Hot Springs, the property has lived many lives — from a gambling hall in the 1930s to a dude ranch in the 40s. It now serves as a mountain oasis with 22 mineral pools, six soaking tubs, a 25-meter saltwater pool, and a spa — just what my trail-weary muscles needed before facing the drive to Silverton the next day.

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Silverton

A mini Telluride — without the polish and celebrities — Silverton is only 23 miles from Nugget’s cabins, where I spent the night, but the drive along Highway 550 is riddled with hairpin turns and drop-offs that necessitate slow, careful driving.

The town once attracted prospectors for the gold and silver in its hills, part of the jagged San Juan mountain range. Today, its attractions include wildflower-carpeted meadows, high alpine lakes, and the coal-fired Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad, which transports tourists instead of precious metals between its two namesake towns.

Though Silverton is undergoing a transformation, the town stays true to its Wild West roots, with just one paved road and many old-fashioned B&Bs and mercantile stores. The debut of the Wyman (doubles from $260) in 2019 — a 15-room boutique hotel decorated in pastels and jewel tones — delivered a dose of modern style, attracting a different type of traveler.

Owner Haley Morgan, who moved to the area from Brooklyn with her ski-obsessed partner, Shane Fuhrman, loved how undiscovered it felt. “You can hike in summer and not see a soul on the trails,” she shared. Morgan has played a key role in helping the Silverton Creative District become the town’s new highlight, regularly hosting receptions for visiting artists at her hotel.

Diving off the dusty main street, I explored shops like Quiet Bear Art, a studio and gallery space shared by jeweler Carol Wilkins and blacksmith Ken Webb. I spotted him transforming a bike chain into a heart sculpture in his nearby workshop.

Silverton’s nightlife options include old-school saloons or the low-key lobby bar of the Wyman. I chose the latter for its selection of natural wines and its charismatic bartender, Mikie Beatty. As he poured me a taste of Macerato Catarratto, an orange wine from Sicily, he mentioned he had recently moved to the town from Los Angeles.

Noticing the “how did you end up here” look on my face, he remarked, “I was drawn to Silverton’s sense of possibility.” How ironic, I thought: that sense of potential was what drew miners and prospectors to southwestern Colorado all those years ago. Now, it’s up to a new wave of pioneers to capitalize on it.

A version of this story first appeared in the July 2022 issue of GoTravelDaily under the headline Striking Gold.