Pagosa Springs, Colorado : An Afternoon In A Colorado Mountain Town

Driving through parts of Colorado feels like driving through a painting. My first real experience with the state came only a few years ago, which feels absurd after a lifetime of travel, especially through the States. I was moving through a landscape so picturesque it couldn’t possibly be real.

Southern Colorado was wild. Unaffected. Unlike anything I’d known. Idaho, Utah, Texas, and New Mexico, none of them prepared me. I saw my first moose in the wild, walking casually across a creek off the side of the road on my way to Pagosa Springs.

Pagosa Springs is as much a mountain town as a mountain town can be. Driving in from the south on Highway 84, then over the mountain on Highway 119, I looked down on the town. There’s something about seeing a place from above, rooftops peeking through evergreens, the San Juan River cutting through the center. It felt like a set. Like something built for passing through.

I parked on Pagosa Street, in a lot overlooking the river across from the Pagosa Bar. I wandered through a few shops, then down to the river. The town smells of sulfur. Hot springs line both sides of the San Juan. The larger springs have been commercialized, harnessed. That always makes me sad. Near where I parked, three smaller springs remain. I took off my shoes, rolled my pant legs past my knees, and waded in.

I sat there watching rafters drift by. Then I walked the trail next to the river to the rail end at Town Park, retraced my steps, and continued to 6th Street. I hadn’t come for any reason other than curiosity. I’d never been.

I tried Riff Raff Brewing Co., a promising local hangout. The building looked right. The menu looked good. I waited at the host stand. I tried to get the bartender’s attention. Waited again. And eventually, I left, without ever being helped.

On my way back downtown, I passed two officers and asked where I should eat. They pointed me to the Lost Cajun— “famous for its Po Boys.” I had been thinking of going to the Mexican place. And I should have. The Lost Cajun was forgettable. The search for a meal soured the town for me.

An afternoon in Pagosa Springs was enough. It felt polished. Artificial. Like a town built for Hollywood. Before I arrived, people raved about it. One couple told me they spend their anniversary there every year. I was intrigued. I imagined weekends spent in the town. But the appeal was lost on me.

I’m glad I went. Maybe if I return and eat at Riff Raff or Tequila’s Pagosa, I’ll catch whatever it is that others seem to find. Until then, Pagosa Springs is a Colorado town I can check off the list. Beautiful. But not for me.