PRAGMATIC ISSUES

The Mountain That Keeps Its Dead

Some places earn a reputation.

Berthoud Pass earned a warning.

Long before ski lifts climbed its slopes and long before tourists pulled over to photograph its breathtaking views, the pass was known for something far darker.

Sudden storms.

Deadly avalanches.

Travelers who vanished into the snow.

Men and women who left for the mountains and never returned.

At 11,307 feet above sea level, Berthoud Pass has spent nearly two centuries reminding people that the Colorado Rockies can be as deadly as they are beautiful.

The dark history of the pass began long before the arrival of modern roads. Native peoples, including the Ute, crossed these mountains for generations and understood the dangers hidden within them. Berthoud Pass was part of their ancestral hunting grounds.

When explorer and chief engineer Edward L. Berthoud and scout Jim Bridger “discovered” the pass in July 1861, it came as a surprise to them that the pass didn’t play a heavy role in earlier indigenous travel. The Utes and other native groups knew of it, but generally preferred crossing the Continental Divide at different, higher passes in the northern areas.

When prospectors and settlers began pouring into Colorado during the mining boom of the 1800s, they followed routes through the mountains that were often little more than rough trails carved through unforgiving terrain.

Winter was merciless.

Snowstorms could appear without warning, swallowing entire wagon trains in whiteout conditions. Travelers froze to death within sight of shelter. Horses vanished beneath deep snowdrifts. Rescue parties often discovered only abandoned camps, broken wagons, or shallow graves dug into frozen ground.

Then came the avalanches.

Entire mountainsides above Berthoud Pass have a long history of collapsing without warning. Massive walls of snow have buried roads, trapped travelers, and claimed countless lives over the decades. Even with modern forecasting, avalanche control, and road maintenance, the pass remains one of Colorado’s most dangerous mountain corridors.

The mountain has never stopped collecting victims.

In the 1930s, Berthoud Pass became one of Colorado’s earliest ski destinations. A rope tow was installed, followed by lifts and a growing reputation among adventurous skiers. For decades, the Berthoud Pass Ski Area operated in the shadow of the Continental Divide. It was rugged, wild, and beloved by locals.

But unlike Colorado’s famous resort towns, Berthoud Pass never truly found lasting success.

Ownership changed hands repeatedly. Financial problems followed. Harsh weather, fierce competition, and the mountain’s remote location slowly wore the resort down.

Jim Pearsall who co-purchased and reopened the Berthoud Pass Ski Area in the 1990s, died in a tragic car accident outside of Empire, Colorado. The crash happened in 1999 right as he was close to seeing his vision for the revived, old-school resort realized.

By 2003, the ski area was gone.

The lifts fell silent.

The lodge disappeared.

The mountain reclaimed what little had been built upon it.

Today, scattered remnants of the old ski area remain hidden among the trees and slopes like forgotten relics of another era.

Yet the deaths continued.

Back country skiers and boarders enjoy the snow during the winter months whilst hikers like to hike the pass during the summer.

Many don’t go too far into the pass, for to do that they would need to plan on spending the night. Days are short and night falls fast here.

Avalanches still claim lives during the winter.

Drivers still lose control on icy roads.

Hikers and skiers still underestimate the speed at which weather can turn deadly at high altitude.

Search-and-rescue crews know the pass well.

Too well.

For generations they have answered the same calls.

Lost hikers.

Missing skiers.

Overturned vehicles.

Avalanche burials.

Families waiting for news that never comes.

Perhaps that is why Berthoud Pass feels different.

Not haunted in the way Hollywood imagines.

Not rattling chains and glowing apparitions.

Something quieter.

Heavier.

Stand alone on the pass during a winter storm and the world disappears.

The wind screams across the divide.

Snow swirls through the darkness.

The mountains become little more than shadows.

It is easy to understand why stories have taken root here.

Drivers report an overwhelming feeling of dread as they cross the summit, some report ghosts.

Backcountry skiers and hikers speak of strange sensations that they are not alone.

As if they are being watched.

Some will tell you that they have heard whispers only to turn and find no one around them.

Those that have camped on the pass describe hearing sounds in the night like footsteps yet upon investigation, they find no one near them.

The feeling of something you cannot see touching you.

Others tell stories of figures glimpsed through blowing snow that vanish moments later.

Whether those stories are ghosts, imagination, or the mountain playing tricks on tired minds hardly matters.

Because the truth is unsettling enough.

Berthoud Pass has witnessed nearly two centuries of tragedy.

The names change.

The years change.

But the mountain remains.

Silent.

Watching.

Waiting beneath the snow.

And perhaps that is the real haunting of Berthoud Pass.

Not the spirits people claim to see.

But the lives that were lost, the stories left unfinished, and the undeniable feeling that the mountain remembers every one of them.

Next Time on Chasing Ghosts

We leave the windswept heights of Berthoud Pass behind and travel deeper into the shadow of the Indian Peaks. At Brainard Lake, beneath some of Colorado’s most beautiful mountains, ancient stories, unexplained encounters, and lingering tragedies have created a place that feels peaceful by day—and strangely unsettling after dark.

Some ghosts hide in old buildings.

Others wait in the wilderness.