Our Dream Ski Trip Became a $1,200 Nightmare

I'm writing this from my apartment in Denver, looking at ski equipment I haven't touched in two years.

 

Not because I don't love skiing. Because the last time I went to the mountains, I spent three days sleeping in a cabin full of mice and two weeks afterward wondering if I'd contracted a disease that kills 50% of the people who get it.

 

My name is David Rodriguez. This is the story of how a dream vacation became a health scare that cost me $1,200, a relationship strain I'm still recovering from, and my peace of mind.

 

If you're planning a mountain cabin rental or if you own one you need to read this.

It Started With "Just Been Closed Up"

January 14th. Saturday. Noon.

 

I pulled up to my Airbnb rental in Summit County, Colorado. The cabin looked exactly like the photos. Wood beams. Stone fireplace. Floor-to-ceiling windows with mountain views.

 

My girlfriend Emma and I had been planning this trip for months. First real vacation in two years. Full week of skiing. I'd paid $1,200 upfront.

 

I noticed the smell the moment I opened the door.

 

Musty. Wrong. Like something had been living there.

 

"Probably just been closed up," I told Emma, dragging our suitcases inside.

 

I should've trusted that smell.

What We Found In The Kitchen

Emma opened the cabinet to put away groceries.

 

She froze.

 

"David. Come here."

 

The cabinet was full of droppings. Not just a few. Hundreds of tiny black pellets mixed with chewed cardboard and shredded paper.

 

We found more behind the couch. In the bedroom closet. Under the bathroom sink.

 

The entire cabin was infested.

 

I called the property owner. Voicemail.

 

I called Airbnb support. "Someone will call back within 24 hours."

 

Emma's voice was tight: "We can't stay here, David. There are mouse droppings in the kitchen. On the counter. Near the stove."

 

She was right. But it was peak ski season. I spent an hour calling every hotel within fifty miles.

Everything was booked solid.

 

The nearest available room was two hours away at $400 per night.

 

We had two choices: Drive four hours back to Denver and lose our $1,200 rental fee, or stay in the mouse cabin.

The Decision That Haunts Me

"We'll clean it," I decided. "We'll bleach everything, set traps, make it work. It's just a week."

 

That might be the worst decision I've ever made.

 

That first night, lying in bed, we heard them. Scratching in the walls. Scurrying across the ceiling.

 

Emma couldn't sleep. Neither could I, but I pretended to, trying to save our vacation.

 

Day two: I found fresh droppings on the kitchen counter in the morning. We'd wiped everything down the night before with bleach.

 

Day three: A mouse ran across Emma's foot while she was making coffee.

 

She packed her bags immediately.

 

"I'm done, David. I love you, but I'm not staying here. These aren't just a few mice. This is an infestation. We could get sick. Actually sick. Hantavirus is real."

The Words That Made My Blood Run Cold

Hantavirus.

 

I'd heard the term before but never really thought about it.

 

That night, unable to sleep again, I researched it on my phone.

 

Deer mice in Colorado carry hantavirus pulmonary syndrome.

 

Transmitted through breathing airborne particles from mouse urine and droppings.

 

Fatality rate: 30-50%.

 

I thought about the droppings we'd been sweeping. The air we'd been breathing for three days in that closed cabin. The dust we'd stirred up cleaning.

 

We'd been exposing ourselves to potentially fatal disease.

 

Emma was still awake beside me, scrolling her phone. She'd found the same information.

 

"We're leaving tomorrow," she said quietly. "I don't care about the money."

The $1,200 I'll Never Get Back

Wednesday morning. We drove back to Denver.

 

Vacation over. $1,200 gone.

 

Emma made me throw away all our clothes. Everything we'd brought. "I don't want anything from that cabin in our apartment."

 

I called the property owner again. Still no answer.

 

I called Airbnb again. They offered me a $200 credit toward a future stay.

 

The cabin rental? Non-refundable. I'd agreed to the cancellation policy when booking.

 

I filed a detailed complaint. I left a review warning other renters.

 

The property owner responded that the cabin had been "professionally cleaned before arrival" and that "occasional wildlife is normal in mountain properties."

 

Occasional wildlife.

 

I thought about the scratching in the walls every night. The fresh droppings appearing on clean counters. The mouse running over Emma's foot.

 

That wasn't occasional wildlife. That was an active infestation.

The Two Weeks I'll Never Forget

Two weeks after we got back, I started feeling sick.

 

Fever. Fatigue. Muscle aches.

 

I told myself it was just the flu. But I'd read the hantavirus symptoms. They're identical to flu symptoms. For the first 1-2 weeks.

 

Then, if it's hantavirus, your lungs fill with fluid. You can't breathe. And you have a coin-flip chance of dying.

 

I didn't tell Emma I was sick. I didn't want to scare her.

 

Every morning I woke up, I checked my breathing. Every night I went to bed wondering if tomorrow would be the day my symptoms got worse.

 

It was the flu. Probably. I recovered after a week.

 

But I'll never forget lying awake those nights, convinced every breath in that cabin had exposed me to something deadly.

What I Learned About Mountain Cabin Infestations

After we got back, I couldn't stop researching. I needed to understand how this happened.

 

Here's what I learned that every mountain property owner and renter needs to know:

Mountain cabins are perfect mouse habitats.

 

Think about it:

  • Empty most of the year (easy to nest undisturbed)
  • Surrounded by forest (natural mouse habitat)
  • Warm when heat is on (survival in winter)
  • Food left by previous renters (pantries, crumbs, garbage)

Mice don't leave when renters arrive. They nest in walls, attics, crawl spaces. Places you can't see.

 

During the day, they hide. At night, they come out to feed.

 

That "occasional wildlife" the owner mentioned? That's code for "we have a permanent mouse population living in the walls."

The Silent Health Crisis Nobody Talks About

Here's what really terrifies me:

 

Hantavirus isn't rare in Colorado mountain counties.

 

The Colorado Department of Public Health tracks cases. Summit County, where I stayed, has one of the highest rates in the state.

 

Most people don't know they're at risk. They book a beautiful cabin. They see some droppings. They sweep them up.

 

They breathe in the particles.

 

Most of the time, nothing happens. Your immune system fights it off, or you weren't exposed to enough virus.

But sometimes 30-50% of the time when you DO get infected it kills you.

 

And here's the worst part: Property owners have almost no incentive to solve the problem.

 

Why? Because:

  1. Mice are invisible to renters during booking (photos show beautiful cabins, not infestations)
  2. Most renters don't leave reviews (they're embarrassed, or tired, or just want to forget)
  3. Cabins book anyway (demand exceeds supply in ski season)
  4. Professional remediation costs thousands (easier to just "professionally clean" between renters)

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The One Solution That Actually Works

My friend Jake owns a cabin in Breckenridge. After I told him my story, he admitted he'd been dealing with mice for years.

 

"I spend $600 every fall having pest control come out," he said. "They set traps, seal entry points. By January, mice are back. Every single year."

 

"Why don't you get it permanently solved?" I asked.

 

"I've tried everything. Traps don't work mice are in the walls. Poison is dangerous with renters and pets. Sealing entry points is temporary. Mice chew through caulk and wood."

 

Then last summer, his property manager told him about something different.

 

PestLab ultrasonic and electromagnetic devices.

 

"I was skeptical," Jake admitted. "I've wasted money on gimmicks before. But my property manager said three other cabins she manages installed them, and their mouse problems disappeared completely."

Jake installed four devices in August. One in the kitchen. One in each bedroom. One in the basement.

 

This past winter season zero mice.

 

Not one dropping. Not one complaint from renters. Not one emergency call about scratching in walls.

 

"For the first time in eight years," Jake told me, "I'm not dreading winter rentals."

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Why This Technology Changes Everything

I researched PestLab obsessively. After my experience, I needed to understand why this works when everything else fails.

 

Here's the science:

 

Mice stay in cabins because they feel safe. Warm. Quiet. Low activity during the day when they're sleeping.

 

PestLab creates two types of disruption mice cannot tolerate:

 

1. Ultrasonic waves (20-65 kHz): Humans and pets can't hear it. But to mice, it's constant acoustic stress. It disrupts their communication, navigation, and mating behavior.

The frequencies are variable, which is critical. Single-frequency devices (the cheap ones) fail because mice adapt within 2-3 weeks. PestLab's variable frequencies make adaptation impossible.

 

2. Electromagnetic pulses: These travel through walls, floors, and ceilings. They reach mice nesting in hidden spaces the exact places traps and poison can't access.

The pulses disrupt the mouse's nervous system at a biological level. Constant neurological discomfort they cannot escape.

 

Your cabin stops feeling livable to them.

 

They don't die there. They don't nest there. They leave.

 

And critically: New mice won't move in. The environment feels hostile before they even scout it.

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What Jake's Experience Proved

Jake's cabin is still renting. Same location. Same forest surroundings. Same conditions that created mouse problems for eight years.

 

The only thing that changed: PestLab devices.

 

He hasn't had to call pest control once this year. He hasn't had to refund a single renter. His reviews are the best they've ever been.

 

His total investment: $196 for four devices.

 

Compare that to:

  • $600/year on pest control (that didn't work)
  • Lost rental income from mouse-related cancellations
  • Risk of legal liability if a renter gets sick

Or compare it to my experience:

  • $1,200 lost vacation
  • Relationship strain
  • Two weeks of health anxiety
  • All our vacation clothes thrown away

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If You Own a Mountain Cabin

You have a responsibility to your renters.

 

Not just to clean between stays. To make sure your property is actually safe.

 

"Occasional wildlife" isn't acceptable when that wildlife carries diseases with 50% fatality rates.

Traditional pest control isn't enough. You're spending money every year on temporary

 solutions. Mice adapt. They come back. You're gambling with your renters' health and your rental income.

 

PestLab offers something different: permanent environmental modification.

 

You install it once. It runs 24/7. Mice won't nest in your walls. They won't contaminate your kitchen. They won't expose your renters to hantavirus.

 

Jake's property manager now requires PestLab in every cabin she manages. "It's not optional anymore," she told him. "The liability risk is too high."

If You're Renting a Mountain Cabin

Ask the owner directly: "How do you handle rodent control?"

 

If they say "occasional wildlife is normal" or "we professionally clean between stays," that's not good enough.

 

Professional cleaning doesn't remove mice living in walls.

 

Look for owners who say:

  • "We have permanent rodent prevention installed"
  • "We use ultrasonic and electromagnetic technology"
  • "We haven't had mouse issues in [X] months/years"

And honestly? Check the reviews. Search for "mouse" or "mice."

 

If multiple reviews mention rodents, book somewhere else. It doesn't matter how beautiful the photos are.

 

Your health isn't worth $1,200. Or any amount of money.

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What I'd Tell My Past Self

If I could go back to January 14th, standing outside that cabin, smelling that musty smell, I'd tell myself:

 

"Trust your instincts. That smell is warning you. Turn around. Drive home. Lose the $1,200. It's cheaper than the alternative."

 

But I can't go back. All I can do is warn others.

 

If you own a cabin: Install PestLab before next season. Protect your renters. Protect your rental income. Protect yourself from liability.

 

If you're renting a cabin: Ask about rodent control. Read the reviews. Don't gamble with your health.

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The Guarantee That Matters

PestLab offers a 90-day money-back guarantee.

 

For cabin owners, that means you can install it before winter season, verify it works, and get your money back if it doesn't.

 

But I'm betting you won't return it.

 

Jake didn't. Neither did the three other cabin owners his property manager works with.

 

Because when you go from $600/year in failed pest control to zero mouse problems, you don't go back.

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