This past weekend, I had a lesson in the golden rule of solo travel: “if the vibes are off, get the f–k out.”
On Wednesday, I flew into Denver, rented a car, and made a 6-hour trek south the the site of Ghost Ranch. Just outside Abiquiu, New Mexico, the ranch is a 21,000 acre property made famous in part by the landscape paintings Georgia O’Keeffe made of many of its major landmarks.
The ranch has a storied history that I perhaps could’ve researched a little better before I set off. Originally home to different groups of nomadic Ancestral Pueblo people, legends of spirits around the canyon have been ongoing for centuries. The first “owners” of the ranch as it is known today were two bandit brothers who ran a gang of cattle thieves throughout the Southwest. After two decades of anarchy, the gang imploded when one brother shot another in an argument, and the murderer was apprehended by being hung from a tree that still stands on the property.
After the brothers’ demise, the ranch passed hands a couple of times before Arthur Pack acquired it in the 1930s. Pack entertained many guests at the property, including Georgia O’Keeffe, who eventually bought a seven acre parcel of ranch land and constructed a home where she spent summers. The location of her home is hidden from present-day ranch guests and is not available for tours (this was disappointing to learn upon my arrival).
Today, Ghost Ranch is owned and operated by the Presbyterian Church. They offer group programs, retreats, and options for self-guided stays. The staff are friendly, the landscape is breathtaking, and the ambiance feels like summer camp.
I first heard about the ranch when I visited the Georgia O’Keeffe museum in Santa Fe a few years ago. Impressed with the exhibit detailing her life on the property, and a massive fan of her work, I’ve wanted to visit Ghost Ranch ever since. I’d meant to make the drive when I lived in Denver a couple of years ago, but other trips took precedence and I never made the journey. For my 28th birthday, I decided to take myself to the fabled site.
However, when I pulled in something felt ~amiss~. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. The staff I interacted with were friendly. Most of my fellow patrons were of an older generation. Nothing specific seemed off. But there was a feeling in my gut telling me something wasn’t quite right.
I unpacked the first afternoon and immediately hit one of the hiking trails (Safety first: my best friend’s parents live less than two hours away in Albuquerque and I ensured they knew my whereabouts ahead of time). The land was quiet- in my opinion, eerily so. The weather was beautiful and it was just me and a couple of other ranch patrons out in the pre-dinner hour. I should have felt at peace. But something was telling me that I shouldn’t be there.
I stuck it out the first night. I’d paid to be there, driven six hours, and I felt I owed it to myself to at least try my hand at being an overnight guest. The feeling didn’t go away though, and as darkness descended, it instead intensified. I shut the windows, threw a blanket over my head, and hunkered down in anxious fear to go to sleep. I woke up at midnight with an overwhelming instinct to get up and run away. I calmed myself down enough to make it through the night, but the damage was done.
The next morning I took a final hike, this time climbing a mesa to look out over the valley of the canyon. My senses were heightened and at every turn, I had visions of a mountain lion jumping out from behind a rock outcropping and mauling me in an unprompted attack. It was time to go.
I finally leaned into my instincts, booked a hotel in Taos, and got OUT.
Taos was fabulous- I found an adorable coffee shop and used book store. I walked along one of the tallest bridges in the United States. I thrifted a Longchamp bag for $3 at one of the local consignment shops (subscribe for my recommendations in Taos!). I felt validated in my decision to leave the ranch, despite the kind staff and the picturesque landscape.
If you’re solo traveling and have an instinct that it’s time to go, take my advice and get the f–k out. It might be a healthy amount of fear at a new experience, and it might be that you could stay and nothing goes wrong. But why on earth would you take that risk? Your life is far more valuable than the cost of your stay.
Stay safe when you solo travel and trust yourself to know when it’s time to go.
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