Ghost Ranch Casa de Sol photo by Jamie Clifford.

The Art of Asana in Abiquiu’s Ghost Ranch

My partner Jeff and I were mapping out a road trip back west after Christmas, and he noticed that Ghost Ranch, the one-time desert refuge of painter Georgia O’Keeffe, lay directly on our route. Jeff studies famous women’s lives through the lens of astrology on his podcast, Cosmic Cousins, and listeners had unanimously crowned O’Keeffe “Queen of Scorpio.” To us, Ghost Ranch was the physical representation of a woman who lived life utterly on her own terms. Her art transformed inexpressible truths into beautiful forms. We called ahead to ask if rooms were available on New Year’s Eve; they were. What better way to close out the year than isolated in the raw landscapes that inspired her paintings?

Early on December 31, we left Denver, leaving lots of time to get to Abiquiu, the remote locale north of Santa Fe, which in the Tewa language means “wild chokecherry place.” Typically, this drive takes around six hours. But in the middle of winter, depending on whether or not the Rocky Mountain gods are smiling on you, that time is subject to change. Spoiler alert: the gods were not in a happy mood.

Around Colorado Springs, our car began to swerve on the I-25. The road, coated in a thin layer of swirling snow, was practically invisible. All around us we saw more snow blowing down. Any vehicle moving faster than 15 mph begged to go skidding off into the median strip, or worse. We had another 300 miles to go, and the blizzard was just getting started.

Our first reaction was to change our plans. Frantically, we mapped nearby hotels and B&Bs, surrendering to the idea of spending New Year’s Eve in a Holiday Inn in Walsenburg, Colorado.

Then, the roads cleared. The weather seemed to be taunting us. Long stretches would go by with dry tarmac and blue skies and yet all the reports called for a winter storm warning. On the Doppler satellite, a giant swirling blue vortex hovered over central New Mexico. Its trajectory? Straight for Ghost Ranch.

Ghost Ranch Palomino Pavilion Yurt photo by Amy Hulse.

How much do you want to visit this holy ground?

Now, we’re not the kind of travelers who are likely to give up easily. Nor, I imagine, was Georgia O’Keeffe. (“I’ve never let fear keep me from doing a single thing I wanted,” she once said.) Yet it did feel in some way that we were being tested. As if O’Keeffe herself were communicating through the skies. “You want to visit my holy ground? How badly do you want to see it?” she seemed to say. And the answer was: badly.

For weeks, we had built up a glorious vision of ringing in 2019 in the charmed canyon-scape that generated masterpieces like Ram’s Head White Hollyhock and Little Hills. O’Keeffe once boasted of this land, “It belongs to me. God told me if I painted it enough, I could have it.” For its stark beauty, for the extreme mystery of it, we were drawn to the place.

In the car, I inquired about the weather down in Abiquiu with the receptionist at Ghost Ranch. “Look,” he said, “People are leaving work early, they’re saying we might get hit. But we can hold your room. If you make it, your key will be waiting for you in an envelope across from the front desk with your name and room number on it.” I called back to let him know we might need to cancel. Then I called to cancel. Then, the weather improved again so I called to un-cancel.

On tenterhooks, we drove on to Santa Fe where the storm was still in its early stages. In the car, we sipped blood-red hibiscus tea and stared out at the gray scene tensely. Overcast skies, temps in the low 20s, snow falling on adobe. The whole thing would have been romantic, if we weren’t so helpless.

But we drew closer, and the resolution became clear. We had come this far, there was no plan B. We would make it. We followed route 84 north, up through blustery Tesuque, Española, and finally into Abiquiu. Then, as we rounded into red canyon country, as if on cue, the snow stopped.

The surrounding cliffs showed a light dusting of snow. We could feel the altitude’s calming effect (Abiquiu sits 6,080’ above sea level). At the entrance to Ghost Ranch, a sign with O’Keefe’s signature cow skull hung from a wooden post. The test was over. Access granted.

Ghost Ranch Casa del Sol photo by Jamie Clifford.

Happy Old Year

Since the 1950s, Ghost Ranch has been owned and operated by the Presbyterian church. More than 300 lectures, workshops, and yes, even weddings, take place each year. But in a former life, this was a wild, volatile place. A band of cattle rustlers hijacked the area in the late 1800s, hoarding stolen livestock and murdering whoever got in their way. Locals stayed as far away as possible, believing that the valley was cursed. They called it Rancho de los Brujos, a reference to the howling winds they heard at night, which they perceived to be the lingering screams of the outlaws’ victims.

An air of foreboding still prevails. Particularly in winter, when the ranch feels desolate, muted. “Happy Old Year,” a ghostly figure greeted us from behind a ski mask, as she drifted past us in the dark.

None of the rooms at Ghost Ranch have telephones or TVs, and there are infinite opportunities for long, solitary strolls among the mesas. Many show up for weeks at a time, to paint, to meditate, to heal. It is the kind of place where you can come with great intentions, or none at all.

Ghost Ranch Tombe Room photo by Jamie Clifford.

Our room was tucked into a frozen courtyard with three sycamore trees. Beyond that was the grand Agape worship hall, the Georgia O’Keeffe library, an arts center, and a museum. Whenever we opened our casita door, all was quiet. The ranch spans a total of 21,000 acres—a former dude ranch sprinkled with the fossils of Archosaurs (ancient crocodiles) that date back 250 million years.

After the tense eight-hour drive, I was in sore need of yoga. A staff member tipped me off to a children’s playroom within walking distance from our room where I could practice asana. Like everywhere else at Ghost Ranch on New Year’s Eve, the room was deserted. Toys were neatly put away, and the gray carpet was spotless. I let myself in, slipped off my boots, and began tuning into my breath.

As I stretched out on the gray carpet—no mat needed—I could feel my muscles, still tense from the long car ride, begin to loosen. None of the comforts of a traditional yoga class were here: but I didn’t need them. The sequence? I made it up. Props? My body was enough. Music? Silence was better. Over the course of nearly two hours, blissfully stretching, curving, folding and twisting my body, I heard the silence give way to something mystical and alive. Amplified by winter’s stillness, fine pulsations rocked the air. The very earth seemed to offer up an ancient rhythm, and if I got quiet enough, I could hear it. I closed my eyes and lay on the floor, entranced. Worry free. Expansive.

Ghost Ranch Casa del Sol Labyrinth photo by Amy Hulse.

Death, Life, and the New Year

I felt like a new person by the time dinner rolled around. There were beef fajitas with guacamole, salad and oven-warm brownies. No party blowers, no novelty sunglasses, no Times Square countdown. (Though we did have a bottle of champagne chilling back in our room.) In the low-key dining room, a few small groups sat talking. Painted red chile peppers adorned the walls, a nod to the state’s emblematic fruit. Joni Mitchell crooned ‘Amelia’ from a radio in the kitchen.

Back in our casita, we did what any sane person does on New Year’s Eve at Ghost Ranch: we discussed the meaning of Death. Jeff pointed out that O’Keeffe was misunderstood. She never viewed the cow skulls as symbols of death. In fact, she enjoyed their “lively” shapes, and made a point to celebrate them for their own sake. In the tarot, Death portrays a moment of transformation, not an ending but a beginning. Violence and suffering once characterized this land—now, it has been made into a place of universal healing. After disaster, life goes on.

In the morning, we stepped out to glistening icicles lining the roof of our casita, which dripped in the warming sun. Even in the dead of winter, the ranch felt unmistakably alive.

For more information about visiting Ghost Ranch, any time of the year, visit: ghostranch.org.

Alex Schechter

The post Coming Back to Life at O’Keeffe’s Ghost Ranch appeared first on LA Yoga Magazine - Ayurveda & Health.

Photo by Chris Burkard

A Mindful Trek on a Glacier

Did you think taking a cruise was a cool way to see Alaska? On a glacier trek 10 miles from Mount Denali, you’ll conquer a part of Alaska few humans have seen.

A tanned, bearded snow guide named Nikolai is 50 feet ahead of me hauling a blue plastic sled laden with food. As the intrepid leader of our pack—and the man responsible for lunch—he’s definitely someone worth paying attention to, although something else is stealing my focus.

Directly ahead, a bare 800-foot-tall stump of rock known as the Gargoyle rises up like an arrowhead through the snow. Plunging granite cliffs form a wide circle around us. Although how close they are is hard to judge. Up in the lofty reaches of Denali National Park, distances are deceiving. Somehow, no matter how far we walk, nothing seems to get any closer.

Hiking on a Glacier

The Alaskan glacier we’re standing on is named Ruth. Ruth is a vast, blindingly white boulevard of compacted snow and ice, 40 miles long and over 5,000 feet thick. If you were to dig straight down, you’d eventually reach a canyon older than the glacier itself.

When you’re hiking a glacier, they tell you not to ‘be a jerk’. This advice is more practical than a personality trait. Strapped into a harness, with ropes linking you to the person in front and behind, each movement affects everyone else. If I walk too fast, I’ll jerk the person behind me. If I slow down, I’ll jerk the person in front. So, in single file, like a sluggish army of ants, our group falls into an easy rhythm—each step synchronized, one foot in front of the other, as we crunch down the snow.

Because of the collaborative nature of the hike, everyone is respectful and attentive. When one person moves, everyone moves. When someone stops, we all stop. The two most important words when you’re on a glacier are: Zero (‘stop’) and Clear (‘go’). That’s what you utter when you need to stop to take a picture, or your rope gets tangled, or you need to blow your nose. Whatever happens, you’re all in it together.

My eyes, when they’re not on the Gargoyle, follow the rope as it slithers through the snow, attaching me to a train of four hikers, including Nikolai. World-class climbers have passed through this glacier, on their way to Denali, the jewel of southeast Alaska, and North America’s tallest peak at 20,320 feet high.

Few have braved these harsh snow fields for a picnic.

Photo by Chris Burkard

Excursion from the Sheldon Chalet

Earlier in the day, we’d left our cozy digs at the Sheldon Chalet, a striking five-room mini-hotel that hovers on a cliff over Ruth Glacier. This tiny structure, hexagon-shaped, built of steel, and wrapped in windows, is the state’s newest and most remote lodge. It opened in March, 2018, a true labor of love by members of the Sheldon family. (Don Sheldon, a famous Alaskan aviation pioneer, was one of the first known humans on this glacier in the 1950s, several years before Alaska was declared a state. He ended up buying a five-acre parcel, and ever since his successors have enjoyed exclusive rights to the land.)

For those lucky enough to visit the glacier, the Sheldons’ intimate knowledge of these mountains is a treat. From high-altitude hot springs to flyover helicopter tours of the surrounding park, they’ve turned this otherwise inhospitable landscape into a private playground for guests.

The Silence of Glacier Hiking

Glacier hiking might be the best activity you can do in late summer, when conditions are just right so the sun stays out all day without being too strong to melt the snow.

Being confined to such stark surroundings has its benefits. As I walk, I’m grateful for the chance to turn off my devices (and my brain) and tune into something much grander. With the exception of a few whirring prop planes every now and then, the silence here is all-encompassing. But it’s more than just the absence of noise—it’s a humbling force, an invitation to prayer. Trudging up here in this permafrost, with the jagged tip of the Gargoyle fast approaching, my utter respect for these wild, untouchable mountains has only grown.

Lunch on the Glacier

Lunch is soon, and I can hardly wait. This hike, which has led us past a set of wolverine tracks, alongside shadowy crevasses, and over rolling dunes of crystal white powder, offers just a taste of what the original explorers, like Don Sheldon, must have seen, as they fought their way over these ice-crusted fields. I can only imagine how hungry they would’ve been.

Of course, Sheldon couldn’t have possibly imagined a group of travelers—first-time hikers, no less—would one day be leisurely picnicking at the foot of the Gargoyle, seated at a table carved out of the snow. On this frozen table, our guides Nikolai and Terryl have arranged wine glasses and bottles of Alaskan birch water. A bouquet of flowers is stuck into the ice for decoration. Suddenly, a portable burner appears, and into the skillet go fresh Alaskan King crab cakes, all fragrant with lemony breadcrumbs and oil spattering lightly into the snow.

As we eat, Nikolai describes his recent attempt scaling the top of the Gargoyle with a friend, where he said they witnessed a group of gigantic bumblebees, pollinating flowers growing in cracks along the rock. Icy Denali, often glimpsed from afar in rickety tour buses, appears impenetrable, closed off. But really, this is nature in its most original state: slow-moving, humblingly vast, and ripe with adventure. This is one of the great misconceptions about Alaska. The average tourist here is aged 60 and up, but really, this is a young person’s state. If hiking on a glacier, or mountaineering, or heli-skiing, or the thrill of roaming on a merciless 20,000-foot mountain (many believe Denali is harder to climb than Everest) sound appealing, then go. For the sake of uninhibited adventure, you won’t regret it.

The Sheldon Chalet in Alaska

For more information about the Sheldon Chalet, visit: sheldonchalet.com.

Alex Schechter

The post Up on the Glacier: Mindfulness in Alaska appeared first on LA Yoga Magazine - Ayurveda & Health.