We weren’t even planning to come to Estes. The road to hell is paved with good intentions—and honestly, plans can head there too.
We had somewhere else in mind. But the detour brought us here. Again. And maybe that’s how it was always supposed to go.
I’ve lived in Colorado a good chunk of my life—just over the mountain in Winter Park. Not my whole life, but long enough that it still feels like home. Those years mattered. I figured out who I was in that valley. I hiked, worked, healed, cracked wide open, healed again. Estes was always just over the pass. I’ve been here more times than I can count. Gear shops, lazy day drives, hikes when we got “cabin fever” and needed to leave the valley but didn’t want to be in the city.
So how this was my first time ever going inside the Stanley Hotel!? Kinda shameful, honestly.
Especially since the Bible school I went to (Timberline) is right over in Winter Park—and its sister school, Ravencrest, is right here in Estes. I had friends who lived in that building. I had opportunities. I just… didn’t go. Maybe I wasn’t ready for it yet.
I wouldn’t say we saw a ghost… but I wouldn’t say we didn’t.
Curious about the stories inside the Stanley? Here’s the full haunt guide we pulled together—including who still walks the halls and which room you probably shouldn’t book if you want to sleep.
We didn’t stay at the Stanley Hotel—but we slept in its shadow.
Just outside of town at the Estes Park KOA, fire burning low, we had a front-row seat to one of the most famously haunted hotels in the country. The wind carried that kind of chill that makes you wonder if it’s just weather—or something else.
We’re KOA loyalists. I know that’s a weird badge to wear, but there’s something about the firepits, the yellow signs, the families roasting s’mores three sites down—it feels familiar no matter where we are.
Our first KOA was outside Joshua Tree. Then Manchester Beach, where I sang karaoke with strangers. If you’re ever in California and driving Highway 1, go. It’s magic.
This one is just a few miles from that iconic red roof of the Stanley. When we pulled into our cabin, the girls next door were packing up and asked if we wanted their leftover firewood. We didn’t end up using it, but we stood at the window and watched them carry it three doors down to someone else.
That’s the spirit of these places. You pass things on. You look out for each other. We’re all out here doing the same thing in slightly different shoes. KOA always delivers. That’s the spirit of this place.
Speaking of spirits…
Estes Park
Before it was the gateway to Rocky Mountain National Park, Estes Park was home to the Ute and Arapaho, long before roads carved up the canyons. Their stories—about spirits, stars, and sacred mountains—ran deeper than trail maps. Eventually settlers came, cabins popped up, and in 1909, F.O. Stanley rolled into town with his twin brother and a plan to build something grand.
He wasn’t here for ghosts—he was here for his lungs. After surviving tuberculosis, Stanley believed the crisp mountain air could heal people. So he built a hotel where the sick could recover and the wealthy could breathe deep. But the stories that lingered—those came later.
The Stanley
We parked down the hill and made our way up the path like every tourist who’s ever come here—half expecting to see twin girls in the window or hear a tricycle scraping across the porch.
The Stanley is beautiful in that grand, slightly unsettling way. Like a place that remembers too much and doesn’t always tell it. It doesn’t lean into its haunted reputation—it just lets you feel it.
Inside, it’s all polished wood, vintage wallpaper, velvet chairs, and creaky stairs that make you slow down whether you want to or not. We wandered. Touched the railing. Peered down empty hallways with that buzz of “what if.”
Room 217 and the Whispered Halls
Even if you don’t believe in ghosts, it’s hard to walk those halls and not feel something shift. It’s beautiful and eerie and proud. Like it knows its own legend. We didn’t stay inside, but we wandered long enough to feel the air change. I swore I saw a light flicker in a window that had no one inside.
We’re probably imagining it.
Probably.
Me being the nerd I am, I already knew about the hauntings. On the lower level, there’s a glass case with pieces from Room 217—the room that inspired The Shining. A busted-up chunk of plaster. A name: Elizabeth Wilson. She was a maid in 1911 when a gas leak exploded. Blew her through the floor. She lived. But most say she never really left.
Guests report their clothes folded neatly at the foot of the bed. Lights flicking on and off. Someone walking the halls at night when no one else is booked. The staff openly acknowledges it. Room 217 is almost always requested. Or avoided. Depends on the kind of guest.
We stood by that display longer than we meant to. Long enough for the air to change.
Full circle nod.
Outside, there’s a statue of an old-school filmmaker behind a tripod camera. Novi walked right up to it with our estate-sale score camcorder—early 90s, clunky joy—and lined up like she was filming him back. I got the shot. Then stood there for a second, just watching.
One of the weirdest, coolest things I learned while we were here: F.O. Stanley wasn’t just a hotel guy. He helped change photography.
Long before the Stanley Hotel, he and his brother developed a dry plate technique that made taking and developing photographs faster, easier, and cleaner. The process was such a leap forward that George Eastman bought it for Kodak—and used it as the backbone for what modern film became.
So now, a hundred-plus years later, I’m standing outside the Stanley with my husband—the guy who spends hours chasing light through a lens—and there’s this strange full-circle feeling. Stanley built a hotel that holds ghosts, and he helped create the technology to capture them. Jake may not say much about it, but I see it. The same hunger to tell a story through stillness. The same instinct to chase what others don’t see.
RMNP
Our alarm went off at 5AM. We drove into Rocky Mountain National Park before the crowds, before the heat, before anything had time to go wrong. It was still. The kind of still that doesn’t ask anything of you.
That’s where we met Rob.
He saw our car set-up—Jake’s handiwork—and walked over, coffee in hand, to ask about how it all worked. He was from Indiana. Said this was his first national park and he planned to visit more. Didn’t go into much detail and we didn’t pry. Didn’t need to. You can tell when someone’s out here trying to get their feet back under them. Maybe find a little peace. The wilds have a way of meeting people right where they are.
I’ve got a good feeling Rob’s going to find everything he’s not looking for. And probably more than he needs.
Hiking in RMNP: A Few of Our Favorites
If you’re heading into the park and don’t know where to start, here are a few solid trail picks that won’t disappoint:
- Emerald Lake Trail – 3.2 miles out-and-back from Bear Lake. Easy, stunning, and classic.
- The Loch via Glacier Gorge – 5.4 miles round-trip. One of the best alpine lake hikes with views that don’t quit.
- Chasm Lake – More difficult, around 8.5 miles, but dramatic views of Longs Peak and high country.
- Alberta Falls – Great shorter hike for kids or if you’re short on time. Just over 1.5 miles round-trip.
Pro tip: Get into the park early. Like, before the sun hits the peaks early. You’ll beat the crowds.
One Last Thing
Before we left town to head on our trip, we said goodbye to Jake’s beloved grandpa—Papa Bo.
He was a man of few words, but he loved deeply. Loved his family. Loved his country. Loved the Packers and the Dodgers, in that order.
So when we pulled into the KOA in the heart of Bronco country, and the first thing we saw waving overhead was a giant Packers flag, we just laughed. Of all the places.
Some signs are loud.
Others are just a little wind in your direction.
Keep your eyes open. You never know what you’ll see out there.
The Wilds Project. 
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