Ghosts of Paradise

I was sitting with Hawaiian guest Kawena on the dining room porch this morning, shooting the breeze about life, the universe and finding healing at Paradise Ranch. Although we come from different cultures, we both recognise that this place exudes an energy; whether it’s the land itself, the people it attracts or the combination of both, very few pass under the FUN timber archway without being affected in some way.

It’s also no surprise to me that this place is crawling with ghosts. Or so they say. If souls do indeed continue to exist on another plane after death, then this is as good a place as any to spend eternity. Attachments to land and places clearly run deep, even beyond to the other side...

Of course, anywhere with as long a history and as complex a human drama as Paradise is bound to have stories attached, of tragedies and death, and of past residents who choose to linger in their paradise. The isolated mountain location is also incredibly evocative; some crew members jokingly compare it to The Shining, particularly during winter when all the guests have gone, the only access is by snowmobile and it’s lonely and quiet...

And of course, there ARE stories. Many believe the front cabin Silver Dollar - one of the ranch’s original structures - is haunted; one of our housekeepers Kate swears she saw a ghostly male figure passing through the kitchen area just a few weeks ago. There is also the tragic tale of the hunting guide who shot himself in the head in another cabin, leaving a pool of blood and his sideburns plastered to the log walls...

There is also a long Indian history associated with the ranch, which may or may not be relevant to its high energy levels. The Crow nation used to pow wow on the land as recently as the 1950s; and there is speculation that tribes passed through here on the way back from the Battle of Little Big Horn, finding refuge for the women and children behind Fan Rock.

Whether the stories have any foundation or not, the fact remains that Paradise Ranch is a ghostbusters dream. And when this week’s 20-something-year-old guests from Indiana - Casey, Christina and John Michael - found out I had a background in paranormal research from my television series and three spooky-la-la books, they asked me to join them in a ghost hunt in the saloon, allegedly the most haunted place on the ranch.

According to previous ghostbusters, French Creek Saloon - built in 1927 and one of the oldest buildings on the ranch - has more than one presence; said to be benign, but nonetheless very active. Many a bartender has complained that the place is creepy, particularly upstairs where the infamous ‘blue lady’ is said to dwell. Of course, she was said to be a prostitute ... or maybe just a horny crew member, who resided there when it was actual living quarters. That certainly wouldn’t surprise me...

Anyhoo, the four of us - plus sous chef Tim, adding a touch of cynicism and his signature ‘tourettes’ cussing - met inside the saloon after midnight, after the bar had closed following an extremely lively Saturday night session. Unfortunately, the bar lights and electrical equipment stays on all the time; so it wasn’t pitch black or as quiet as I’d prefer for a genuine ghost hunt.

      (upstairs in the saloon, with what appears to be a big fat orb hovering above the chairs)

The kids came armed with their mobile phones, downloaded with an app which provides all the necessary ghost hunting tools; an EMF meter (measuring electronic fluctuations), thermometer, a ‘ghost radar’ and even a type of EVP (said to detect subliminal voice messages). I’m a little sceptical of how all this technology works, or if it’s just a crock of paranormal wizardry - but either way, it gave us some means of detecting a presence or otherwise. I also went and grabbed my camera, to see if any anomalies appeared in a photo.

According to our equipment, the most active place was not upstairs, where we began the ‘hunt’, but downstairs in the saloon itself, where what appeared to be an restless presence was moving from the lounge to the piano and over to the jukebox (which many people think is haunted, as it spontaneously begins to play music at opportune -or inopportune - moments...) 

                                                (the haunted jukebox)

                            (Casey and John Michael examining their ghost-busting phones)

Christina even had one intense moment when she was inexplicably overcome with sadness, following by frantic beeping on the radar and a voice message, ‘hate’. All spine-shivering stuff for open minds...

After nearly two hours of chasing spirits, however, I needed to hit the sack, so we called it a night, with our conclusions being ‘inconclusive’. Always a good fallback for a ghost buster, and one which gives us an excuse to try again another night...