We have taken a small sabbatical from our hobby of ghost hunting. The month of October was extremely busy. So much so, in fact, that our college classes were suffering and we had to work hard to get our grades up. Fall term has now officially ended and we have a few weeks before the beginning of winter term. I am using this time to finish reviewing the evidence from six weeks ago.
The weekend following Halloween we decided to drive a few hours away from our home to an old mining town in eastern Oregon—Baker City. I have always wanted to visit Baker City and see the Oregon Trail Interpretive museum and the deep ruts left from countless covered wagons.
It wasn’t just history that inspired us to drive 220 miles, however. The local hotel was reputed to be haunted and a weekend of ghost hunting was arranged for anyone with a few hundred dollars to spend. A group of paranormal investigators out of Boise, Idaho hosted the event.
Upon arriving at The Geyser Grand Hotel in Baker City, we checked into our large and luxuriant room. I felt like I had stepped back into a film from the silver screen era. I tried to imagine the cast of “Paint Your Wagon” (one of my favorite movies!) staying in the rooms while they filmed in the nearby hills.
The first night, Trevor and I got to investigate an old brothel. This was the equivalent of a paranormal wet dream for me. I have always been fascinated by brothels and prostitution and imagine I must have been a prostitute in a previous life. We also investigated The Geyser Grand and another, higher class, brothel the following night.
I learned something interesting that weekend—ghost hunting is not a team sport. Nor are all ghost hunters created equal. I have hours of recorded data and zero evidence. Too many cooks in the kitchen spoil the pudding, and too many ghost hunters spoil the investigation.
As an introvert, I am perfectly content to go off with my camera and digital recorder, by myself, where I know I can control my environment. Any evidence I collect is real evidence because I am the only one present and I know my own voice well enough to know when a sound is me or not. In a room full of 10, 15, 20 people out for a lark the possibility of collecting anything genuine is impossible because there’s no way of knowing if the sounds are spectral or human. Since our policy is ‘When in doubt throw it out,’ it was a wasted weekend when it comes to evidence.
I also learned another valuable lesson—I don’t play well with others. I wanted to investigate. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t care what someone had for dinner or what they thought of their rooms. I wanted silence so I could listen! We weren’t permitted to go off by ourselves but were required to stay with the assigned team leader—shackled to them as children on a field trip. These team leaders would get shifty if I just went into another room.
Their OCD way of controlling the investigation ended there, however. Controlling the living was of greater importance than gathering quality evidence. Question after question was fired off with only a few seconds in-between: “What’s your name?” “Did you like being a prostitute?” “What was your favorite color?” “What was your favorite food?” “Will I get pregnant again?” etc, etc, etc. It became more of a game of who could think of the most original question rather than a desire to hear responses.
And that’s the other thing, if I was a spirit and a bunch of total strangers invaded my space and started demanding answers from me I would likely be insulted. I am beginning to realize, more and more, that resident entities don’t like to perform. On the last night we were there, I waited till everyone else was in bed (sometime after 3am) and snuck out of the room to investigate some of the locations on my own. I spent an hour ducking the night clerk and trying to contact whatever resident spirits wandered the halls.
Flapper girls have been seen on the second floor balcony. A little girl has been seen on the third floor. And a bell hop who was decapitated by a dumb-waiter has been seen in the basement.
I didn’t get any evidence on my solo excursion. I wondered if the spirits had gotten tired of the constant harassment! The best evidence I have collected in my varied ghost hunts has been in surprising places, unfrequented by the paranormally obsessed crowds.
The weekend in Baker City ended rather disastrously when I had a confrontation with the manager of the paranormal group. I was tired of being told where I could and could not go. I couldn’t even stand out on the sidewalk of a deserted town without being chewed out. I felt like I was dealing with someone who had major control issues! Her minions would jump at her every appearance and defer to her in every situation. When I suggested an organized coup at dinner, one of the investigators admitted to being kicked out of the group when she chose to disagree with the manager. I believe in organization, but there is a difference between organization and tyranny.
I realize that one experience shouldn’t color my perspective of the entire paranormal community. But I must admit that the weekend took the wind from my sails and I haven’t really wanted to do any ghost hunting. It’s rather ironic really, last Halloween I had a bad experience with a dark, unseen energy, and this year it was the darkest entity I have ever experienced—of the human variety. I believe I will avoid large, publicized ghost hunts in the future.
Of course, there is always the possibility that all of this is the result of two immovable forces colliding. I typically prefer to be in control and I rarely encounter a situation in which control is taken away from me, especially by another woman. I will say, however, that I was extremely grateful for the full service bar in the lobby of the hotel and used its angst-drowning benefits on more than one occasion. Cheers, ghost hunters!
The weekend following Halloween we decided to drive a few hours away from our home to an old mining town in eastern Oregon—Baker City. I have always wanted to visit Baker City and see the Oregon Trail Interpretive museum and the deep ruts left from countless covered wagons.
It wasn’t just history that inspired us to drive 220 miles, however. The local hotel was reputed to be haunted and a weekend of ghost hunting was arranged for anyone with a few hundred dollars to spend. A group of paranormal investigators out of Boise, Idaho hosted the event.
Upon arriving at The Geyser Grand Hotel in Baker City, we checked into our large and luxuriant room. I felt like I had stepped back into a film from the silver screen era. I tried to imagine the cast of “Paint Your Wagon” (one of my favorite movies!) staying in the rooms while they filmed in the nearby hills.
The first night, Trevor and I got to investigate an old brothel. This was the equivalent of a paranormal wet dream for me. I have always been fascinated by brothels and prostitution and imagine I must have been a prostitute in a previous life. We also investigated The Geyser Grand and another, higher class, brothel the following night.
I learned something interesting that weekend—ghost hunting is not a team sport. Nor are all ghost hunters created equal. I have hours of recorded data and zero evidence. Too many cooks in the kitchen spoil the pudding, and too many ghost hunters spoil the investigation.
As an introvert, I am perfectly content to go off with my camera and digital recorder, by myself, where I know I can control my environment. Any evidence I collect is real evidence because I am the only one present and I know my own voice well enough to know when a sound is me or not. In a room full of 10, 15, 20 people out for a lark the possibility of collecting anything genuine is impossible because there’s no way of knowing if the sounds are spectral or human. Since our policy is ‘When in doubt throw it out,’ it was a wasted weekend when it comes to evidence.
I also learned another valuable lesson—I don’t play well with others. I wanted to investigate. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t care what someone had for dinner or what they thought of their rooms. I wanted silence so I could listen! We weren’t permitted to go off by ourselves but were required to stay with the assigned team leader—shackled to them as children on a field trip. These team leaders would get shifty if I just went into another room.
Their OCD way of controlling the investigation ended there, however. Controlling the living was of greater importance than gathering quality evidence. Question after question was fired off with only a few seconds in-between: “What’s your name?” “Did you like being a prostitute?” “What was your favorite color?” “What was your favorite food?” “Will I get pregnant again?” etc, etc, etc. It became more of a game of who could think of the most original question rather than a desire to hear responses.
And that’s the other thing, if I was a spirit and a bunch of total strangers invaded my space and started demanding answers from me I would likely be insulted. I am beginning to realize, more and more, that resident entities don’t like to perform. On the last night we were there, I waited till everyone else was in bed (sometime after 3am) and snuck out of the room to investigate some of the locations on my own. I spent an hour ducking the night clerk and trying to contact whatever resident spirits wandered the halls.
Flapper girls have been seen on the second floor balcony. A little girl has been seen on the third floor. And a bell hop who was decapitated by a dumb-waiter has been seen in the basement.
I didn’t get any evidence on my solo excursion. I wondered if the spirits had gotten tired of the constant harassment! The best evidence I have collected in my varied ghost hunts has been in surprising places, unfrequented by the paranormally obsessed crowds.
The weekend in Baker City ended rather disastrously when I had a confrontation with the manager of the paranormal group. I was tired of being told where I could and could not go. I couldn’t even stand out on the sidewalk of a deserted town without being chewed out. I felt like I was dealing with someone who had major control issues! Her minions would jump at her every appearance and defer to her in every situation. When I suggested an organized coup at dinner, one of the investigators admitted to being kicked out of the group when she chose to disagree with the manager. I believe in organization, but there is a difference between organization and tyranny.
I realize that one experience shouldn’t color my perspective of the entire paranormal community. But I must admit that the weekend took the wind from my sails and I haven’t really wanted to do any ghost hunting. It’s rather ironic really, last Halloween I had a bad experience with a dark, unseen energy, and this year it was the darkest entity I have ever experienced—of the human variety. I believe I will avoid large, publicized ghost hunts in the future.
Of course, there is always the possibility that all of this is the result of two immovable forces colliding. I typically prefer to be in control and I rarely encounter a situation in which control is taken away from me, especially by another woman. I will say, however, that I was extremely grateful for the full service bar in the lobby of the hotel and used its angst-drowning benefits on more than one occasion. Cheers, ghost hunters!
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