I Survived a Night at the Oregon Lodge Where ‘The Shining’ Was Filmed

The historic Timberline Lodge perches majestically on the shoulder of Mt. Hood, an icon in this part of Oregon. I was fortunate enough to snag a hard-to-come-by summer reservation, and only because I booked three months in advance for a Thursday night (the weekend spots were long gone). As I wound my way up the switchbacks of Timberline Road, past the 4,000-foot and mile-high marks, I tried to catch a glimpse of the lodge, but all I saw was the occasional view of the snow on Mt. Hood's summit glowing in the waning sunlight. I rounded a curve just below 6,000 feet, and suddenly, there it was, looming above me and dominating the alpine landscape like a gothic castle on a Transylvanian mountain.

If my description sounds dramatic, don't forget that Timberline Lodge was used for the exterior shots of the fictional Overlook Hotel in Stanley Kubrick's classic 1980 adaptation of The Shining. You know: "Redrum," "Come play with us," and of course, Jack Nicholson murdering a door with an axe and growling, "Heeere's Johnny!" Needless to say, the Timberline Lodge is an imposing structure—outside and in.

The lodge's stone and timber construction makes its lower-level common areas feel heavy and almost overpowering, with massive fireplaces, artifacts of mountain life, and ornate details at every turn. It's almost as if the entire weight of Mt. Hood is pressing down upon you.

As if that wasn't claustrophobic enough, the halls to the rooms are dimly illuminated and about as narrow as the Grady Twins' shoulders. I could see why, in the wake of The Shining, rumors about ghosts and demons began to creep into the narrative of Timberline Lodge. When I asked staff members, however, they quickly dismissed the idea of any hauntings or paranormal activity at the resort.

Like the hallway, my room, a standard queen, was also compact with little space for a sturdy fellow like myself to maneuver—fortunately, I wasn't carrying much luggage.

On the other hand, all the amenities were up-to-date, and the furniture was comfortable; I was particularly taken with the bespoke soap made for the lodge by a local artisan using snow from Mt. Hood. Speaking of which, although my room had only one window, directly adjacent to a little writing desk, its summit views let in a little magic.

After getting situated, I went down for dinner at the Cascade Dining Room and entered the main common area: a two-story atrium centered around a formidable, two-sided fireplace and floor-to-ceiling chimney. One entire side of the space was windows affording views up and across flower-spackled Alpine meadows and sheets of snow to Mt. Hood's peak. My sense of foreboding lifted, and I enjoyed a delicious meal with some lovely drinks as I watched the sun slide gently behind the Cascades.

Heading back to my room after dinner, I noticed that all the newel posts were adorned with animal totems. When I saw that an owl stood guard over the entrance to my hallway, I knew everything would be just fine. And it was. I slept soundly, my bed was comfortable, and I awoke to the sight of skiers—looking like tiny ants on the massive snowfield—schussing down the slopes of Mt. Hood on an August morning.

I went downstairs for coffee and breakfast, stopping by the Ram's Head Bar, on the second level of the atrium, to have a look around. Below me, people were relaxing and enjoying the sunlight streaming in, and Pacific Crest Trail hikers lounged here and there, packs leaning against the walls, charging their devices, loading up on restaurant food, and savoring coffee they didn't have to make. The PCT passes right through the property, so the Timberline Lodge often represents a day of planned indulgence for those hiking long sections of the trail.

After I'd had my fill, I took a stroll outside, found the PCT, and walked it for a few hundred feet before turning off to look at some wildflowers. I zigzagged the resort's paths, enjoying the crisp air and the beautiful native landscaping. Eventually, I decided more coffee was necessary, so I headed back inside to sit for a spell and enjoy the views with a mug of warm java pressed into my palm.

I survived my night at the Timberline Lodge—and then some. In the end, the only thing that frightened me was what I would see on my credit card statement. In fact, looking up at Mt. Hood in the morning, I was reluctant to leave, but I knew they had no place for me that night. So, I loaded up my car, took another lap around the lodge, and began my slow, switch-backing descent down the mountain, the flinty summit occasionally gracing my rearview mirror.

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