King of the Road - December 2009
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The High Life
Discover a new attitude—and altitude—in Alto
Story and Photography by Lesley S. King
When I pull into the village of Alto, on N.M. 48, about 180 miles southeast of Albuquerque and five miles from Ruidoso, I’m a bit road-worn. After five days in the saddle, my rear end is sore and my stomach is grumbling from too many frijoles. But I repeat to myself my travel mantra—two words that have gotten me through the worst of life’s worst: So what?
I say those words whenever I start taking life too seriously, and as I explore this town, perched some 7,300 feet above sea level (and whose name is Spanish for high), I realize that its residents have a similar attitude. It’s a way of seeing life’s glass as neither half-empty nor half-full, but brimming over.
I first encounter this viewpoint at Ruidoso Winter Park. I mean, really—you have to have a positive outlook to put a sledding area in southern New Mexico. Granted, the elevation here makes up for the latitude, but still, these mountains are surrounded by desert.
Tom Dorgan and his son Kc opened the area in 1997 with one sledding hill. Soon they installed “magic carpet” walkways to cart folks and their inner tubes to the top of eight chutes, some steep, some more gentle, and one with a jump. They also installed snowmaking equipment to ensure good conditions. “The fun of it is, anybody can do it,” says Kc. “You don’t need special skills.” He helps me pick an inner tube, then waves as I head uphill on my magic carpet ride.
My trip down the mountain requires quite a bit of positive attitude. Despite being an avid skier since I was four, riding a tube—with no way to control it—just about undoes me. Eventually, I let go and speed down the slope—laughing as I spin—and finally coast to a stop, my heart nearly beating its way out of my chest. It doesn’t calm me to know that Kc’s grandmother did this at the age of 82.
DAY-TRIP TIPS What to do: Spencer Theater Where to Dine: La Sierra Mexican Restaurant Where to Stay: Where to Stay and Dine: |
Searching for Alto’s quiet side, I head for one of the four golf communities snaking through the pines, where I meet Sharon Adamy. A dozen years ago, she and her husband, Earl, moved here from Wichita, Kansas. “Our home came with furniture, a country-club membership, and a herd of deer,” she says. In fact, those are just a few of the bonuses of this area, whose residents boast of hitting the slopes at nearby Ski Apache, seven miles west on N.M. 532, and golfing later the same day.
Adamy’s transition from life in a Midwestern city to this town of some 1,200 residents took some optimism on her part. She was daunted by the wildlife—which includes elk, wild turkey, cougar, and black bear—and the slower lifestyle. But she adapted: “In a small town, you have to rely on your friends, but at times even they are away, and then you have to be self-fulfilling.”
Adamy does this with her art, as do many others in Alto. A signature member of the Pastel Society of New Mexico—a recognition awarded for her successes in art shows—Adamy spends her days creating portraits and landscapes of the area, as well as of Italy and Mexico, which she sells at Twisted Pine Studio in Alto, and at Josie’s Framery in nearby Ruidoso, a town of more than 9,000 residents five miles south, on N.M. 48.
Leaving Adamy, I explore the many activities available here. The sprawling white structures of Fort Stanton, built in 1855 to encourage settlement, stand in a broad meadow, and the Monjeau Lookout, a 1936 fire-observation post, offers views across the Lincoln National Forest. In the warmer months, the Flying J Ranch hosts Old West entertainment and chuckwagon dinners, and Bonito Lake offers good fishing.
But Alto’s most brilliant star shines in the evening, and is the perfect expression of the town’s optimism: the 49,474-square-foot Spencer Theater for the Performing Arts. One evening, all gussied up, I enter the hall to find it an intimate place of only 514 seats. Surrounding me in an atrium, and throughout the lobby, stand four blown-glass installations by notable Seattle artist Dale Chihuly. My favorite, the bright Indian Paint Brushes, is so vibrantly lit that its scarlet glass appears to be on fire.
The seed of Spencer Theater germinated in 1953, when patroness Jackie Spencer moved to nearby Carrizozo to be with her new husband, rancher and family doctor A. N. Spencer. She cherished the quiet here but missed the culture of city life. For 15 years she sought financing and planned the theater, which opened in 1997, and since then has hosted more than 400 professional performances, including, in recent years, guitar great Ottmar Liebert with Luna Negra, the Broadway shows The Producers and The Drowsy Chaperone, and my treat this night, a one-woman comedy, music, and dance performance by Taxi’s Marilu Henner. As the lights dim, the night takes on that wonderful, electric feeling that only live theater can conjure. Over the next few hours I laugh, tap my foot to familiar melodies, and grow teary-eyed at poignant moments.
But it’s natural that Spencer Theater should evoke such emotion—it’s a masterwork itself, designed by noted Albuquerque architect Antoine Predock. He set out to re-create the area’s natural elements—the plunging ravines, rocky outcroppings, and, most of all, the pyramidal peaks of the Sacramento Mountains, including the region’s highest, the 11,973-foot Sierra Blanca.
I sit back and realize I’ve completely forgotten my body’s road-weariness, and once again recognize the power of a good attitude. Here in Alto, when there’s no snow, they make it; and when they want a mountain of culture, they build it. This is my kind of town.
Find out more about Alto: www.altonewmexico.us/index/html
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"King of the Road" columnist Lesley S. King visits another little-known community in New Mexico each month.
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