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In May 2021, Governor Jared Polis, Senator Michael Bennet, Congressman Joe Neguse and Agriculture Secretary Tom Vilsack sat on a hillside on the north side of a Colorado property and talked about forestry. The land was Drala Mountain Center, six hundred acres near Red Feather Lakes. The subject was what its conservation work had done when the Cameron Peak Fire came over the ridge in 2020. In a letter to staff, land steward Mac McGoldrick described how firefighters first fell back from the heat, then realized the fire was heading into the center's treated areas and contained it there. The Colorado State Forest Service director, he wrote, took his hat off in salute. The center had completed a forestry project in 2018, and in 2019 it received the Larimer County Land Stewardship Award. The work continues under a Land Steward, with regional conservation partners. The land's spiritual life came first. Chögyam Trungpa (1939-1987), trained in the Kagyu and Nyingma lineages and in North America after his 1959 escape from Tibet, founded the center in 1971. Visiting teachers over the decades have included the 14th Dalai Lama, the 16th Karmapa and Pema Chödrön. The center carries forward his secular Shambhala teachings alongside Buddhist and other wisdom traditions. Today it is an educational nonprofit, with over 100 year-round offerings in meditation, yoga, mindful living, contemplative arts and eco-dharma. The Great Stupa of Dharmakaya draws day visitors from 9 AM to sunset daily. Lodging runs from lodge rooms to seasonal platform tents on wooded hillsides, with meals included. Group spaces hold workshops of 35 to 150, and the center's silent retreats were the subject of a 2025 Washington Post piece.
Traditions: Kagyu and Nyingma Buddhism, Shambhala teachings, Mindfulness meditation, Mahamudra, Yoga, Silent retreat
Programs: Peace and Freedom: A Silent Week of Meditation, Foundations of Meditation I: Establishing the Ground, Foundations of Meditation II: Deepening the Path, Fully Being weekend retreat with Adam Kane, Reset, Rise, & Reconnect: A Yogic Journey to your True Self, Retreat & Renewal, Solo Retreat, Vajrayogini Intensive with the Dorje Loppön
Amenities: High-Altitude Mountain Setting, Forest & Meadow Trails, Three Daily Meals Included, Vegetarian & Vegan Options, Gluten-Free Meal Options, Communal Dining Hall, Golf Cart Transport Available, Single-Floor Lodging Options, Stupa & Prayer Flags, Dark Sky Stargazing
Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche (Founding Teacher): Tibetan meditation master who founded the property in 1971 and transmitted both Vajrayana Buddhism and the Shambhala terma teachings that continue to anchor the center's contemplative vision.
Shambhala Buddhism (Lineage): The root tradition emphasizing basic goodness, secular warriorship, and creating enlightened society, which Drala Mountain Center honors while remaining open to broader contemplative offerings.
Kagyu and Nyingma (Tibetan Lineages): The traditional Tibetan Buddhist schools in which Trungpa trained and through which Vajrayana practices continue to be taught at the center.
Sacred Architecture as Teaching (Ethos): The Great Stupa—108 feet of architecture built to last a millennium—embodies the principle that place, form, and beauty themselves transmit dharma and transform visitors.
Land Stewardship (Practice): The center engages 600 acres through forest restoration, stream rehabilitation, and wildlife care, treating ecological relationship as inseparable from contemplative practice.
Institutional Independence (Ethos): After weathering crisis and rupture, the center chose independence over affiliation and filed bankruptcy to restructure rather than close, embodying resilience and openness over brand loyalty.
The Great Stupa of Dharmakaya is the centerpiece—108 feet tall, gilded spire, visible from most of the property—and it's not just decorative; people circumambulate it daily between sessions. The Shambhala lineage here, established by Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche, emphasizes warriorship and secular contemplative practice alongside traditional vajrayana, which means you'll encounter both longtime Buddhists doing month-long silent dathüns and leadership groups learning facilitation through meditation. At 8,600 feet in Red Feather Lakes, the altitude is a practice variable you can't ignore—breath gets short, tea hits different, and silence has literal atmospheric weight. The place was founded in 2000 as Shambhala Mountain Center and renamed Drala Mountain Center in 2022, so some signage and references still show the old name. It's less polished resort, more high-altitude working dharma center where ravens outnumber visitors most weeks.
If you need cushy accommodations or expect spa-style pampering, this isn't it—shared dorms are the norm, and even private cabins are spare. The altitude at 8,600 feet genuinely affects people; first-timers from sea level often get headaches or feel winded walking between buildings, and if you have respiratory issues, consult a doctor before booking. The Shambhala tradition has structure—shrine room protocols, specific sitting postures, teachings that assume familiarity with terms like "windhorse" and "basic goodness"—so total meditation beginners sometimes feel lost. Vegetarian-only meals served family-style mean limited dietary flexibility, and if you're the kind of person who needs alone time at meals, the communal tables can feel intrusive. People seeking silent personal retreat during family program weeks report noise and kids running the paths, which breaks the contemplative container.
Morning bell around 6:30 a.m., shrine room practice by 7:00—shamatha meditation, sometimes walking meditation if it's part of the program curriculum. Vegetarian breakfast is family-style in the dining hall around 8:30, then teachings or practice sessions mid-morning depending on whether you're in a weekend workshop or month-long dathün. Afternoons often hold another teaching block or empowerment, with breaks long enough to walk to the stupa or sit by Marpa Meadow watching the ponderosa pines sway. Dinner comes early, around 6:00 p.m., followed by evening practice or optional study groups. During dathün retreats, silence holds all day except for brief practice interviews; during weekend programs, there's more social mixing at meals and between sessions.
Vegetarian only, served family-style at long communal tables in the dining hall—think hearty soups, grain bowls, roasted vegetables, and surprisingly good desserts that reviewers mention consistently. The kitchen accommodates vegan and gluten-free requests if you notify them in advance, but you're not ordering off a menu; everyone eats the same meal with modifications plated separately. Meals happen at set times and the dining hall closes between service windows, so if you miss lunch, you're waiting until dinner or relying on the small snack shelf. Some find the communal tables and lack of choice meditative; others find it institutional and miss having protein options. The tea is excellent—high altitude makes everything steep stronger—and the kitchen staff earns consistent praise for making simple food taste better than it should.
Shared dormitories are the budget option—bunk beds, shared bathrooms down the hall, thin walls that broadcast every cough and rustle, but you're paying significantly less and bunking with fellow retreatants. Private rooms in the lodges get you your own space with a single bed, but bathrooms are still often shared and the rooms are sparse—no closet, minimal furniture, windows facing either forest or meadow depending on the building. Private cabins are the top tier, with en-suite bathrooms and more square footage, though "cabin" is generous; they're still monastic in feel, just quieter. Yurts are available seasonally and split the difference—more character than dorms, less insulation than cabins, and you'll hear the wind snapping the canvas at night. Book private if you're a light sleeper or doing intensive retreat; the dorms are fine for weekend workshops if you can sleep through noise.
The altitude hits harder than expected—people from lower elevations report headaches, shortness of breath walking uphill between buildings, and needing extra sleep the first two nights. The Great Stupa is genuinely massive and gorgeous, but also an active practice site, so wandering in during puja without knowing the protocol can feel awkward. Cell service is spotty to nonexistent across most of the 600 acres, which is intentional but startles people who assumed they'd check email between sessions. The positive surprise is how good the meals are for institutional vegetarian fare, and how attentive the staff is—everyone from housekeeping to teachers gets praised in reviews for going beyond baseline hospitality. The Milky Way visibility on clear nights is legitimately stunning, something most guests mention but few anticipate.
Program fees typically cover teachings, lodging, and all meals, but the $$$ price range means you're looking at several hundred dollars for a weekend workshop, over a thousand for week-long retreats, and significantly more for month-long dathüns. Scholarships and work-study slots exist—Drala explicitly operates as a 501c3 nonprofit and offers financial aid—but you need to apply early because they fill quickly. What's not included: travel to Red Feather Lakes (an hour northwest of Fort Collins with no public transit), personal supplies, and dana offerings for teachers, which are customary in Buddhist contexts but not mandatory. Some programs require Shambhala membership or prerequisite courses, which add cost if you're new to the lineage. The transparency is decent—program pages list what's covered—but budget extra for the reality that you'll want to offer dana and may need altitude-sickness remedies from the small on-site shop.
Introductory programs explicitly welcome beginners and teach shamatha from scratch, but many retreats assume familiarity with Shambhala-specific terms, lineage history, and sitting posture. The Shambhala tradition blends Tibetan vajrayana Buddhism with secular contemplative philosophy, so some programs feel devotional (empowerments, refuge vows) while others feel more like leadership training with meditation breaks. Silence isn't required at all programs—family weeks and workshop weekends include plenty of talking—but dathün and intensive retreats hold strict noble silence for weeks. If you're allergic to any religious framing, the shrine rooms with thangkas, statues, and chanting might grate; if you're curious but cautious, weekend programs let you sample the approach without committing to month-long silence. First-timer fears about not meditating "correctly" are mostly unfounded; instruction is patient and detailed.
High valley at 8,600 feet, surrounded by ponderosa pines that creak audibly in the wind, with Marpa Meadow stretching flat and gold depending on the season. The Great Stupa dominates the visual field—gilded, massive, incongruous against the scrubby Colorado landscape—and prayer flags snap on every ridgeline and path junction. The 600 acres feel genuinely remote; Red Feather Lakes is an hour from Fort Collins and the night sky delivers the Milky Way most clear nights. Paths between buildings are dirt, sometimes muddy after rain, and the wind is constant and cold even in summer once the sun drops. It's not manicured or lush—think high-altitude spare beauty, ravens circling, the kind of landscape that makes silence feel natural rather than imposed.
Shoes off before entering shrine rooms, and you're expected to bow toward the shrine when entering and leaving—skip this and you'll get polite corrections. Phones are discouraged in most program spaces; some retreats ask you to leave them in your room entirely, and checking email in the dining hall between bites reads as disrespectful. During silent retreats, even eye contact is minimized, but during workshop weekends, people chat freely on the paths and at meals. If you need to leave a teaching session early, slip out during a break rather than mid-instruction; the rooms are small enough that movement is disruptive. Dana offerings for teachers happen at the end of programs—cash in an envelope, amount unstated but customary—and though it's optional, longtime sangha members contribute and it's noticed if you don't.
Layers for extreme temperature swings—mornings can be freezing even in July, afternoons blister with high-altitude sun, and evenings drop fast once the wind picks up. Sunscreen and lip balm are critical; the UV exposure at 8,600 feet burns people who thought they'd be fine, and the wind chaps lips within a day. A good water bottle matters because altitude dehydration is real and the dining hall isn't always open when you're thirsty. Headlamp or small flashlight for walking between buildings at night; the paths aren't well-lit and stumbling in the dark is common. If you're in a dorm, earplugs and an eye mask are non-negotiable unless you sleep through anything. Warm socks and slippers for shrine rooms, since you're sitting on cushions in stocking feet for hours.
The terrain is hilly and paths between buildings are unpaved dirt, which makes wheelchair access difficult, and the altitude itself is a barrier for people with respiratory or cardiac conditions. Some lodge buildings have accessible rooms with grab bars and roll-in showers, but the stupa involves stairs and the shrine rooms often require sitting on floor cushions, though chairs are available if you ask. Staff are noted as attentive and willing to accommodate requests, but the infrastructure is more monastic-rustic than ADA-compliant resort. If you need specific mobility support, call ahead and have a detailed conversation with the registrar rather than assuming based on the website. The elevation and walking distances between dining hall, lodging, and practice spaces are the real limiting factors, not malice or neglect.