Happy Halloween

We, at J and L Research and Exploration, want to wish everyone a safe and haunting good 

time on October 31st.

Travel with fellow goblins while scaring your neighbors, it's the right thing to do.

Raise your hands if you agree.

 

The Haunting at Apache Death Cave

As Laureen and I were driving west along Route 66, after visiting Winslow, Arizona – we decided to stop by a place that is so haunted, so scary, so unnaturally spooky that most humans would not dare to tread there.

Not being like most humans, we knew it was an experience we just had to visit on our very own.

Laureen is not that fancy on these spectral sorts of sites but since I was driving . . .

After pulling south off Route 66 by the ruins of the town of Two Guns, I was busy scanning my hand-held GPS looking for the scariest area near Two Guns.

Welcome to Two Guns, Arizona

“I don’t think this thing is working,” I told Laureen. “If I’m holding it correctly, we’re somewhere between Vienna and Salzburg.”

No reply from Laureen.

Suddenly I heard her from about 50 feet away. “It’s right here, I can feel it.”

Laureen Beyer looking for the Apache Death Cave

The reason Laureen does not like to travel to many supposedly haunted places is due to the fact she actually ‘feels’ something. A sense or foreboding of what may have occurred in the past at such a place.

Me, I usually feel hungry or thirsty. 

As in earlier articles concerning ‘haunted places’ I tend to be a bit of a skeptic. Don’t really think folks from the afterlife are lingering around waiting for me to invade their space.

“Hey, you are now in my personal ghost space. So rude of you that I will throw this antique rocking chair at your head.”

Of course, I do have to admit I have heard or seen things that I can not explain while traveling here and there.

I once saw a boy scout escort an elderly woman across the street in Houston, and I thought that only happened in Hallmark films.

“What is right here that you can feel it?” I asked Laureen, finally giving up on the hand-held GPS which had me now somewhere east of Moscow.

“The cave, it’s right here,” she replied.

The Apache Death Cave

The cave, Laureen was mentioning, was the famed Apache Death Cave located about 12 miles west of Meteor Crater in Arizona along Route 66.

The legend is terrifically sad.

In the late 19th century, the two dominate native tribes residing in the area were the Apache and the Navajo. These two groups did not get a long well together and often raided and killed each other over territory or perhaps because they did not like each other.

But in 1878 it is rumored that some Apaches entered two Navajo camps and killed everyone except three young girls whom they kidnapped.

Other Navajo warriors hearing of this diabolical action started to chase the Apache to seek their revenge and get the girls back.

The Navajo were closing the gap of the fleeing Apache but suddenly lost sight of them near the edge of the Canyon Diablo, a long arroyo that meanders through the territory.

Getting off their horses, the Navajo looked high and low and low and high but could not locate the Apache.

Just then, as the story goes, one of the Navajo thought he heard voices coming from somewhere below him and then found a deep cave carved into the Kaibab Limestone.

Sure enough, the Apache had ridden into the large cave with their horses and captives hoping to trick the tracking Navajo.

The ruse did not work.

Grabbing a lot of sagebrush, the Navajo decided to smoke the Apache out of the cave by lighting the bushes on fire.

Moments later, a few Apache ran from the cave but were immediately killed by the waiting Navajo.

It only took a few minutes to realize the captives had been murdered by the Apache, so the rest of the Navajo posse decided to finish the job and continued to throw large amounts of burning sagebrush into the mouth of the cave.

There was no chance for escape for any of the Apache trapped within the walls of the cave. 42 Apache succumbed to the smoke and fire.

I wandered over to where Laureen was standing by a small rock border, and she pointed downward. Sure enough, there was a cave which seemed as though the walls may have been smoke damaged sometime in the past.

“The hairs are standing up on head,” she stated.

Looking at her perfectly quaffed hair, I did not know what to say. So, I said nothing.

An old wooden ladder type of bridge ran across the width of the cave allowing the visitor a chance to get closer into the cave.

The bridge leading to the cave

“You first,” I said.

“Me never,” Laureen replied.

After a few tense moments of rock scrambling and teetering on the wooden bridge, I found myself at the bottom of the cave. 

It was dark inside the cave. 

“Do you feel anything?” 

“Yes,” I replied.

“Wow, what?”

“I think I dislocated my right shoulder.”

The cave was longer than I had thought it would be. I wandered a bit bumping into this wall or that wall, once nearly knocking off the top of my head on a low ceiling and thought that if the ghosts of the murdered Apache were not going to talk to me, it was time to call this adventure off.

Besides, it did seem rather spooky in that dark hole in the ground alone.

Not a lot of room inside the Apache Death Cave

“You want to come down, and see?”

“Nope.”

After dusting myself off and making sure my forehead was not bleeding, I noticed that Laureen was not looking quite herself.

She told me that there was something in the immediate surroundings she could sense. A sense of doom, of tragedy, of unmistakable horror.

“They were afraid to die in such a way.”

I do not question her feelings. I may do it inwardly but not outwardly.

But there was something different in that cave – I am not saying I felt what Laureen did, but it was rather oppressive in the cave. Almost suffocating, but that could be the close quarters and wandering around in a dark place by yourself.

New Reality paranormal investigators, Shawn and Cody, had visited the Apache Death Cave in the past and recorded their investigation for their hit series.

They felt and heard things while pulling their stint within that cave.

We spent time with them when they investigated a haunted ranch house in Lucerne. We all heard and experienced things that long haunting night.

These guys are experts in this paranormal field.

But I am still a skeptic. I am waiting for Casper to come sit next to me on the sofa and explain clearly why he is a ghost and why I need to believe.

In 1881, a bridge was built across Canyon Diablo by the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad and a small tent city, named Canyon Diablo was constructed for the workers.

Canyon Diablo

But that little tent city grew up to be a rootin’-tootin’ full-time town which made Tombstone look like a children’s nursery school.

The population boomed to 2,000 folks overnight and there was at least one killing in the streets near the dozen saloons, gambling halls, and brothels each day.

In fact, the first Marshall hired to protect the town was shot dead three hours later. It was a lawless town.

Boot Hill became so full that the undertaker ran out of room for any new customers.

One problem with this tale, according to the Republic Newspaper out of Arizona, is that this town probably never existed.

Images of town that may have never existed?

In an article written by Scott Craven, the town had been created by a fictional writer by the name of Gladwell Richardson who passed away in 1980 who had written nearly 300 western novels under various pseudonyms.

When the bridge was completed, the tent city moved on.

It was also Richardson who first wrote about the Apache Death Cave in his only non-fiction book about the town of Two Guns, Arizona. Prior to him writing about it in his book the tragic event had never seen print.

Seems, that both a town so wild Doc Holiday would have circumvented it and a horrific story such as the Apache Death Cave had occurred there should be more mention of it in the history books.

But, as with many historical records, things may get a bit exaggerated by those writing those histories.

Those silly writers. Who do they think they are embellishing here and there?

We walked around studying the layout, checking this out and checking that out and Laureen said she could still feel that something tragic had occurred here in the past.

Perhaps something had happened to the Apache and Navajo in the 19th century and perhaps not.

A town may have been here that was totally lawless but perhaps not.

That is the way with myths and legends, they grow stronger as the decades slip by.

Are they true or does it really matter?

Something was here at some time

Visit Kingman, Arizona for a Haunting Good Time

According to local resident, Art, there are some strange sounds coming out of a long and relatively narrow canyon near his neighborhood.

“Yeah, I have heard what could be referred to as shrieks in the late evening hours,” he said.

My buddy Paul had traveled with me to Kingman, Arizona to check out a couple of possibly scary haunts.

Laureen said nope when I advised her that the first stop would be Slaughterhouse Canyon.

After showing her some research I had conducted on the chilly-willy versions of what had gone down in the canyon there was no way Laureen would travel with me.

I asked Paul.

“Are you buying lunch?”

“If I have to,” I responded.

“You do and I’m going.”

Laureen feels things when it comes to the ghouls and goblins from the supposed afterlife. She’ll state something to the effect – “Something bad happened here; I feel a sense of doom.”

Like a good husband, I nodded my head.

Slaughterhouse Canyon is easy to locate in Kingman. Drive onto Andy Devine Avenue and look for the sign with a big finger pointing and the written words beneath it - ‘This way to Slaughterhouse Canyon – but beware.’

It is just northwest of a large housing tract where our new local friend Art lived.

In an article from the online site ‘Only In Your State,’ the canyon received its scary name from an event which may have occurred in the mid-1800s.

A family consisting of a father, mother and three children lived in a ramshackle cabin in the canyon next to a consistently running creek. The husband was a miner but not a particularly good one and the family had a tough time financially.

One day he left and never returned. With no one supplying what the family needed, the mother grew desperate watching her children getting hungrier and hungrier by the day. Legend has it that she could not take watching her children starve the death, so she murdered them to save them from such a long and painful death. She then threw their remains in the creek and took her own life soon afterwards.

Visitors to Slaughterhouse Canyon have reported feeling the anguish that still permeates the air, according to the article. And on evenings and nights when the air is quite still, it is said that you can hear the screams of the children.

With all due deference, Paul and I were there in the late morning hours and all we heard were birds chirping, lizards scampering, and butterflies flapping.

“We have a lot of coyotes around here and that’s the sound I hear coming from inside the canyon,” Art said.

“No blood curdling screams of anguish and pain?” I asked.

“Nope, just coyotes baying at the moon.”

Enough said, that is a haunting sound all of its own. 

We drove along a well graded dirt track along Slaughterhouse Canyon Road – yes, there is a road by that name -- but we did not see any old ramshackled house where the mother and children may have lived.

Aerial view of Slaughterhouse Canyon Road

Slaughterhouse Canyon Road - Kingman, Arizona

However, there was a strange sort of round rock and metal structure that looked old. We mused what it may have been since there was no plaque telling us what it had been.

What could this be?

“An old icehouse to keep food fresh,” Paul pondered.

“A storage box for tools,” I said.

But with plenty of modern-day graffiti sprayed on it, we knew now it was a party place for youngsters who told their parents they were going to the library to study.

That excuse worked for me as a kid.

Caves for ghosts to hide in? Booo!

Neither one of us felt haunted while in the depths of the canyon. That is not to say something tragic did not happen long ago and if all the stories about the mother and children are true, may they rest in peace.

What a horrible decision that must have been made by a parent. That perhaps is a haunting enough story.

“What now?”

“Ghost hunting makes me thirsty,” I replied. “Let us find an old place for an adult libation and I will wager it is haunted too.”

The Sportsman’s Bar is in the historic section of Kingman and was built in the early 1900s. It is a wonderful place to visit.

A long wood bar top, which appears to be the original, stretches for nearly a hundred yards into the interior of the establishment. Pool tables, a jukebox, dart boards, animal heads mounted on the walls, American flags, and a ceiling made of metal panels, make this place one of the coolest saloons I have visited. Not that I visit many but have read stories of those who have.

The Sportsman’s Bar makes folks feel welcome with comfortable stools lined belly-up against the bar itself and that is where Paul and I plopped down.

Tammy Gross, the General Manager, and bartender extraordinaire, asked what we would be having.

“First,” I said. “Is this place haunted?”

She shook her head. “Not that I know of or at least I haven’t noticed anything.”

But the way she said it, I knew there was more to that story, and there was.

“Well, one day I was here alone, and the jukebox just started playing by itself,” she said. “We have it programmed to play random songs unless a customer puts money in and chooses the songs.”

“Uh huh,” I said.

“It ran through every song with a Tuesday in it. Ruby Tuesday by the Stones, Tuesday’s Dead by Cat Stevens, Sweet Tuesday Morning by Badfinger, I Think It’s Tuesday by the Drunks and every other song that had a mention of a Tuesday.”

“Huh,” I said.

“Yes, it was a Tuesday.”

“Makes sense since it was a Tuesday,” I replied. “It wouldn’t if it had been Wednesday, or they may have been pretty dumb ghosts.”

Tammy then mentioned that some other staff had seen lights go off and on with no one present. Sounds of people walking on the roof when no people were there.

“You know there are tunnels beneath all the buildings on this street. Tunnels the early miners used. No one is allowed to enter now due to their condition, but rumor has it that there is even an old Speakeasy down there used during the prohibition years.”

Secret tunnels lay beneath these Kingman businesses

A gentleman was sitting next to me by the name of Dean spoke up.

“I camp out near Sitgreaves Pass on old Route 66 out of Oatman and I’ve heard some things during the night I cannot explain.”

Turns out Dean is quite the outdoorsman and spends his time camping here and there when he has a chance. Along Sitgreaves Pass is a long view of the valley heading toward Kingman and he finds the solitude enjoyable.

That is until one night around midnight he was awakened by the sound of someone using a pick-axe nearby.

A lot of small mines had been started and abandoned near Oatman in the late 19th century but not much activity during the 21st century.

Well, someone or something was going to town trying to dig for riches on this evening.

“I got up, looked around and walked toward the sounds. The picking was so close I knew I would bump into whoever was working so late in the night on their mine. But suddenly the noise stopped. I stook there for a long time and nothing else happened. In the morning, I checked all around where I had heard the pickaxe, and nothing had been disturbed. It was very chilling to say the least.”

Perhaps an old miner had returned to try their luck one more time near Sitgreaves Pass without knowing a live body was nearby.

Next door to the Sportsman’s Bar is the Hotel Brunswick, listed as one of the most haunted hotels in the area.

Ghosts and shadow people wander all over the hotel – in fact, some shadow people walk through living people. Very rude indeed.

A little girl ghost frequents the dining room.

“Tammy, what about the Brunswick next door?” I asked. “Shadow people, ghosts wandering here and there without a care in the world.”

She looked around. “You know a shadow person is an entity in a sense that looks like a person. I have seen them.”

“At the Brunswick Hotel?”

She shook her head. “I’m pretty much of a local and have been in the hotel, the restaurant, and the bar lots of times. No shadow people there.”

“Huh,” I said.

“But others have seen them and heard strange sounds when the place was supposed to be empty.”

The Brunswick Hotel ready for a make-over

Unfortunately, the Brunswick Hotel was closed for refurbishing. The owners want to bring it back to its original beauty and will be something to see. The once grand establishment was built in 1909 and has hosted famous folks like Andy Devine, Barry Goldwater, and Clark Gable to name just a few. It was the poshest of the posh during its heyday.

Is Kingman haunted?

Could be, but more importantly historic Kingman deserves a visit and you never know, there’s always the possibility a ghost may introduce themselves.

 

 

The hauntings of the Captains Anchorage, Big Bear

 On a recent Saturday, I asked Laureen is she had any specific plans for the day.

She knew what that meant.

“A road trip?” she responded.

And, within forty minutes we were on our way to Big Bear, in the San Bernardino Mountains. It is one of our favorite haunts.

Haunts – I like that, since it is October. That spooky time of year.

 Big Bear – there is Big Bear City and Big Bear Lake, for those who haven’t travelled Highway 18 to either of those locales. Traveling this road is to witness tall glorious pine trees, a blue lake, hiking trails, off-road trails, eating and shopping in the Village, and so much more.

We love the Big Bear area.

“I love the Big Bear area,” I stated.

“I know,” Laureen responded. “Where are we going to lunch?”

I knew the right spot. A place that is internationally known as a very haunted and goose bumpily place. The Captains Anchorage.

“We haven’t been there in a dozen years,” Laureen stated.

“And the spirits are angry about that,” I said. “The tip you left last time was rather vacuous.”

Laureen ignored that.

Driving by the Mitsubishi cement plant, south of the town of Lucerne Valley on Highway 18, always reminds me of a space colony. Huge round storage buildings with conveyer belts going this way and that way has an out of this world appearance.

“Doesn’t it look like space aliens have captured humans and sent them to work in their factory?” I asked Laureen as we drove by the place.

She shook her head. “Looks like a cement factory.”

“Human, we do not enjoy your remarks – to the mines with you.” I stated.

Laureen ignored me again. 

As we swung around Baldwin Lake, we had some time to kill before the restaurant would be open, and decided to take the scenic route through Holcomb Valley. Actually, I had intended on the drive to snap a photograph of the ‘hanging tree’ in the area where the old mining town of Belleville once stood.

I wrote a column on Holcomb Valley for the Daily Press Newspaper, back in June of 2020, but I won’t go into any detail about that trip now. I don’t like repeating myself – unless it is to our children, and I can go on and on and on about the same subject for weeks.

Since Belleville, like many mining camps, could be a violent place – there had to be some place to punish those who thought killing one another was a perfectly fine way in dealing with personal disputes. 

It was the Wild West, after-all.

So, the townsfolk found a nice big and tall Juniper tree to string up the really bad hombres. Is the tree haunted? Don’t know and never asked – but with its outstretched tree limbs and prominent location in the valley, it could be.

The hanging tree in Holcomb Valley

“Almost lunch time,” I said to Laureen.

As we headed out of the valley, we came across a tree that made the hanging tree look downright tame.

Spooky no-name tree Holcomb Valley

There in the middle of a clearing, we were staring at an apparition that film director, Tim Burton would find alluring.

Gnarled leafless branches tweaked in such a way, it appeared as if it was alive and trying to reach and grab any unsuspecting person sauntering by. Not a stich of green on it – only the tall barren trunk hunkered down in the soil. 

“That looks as if it’s haunted?” Laureen asked.

“I’ll come back, and pick you up in the morning – let me know about your research.”

We headed out for lunch at that time.

The Captain’s Anchorage, is located in Big Bear Lake, and has been a landmark for the city since 1947, when the owner, Andy Devine opened it. The famous actor turned restaurateur, wanted something special to entertain his Hollywood friends, and thus the restaurant and bar became the center point not only for the locals, but many other famous actors. Roy Rogers, John Wayne, Lee Marvin, Jimmy Stewart, and many more made the long drive from Los Angeles to the mountain community of Big Bear Lake to partake in the extensive menu offerings.

Captains Anchorage, Big Bear

The original name of the place was the Sportsman’s Tavern, and remained that way until 1972, when it was renamed The Captains Anchorage by Woodrow and Charlotte Meier, who had purchased the restaurant from Devine in 1966.

It is a beautiful building full of character and grace – and it is haunted.

As we entered the business, I walked over to the dark wood bar, located in the Andy Devine Room, and snapped some photographs. That’s what I do – don’t look at the menu first – just snap some shots. Perhaps there will be an orb floating somewhere in the photograph when I download it later.

Andy Devine, film star and past owner 

“Have you come to see George?” Natalie asked from behind the bar. Natalie has worked at the Captains Anchorage a long time, and knows a bit about the history.

“George is our local ghost,” she stated. “He likes to hang around the bar, causing some mischief now and then, but doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“You’re a believer then?” I asked.

“I don’t belong to a cult, if that’s what you are asking?”

“No, not that kind of a believer,” I replied. “Have you had any interaction with George?”

Natalie nodded. “Once in a while a light will turn on when no one is here but me, or the glass washer will suddenly light up. Those kinds of things.”

Laureen was standing to the right of the bar, near the kitchen entrance, and I saw a peculiar look on her face.

“You feeling something?”

“Yes, there’s something here between the bar and the fireplace,” she responded. “It’s like someone being anxious. As they are troubled by something – I really can feel the emotions.”

Laureen is so much more sensitive than me, when it comes to practically anything – except those sad mistreated dog commercials – they tear me up. A box of tissues, please.

“Did you feel anything?” she asked me.

I nodded. “Yes, I feel the bar is calling me over for a cold one.”

According to Patti Scriven, the current owner and daughter of the Meier’s, George was Andy Devine’s ‘bookkeeper’. During the time period that Devine was the owner, there was lots and lots of rumors of illegal gambling going on at the Sportsman’s Tavern. In fact, upstairs are small booths which are original to the design of the restaurant, that look like the perfect size for a slot machine placement. Poker games, roulette, and possibly betting on horse races, may have taken place in the establishment.

John R Beyer with owner, Patti Scriven

Was George just a bookkeeper or perhaps a bookie also?

Upstairs dining booth where illegal gambling may have occurred 

“Rumor has it that George may have been embezzling profits from the illegal gambling,” stated Patti. “He may had been afraid of getting caught and committed suicide at his house, not far from here."

“Then why would he haunt this place?” Laureen asked.

“We have had numerous of those paranormal investigators out here, and they all say the same thing, he was the most happy here at the restaurant,” Patti replied.

“It is a very nice place to haunt,” I stated. 

Some research I conducted, showed George may have also been killed by some angry gamblers or those who caught him skimming money off the top of the receipts.

Either suicide or murder makes for a possible haunting.

It seems as though George does truly like haunting the restaurant, its patrons and staff. He, according to Patti, has never caused any harm to anyone personally.

“There’s been some liquor bottles shattering behind the bar when no one was present, some tromping of heavy footsteps up and down the stairs, blowing out some candles, and the like. Pretty harmless – more like pranks.”

The bar where ghosts like to frequent

Shattering an expensive bottle of spirits is not a prank. That would be a felony in any ghostly realm.

“Listen, Mr. Ghost man – I don’t care if it was a prank – that was an expensive bottle of Dalmore sixty-two, there you decided to shatter. Who is going to pay for it?”

Patti entertained us with more tales of the mischievous George, but stated she had never had a true other-worldly experience with the ghost from the Captains Anchorage.

“I wish Rita were here,” Patti stated. “She really has had some recent experiences with George.”

“Please, go on,” I asked.

“Well, recently Rita was near the kitchen when she suddenly saw a dark shadow sweep right beside Hugo, our chef, who was busy cooking. She was scared to death and screamed. When I asked Hugo if he saw or felt anything, he replied just before Rita screamed, he had felt a presence swoosh by him, almost touching him. But, there was nothing there when he glanced around.”

Haunted omelets anyone?

“Yes, Rita won’t even go upstairs to get a bottle of wine,” Patti said. “I tease her that a customer wants a certain vintage and will she go up and get it, she just tells me no.”

“I don’t blame her,” Laureen stated.

“Neither do I,” Pattie stated. “I just like to tease her that way.”

Is the Captains Anchorage haunted? I don’t know, but I do know they have great food and a greater tale for their customers.

Shhhhhhhh......