Kingman Haunts

 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.

Drone shot of Slaughterhouse Canyon, Kingman Arizona

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.

Spooky caves are everywhere in Slaughterhouse Canyon

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.

Paul checking out some crumbled ruins in Slaughterhouse Canyon

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.

“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.

There are some creepy abandoned structures along the way

That excuse worked for me as a kid.

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.”

Interior of the Sportsman Bar, Kingman AZ

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.

The once famous and glamorous Brunswick Hotel, Kingman AZ

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.”

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.

John can be contacted at: beyersbyways@gmail.com

 

 

The Mining Town of Chloride, Arizona

Chloride, Arizona is known as the ‘Gem of the Cerbats.’ I had no idea what that even meant - the gem of anything to do with bats did not seem like a place anyone would want to visit.

I looked up potential dangers of hanging around with bats, especially upside down. There is the Salmonellosis disease which I think will make humans allergic to eating salmon. There is the Yersiniosis disease which will make humans say ‘Yer sister is a sissy’ too many times, and finally the Batasuarus disease which can make humans rather large and extinct.

Of course, I may have embellished those results, but still, it should not be taken lightly if bitten by an unwanted Chiroptera.

According to Deserae, the local fount of historical knowledge about the small town of Chloride who seemingly runs both the Mineshaft Market and the Arizona Visitors’ Center, the name comes from the minerals found in the nearby Cerbat Mountains.

This range runs for approximately 23 miles and is home to many of Arizona’s top producing silver mines from days in the past.

Ruins of one stamp mill in Chloride, Arizona

“Millions of dollars were pulled out of the mines located here in and around Chloride,” Deserae said. “We’re the only true living ghost town with over three hundred permanent residents and some of those mines are still producing ore today.”

I have learned in my travels, and some readers will tell me I’m wrong, that a ghost town generally has no one around, except ghosts, and no federal post office. Chloride actually has one of the longest running post offices in the state of Arizona. It opened in 1873, closed for a bit, and then reopened in 1893. It is still in operation today, and yes, I checked. 

On the left is the original post office in Chloride, Arizona

Sure enough, there is a poster with a handsome guy who looks a lot like me hanging on the left wall. ‘Wanted, for impersonating a travel writer. Reward $0, he ain’t worth it.’ Now, that’s a Post Office.

Silver Chloride, which the town is named after, has a long and confusing history. Long because it dates back to the ancient Egyptians and confusing because I have no idea what the brainiac chemical scientists are writing about. Let’s just say that so much silver was found in the nearby hills that a whole lot of people became rich and a town where nothing existed before.

History, like where I left my car keys, can be mystifying, so the story of when silver was found in present day Chloride plays in the same realm.

In 1860, six miners found silver in the Cerbat Mountains and began digging. That is what miners do, but the local natives did not take kindly to it. So much so that four of the miners were killed and two escaped west to seek help from the United States military.

Deserare pointed out on the map where two of the miners who were killed by the local Native Americans are buried just southeast of the Chloride cemetery. 

I paid a visit to the fenced off area of repose for the miners and said a prayer.

After the killings, the Cavalry arrived and peace was restored. Nope, not in the natives mind, but big mining diggings began anyway. 

By 1863, the town of Chloride was founded with over 70 mines in operation.

Chloride grew to be the largest town in Mohave County (that’s how it is spelled in Arizona) and was actually the county seat.

With a larger population, Chloride needed a jail

At its height, Chloride boasted over 2,000 residents, and where people reside they need the necessities of life. Soon there were five hotels, a bank, a pool hall, eight saloons, five restaurants, and four brothels, as well as six churches for all those who spent naughty time at the saloons, brothels, and maybe even the pool hall.

Yesterdays Restaurant and Saloon in Chloride, Arizona

Soon, a railroad spur was in place to transport the ore found in Chloride to Kingman and beyond. The train service also included passenger cars for locals, treasure-seekers, and the curious to visit this booming mining town nestled on the west side of the Cerbat Mountains.

Unlike many of these communities which dry up almost as quickly as they started, Chloride really only had a moment in its history of losing so many folks that it almost truly became a ghost town. During WWII many miners dropped their picks and shovels and picked up rifles and ammunition in the service of their country.

As the war ended, people started returning to Chloride but not just for mining, though there are still plenty of active mines in the area, but folks looked upon the small town as a haven from the ‘big city life’ and relished in the close knit community.

In fact, a lot of artists and musicians moved into the area to take advantage of the mild weather that Chloride had to offer and the beautiful landscape which can inspire such persons to wonderful creative moments.

I sat down for a moment on the exterior porch of The Thirsty Miner Soda Shop and Emporium located along North 2nd Street and started playing my harmonica. I felt inspired by the blue skies, wonderful vistas toward the mountains when suddenly the owner came out and smiled.

“Sorry,” she said. “I thought a cat got run over in the road.”

One true artist, not me, was Roy Purcell, a world renowned western painter who created marvelously brightly colored pieces of art depicting the beauty of the western scenery and way of life.

The late Senator Harry Reid once spoke of Purcell, saying ‘Purcell’s work reminds us of the mysticism of William Blake, the mastery of Michelangelo and the passion of Van Gogh - gifts he used with deep insight and compassion from the perspective of the ages yet with the poignancy of our own time and needs.’

And if proof of Purcell’s passion is needed, there is a section of rock murals laboriously crafted by the artist in the late 1960s on 2,000 feet of rock approximately one and a half miles east of Chloride along an easily maintained dirt road, appropriately named the Chloride Murals.

Roy Purcell's artwork near Chloride, Arizona

The images are those from Purcell’s vivid imagination and a great inscription painted along one of the murals is, “The Journey: Images From an Inward Search for Self.”

John R Beyer is search of a selfie

I sat upon a large boulder and did some searching of my inner self while viewing the murals. It did not last long, and I headed back to town - I was hungry and thirsty.

After quenching both at Yesterday’s Restaurant and Saloon, I wandered over to Cyanide Springs.

Cyanide Springs in Chloride, Arizona

Being a western town from the 1860s, Chloride offers a lot for tourists to engage in from gift shops, food and drink, museums, a visitor’s center, campgrounds, hotel accommodations, and regularly scheduled good-old-fashioned shoot-outs at Cyanide Springs.

Dead in the center of Chloride is a reconstruction of a section of the original town made with the wood collected from the nearby Golconda Mine and utilized by the locals to build the town of Cyanide Springs.

Actual timber from local mines to build the façade

Four actual miner’s cabins that were once used to house the families of some of the men working the mines are there in original shape, but now are occupied by gift shops and workshops for the maintenance needed on the structures. 

An actual theater, the Silver Belle Playhouse, is still in use, mainly for the Historical Society’s meeting place but can be used for various venues for the public.

I stopped by the Jim Fritz Museum which contains artifacts from Chloride’s heyday all the way back to the 1880s. Very interesting for anyone who finds learning things fascinating - and who doesn’t?

According to Deserae, “Our peak season is just starting and soon there will be hundreds of people visiting here each week, for a couple of hours or for a couple of days.”

As I drove out, I noticed the Chloride Western RV Park was pretty crowded and with the amount of vehicles parked in front of the Sheps Miners Inn, it may be hard already to book a room.

Chloride has a long history and the folks I bumped into were gracious, ready to share a story or two about the town, and truly seemed to love living in this not ghost town next to the Cerbat Mountains.

For more information: https://chloridearizona.info/

Winslow, Arizona - Where the Eagles Landed

My lovely spouse Laureen and I were driving somewhere. Not sure where, since we drive a lot, usually with a purpose, when suddenly a tune began to play on our vehicle’s radio which I hadn’t heard in quite a while. The Eagles were suddenly belting out a song with front man, Glenn Frey singing about taking it easy. 

“Wow, you know where I’d like to visit?” I asked Laureen.

And soon after we found ourselves in Winslow, Arizona, and I was standing on the street corner next to a metal piece of art. Actually, the art was a full-sized bronze sculpture of Jackson Browne. Laureen had sauntered off to stand next to a metal representation of Glenn Frey, about thirty feet away from the corner of Route 66 and North Kinsley Avenue.

Laureen Beyer with Jackson Browne

Jackson Browne and Glenn Frey co-wrote the famous song, ‘Take it Easy’ back in 1972. Actually, Browne had started writing the lyrics in 1971, but was in a bit of a pickle on how to complete it.

The rumor is that Browne had been working on his first album and had these words stuck in his head – “Well, I’m a-standin on a corner in Winslow, Arizona . . .” – and that is far as he had gotten.

The story goes on to suggest that Browne had been stranded in the town of Winslow when his vehicle had broken down. At some point, a woman in a pick-up truck had driven past Browne and lent a helping hand. 

Laureen Beyer standing by the red pick-up in Winslow

We all love legends.

It turns out that Glenn Frey and Jackson Browne resided in the same apartment building in Los Angeles, and being struggling musicians, had started up a friendship in the club – ‘Starving musicians and actors guild of greater Los Angeles.’

Browne played the beginning of the unfinished song and Frey nodded.

“Man, let’s put a woman or women in it, and then we’ll have a hit record,” Frey may have suggested.

So, the following lyrics were born - “Such a fine sight to see. It’s a girl, my lord, in a flatbed Ford, slowin’ down to take a look at me.”

Browne liked the sound, Frey liked the sound and the Eagles released the song on their debut album, cleverly entitled: Eagles.

That is pretty awesome, since the song never would have been written in the first place if Browne hadn’t known Frey when they were struggling musical artists.

In fact, according to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, out of Cleveland, Ohio, the song – ‘Take it Easy’ released in 1972 actually helped shape the sound of rock and roll as we know today.

But, for such creative minds, couldn’t the band had come up with something a little more original for their debut album? Something like:

‘The Eagles have landed.’

‘Fly like a bunch of Eagles.’

Or, ‘We can play great songs but can’t come up with a name for our first album except the name of the band.’

In all transparency, according to my research, it may have been that Browne had been stranded at a Der Wienerschnitzel in Flagstaff, rather than the quaint little town of Winslow.

But, I can’t even imagine the lyrics of that song.

‘Well, I’m a-standin on a corner in Flagstaff, Arizona with a chili dog and fries. My shirt a mess, and such a fine sight to see, a car hop with a handful of napkins.’

Nope, wouldn’t make it in the top billion hits. We’ll stay with Winslow, Arizona for this column.

So, after doing the touristy kinds of things – posing next to the statues for photos, standing in the middle of the street for photos, asking people to take photos of us, taking photos for them, and then taking a bunch of selfies – we were exhausted.

It was time to truly take it easy, and we did.

We were staying at the La Posada Hotel in Winslow and believed an adult libation while sitting in one of the many beautiful gardens would be a resplendent way to take it easy.

Welcome to the La Posada Hotel

It was.

La Posada Hotel was built in 1930, by Fred Harvey of the famous railroad Harvey House chain, and designed by one of his favorite architects, Jane Colter.

In fact, it was Fred Harvey’s vision to create the first restaurant chain, and used that chain and the railroad depots they were situated by, to draw huge groups of tourists to the Southwest. 

This hotel was to be a shining example for all to see and experience, and Harvey spared no expense on his dream. Well over two million dollars was spent on the hotel and the grounds when it was built in depression era 1929 – that is well over a zillion dollars in today’s money.

Main entrance to the La Posada

And Colter had the run of the whole operation, from the design, to the gardens, the linen to be used by the diners, and even the uniforms the staff would be wearing. Colter believed it to be one of her most glorious achievements, and today, La Posada is considered one of the most impressive and beautiful buildings in the entire Southwest.

With the construction of super-highways and the lack of railroad travelers, the hotel only lasted twenty-seven years before it was closed to the public. Most of the interior furnishings were auctioned off in 1959 and by the early 1960’s much of the hotel had been gutted – being used a bit here and there by the Santa Fe Railway as offices.

In fact, in 1994, the railway decided to abandon the property all together and have it demolished.

Those railroad kingpins – where is their love of history?

But, after the National Trust for Historic Preservation learned of the possible demolition by the Santa Fe, the eighty-thousand square foot building was placed on the endangered list.

“Tear down La Posada? Never!” Allan Affeldt may have exclaimed to his wife, the internationally recognized artist, Tina Mion.

“But, Allan, we don’t know anything about running a hotel, let alone renovating it,” Tina likely responded.

“Well, it’s a really cool building, so let’s see what we can do to preserve it,” Allan may have been overheard replying to Tina.

And preserve this architectural marvel they did. 

It took three long years of negotiating with the railroad before Allan and Tina were allowed to purchase the run-down hotel. They moved in on April 1, 1997.

Though it was April Fool’s day, the couple knew it was no joke and a lot of work was ahead of them. Then came along their third partner, Daniel Lutzick who took the role of General Manager.

What they accomplished in restoring a building which had been virtually abandoned since 1959 and fallen into almost complete disrepair, is stunning.

Today, La Posada is one of the most sought-after hotel destinations in the United States. It has been rated in the top twenty for hotels in the Southwest by Conde Nast Traveler, and has received numerous other awards marking this as a worthwhile place to visit.

Besides a first-class hotel and with a tasty restaurant, The Turquoise Room, La Posada is also a showcase for unique artwork, much of which was created by co-owner Tina Mion. In fact, the entire complex is a living museum, with artifacts from the early days when Fred Harvey owned the hotel, to Native American history, as well as the history of celebrities who had spent time there in the early days of the hotels creation.

Such early big names such as: Gene Autry, Howard Hughes, Charles Lindbergh, Dorothy Lamour, Clark Gable, just to name a few.

It was the place for the rich and famous to plop down after a long day’s drive along Route 66 heading east or west.

But getting back to the town of Winslow –a small town located in Navajo County, Arizona with a population of nearly ten thousand citizens.

The famous corner in Winslow, Arizona

It boasts a main street which brings back the nostalgia of the early days of Route 66, with businesses lining both sides of the street. There is a homey feel to the downtown area, with restaurants and brew houses within walking distance from just about anywhere.

Downtown Winslow, Arizona

“I like this town,” I stated to Laureen, while we sauntered down the sidewalk.

“You like any town with a local brewery,” she responded.

I nodded. “You gotta have your priorities.”

Winslow is also the gateway for so many outdoor activities – Meteor Crater, the Homolovi Ruins, the Painted Desert, the Petrified Forest, the Apache Death Cave, and so many other places lie within a short drive.

There is a lot to do in this little berg.

Just be careful in Winslow, as John Beyer learned

One such place brought a tear for both of us. That was the 9-11 Remembrance Gardens. It is just on the outskirts of town, heading east on Route 66. A flag which was flown at the Pentagon flutters not far from two large steel beams from the World Trade Center, twisted and broken. These were donated to the town, and the park which was built around the beams, was dedicated on September 11, 2002. 

The city of Winslow paying their respects

Actual beams from the tragedy in New York City on 9/11

These beams are the largest entrusted to any community in the nation, and it is the community of Winslow who truly got behind the effort to create this memorial. Everyone from elementary and ROTC students, to local business owners, volunteered to pitch in to build and maintain this garden.

These beams stand tall and strong in that place for all to see – and for all to never forget.

That alone, is reason enough to visit Winslow.

Even John Beyer had to get into the act

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.

 

 

Grand Canyon Caverns

 

“You know where I’d like to explore?” There were so many possibilities. “Mars.”

I could actually hear Laureen’s eyes roll. “Really, Mars?”

“Venus?”

Turns out, the correct answer, for five hundred Alex, was the Grand Canyon Caverns.

“You tend to be a bit claustrophobic.”

“True,” Laureen replied.

“You know, the caverns are dank, dark, dangerous, and are about thirty thousand feet below the surface of the Earth.”

Laureen nodded. “I need to face my fears.”

“Then, by all means, let’s face your fears together,” I stated. Facing fears together – it is a good thing for a married couple to do.

The Grand Canyon Caverns are some of the largest dry caverns in the United States.

That actually did not sound like fun to me. I have been to some dry counties within this wonderful country of ours, but nowhere to wet ones whistle with an adult libation.

“I’d like a cold draft with that pizza.”

“Oh, this is a dry county,” the waitress would reply. “You’ll have to eat your pizza with a glass of finely silted sand.”

Dry caverns, such as Grand Canyon Caverns, constitute only three percent of all the world’s caverns. Most caverns contain water, which creates those marvelous stalagmites and stalactites -- those are the pointy thingies that either hang from the ceiling, or the reach up from the floor of the cavern.

Scientifically speaking, a stalagmite is a rock formation that rises from the floor of a cave due to the accumulation of material on the floor from ceiling drippings. They are typically composed of calcium, but may consist of lava, mud, peat, pitch, sand and sinter.

No idea what sinter is, but it sounds religious, and not in a good way

I suppose, a stalactite is the opposite of a stalagmite.

A trip was planned; we were packed, gassed up, with reservations confirmed. We were on our way to the Grand Canyon Caverns, so Laureen could face her fear. I would be there to watch.

Traveling Route 66 is a special moment – or a lot of moments if you are driving for seven or eight hours in a day. But, it is always worth the time: seeing things that speed along the typical routes such as Interstate 40, Interstate 10, or fill in the blank of Interstate X, that drivers never get a chance to experience.

On our outing, we passed through the towns of Hualapai (not to be confused with the next town), Walapai, Antares (home of the Giganticus Headicus), Hackberry, Valentine, Truxton, and Peach Springs.

The Grand Canyon Caverns are thirteen miles east of Peach Springs, a small town that has a lot to offer the thousands of people visiting each year.

A person could spend time at the Hualapia Ranch, and learn how to quick draw and other cool cowboy kinds of stuff. And then in the evenings, listen to cowboy stories and songs around a warm and bright campfire, while stuffing your gullet with s’mores.

That sounded like fun – but I’m not much of an artist, and so quick drawing something did not make sense to me.

The area is also near the Glass Canyon Skywalk, the glass-bottomed bridge that is suspended over four thousand feet above the Grand Canyon.

Beautiful, but no thanks

That also sounded like fun, if someone wants to walk out into thin air on a piece of glass while peering down between their feet at a nearly three-quarters of a mile drop to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

Don’t count me in on that adventure, since as hard as I might, I don’t believe my arms would act like the wings of a bird if that glass floor shattered. I didn’t feel like facing that particular fear today.

All the small towns along the route have their own mystique and unique qualities. And, they all deserve a respite to explore, but we were on a mission.

There were caverns awaiting, and a phobia to conquer.

While driving, I was keeping my eyes on the road, but also looking right and left for any signs of wildlife. This was beautiful country. Thousands upon thousands of acres of grasslands hugging Route 66. It was magical – if one enjoys the solitude of empty roads and beautiful scenery.

There were highway signs warning drivers to watch for deer, elk, cattle, and Sasquatches.

Laureen was busy reading a touristy sort of magazine.

“The Grand Canyon Caverns are only two hundred and thirty feet below the surface. You told me thirty thousand.”

“Must have been a misprint,” I stated. Looking to the left, I could have sworn something about ten feet tall and very hairy had just disappeared behind a large boulder.  I think it was also wearing a bowler hat. But I didn’t want to interrupt Laureen, so I kept quiet.

“This article also says the caverns are dry, with wide well-lit pathways throughout. You said they were dank, dark, and dangerous.”

“I’ll never believe a thing that magazine publishes again.”

Turns out, about three-hundred and forty-five million years ago, the southwest was covered by oceans. This was during the Mississippian Period, and there were a lot of fishes and other ocean critters swimming around here and there. When the waters dried up over the eons, those little skeletons of the fishes and other critters settled to the bottom of the oceans. Through millions of years the calcium in the bones mixed with the mud, creating a limestone bedrock.

Another bunch of time passed, and the bottom of those now empty oceans moved up to over five thousand feet above sea level.

Then, thirty-five million years ago, rainfall flowed into that limestone creating caverns down below, the same rainfall which carved out the Grand Canyon itself.

I have no idea why – geology is complicated.

Since the tours of the caverns are so popular, reservations are a must, along with a guide.

“Without a tour guide, you could get lost down there forever,” the young woman at the reception desk informed us.

“Then a guide is fine with us,” I replied.

Our guide, Dino, was a fount of knowledge when it came to the history of the caverns, from the past to the present. He also had a sense of humor, which I would label – corny. Funny, but corny.

“What do call being in a cave disaster? Caught between a rock and a hard place.”

Turns out, the caverns had gone unnoticed until 1927, when a local miner, Walter Peck, was riding his horse across the area and nearly fell into a large hole in the ground. After exploring this unsuspected cavity in the earth, Peck learned there were labyrinths of caves below the surface. And, being a miner, he thought there may be untold riches within those cavernous tunnels.

Do not get lost in these caverns

Unfortunately, for Peck, there was no gold or silver to be found, but being the entrepreneur he was, he came up with another money making venture. For twenty-five cents, tourists would be lowered into the darkness of the caves to explore for themselves. They were lowered over two hundred feet into the earth by sticking their feet into a rope harness.

This became known as Dope on a Rope.

Some of the things found while searching the caverns

This enterprise went on for decades, and then in 1962, a new entrance was created and the installation of an elevator reaching down two hundred feet was installed.

No more dopes on ropes.

As we followed Dino, he explained this rock formation and that rock formation. Very interesting, but then a sad moment with the discovery Peck had made of a Paramylodon Harlani back in the early days of his exploration of the caverns.

This giant sloth Peck had found, is believed to have fallen into the original hole in the ground around eleven thousand years ago and died there. The name given the huge mammal was Gertie. A model of her is along the winding path in the caverns. What a sad ending for poor Gertie.

Gertie

One huge cavern contains thousands upon thousands of provisions left there by the federal government during the Cold War.

Left over Cold War supplies in the caverns

“These caverns were designated a fall-out shelter,” Dino said. “They wanted supplies to be placed here, just in case. The only thing they forgot were lanterns. Gets dark down here with no lights.”

In fact, when the dozens of lights along the walkways are turned off, a person cannot see their hand in front of their face.

Also, within the caverns there is also a suite, which can be rented for the night – rather pricy but could be a wonderfully dark experience. Ozzy Osbourne spent the night there – a great place for a guy who likes bats.

Sleep where Ozzy slept with his dog, Rockhound

I looked over at Laureen. “Nope.”

You could also choose to have your lunch below the surface of the earth, in the Grotto. This restaurant is situated over two hundred feet below the surface, and serves spectular food with your choice of beverages, including the adult variety.

John and Laureen enjoying a beverage at the Grotto

We met fellow diners, Jake and Lisa, who had traveled from Phoenix just for the experience of the caverns.

“We had to eat here, and not just walk through the caverns,” Jake stated. “Not that they are not impressive enough alone.”

“And who gets a chance to eat lunch two hundred feet down in a natural cavern?” Lisa said.

“The four of us,” I replied.

The Grotto at the Grand Canyon Caverns

It may have been the wine from the Grotto, but Laureen had no claustrophobic complaints.

Are the caverns worth a trip? Most definitely yes, and a great way to experience new adventures and meet awesome people, like Dino, Jake, and Lisa.

For more information: https://gccaverns.com/

 

 

 

 

.