geocaching – Page 2 – Obscure Vermont

October 28, 2013March 31, 2020

Mysterious Snake Mountain

Fog shrouded the barren farmlands as icy winds sputtered and spinned outside the car as we moved down Route 22A through the flats of Addison County. There is something about late Fall, the odd transition period of old and the rebirth of Spring that is strangely ideal for adventuring. There is a certain melancholy about this time of year that rides the winds that blow in off the lake, something that a good adventure can temporarily alleviate. Things are more vulnerable in the Fall, and more raw. These thoughts were confirmed as the hulking and lengthy form of Snake Mountain loomed ahead in the fog and cold rain.

There is something mysterious about Snake Mountain that is conjured by its isolation. Sitting right in the middle of otherwise pancake flat farmland in the heart of Addison County, the sprawling monadnock raises a lofty 1,287 feet above the valley below – its craggy ledges the only surface that managed to capture the sun’s warming gleam. It’s not a widely recognized area. As a matter of fact, not many seem to know you even can hike the mountain, making it all the more alluring.

Snake Mountain is the focal point of the 1,215 acre wildlife management area of the same name, forever protecting the mountain and a 9500-year-old kettle lake known as Cranberry Bog, which according to the fish and wildlife department, formed shortly after the retreat of the last glacier in Vermont. But it’s a discrete area, one that isn’t clearly marked and still remains uncongested by mobs of tourists.

When I was younger, I was told that the dense and disparate patch of wilderness used to be called Rattlesnake Mountain, and its ledges and boulders were home to the only venomous reptile in the state (which isn’t true – Fair Haven’s Rattlesnake Ridge is bestowed that honor). But if the strange urban legends are true about this enclave of no man’s land in the middle of the county, then there are far more sinister things that haunt the wooded slopes and bogs. Snake Mountain is also reportedly home to a strange cryptid dubbed as “The Black Beast of Snake Mountain”, which supposedly stalked the slopes and terrorized unsuspecting farmers back in the 1920s and 1930s.

Though I couldn’t find a description of this brazen creature, it was said to lurk behind barns and houses that surrounded the mountain, and if encountered, its said to be savage. According to The Vermont Monster Guide, one woman was attacked by this elusive creature one night while driving home after a visit with a neighbor. It began to chase her vehicle as she panicked and began to pick up speed down a winding road that carved along the base of the mountain. To her surprise, not only was this thing managing to keep up with her car, it was catching up! Not wanting to get in a car accident, she pulled off into the first farm she saw, and it wasted no time in jumping on top of her car and began to claw at the roof. Now in hysterics, she did the only thing she could think of; she wailed on her horn. The noise grabbed the attention of the family who owned the farm, who soon appeared on the front porch in curiosity. But as soon as the floodlights were turned on, the women ran back into the house screaming at the first sight of the terrifying encounter. The men ran in shortly after to grab their guns, but when they came back outside, the animal had vanished into the Addison night.

The stories continue. Another account reported it would also jump down from tree limbs and scare children working on nearby farms. Every attempt to shoot at it was a failure, it would always vanish successfully, leaving nothing but shaken onlookers and a terrifying memory. It seems the mysterious Black Beast faded into memory and folklore, and to this day no evidence exists of what exactly was terrifying isolated residents back in the 1920s.

And now, here I was underneath gloomy grey skies battered by chilly winds and rain, staring up at my destination. The summit appeared more distant and forlorn underneath the shifting clouds that wouldn’t open up the sky. My only thoughts at the moment were how my coffee didn’t seem to be working. Although the lore about the mountain was wondrous, that wasn’t why I was there. There is also a human mystery about Snake Mountain, one that was palpable underneath shedding foliage and autumn stillness.

At the entrance to the hard to find Wilmarth Woods trail, sits an old building that looks like it may have served a nearby farm at one point, or perhaps a very tiny one room schoolhouse. Though it has been boarded up, the strange urban legends I’ve heard still swirled in my head. Stories of people peaking through the windows and seeing dusty mason jars filled with odd colored liquids and cryptic contents floating lazily inside them were alluring and most likely far fetched. Regardless of the accuracy behind that claim, the boarded windows ensured I wouldn’t be finding any answers today.

Embarking up The Wilmarth Woods Trail, it winds its way through thick brush, past the remnants of ancient mangled farm machinery and eventually follows the rather broad and rocky remnants of an old carriage road that snakes its way up the rocky hills and silent forests – the pungent smell of wet leaves and mud hung heavy in the air. Though my starting point was sluggish, I soon couldn’t help be taken by the beauty and therapy of the forest.

While trekking through the woods, they begin to tell a seperate story, adding to the mountain’s cryptic reputation. The birch stands at the base of the mountain are covered in ambigious tree carvings – it seems that every bored teenager in Addison County has made it to Snake Mountain to carve the name of their loved on into a tree, or to tell the world that they were there. Some carvings were remarkably old, dating back almost 30 years. These youth hieroglyphics are cool to see and read as you make your way up the slopes.

The carriage road continues to playfully climb the mountain and dip through shadowy dales until it reaches a particular point of interest at the summit – the reason for the carriage road’s existence. Sitting on top of magnificent views of Addison County and the rugged Adirondacks in the distance lies a crumbling concrete slab that buts right up to dizzying ledges. This is the foundation of the former Grand View Hotel. Built in 1870 by Jonas N. Smith, this hotel was built during an era when many mountaintops across the Northeast were being developed into resort properties, offering fresh country and and grand views to its eager clientele. Some even claimed that fresh country air would be an ailment to whatever health issues that were plaguing you. Because of the hotel, Snake Mountain became briefly known as Grand View Mountain. In 1925, the hotel was ravaged by a fire, leaving a smoldering pile of ruins scattered along the wind swept summit. Today, the foundation and steel rods that held the building in place are still visible, along with some of the best views anywhere.

The weather worn foundation of the former Grand View Hotel and Champlain Valley splendor in the background.

DSC_0159_pe — One of the original pipes, its jagged stump still protruding from the foundation surface

DSC_0174_pe — The small town of Addison, visible through the mists upon Snake Mountain.

From up here on the top of Addison County, a strange silence climbs into your head. Your thoughts become more lucid, and you get a strange sense of scale as you look at the patchwork fields and gleaming silos below you. The strange connection of you being apart of this uncertain game called life which is played at the bottom of the ledges at your feet, and loneliness up there in the deep. Snake Mountain offers a great excuse to get out for a easy and rewarding day hike. And there is no better therapy to what ails you than nature.

Links:

More about Snake Mountain via The Fish and Wildlife Department.

How to get there:

From either approach on Route 22A, make a turn on Wilmarth Road. Follow it the short distance until it intersects and ends with aptly named Mountain Road, which runs along the base of the mountain. Take a left, and follow Mountain Road a short distance until you see a dirt parking lot to your left. The Wilmarth Woods Trail head is just before the parking lot on the right side of the road. Look for the dilapidated red building.

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To all of my amazing fans and supporters, I am truly grateful and humbled by all of the support and donations through out the years that have kept Obscure Vermont up and running.

As you all know I spend countless hours researching, writing, and traveling to produce and sustain this blog. Obscure Vermont is funded entirely on generous donations that you the wonderful viewers and supporters have made. Expenses range from internet fees to host the blog, to investing in research materials, to traveling expenses. Also, donations help keep me current with my photography gear, computer, and computer software so that I can deliver the best quality possible.

If you value, appreciate, and enjoy reading about my adventures please consider making a donation to my new Gofundme account or Paypal. Any donation would not only be greatly appreciated and help keep this blog going, it would also keep me doing what I love. Thank you!

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October 16, 2013March 31, 2020

Modern Fossils

Strangely Isolated from its central village location and untouched for more than 30 years – this place has the eerie kind of remoteness where every noise heard inside its cavernous and dark interior is startling, and the thought of this once being an active business with a vibrant human presence borders on the absurd.

What was once a prosperous creamery seemed to have suffered the same inevitable fate as other Vermont creameries. Fluctuating milk prices and the high costs of expenses were much higher than the final paychecks distributed to local dairy farmers, and the eventual pressure from larger industrial creameries made smaller operations like this one obsolete. And as gravity came, the good times couldn’t be reinvented. Built in the early 1900s, this rural creamery operated for most of the century, shipping it’s milk and dairy products locally and beyond to exotic destinations like Boston and New York City. In the last years of it’s life, it became a cheese factory, before finally shutting down in 1999 after a landslide of problems the business couldn’t circumnavigate.

Because of the thick forests that obstruct it from view, it was only when I walked right underneath its shadow that I got a good impression of the place. A sizable melding of wood and brick that eventually raises to 4 stories, the complex is made up of rambling additions that marked periods of the creamery’s success, now a chaotic collection of decaying ruins surrounded by young forests and actively farmed fields. From the outside, the warping geometry of the wooden structure is showing signs of neglect and pride that has long vanished into the smoke – the building slowly burying its storied legacy.

Inside, once you are enveloped by cold and filthy shadows, no order prevails. As you walk around, you begin to adapt to your surroundings as you notice the uncomfortable stillness that creeps over your skin. Your boots crunch over plaster dust and broken glass and lead paint rains from the ceilings. You experience feelings of vertigo as you maneuver your way around collapsing ceilings that are masqueraded by the dark. The floors are littered with debris and dirt. Wooden tables sit underneath years of dust which obscure the artifacts left behind. Fading signs that comically demand you partake in sanitation efforts still hang on warped vinyl walls, an almost laughable concept amongst the utter filth that hangs around you. Certain hallways were plagued so badly by water damage that my boots sank into the tiles like a sponge as I passed. It’s easy to lose yourself in the dark and desolation, but someone else has been here. Graffiti can be seen on dingy white walls where offices once resided. As you take a moment to take it all in, the wind blows a lose piece of rusted mangled tin – the sound echoes throughout the building as you immediately tense up. And on this lovely Autumn day as the Green Mountains blazed outside broken windows, an odd sense of tranquility permeated through the hallways.

This decrepit place is apparently well known to local kids who are revved up everything and wild like hurricanes. It makes sense. Small town kids love the mystic of places like this, just as I did. Although, my visits were one of reverence, and these kids seem to erroneously view the old creamery as a “law free zone”. According to a police officer who saw me go in with my camera and pulled me out a gun point, the powers that be have to enter the sketchy property far more than they’d like too. The reasons range from those aforementioned kids stashing stolen property there, drug labs and drug usage, and activities that range on the more destructive, such as arson attempts or scrapping. Because the property is designated as a brownfields location because of heavy contaminants as asbestos, lead paint and heavy metals, little can be done with the otherwise prime piece of real estate without lots of money for state approved clean up and permitting, and so far, no developers are interested enough in investing.

Sort of like how the abandoned creamery in my hometown was a local rite of passage for kids, the creamery in this burg is of the same culture. A friend and frequent exploring companion used to work at a restaurant nearby, and one night as he was offhandedly conversing with their teenage dishwasher, the youth told him animatedly “Oh, yeah, I know the old creamery! I fell through the floor there a few weeks ago!” Good times, I’m sure.

A historic postcard view, circa 1938

Fall 2013

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To all of my amazing fans and supporters, I am truly grateful and humbled by all of the support and donations through out the years that have kept Obscure Vermont up and running.

Gofundme: https://www.gofundme.com/b5jp97d4

September 24, 2013March 31, 2020

The Cryptic Tunnel

Somewhere underneath an unremarkable section of industrial railroad tracks, is a stone tunnel with an enduring mystery. Who built it, when and why all seem to be accomplishments that was never passed down to the modern world, and yet, this intriguing piece of Vermont curio oddly exists untouched in the stretches of the state’s largest metropolitan area – its presence not noticed by the majority unless you’re one of the select few that know about it.

If you manage to find it, you can hear the hum of traffic nearby, the various noises that scream from a nearby generating plant and the voices of passing on-goers that carry out though the woods. And yet, here the tunnel sits in an enclaved world protected by treacherous railroad banks covered in thorns and foliage and the remnants of several homeless camps scattered around basins of coal black ooze – an ominous warning for those who decide to leave their world and enter this one.

And once you approach the tunnel entrance, a foul blackness that cannot be penetrated descends deep into the bowels of the hillside.

Stories abound about this strange tunnel. Speaking to a friend of mine, he was able to recall plenty of bizarre urban legends and strange lore about it. There was said to be a forbidding barred gate which lies somewhere inside, and macabre tales of dead bodies being discovered deep in the far recesses. I knew I had to see such a place!

We conversed further, as I became eager to get to the bottom of this. The most interesting detail about this tunnel is what makes it so enigmatic. No one seems to be quite sure about why it exists, or when it was constructed.

But there are plenty of theories as to why it was built. Some speculate that it was once a cow tunnel, a way of transporting livestock from one pasture to another which were divided by the railroads. And if you take modern day agro-industrial farming methods into account, the cows of yesteryear were smaller – making the tunnel’s size a realistic possibility. But if this was the case, then why does it dead end into a dripping stone wall some 60 feet from the entrance? Other theories are that when development came to the area, the property owners across the tracks discovered the entrance and sealed it up. But there is no proof of this, so we’re back to speculating. Was the tunnel built one way, or did it have another entrance?

Some speculate that the tunnel was built to house railroad supplies, such as dynamite and rail ties during construction in the mid 1800s – however, this too is only a theory. For a simplistic project, this seemed like a strangely labor intensive storage shed. Too add further confusion, we still aren’t really sure if the tunnel predates the railroad or not, which leads me to the most intriguing possibility.

There are some that romanticize about the tunnel being so archaic that it predates Columbian settlement here in the United States. The stones are old, hand hewn and placed to form the walls and ceiling in baffling rhythmic precision in their uneven size and form- so it is a possibility. After all, it is now an accepted theory that Celtic copper miners once came to Vermont before the Europeans did some 3000 years ago, to harvest our vast copper resources when Europe was in the midst of a copper shortage. Upon doing so, they left their legacy here by building several mysterious stone structures and tunnels that lay scattered across the state, some even showcasing ancient inscriptions evocative of that time period. Today, these strange mounds are a topic of hot debate amongst archaeologists. However, Vermont’s ancient stone structures were all constructed differently than the tunnel in question, and it doesn’t quite fit the picture here. Mortar was also used in the construction, meaning that the tunnel is relatively newer than what the first throngs of European explorers would have ran into.

With no specialist making a visit to the tunnel to officially verify the age of its construction, this theory can only be that. And we’re right back to where we started. But one thing is for certain, if you can find it, you can see it for yourself. And that’s what I planned on doing.

Visiting The Tunnel

It was a warm September day when myself and a friend went searching for this elusive tunnel. But the question was, how would we find it? The foliage around the tracks was so thick and unforgiving, that it would be impossible to distinguish a simple stone tunnel underneath so much that competed for our attention.

Eventually after we had been walking the tracks for a good while, we decided to just jump off into the woods, literally, and see if we could get a better view of the steep banks that slumped below the railroad bed. If there was a tunnel here, we’d have to be on ground level to see it. But this literal jump proved to be an adventure we didn’t take into account. Weeds, thick trees with hanging vines and a “ground” made from soggy marshlands and layers of rotting trees was the landscape we were now fighting against, and walking around in it was treacherous and tiresome.

People Of The Sticks

Throughout this desolate and unforgiving landscape, we began to notice a web of sinuous trails that were well worn, and disappeared behind the thick veil of foliage. Making a conscious risky decision, we picked one and followed it. Little did we expect to find what looked like imaginative landscaping attempts. In the middle of nowhere.

My friend thought the eyes were 2 miniature security cameras. Though we were far away from civilization at this point, we both involuntarily tensed up at the thought.

Following the path brought us right to the front door of the exact thing I expected and yet didn’t want to see – a homeless camp. Tents, sleeping bags and shopping carts were stashed underneath thick foliage that clinged to my jacket.

Further down the path, we stumbled into more development. This however seemed to be a clandestine farming operation, the farmers were nowhere to be seen thankfully.

Finally, after an extensive amount of time searching, we had found the fabled tunnel.

DSC_0755_pe — There looked like there once was a wooden door that covered the entrance, but had long been ripped off.

With the overwhelming evidence of homeless camps littering the immediate area, we approached cautiously. Who knew if anyone was sleeping (or perhaps, waiting) inside the dark depths of the tunnel, waiting to strike. Taking out a flashlight, we shined the LED light straight down the center of the shaft, illuminating the gloomy interior, and called out “hello?” a few times. The tunnel was empty, and in we went.

Inside the tunnel, we had to crouch down and ignore the uncomfortable feeling of dripping water coming from the stone roof. Immediately, we were met with the discarded remains of a homeless camp. Boots, a mattress, what appeared to be a few old wooden crates and a few knives that sat in pools of a foul orange slime that seemed to coat the entire tunnel floor. We noticed 2 odd features of the tunnel, one being 2 man made slits in the stone walls that stretched back to about my elbows – just wide enough to store small objects in. In the second, farthest section of the tunnel, the ceiling was supported by what looked like stolen railroad ties, their red rust stood out brilliantly in the flashlight beams.

Traversing this tunnel was no easy feat. The floor was slick and slippery. Not long after entering, our boots were covered with thick orange slime that offered us no traction. The further we ventured back, the more rotted the wood and debris became, almost disintegrating underneath our feat as the tunnel clearance became smaller and smaller. As we stood inside, trying to figure the great mystery about the place, it was impossible. The shadows of the past span so fast that everything the tunnel gave to me was blurred.

Railroad ties that spanned the ceiling were used in some of the tunnel’s construction

interesting markings on the tunnel ceiling

As I was inside, I recalled my friend telling me further about his adventure in this tunnel Years ago. On his expedition inside, he came across a peculiar find. He had ventured inside, and not long after, he noticed his flashlight beam illuminate a thick grey blanket that was hanging across the interior, which was most likely deliberately placed, creating the illusion that the tunnel was actually much shorter than it actually was. Carefully talking down the faux wall, it opened up another several feet of tunnel that rambled off into the dark, before finally ending again at a real stone wall. He guessed that a homeless person who wanted to keep curious visitors away from his home in the end of the tunnel, created the wall for a bit of anonymity and security.

This picture taken by Joe Citro shows the gray blanket draped across the interior he encountered.

I was warned of the possibility of finding knives or other sinister artifacts inside. It seems Joe Citro found just that. (photo: Joe Citro)

The reality of the mysterious order of people who frequent and possibly live the dank tunnel was a sobering reality, and only added to the deepening mystery. Another friend told me stories of him finding actual knives next to a makeshift bed – and told me to be cautious while exploring. So until some information takes form, or a developer decides to seal it up – the tunnel will continue to baffle curious visitors and harbor the fallen.

Disclaimer: You’ll notice I didn’t give away the location of the tunnel. That was intentional, in order to protect special and endangered locations like this one. So please, don’t ask.

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To all of my amazing fans and supporters, I am truly grateful and humbled by all of the support and donations through out the years that have kept Obscure Vermont up and running.

Gofundme: https://www.gofundme.com/b5jp97d4

August 5, 2013March 31, 2020

Disappearing Act: Burlington’s lost ravine.

Sometimes it seems that I could write a sizable book about Burlington, inspired by the seemingly endless tales of fabled places, strange stories and lost history that are begging to be known – their praises seldomly sang by a select and arcane few.

There are many weird and wonderful things that many of us see everyday. The world’s largest tower of filing cabinets makes its home in a weedy field in the South End, and there is a puzzling bridge to nowhere in the intervale that looms over the beltline.

And there are other intriguing mysteries that are more difficult to explain, and even harder to find. Tales of catacombs and tunnels running underneath downtown have been relayed to me, as well as an awesome and mysterious “subway like railroad tunnel” that supposedly runs underneath the Old North End still, years after being defunct and sealed up (which I have yet to find). But, out of all of Burlington’s peculiarities that have long since vanished, there is one that is still refusing to be completely forgotten.

I was interested in this mystery when I accidentally stumbled upon an old city map dating from the mid 1800s in the book Bygone Burlington. It clearly marked streets and familiar landmarks that still exist today. King Street, Main Street, Lake Champlain. But there was something else. The map clearly labels something that would be so conspicuous in today’s Burlington. Just east of present day South Winooski Avenue was a serpentine sunken trench of land that divided the city in a South-West and North-East direction, separating downtown from the hill section. A few bridges crossed the ravine and spurred off onto the hill and towards Colchester Avenue before making the journey to Winooski – the old map describing the ravine as wild and swampy. It was strange seeing this strange ditch co-existing with the city.

It’s obvious that this ravine no longer exists today. Or, so it would seem. As a matter of fact, the ravine is still very much there.

Burlington_1853_ChurchStreet_16x20web — This 1853 map of Burlington shows the former ravine

I knew I wanted to know more, and I set out to do some research. What I found was another interesting layer in Burlington’s story line.

In the beginning, it seemed that this fabled ravine was beneficial to the city. As Burlington prospered and grew during the 19th century, the city would need to meet the demands of a growing population. Old maps created around 1853 indicate that the Vermont Central Railroad purposely used the ravine as a direct route from the waterfront to the mills in Winooski. The former downtown train depot sat at what is now the corner of Main Street and South Winooski Avenue (known then as White Street), where the fire station is today. In 1862 the railroad was re-routed underneath North Avenue and through the intervale on its present day route. Later, in 1880, the ravine would once again serve a utilitarian purpose, and was chosen as the backbone of the city’s new and modern sewer system which was built using a network of stone and brick sluices and culverts that followed the path of the ravine into the lake – all discharging at a location somewhere near the end of Maple Street.

However, there was a population explosion in Burlington around 1880 and the demand for land was high. The ravine soon became a roadblock to progress. Tensions mounted when the existing sidewalks and bridges began rotting and crumbling, creating dangerous hazards and upset residents. The city then embarked on an ambitious project to fill the ravine, and in a classic act of 19th century urbanism, filled it with garbage. That’s how San Francisco reclaimed its now famous waterfront area, so why not Burlington? But, maybe 19^th century urban planners didn’t see the problems behind building a city over decomposing garbage piles. But it happened, and the modern day downtown we all identify with was created in its wake.

Over time, people have been curious about the ravine as I have been, and began to pick at the pieces to this intriguing puzzle. And that seems to have raised some issues of debate. Some argue that the ravine was never there to begin with, and was simply an error on a map.

But other arguments prove otherwise. It is known that Burlington’s waterfront is reclaimed marshland, filled in with garbage and wood and old maps show a former branch of the Winooski River actually emptying into the lake here, near the present day Battery Street railyards. Some even speculate there are still remnants of this original tributary still running underneath the streets today, but performing an excavation now would be impossible, problematic and costly, leaving this as speculation.

But, you don’t have to do a lot of digging to find some answers, and In this case, the answers take the form of a long, narrow and seedy looking landmark that is a looming eyesore at the main entrance to the vibrant downtown area; The Midtown Motel. You might not guess by looking at it, but the dated structure was purposely built the way it is, because it sits on top of the former ravine and the layers of garbage that filled in the old cavity. The motel opened in 1958 and has served everyone from tourists, young lovers looking for a little respite, and people just down on their luck – and because there were no places to stay in Burlington’s city center at the time, the Midtown Motel prospered.

But, before anything could be built on the property, local architect Benjamin Stein had to figure out how to fit both a motel and ample parking on the usable pieces of the property – the parts that would support development over the fragile layers of fill that cover the ravine.

To make it work, the architect needed to get creative. The narrow motel was elevated and the parking was put below it. The design embodied the International style of architecture, where functionality came first. The motel did well until the 90s, when it went downhill and began drawing seedy clientele, and a bad reputation to go with it. Today the motel is out of business and vacant, and the city block it sits on is considered a “super block”- or, a block that is largely city owned and offers substantial redevelopment potentials. It is one of the only such blocks remaining in Burlington, meaning the value of the land is only growing. However, because the property’s unique setbacks, more delicate measures will have to be made before any large redevelopment projects are taken.

Just down the road from the Midtown Motel is another remnant of the ravine, one that the city hasn’t completely covered up yet. On King Street, there is a sizable and isolated geographical anomaly in the middle of the road itself – a dip in the stretch between Church Street and South Winooski Avenue. From the bottom of the dip you get a good perspective of the raise in elevation around it, and how the city’s buildings have been configured and built. And there are some buildings on Saint Paul Street with exposed foundations, sections of the buildings that appear to have once been above ground.

The former Wilson Hotel on the corner of Church and King showcases evidence of changing elevation - the front door is on the second floor! — The former Wilson Hotel on the corner of Church and King showcases evidence of changing elevation – the front door is on the second floor!

This brick house on St. Paul Street shows that the first floor was at one point the basement.

It seems strange to think about a large trench that divides Burlington in half, a trench so large that it once even had its own toboggan club – but stranger things have happened in the throes of progress. If the entire present day city of Seattle was built literally on top of the original city, then Burlington’s ravine almost seems passively unimpressive to think about. The communities we visit today are drastically different from what they were 100 years ago, almost unrecognizable at times, which is both intriguing and inspiring. Who knows what else is buried underneath the ground you walk on.

Links:

The Midtown Motel in Seven Days

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To all of my amazing fans and supporters, I am truly grateful and humbled by all of the support and donations through out the years that have kept Obscure Vermont up and running.

Gofundme: https://www.gofundme.com/b5jp97d4

July 9, 2013March 31, 2020

The Land of Boulders and Bears

It seems this year it rains every time the summer sends her best. The weather hasn’t been ideal for adventuring, with a string of floods and road washouts. So when a rare overcast afternoon came my way, I took advantage of it.

Getting together with a good friend, we set off for West Bolton, a remote area located high in the slopes of the Green Mountains, only accessible by a labyrinth of back roads that twist their way up steep hills. But as soon as we left Route 117, we were greeted with washed out dirt roads and attention grabbing orange cones as our car bumped and jarred its way into the mountains.

With Motown soul coming through the radio, I gazed up at the mountains in my reverie, the fogs soluble on the summer canopy. It was wild country up here, and the change of scenery was lifting my spirits, as I felt like I was coming back from what seemed like a ruin.

There was one particular house I wanted to see, and as we ascended up a slight turn, it’s ramshackle facade came into view with tall grass and vines and a rusting tin roof under the promise of rain.

I loved this old house. The front lawn had grown wild and covered the piles of discarded junk that surrounded the house, their forms almost indistinguishable. All of the old farmhouse windows were broken, and from its vulnerable wounds, the inside could be seen. The inside appeared to be chaotic and filthy. Most of the windows had mysterious mounds of debris in front of them, some of it threatening to spill out onto the lawn. Other windows had quilts and bed sheets nailed over them from the inside, and were long moth ridden and disintegrating. But my line of sight faded into the contrasts as the heavy shadows soon swallowed my visibility, keeping the house’s secrets lost in the dark. The battered metal screen door hung open near the front lawn, stopped by the tall grasses. The remnants of a rotting wooden fence occasionally protruded from the growth.

Looking at this old house now, and its depleting condition and fading paint, it’s almost as if this property is wistfully saying “this past century went like a life out of me”

With a surprising steady flow of traffic for a rut chocked back road, and tall grass that obscured our vision, we decided it was best (to my disappointment) not to venture too close to the sagging property. That decision may have proved to be very smart, as we heard scurrying through the grass and the sounds of claws on wooden siding. Some kind of animal had just crawled into one of the broken windows.

With some quick research, I was able to find some old photos of the house, which offered an interesting glimpse into what once was. The first thing I found out was it had an official name; The Pease House, named after its founding family. The wide open spaces and cleared hill meadows that surrounded the house have long returned to woods – this house a last enclave of Bolton’s former life as the area continues to meld with the untamed mountains above.

The determined people who once cleared the land and built this house, the ones who once knew the front porch and the doorways and cherished the moonlight on hot summer nights, now nothing more than dust – a deadpanning reality at how fragile urban infrastructure is, and how easily things can become lost.

The reasoning for its current abandonment is unknown to me, but as someone informed me, it is owned by someone. Perhaps sometimes, we are the ghosts we don’t believe in.

The Pease House circa 1860s

The Pease House Today

West Bolton is a name lost to history. What used to be a small village in the mountains, complete with 2 churches, a sawmill and general store, is now nothing more then a name on the map, with a scattering of private residences and a more well-known golf course that wears the same name.

The town of Bolton is mountainous, rocky and gave the early settlers more work than they bargained for. It’s no surprise that Bolton is referred to as “the land of boulders and bears.” The town has more than twenty mountains of over 2,000 feet, and nearly as many more just under that height – creating natural barriers to trade and travel in the town, along with isolation that would meet the pioneering families under the stars. Today, it’s rugged slopes create outdoor recreation opportunities in the form of skiing and snowboarding at Bolton Mountain, tons of rock climbing opportunities and the infamous Bolton potholes, a beloved swimming hole that the locals despise because of the hoards of disrespectful visitors who flock there.

Even driving along Interstate 89, which seems to be the most traveled route in town which also doesn’t technically let you off in Bolton, the awesome vertical cliffs that the highway cuts through are testaments to Bolton’s nickname. Though many of Bolton’s bumps remain unnamed, one vertical drop earned its namesake from a man who committed suicide from it years ago. Alan’s leap is seemingly well solidified amongst the locals for its views and it’s perception of a moment of morbidity. Vermont is known for its grueling winters, and Bolton’s position literally on the spine of the Green Mountains means it gets dumped on rather spitefully once the temperatures drop below freezing. A blog commenter recalled that two women who lived down the road from one another both committed suicide because of the internal darkness they faced brought on by the perennial death of the year.

Historical records tell stories of bears coming down from the mountains and mass slaughtering sheep flocks around the village of West Bolton. The bear problem was once so bad that Bolton once had the honor of being the town with more bears slain in its borders than any other town in Vermont.

In the 1930s, The Government bought around 6,000 acres of land around West Bolton and Jericho for the Ethan Allen Training Site, and much of the village of West Bolton was destroyed in the name of progress. Today, all that remains are a few foundations sitting in the quiet woodlands above boulder logged streams and old Apple Trees hinting at the site of a former farm. I was told that UVM mapped the area and had a walking tour for a while in the 1990s.

The surrounding woods along the back roads that travel along the ridge lines and swamps are congested with “US Property, NO Trespassing” warnings on almost every tree.

One of the few remaining foundations we were able to find is the site of a former church, now nothing more than its front stairs.

Nearby was the old West Bolton Cemetery, which is still maintained. It was oddly quiet here, with a solemn weight that seemed to hang over the Maples and hollows. There was also an amusing sign attached to the front gate, humorously prohibiting ATVs from riding in the local cemetery. Within 10 seconds of us seeing this sign, a group of ATVs came up the dirt road towards the cemetery, 4 of them packed with 2-3 riders on each one. They slowed down as they approached the fence, revved their engines obnoxiously for several minutes, then took off down the road sending gravel and dust in their wake. Maybe they didn’t like the new sign?

I sometimes enjoy walking through older cemeteries to admire and become intrigued with unique epitaphs, symbols alluding to secret societies, and other oddities that have been chiseled onto the aging headstones. There is always a story to be told. One of my favorite finds in West Bolton was this etching of a hand, with a finger dramatically pointing up to the skies above. In the 1800s, it was sometimes common for this to appear on headstones, with the intention of saying that without a doubt, this deceased soul did in fact go to heaven. But no one knows for sure if this gesture was telling any profound truth or not. And I suppose you don’t have to go ghost hunting in your afterlife to find out.

As seen in “Downtown” Jonesville.

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To all of my amazing fans and supporters, I am truly grateful and humbled by all of the support and donations through out the years that have kept Obscure Vermont up and running.

Gofundme: https://www.gofundme.com/b5jp97d4

June 10, 2013March 31, 2020

Curious Wallingford

If I had to pick a place in Vermont I loved most, it would probably be the town of Wallingford. A small town unknown to most, a shimmer in the rolling geography and rushing traffic moving from Rutland to Bennington. Wallingford offers an attractive historic village on Route 7 and an incredible amount of vast land rising up the wooded slopes of the Green Mountains to the east of town – a rugged and wild landscape of boulders, dark forests and streams fed by melting ice.

I spent some of the best days of my childhood here at my deer camp, cherished memories that still haunt me today. But apart from all that, Wallingford is a town of intrigue and mystery. Its deep forests have swallowed ghost towns and have buried the remnants of an impolite massacre that happened over a century ago.

My favorite entrance to any town, ever. You can’t beat the view as Route 140 curves its way into East Wallingford.

According to local lore, Wallingford’s Sugar Hill was where Maple Syrup was first made in Vermont. Roughly before the town became industrialized, the cryptic remains of the skeleton of a man were unearthed behind the old stone shop on Main Street, the rotting remains of a rusted gun barrel found alongside him. Some speculated that the remains were thought to be of a soldier of the French and Indian wars, but as to how he met his death, whether by treachery, lurking savage, disease or wild beasts of the Wallingford wilds, has never been known.

But perhaps the most mysterious area of town is an unforgiving and conspicuous geographical anomaly that can be seen from all parts of town – an area aptly named White Rocks.

Rising about 2,600 feet above The Valley of Vermont, White Rocks mountain is an incredible sight. During the last Ice Age, glaciers scoured and exposed the Quartzite cliffs that makes up the framework of the mountain. Over time, the slopes eroded to a point where the face of the mountain became weak, creating several massive rock slides that crumbled down the slopes to dales and glens below, sending gigantic Quartzite boulders, some larger than an average house, down the mountain ripping up the evergreen forests as they made their visible scars.

It is here amidst this merciless landscape where an area known as the Ice Beds lay, where melting ice harbored deep within protected mountain caves feeds crystal clear mountain streams that meander their way through the woodlands. The temperature drops a good 15-20 degrees here and is a welcome respite on hot summer days.

But there is another sight among the sites here, something far more likely to capture the most vulnerable of imaginations. According to a little-known piece of local lore that was in danger of almost vanishing; the White Rocks are said to be the final resting place of a fabled treasure lost over 2 centuries ago.

As the story goes, sometime during the late 1700s, a group of Spanish prospectors passed through the area now known as Wallingford seeking fortune in the new land. In the mountains, they discovered a rich vein of silver. The group began to set up mining operations and began to dig deep cavities at the base of the mountain. Here, they were able to work in secrecy where they smelted the ore and turned it into silver coins. Eventually, they decided that they all had enough to live comfortably for the rest of their lives. But there was a problem. They had no way to transport all of their newly found wealth back to Spain. They filled their saddlebags with what they could, and hid the rest in the mine. The opening was discrete and hard to find, and they all agreed that it would be highly unlikely that another wayward prospector or woodsman would stumble upon it. But just in case, they disguised the opening the best they could, with the hopes of coming back whenever they wanted if they needed more money.

Years passed and most of the original group had died off, all but one. A frail old man by now, he wondered onto the streets of Chester, Vermont looking tired and a little confused. A kind young local man noticed his appearance and asked the old man if he was alright and needed assistance. The Spaniard was apparently so grateful at his generosity and taken by his personality that he decided to return the favor in a way the wide-eyed young man could have never seen coming. The Spaniard told his new friend now known as Richard Lawrence that his that his saddle bags were filled with silver coins, and told him about the mine in Wallingford. He informed Richard that whatever treasure was left in the mine was his to keep, on the condition that he waited until he passed away to go claim it.

As it turns out, Richard proved to be just as honest as the old man had predicted, and didn’t tell anyone about the treasure until years later, when he told a few of his good friends and decided to set out to Wallingford and the mysterious White Rocks. But after a diligent and organized search, they could not find the opening of the cave. Search efforts carried on for several months, but after frustratingly grueling hours, they reluctantly gave up and left with their heads and their hearts tossed around like the boulders that fell from those slopes long ago.

Today, the treasure has yet to be found, and the mountains still remain as elusive and mysterious. It’s no wonder that the deep area where the rock slide collided with the forest floor is known as “Chaos Canyon”. If you do believe that a buried treasure still exists within the catacomb of twisting caves and eternal ice behind the mountain, don’t plan on digging for it. The White Rocks is protected land, part of the White Rocks National Recreation Area within The Green Mountain National Forest. So for now, visions of buried treasure and the more humbling reality of the limitations of man will sink with the northern sun.

white-rocks-panorama — White Rocks Mountain underneath the mists.

The Ice Beds at the base of the mountain, underneath thick mists that were beginning to settle deep in the rocky glens below the craggy summit. On dry summer days, the rocks provide a great place to climb around – something I have spent hours doing before. But not today. The rain that had began to fall had made the Quartzite boulders slippery and dangerous.

If you venture up the Keewaydin Trail, you will eventually hike past a strange looking structure sitting off into the woods. It looks like a miniature house that comes up to your chest, but this odd little one-roomed structure is long abandoned, as indicated by a giant hole in the roof. Peering inside, the rotting interior was filled with stagnant black water. There seemed to be a stream, either natural or created by runoff oozing out from underneath it. But what was it? I had no ideas. A passing hiker informed me that this was one of Vermont’s “Fairy Houses“, which are scattered mostly around the town of Grafton. But after doing the research, it just didn’t add up. This seemed more utilitarian, and a little less…I’m not sure, whimsical? Maybe this was something that once protected a natural spring? If anyone has any idea, feel free to pass the information along.

The White Rocks and their vast silence of a still winter’s day. The hike was great.

From the White Rocks, Route 140 twists its way down through a deep gulf formed by the aptly named Roaring Brook. The narrow highway offers one more serpentine turn before dipping into Wallingford village, where elegant Victorian houses climb down the hillside to the small downtown district. Here, at the only traffic light in town, sits another Wallingford curiosity that is far more gentle than the White Rocks, but practically as enigmatic.

It’s made out of cast iron, colorfully painted, and depicts a young boy holding a boot which eternally drips water from a small hole into a circular pool below – his faraway eyes forever depicting a state of reverie. This is Wallingford’s “Boy with the Boot”.

At the base of the statue pool, there is a small plaque that reads: “Erected to the memory of Arnold Young by his children, April 3, 1898.” Arnold Young was the innkeeper of the Wallingford House hotel that sits directly behind the statue. It is said that Arnold’s children thought that this statue would somehow be a fitting memorial and gift to their father. But it seems like a rather peculiar memorial that a well-respected innkeeper would choose. Would Mr. Young have chosen a different memorial, rather than a boy with a leaking boot? Or maybe there was some sort of comedy at work here – an inside joke perhaps, or something that the Wallingford of the late 19th century would have understood that has since been lost?

Around 1910, the Boy disappeared and was discovered ten years later in the Inn’s attic. He was restored and has since stood in front of the hotel. The statue has become an icon of community pride, so much so that the Wallingford town website even features an animated Boy and the Boot.

The mystery, however, deepened even more after I had published an article about it in the Rutland Reader. Some old-timers recalled the statue once being painted black, and others say his eyes were originally closed, only to be painted open. And others argued against both claims, saying the statue has always looked the way it did when I photographed it.

But it wasn’t until I found a compilement of speculated history that just adds to the mystery continuum, because none of the interesting information I read was sure of itself. Written up by Emma B. Towsley, Alex Fleck and Charles Hill (a descendant of Arnold Hill), this edifice may just be ” the most mysterious statue in the world”. According to the essay title anyways.

More than 80 years ago, seven of these statues were allegedly shipped to America from Germany, but to contradict this, others have argued that this statue isn’t of German origin, but have no records as to where it’s from. Records or not, some say it came from Rome, Italy. But the Italian Embassy in New York City didn’t seem to agree with that statement. But a Swedish gentleman who had traveled through Italy swore he saw the original copy, and then had a copy of it made which can now be found existing in Stockholm, Sweden. It seems like many more copies had been made around the 1800s, and were given as gifts to English, Canadian and American cities. But no one, not foreign governments, so-called authorities of art and state museums couldn’t weigh in at all as to who the original sculpture was.

There has been a “Boy With The Leaking Boot” Statue in Fresno, California for over 64 years, Winnipeg, Canada since 1895, Menominee, Michigan’s was brought over from Germany over 70 years ago, and the oldest one of them was around for more than 80 years in front of the Porter House Hotel in Sandusky, Ohio, where the Porterhouse Steak was debuted. Ellenville, NY is the only city to have two copies. Ohio once had two, but one died in the impact of a car crash in Wellsville. Records show that Seattle had one that came from Belgium, but it was later stolen.

The boy, suggested being depicted as being about ten years old, is an enigma himself. Who was he? One theory published long ago in an English newspaper said that the boy was modeled after a well-liked newsboy who sold papers on the streets of a town in Italy, and as the story goes, tragically drowned while he was fishing. But two men in a Californian city give their own story, and say that this boy was actually a “drummer boy” in either the Revolutionary War or Civil War, and would try to care for sick or wounded soldiers on the battlefield. Using what little he had, he pulled off his boot, ran to a nearby creek and filled it with water to give the agonized men a drink, while plugging up the hole in the front of the boot so the water wouldn’t leak out as he was running back.

All we know for sure is that fifteen of them were made, and one is on display in the middle of downtown Wallingford.

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To all of my amazing fans and supporters, I am truly grateful and humbled by all of the support and donations through out the years that have kept Obscure Vermont up and running.

Gofundme: https://www.gofundme.com/b5jp97d4

May 16, 2013March 31, 2020

Curious Centennial Woods

Burlington is Vermont’s largest city; the last census reported around 42,000 people making their home within the city’s 16 square miles. And anyone who knows Burlington would agree its an interesting city, with a diverse history adding to the layers that form the design and the architecture of the big picture. But even among the urbanization, there are still untapped places that can offer a rare glimpse of mystery and perspective that have managed to survive.

Centennial Woods is 65 acres of oddly wild land sitting in the middle of Vermont’s largest metropolitan area, and a lot of people don’t realize it even exists. With a discrete entrance located off a side street under the shadow of Fletcher Allen’s herculean edifice, the park is only marked by a small green sign that is almost lost among the environment around it. And once you find one of the trail heads, you find yourself in another world entirely that strangely coexists within such a vulnerable area- its secrets inhabit the influence of the city.

At the entrance to Centennial Woods lies something that doesn’t fit in with the gentle charm of the woods. A sight among the sites, you suddenly get an odd sinking feeling when the brutal military-esque form of a crumbling concrete bunker emerge from a steep hillside, its graffiti offering ambiguous messages from others who have visited.

So what is it? The ruins of some sort of military installation? Some sort of early agricultural attempt to tame the steep hillside around it? Sadly, there doesn’t seem to be any answers, and any information about it just doesn’t seem to exist. But there are theories. Some say that these ruins were once built by the legendary Green Mountain Boys for training exercises. However, that seems far fetched, as concrete wasn’t wildy used in construction projects until the post civil war era. Others say that this might have been part of some sort of unusual surveying attempts along the Burlington/South Burlington city line, which runs right through the middle of the woods. And another more mysterious theory is that this is the last remnant of a series of monuments that once were scattered throughout the woods. But if so, than a monument to what?

The answers seemed to be somewhere in the smoke, and until they choose to reveal themselves, we’ll be waiting to pick at those pieces.

There was a strange indented area in front of the “bunker”, indicating that there was once more to this arcane structure.

The “bunker” didn’t seem to extend back that far. Any indication of a former entrance had long faded away, lost to memory.

Just down the trail from these sturdy ruins sits a cool artifact on the forest floor, something small enough where you can easily trip over it if you aren’t careful; a city boundary survey marker. It’s erosion and cracked surface showed the plaque’s age, especially compared to its newer street sign replacements located further down the trail. “City of Burlin – C.B. 40” could be barely made out through its erosion and faded youth.

some rather interesting “trail art” – the tangled barbed wire quite possibly a vestige of the areas agricultural past, now acting as abstract art, or the victim of an act of boredom.

Centennial Woods is a surprising hilly area, which is practically unknown unless your familiar with the topography here. It’s rocky ledges and serpentine marshlands hold another set of peculiar yet unmemorable set of ruins; a series of badly burned stumps, a rusted machine gear and a beaten utility pole. Though the casual hiker would probably never guess it; these are the remains of the former South Burlington Kiwanis Ski Area. It opened sometime in the winter of 1963 and offered a 500 foot rope tow and lighted ski trails. However, the ski hill fell victim to arsonists in June of 1967 – the fire destroying the rope tow, tow shack and machinery. The rest was looted by vandals, and all have been left abandoned and forgotten as mother nature reclaimed it. The burned foundation of the former tow shack still can be seen in the new growth forest, more then 40 years later.

The charred and worn remains of the former tow shack

the former utility pole that powered the ski hill, now also abandoned and defunct.

Any attempts to find the remains of the ski trail would be impossible, the area has grown wild and indistinguishable

Walking down the hill behind the former tow shack made me understand immediately why this site was chosen. The woods suddenly descend a very steep slope that makes its way down to a thick swamp along the fringes of Interstate 89, the flash and blur of traffic seems like a dream through the soft spring canopy. To my surprise, the hill had found new life and has been resurrected by another group of people looking for an adrenaline rush; mountain bikers. The steep and sandy slope had been carved into a series of dirt jumps with incredible elevation drops in between them, nothing for the faint of heart.

These jumps had a steep and not at all dangerous drop down towards the interstate.

And I felt a change coming up as the skies grew dark – and there were apple blossoms in the air. Centennial Woods is a wonderful place to get lost for a while underneath the red maples, taking the woods in before you take them home. Besides a single passing hiker, I had the entire area to myself for 3 hours. It’s amusing to think about how much of an influence these woods have had in the 2 cities they grow in, told only fleetingly by the things they’ve left behind. The families that frequented the ski slopes near the interstate, the mysterious people who built the concrete ruins on the hill, The Green Mountain Boys and the farmers who may have once cultivated the land – there’s a connection here that is now linked by the isolation and the wilderness as it continuously changes the landscape. And if the woods bleed all their stories out, then what would be left for them to take to their grave?

How to get here:

Centennial Woods can be found off Carrigan Drive in Burlington – a side street off East Avenue. Click here for a map.

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To all of my amazing fans and supporters, I am truly grateful and humbled by all of the support and donations through out the years that have kept Obscure Vermont up and running.

Gofundme: https://www.gofundme.com/b5jp97d4

February 11, 2013March 31, 2020

Weird Chittenden

If you asked a Vermonter where the town of Chittenden was, a lot of people would probably be confused. Some would ask if you meant Chittenden County instead, and others would probably just shrug apologetically. If you do happen to know about this off beat community, chances are you know about the storied Eddy Brothers, who over a century ago vexed the world by conjuring shapeless entities and communicating with the unknown within their ramshackle farmhouse. Or perhaps you have stayed at the scenic Mountain Top Inn, a luxury Bed and Breakfast overlooking the icy waters of the Chittenden Reservoir, nestled within a remote mountain wilderness that is unbroken for miles.

But other than these two images, the town of Chittenden is little known to most, and I suppose that’s not a huge surprise. Chittenden is actually the largest town in the state, at around 74 square miles. But despite it’s vast size, the land remains divided by dense mountains, making the town largely unsettled with only a few dirt roads leading in and out.

But Chittenden is a curious place, its abundant wilderness holds and protects much of the town’s secrets and history in its own sense of time.

In the past few months, I had began to hear a lot of strange accounts and unusual tales about this small community, which sparked my curiosity. Chittenden had never struck me as one of Vermont’s weird locales, so this intrigued me, and I began my attempts at finding out more.

I began hearing vague accounts of unsettling happenings and arcane events in an area of town that locals call “New Boston”. Stories of witch hunts, secular rituals and sinister things like bodies being dumped under the shelter of the shadowy woodlands, the evidence feeding the hungry roots of the forest. For those who had visited, they explain that the feeling is off and heavy, a presence that unnerves you mentally and leaves you trying to re-familiarize yourself with your surroundings. I was told that a few paranormal groups from Rutland once claimed to capture a few EVPs of disembodied voices from a largely forgotten cemetery in the woods nearby.

To add to this growing mystery, it has been said that Chittenden is where Vermont’s only photographic evidence of an elusive cryptid was taken, something so infamous that it has long captured the minds of Vermonters and people from around the world for centuries; bigfoot.

Vermonter’s have claimed to see monsters and abnormally large animals in the woods for years, but it wasn’t until 1977 that a photograph was taken that may have offered definitive proof to the long debated mystery. Deep within the Green Mountain National Forest, a large stocky creature covered with silvery hair and had the head of a gorilla had been captured on film near a logging road. It had been standing behind the safety of some thick scrub, as if this creature had been watching the photographer. When news of it was unveiled, the picture was met with harsh speculation and curiosity. Many tried to not only debunk it, but cover up its existence while others hailed it as legitimate proof. Today, this mysterious photograph has not only largely been forgotten, but it has yet to be proved or disproved. As a matter of fact, it is theorized that the late Dr. Warren Cook from Castleton state College became interested in the photograph, only later to attempt to cover it up and dismiss its existence. Is it possible he was threatened by an activist group or some secret branch of the government? Or is it just a rumor that has found its way around successfully?

Despite all of this great information, I had reached a roadblock. My research however proved that the area’s existence seemed to be as mysterious as the stories surrounding it. I found an area of the Green Mountain National Forest by the same name, with a few hiking trails leading off into the silent woods. Apart from finding a future location for me to hike, it didn’t really answer my burning questions. So I emailed the Chittenden Historical society and waited for a reply.

Within a few days, I received an email from karen, who began to add some factual detail to this story.

Chittenden was named after Thomas Chittenden, Vermont’s first governor, and who Chittenden County to the north was named after. But despite the honorable gesture, the govenor had little to do with the town.

New Boston was the first actual settlement in Chittenden. Around 1813 economic hardships and slow settlement led to the area’s demise. Most families moved away and the town eventually became the property of mother nature again. A large area of town to the north was also settled and called “Philadelphia”, but with the harsh rocky terrain and slow settlement, the town was eventually disorganized and much of the land was granted to neighboring towns, the majority was annexed to Chittenden.

Later, the tiny village of South Chittenden would gain nationwide popularity due to a pair of sullen and simpleminded brothers; The Eddy Brothers. Spiritualism got its humble start in the small village of Hydesville, New York in 1848, when local residents Kate and Margaret Fox claimed that they had the ability to communicate with the dead in their sordid farmhouse. Bemused onlookers were treated to quite the show; The Fox sisters speaking with the unknown, and the spirits giving answers by using audible rapping sounds that everyone could hear! Soon, their showmanship gained the attention of an ever growing leader of followers, and the nation began engrossed and captivated at the idea of talking to the dead. If spiritualism wasn’t a hoax, could this be proof that there was in-fact ghosts, and an afterlife?

By 1870, Chittenden, Vermont jumped on the spiritualism bandwagon when William and Horatio Eddy moved into the family farmhouse after their father had passed on, and treated the invited public to seances. This wasn’t a business ploy; the Eddy brothers claimed to have connections with things on the other side of the seance table from their youth, when they played with ghostly children, went into prolonged trances, allowed willing spirits to speak through their own vocals, and were eventually expelled from school for levitating desks and making books fly through the air. Their father Zepaniah, who was not only tired of the paranormal shenanigans his offspring were becoming intimate with, but he figured out that he could exploit their purported abilities, and sold them to a traveling side show. 14 years later, they returned after their fathers death and set up a show of their own in the dingy parlor of their farmhouse, and whatever things manifested themselves under the slow candles burning, attracted people from around the world. However, not everyone was convinced, and the Eddy’s were also met with lots of skepticism.

In 1874, Henry S. Olcott, a journalist from New York, visited the Eddy Brothers several times in hopes of proving them to be frauds. He eventually and maybe a bit begrudgingly wrote a book, “People From The Other World,” which was a journal of his experiences at their seances. However, he was never able to successfully debunk the Eddy Brothers, and his book remains as the best existing account of them today.

The Eddy Brothers, though an fascinating and important part of Vermont history, have already been talked about far too many times, in pain painstakingly researched detail by numerous Vermont Eddy enthusiasts, so I won’t jump into it any further when I feel that there is far better material existing that you could seek out. However, a few months ago, a friend of mine told me that he had met someone who had recently stayed in the Eddy Brother’s farmhouse. Though she had no knowledge of its history, she claimed that “weird stuff happens there”. But as luck would have it, as I was driving by, a member of the ski club who now owns the property was kind enough to introduce himself and give me a tour. How could I say no?

The Eddy Brothers Farmhouse Today, now the private High Life Ski Club

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The old farmhouse was beautifully restored, and was a place I could easily see myself enjoying on Fall or Winter days (if I had the money) But one question was on my mind; if the room where the original seances were held still existed. The gentleman rolled his eyes and gave me a good hearted laugh. “That’s the thing, we don’t really know which room they they happened in” he said. “It honestly could have been any room in the house” He explained that he wasn’t on board the Eddy bandwagon, and had no idea of the house’s history until the club purchased it and he became a member afterwards. “Most everyone still refers to this place as the Eddy House” he stated “We’ll never live that one down”

Though the club wasn’t all that thrilled about the house’s occult reputation attached to it, they approached it humorously and kept accounts and information about The Eddy Brothers around the house.

An original picture of the Eddy Brothers Farmhouse. (I think circa 1920-1930). Notice the name “Lake View” above the porch? The Eddy Brothers Farmhouse used to be surrounded by a beautiful pond, the house sitting on a peninsula in the middle. Older photos of the farm show the barns sitting across the bays of the pond with the house in the foreground. However, In the early 1900s, the beaver dam burst, and within hours, the pond had drained. Today, the ravine where the former pond was can still be traced, now filled in with younger growth trees and countless berry bushes. — An original picture of the Eddy Brothers Farmhouse. (circa 1920-1930). Notice the name “Lake View” above the porch? The Eddy Brothers Farmhouse used to be surrounded by a beautiful pond, the house sitting on a peninsula in the middle. Older photos of the farm show the barns sitting across the bays of the pond with the house in the foreground. However, In the early 1900s, the beaver dam burst, and within hours, the pond had drained. Today, the ravine where the former pond was can still be traced, now filled in with younger growth trees and countless berry bushes.

When I asked Karen about the strange paranormal occurrences in the area, she was quick to assure me that they were all myths. Although, she did recall something strange happening there. There was a murder that took place around the New Boston area in the 1970s, in which a boot containing a foot was found. As far as I know, it was a cold case. “No body was ever found to go with the foot”. said Karen.

Today, there are grave sites, stonewalls and old foundations that are reminders of the vanished village. The name “New Boston” has been reused to designate the forest region around that area, which is scattered with hiking trials, snow mobile trails and old roads. Local youth also frequent the region for late night drives, with the purpose of getting creeped out.

Another interesting point of information was behind the strange names around town. I had been wondering why certain areas of Chittenden, and in other parts of the state were named after cities and areas in other states – Settlements with significantly larger populations that in a lot of cases, Vermont seems to shun. The answer was a comic one. Areas like Boston, Philadelphia, Michigan etc all received their names over a century ago, when these remote places were more remote then, and were considered so far out there that they might have been as far as Boston, or any other large American city at the time to most Vermonters. So in a quirky sense of Vermont humor laced with sarcasm, any remote and challenging region to travel too was often given the name “New Boston”.

The small town of Chittenden is saturated in local lore and fascinating history, weighted down by the heavy snowfalls that blanket the desolate mountain tops. But is there a reason behind all of the unusual phenomenon within the town lines ? Could the legendary Eddy Brothers have accidentally opened some sort of door into another world, allowing spirits to pass through at will? Or does the rocky soil beneath the town harbor some sort of ancient trouble? Or maybe, it’s just all coincidence.

Whether these amusing stories are real or just passed down by others who have the same interest, I suppose will never be known for sure. But perhaps the mystery is more exciting than the explanation.

Visiting New Boston

Pictured below are a few remaining foundations and gravestones of the settlement of New Boston. There probably is more, but it’s a question of where. The woods around Chittenden are vast and are good at holding their secrets. A few people reminisced with me earlier, and told me they remembered New Boston and the nice place it was. Some used to party out in the abandoned houses when they were in high school, and recall there being some remains. But if this is the case, we couldn’t find them on that brisk summer afternoon.

The forest road to New Boston, closed due to a very rainy summer and flash flooding.

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A Lost Door

This last bit of Chittenden weirdness may be the most obscure. Sometime around the 1970s, a local woman had claimed that one day while out for a walk, she found a mysterious doorway leading into a hillside, deep within the woods of Chittenden. Deciding to investigate, she gave the door a good pull, and it opened, revealing a stone spiral staircase that allegedly wound its way down far below the ground, fading into black shadow. The woman decided to make the run back home and grab a flashlight, and then come back. But she was never able to find the door again, leaving this fascinating story a lost one. Could this woman have in fact found a doorway leading deep into the Vermont mountains? What would she have found if she followed that staircase? It makes you wonder. Surely the construction of a spiral stone staircase leading to the subterranean world below Chittenden’s mountains would surely lead to something important, right?

Though this story is intriguing, others question whether it was just a yarn well spun. According to those I spoke with, her alibi just didn’t add up. She reportedly claimed she had been back a few times alone, but when she was asked to show someone else, she suddenly couldn’t recall where the door was… But in the end, I’ll suppose we’ll never know. After hiking the woods of New Boston, I recognized just how easy it could be for someone to get lost up there.

Another interesting footnote to this story; this isn’t the first time a mysterious door was found in a Vermont hillside. Years ago, another such door was supposedly found in the small town of Ryegate. However, when the family came back to investigate, the door had vanished completely.

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To all of my amazing fans and supporters, I am truly grateful and humbled by all of the support and donations through out the years that have kept Obscure Vermont up and running.

Gofundme: https://www.gofundme.com/b5jp97d4

December 21, 2012March 31, 2020

Railroads and Silos

It was an icy Winters day as me and some friends drove through the Champlain Islands; destination unknown. It was one of those situations where we were seeking a place to explore, hoping to find some inspiration and intrigue in the brown fields burned by the harsh blue skies. In the Winter, the Champlain Islands loose the comfort and allure brought with the Summer months, vanishing with the shivers and darkness of the later half of the year as if it were a completely different place.

Not having any real luck in the islands, we crossed the Alburgh bridge into New York, the sturdy ruins of Fort Montgomery were not being pitied by the season as they were battered by the choppy and relentless waters of Lake Champlain.

For a region with such an extraordinary history and important connection to the rest of the country, a surprisingly large amount of it has been buried (metaphorically and literally), the occasional historical marker is scattered across the geography, hinting at what once was.

Rouses Point, New York has always been a heavily trafficked locality thanks to it being a portal into Quebec. It’s where the dotted border lines of New York, Vermont and Canada all meetup, as well as Lake Champlain and Quebec’s Richelieu River, which were the area’s original super highways before the interstate systems were built.

Automobile, rail and boat traffic is all siphoned through the gateway community, and because there are always nuances, that also includes the more illicit of things, like rum runners, smugglers, the underground railroad, and a few wars fought by the British and the Americans skirmishing on Lake Champlain over the past hundred years. Seriously, Rouses Point was such a noteworthy place that the feds financed a fort to be built at the mouth of the Richelieu just in case British troops wanted to invade us through Canada. Only, the United States was a much younger nation then, which meant that no one knew exactly where the border was, and the fort was accidentally built in Canada, later returned to the U.S, and never actually used. It was eventually partially salvaged for parts, and a lot of the small village was built up with the bricks, stone and wood salvaged from the brawny structure. From what I was told, the present day village offices were built on top of a former prohibition era dumping site of all the paraphernalia that was confiscated. Today, a drive through Rouses Point is mostly simple wood frame houses, moored sailboats and a Dollar General, a ubiquitous find in Upstate New York.

The village really did well for itself when the Delaware and Hudson Railroad decided to build passenger and freight facilities here and a rail yard to accommodate. Though Rouses Point is a pretty obscure community overall today, just outside the village limits are the remains of the oldest and last remaining Delaware and Hudson roundhouse turntables. Being battered by fierce winds, our trip here was short as the numbness in my hands began to outweigh my increasingly diluted curiosity. What can I say, I hate the cold.

This building was formerly used for washing down the rail cars

Interestingly enough, most railroads, the D&H included, didn’t bother to wash their steam locomotives. Every so often, they would go over them with a mop soaked in kerosene to make them shine, but that’s about it. Roundhouses were built in the steam era as a way to store and maintain the locomotives, as well as repair and prepare them for their next trips. Other buildings on the site would be a coach shop, which was used to repair passenger stock, a cooling tower which was used for fuel, water tower for water, and in some cases a freight house where less than carload items were sorted and shipped out.

So, what is the reason that so many roundhouses are now abandoned? In short, diesel engines need much much less repair than steam engines. When the steam engines faded away, so did the roundhouses.

This building was used for holding freight.

Alburg is a 45th parallel town, and one of a handful of Vermont communities that have found themselves in a weird moniker contention, where the United States Board on Geographic Names decided that they needed to standardize place names around the country in 1891. Every city or town ending in ‘burgh’ had their H dropped, pretty much so the mail would go to the right places and to make them easier to write on federal documents.

Well, over a hundred years later, a few Vermont towns decided that the dropped consonant was something to get up in arms about, with a few bringing it back, and the other few not caring that much.

Back across the bridge, in the pancake flat farmlands of the Champlain Island archipelago, the landscape is dotted with trailers, sagging farmhouses done in vinyl siding, and silver silos that reflect the coarse December sunlight from their gleaming surfaces.

There is a rural road off of Route 2 called Missle Base Road, a moniker that supports the notion that this cul-de-sac is different from other Alburg byways . Whether or not it’s misspelling is a VTrans blunder or intentional, it’s sort of a weird road name in a region that only has a sheriff to bring down the law. That street sign is overshadowed by a much larger and more intimidating sign. In fading lettering, it sort of reads “Stop! Authorized Personnel Only Beyond This Point” in attention grabbing orange, while even more faded text behind it once read “Town of Alburg” (spelled without its H)

A drive down bad tarmac puts you dead ending in front of 2 rusted Quonset Huts, a chain gate, construction equipment that has seen better days and a dune of road salt. You’re looking at the Alburgh town garage!
But the Quonset Huts give its past away. Underneath the salt pile is the reason for the huts construction; an atlas missile silo.

This is the site of one of Vermont’s 2 nuclear missile silos. But you’d never know it. Towards the back of the property, a rusting pile of junk and a dune of road salt sits on top of the closed silo bay doors, each concrete door weighing 45 tons, enclosing the dark dripping confines of the flooded silo below.

Peering down the silo today would be a wondrous gaze into man’s eternal battle with evil and glorious ruin, but if you had peered down this shaft in the early 1960s, you would have been gazing at the tip of a nuclear missile.

In the 1960s, the military was scrambling to build defenses against the potential of a nuclear apocalypse that the Soviet Union was scheming, with the Soviets doing the same thing with the role of the villain reversed. The Army Corps of Engineers constructed 12 sites in a ring around the Air Force base in Plattsburgh — 2 in Vermont, 10 in New York, and absolutely no expenses were spared, with each site costing between $14 and $18 million to build, each one coming with a brazen claim that each could withstand a direct nuclear attack.

But these mysterious and aggressive projects were quite a feat to build. Many workers died during their constructions, with urban legends reciting that some unfortunate souls became entombed in the concrete silo walls they were hired to produce. The thought of the cold walls and dark depths of the missile silo as someone’s last vision is an image is a poignant one.

Ironically, despite the large expenses invested in these agents of destruction, the pulses of these missile silos were short lived, only active from 1962 until 1965, thanks to leaps in progressive apocalyptic technology. To add to the uncertainty, many were disputing afterward whether the missiles would have been able to hit their targets, and even be able to lift off the ground.

But they left a lasting impression on the landscape. However today, they hold contaminated waste and shadows smothered with valiant ghosts.

Each launch site constructed included two Quonset huts, a utility shed and an antenna that could detect a nuclear attack up to 30 miles away. The silo itself was 52 feet wide and 174 feet deep, encased in a shell of incredibly thick and durable concrete.

After their demise, the sites were abandoned. Ownership was now the burden of their communities, including this one, which was, uh, gifted to Alburgh, who turned it into their down highway department headquarters and dumped road salt over the perforation. Others were looted, some were sold to private investors and military enthusiasts. According to lots of testimonies over the intervening decades, most of them flooded to some degree.

Because everything has a market, interest in these intriguing properties has picked up in recent years, thanks to curious buyers who see the old silos as great “fixer-upper” projects, especially for private homes. But due to their deteriorating conditions, these sites require a buyer with a lot of money, patience and time. One of the former sites, in Champlain, New York was found and purchased on eBay. The new owner plans to clean it up and live in the remaining Quonset hut, and possibly in the launch control center. Taking his project a bit further, he has created an intriguing website which tracks his progress cleaning up the site, and gives everyone else a cool and rare look into these fabled locations.

Alburgh’s site wasn’t phenomenally interesting, but I still thought it was cool. I snapped a few photos of the Quonset Huts, because that’s more interesting than a photo of a pile of salt. I’m pretty confident in my assumption that the town won’t be opening up those blast doors anytime soon, so it’ll have to do. A town garage that doubles as a weird monument to humankind’s strange tendency to destroy itself.

As of 2015, it looks like the street sign was spell checked, but Google maps still uses the misspelled moniker for the road.

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To all of my amazing fans and supporters, I am truly grateful and humbled by all of the support and donations through out the years that have kept Obscure Vermont up and running.

Gofundme: https://www.gofundme.com/b5jp97d4

December 18, 2012March 31, 2020

The Patch Hollow Massacre

Why do remote and wild places captivate us so much? Maybe it’s because these inaccessible places don’t easily give their secrets or their history – forcing the curious adventurer to truly dig for answers (sometimes literally). Or maybe it’s because here, our imaginations run wild as we find ourselves detached from the modern comforts and the familiarization of our backyards. We seek these places for their inspiring beauty, and ask for the answers to our questions which burn in our veins of desire. Anything can happen out there.

Vermont’s mountains hold quite a few ghastly secrets. Perhaps the most well known story to come out of the Green Mountains is the legend of The Bennington Triangle and the now vanished town of Glastenbury. It was here on the wild slopes of Glastenbury Mountain where 5 innocent people dissapeared without a trace between 1945 and 1950 – no clues or remains were ever found, but the theories were more than plentiful.

I’d like to tell a story just as sinister and lesser known, in a place just as remote and wild. But this story is more gruesome because it can be proved, and its catalysts are human rather then paranormal – hinting that sometimes the most dangerous things on Earth can be ourselves. I’m especially fond of this story for it’s obscurity, and that it’s darkness happened near one of my favorite places.

Patch Hollow

The Long Trail travels north from Glastenbury, over the peaks of Southern Vermont’s Green Mountains, dips down and back up the steep gulf around Route 140, and descends upon a wild and desolate area above Wallingford called “Patch Hollow”.

Running in a north-south direction, Patch Hollow is a deep trench of land high in the Green Mountains, formed by the steep slope of Bear Mountain to the west, and the more gentle Button Hill to the east. In the center of this densely wooded bowl is a large swamp, its green waters occasionally protruded by the skeletons of dead trees that twist towards the Wallingford skies above. In 2008, the beaver dam broke with such a force that it sent a large wall of water plowing down the steep hillsides, carving a jagged gorge into the land and completely taking out a chunk of Route 140, the bafflingly large boulders that were transported down the hill still rest along the roadside today.

The power of Mother Nature is both awesome and awe inspiring, and Patch Hollow is indeed a wild place. I know this hollow personally, as I grew up hiking here and riding my 4 wheeler through the few trails that traversed the rough terrain (and are not for the inexperienced rider). But what I didn’t know at the time, was that there used to be a settlement here – one with a gruesome tale attached.

My first thoughts of any sort of community way up in Patch Hollow, far above the valleys amused me. Looking at the stark wilderness today, it seems almost unrealistic. This is where a lesson in Vermont history comes in handy. When towns were being settled, and the first roads were being cleared, often they were built through the highlands and the mountains because the valleys were prone to flooding and washouts. This means that at one time, Patch Hollow was on the main road through town. In the book “History of Wallingford, Vermont” by By Walter Thorpe, he writes that a settlement of at least 5 families once made their home here. But there are no clues that are left that would point to the bloody struggle that took place at here, not even a hint that civilization was once rooted in this sunny dale.

So what happened here? The story goes back to May 11, 1831. One of the settlements in the hollow was owned by Rolon Wheeler, a “man of violent passions and jealous disposition,” according to an account written in 1911. Wheeler was reportedly guilty of sexual acts with his wife’s sister — a situation that when was leaked, created a great deal of resentment from the community.

Some community members from Wallingford and nearby Shrewsbury were so resentful that they decided to go as far as form a mob – with the intent of tar and feathering him. The threats were made so publicly that Wheeler was forewarned and took measures to defend himself. He fashioned a knife from a large file and barred his door.

On the night of May 11, your classic angry mom scenario formed two parties from Shrewsbury and Wallingford, and set out for Patch Hollow for some justice. Equipped with jugs of rum, a bucket of tar and a sack of feathers, both parties made their way into the mountains. The party from Shrewsbury never made it – getting lost in the woods instead. Their pride damaged – the reality of getting lost over powered the want for vigilante justice, and the group returned home.

The Wallingford group didn’t share the same fate, and did arrive at Wheeler’s house. They eventually forced their way in by prying a hole in the gable end of the roof. Three men leaped into the house and struggled with Wheeler in the dark. Wheeler stabbed one man in the side and another was slashed an excessive amount of 14 times. The door to the cabin was unbarred and more people poured into the cabin. In the scuffle, someone was killed. The angry mob stopped being belligerent and went to get a better look at their prize.

But, in all the haste, they made a fatal, and rather embarrassing mistake. They killed group member and friend, Issac Osborne by mistake…Wheeler was nowhere to be found. After a few minutes of trying to comprehend the situation, the group noticed that a set of clothes had been strewn across the cabin floor. The picture was clearer now. Wheeler had escaped the hands of one of his attackers by wrestling out of his clothes, crawling under his bed, and prying up some floorboards before escaping beneath the house.

A moment of realization was then sparked under the watchful eye of the Patch Hollow shadows. The mob panicked, most likely all scared because they committed murder that night, and hastily fled the house. Later, Dr. John Fox of Wallingford would visit the scene, which he recounted as “the most terrible sight he could recall.”

By the light of a candle, Fox saw “the livid body of Osborne on the bed and cabin literally soaked in blood.”

After escaping his blood stained house, Wheeler decided that spending the night naked in the woods was a safer decision than venturing back into town. Before dawn he stole a shirt from a clothesline, walked to the Hartsboro section of town (now a ghost town and a road of the same name) and hid in a barn. Needing clothes, he spent part of the day crudely weaving a dress from rye straw he found in the barn, and then retreating to his sister’s home in Pawlet. But after all that, Wheeler was finally caught.

He was arrested and put on trial in a makeshift court held at the Baptist Church in Wallingford — the only building in town that could hold the crowds eager to watch the proceedings. In the end, he was found innocent under terms of self defense.

The mob who assaulted him didn’t get off so easily. Two of his attackers were fined $60 each,while three others were fined $40. Justice was served, just not in the way the angry mob had expected.

After the court hearing, something strange happened to Patch Hollow. Perhaps the tragic events of that chaotic night left its scar in the minds of everyone who partook, forever troubling the land. Or maybe it was just “bad for business”. After that bloody incident, Patch Hollow became abandoned shortly afterwards and to this day, no one has tried to rebuild it.

Today’s Patch Hollow is quieter, as the mountain forests reclaimed the land, the only visitors now are the countless hikers that loyally hike the Long Trail to get lost in the Vermont woods for little while, letting the wilderness and the solitude quell their thoughts.

How To Get Here:

Take the Long Trail North from the Route 140 trail head in Wallingford, or South from The Clarendon Gorge just off Route 103 in Shrewsbury.

Links:

For those who are further interested in The Bennington Triangle, there is a great documentary on the area’s history on Youtube

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fdyysF0VC20]

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rBPMp8H3x3w]