On an unseasonably warm day this past October Barry and I walked down the center of Interstate 95 in Massachusetts without any regard for traffic. That's because there wasn't any. What was in abundance however were rusted guardrails, faded paint lines, and waves of vegetation that had swallowed the breakdown lane and was continuing inward. Forty years of abandonment would do that to a highway.
For those who have driven on I-95 in Massachusetts, this is not some post-apocalyptic, parallel universe I'm describing. It was indeed I-95. At least, it's a portion of what used to be I-95. In 1976 this section of road was abandoned and rerouted between Danvers and Newburyport in a widening project, leaving this discarded piece of interstate to the bicyclists and hikers such as ourselves.
Abandoned I-95 is not a place you're apt to stumble upon accidentally as the road itself isn't visible from any part of our modern I-95. But knowing where it began (thank you Google Earth) we found a parking spot alongside some construction equipment and made a quick walk down a trail to start our journey.
In the battle between nature and mans creations, there is no battle - the only question is how long it will take nature to reclaim her territory. We witnessed both the early stages of this takeover, such as these small trees sprouting through the tar,
And the later stages of this takeover, such as this beast lifting apart the road.
Remnants other than just blacktop were plentiful too. I'd forgotten about old fashioned wire guardrails such as these
Not all of the remnants were above ground, either. Here is one of several drainage tunnels which I couldn't resist crawling into.
Maybe a mile into our journey the pavement abruptly ended where it met a hill, but our fun didn't end there. Woods surrounded the highway on both sides, and so we took to the trees for our return trip. As a reward for our curiosity we were greeted with a variety of cool things, such as a rusted old engine,
And this rickety platform that, try as I might, I couldn't get Barry to climb onto.
The surprise of the day was that, unlike so many other hidden places we visit, there was very little graffiti here. It wasn't completely bare of it, and we did see a few rude pictures that I'd have hidden from my daughter's eyes, but for a mile of abandoned blacktop it was relatively untouched.
And of the graffiti abandoned I-95 does have, there are actually more inspirational messages than rude ones.
What could be worse than having your wife hire three guys to beat you to death and throw your body down a well? How about having your wife hire three guys to beat you to death and throw your body down a well, then have the townspeople put up a memorial at the location of the well forever describing to the world the humiliating and horrific way your life ended.
Meet Joshua Spooner, a wealthy farmer from Brookfield Massachusetts, who in the year 1766 entered into an arranged marriage with twenty year old Bathsheba Ruggles. The couple had four children together, but over their 11-year marriage Joshua became more controlling and abusive toward his wife, to the point she despised her older husband and wanted him gone. That was the motive, now Bathsheba just needed the means and opportunity.
Both these came in the form of a young soldier named Ezra Ross. In 1777 Ross was making the long walk home from an army camp in New Jersey to Linebrook Massachusetts, which is apparently something people just did 200 years ago. He became sick along the way and Bathsheba took the stranger in and nursed him back to health, another thing people apparently just did back then. Ross became friendly with the couple, Bathsheba more so than Joshua, and began having an affair with the young mother. Eventually she became pregnant.
An adulteress pregnancy in the 1700's could be dealt with by such level-headed responses such as public flogging or exile, so in a move that would have made Pamela Smart proud Bathsheba enlisted her young lover to kill her husband. Ross chickened out on the first attempt, so Bathsheba brought in two other soldiers and the three men carried out the grizzly murder, beating Joshua to death and stuffing his body down a well that once sat on this patch of earth.
Things unraveled quickly for the masterminds and all 4 were arrested within 24 hours. This was before the days of decades long trials and appeals, and four months to the day of their arrest Bathsheba and the 3 men were publicly hung in the nearby city of Worcester. She tried to stay her execution on the grounds that she was pregnant, but an exam by several housewives disputed this claim. A postmortem inspection showed she actually did have a fetus in her stomach, however, and left her with this unique footnote in our country's history books.
Bathsheba Ruggles Spooner, the first woman put to death in the United States following the Declaration of Independence, was pregnant during her execution.
Spooner Well can be found on East Main St., Brookfield Massachusetts, east of downtown
Transcript:
SPOONER WELL
JOSHUA SPOONER, MURDERED
AND THROWN DOWN THIS WELL
MARCH 1, 1778 BY THREE
REVOLUTIONARY SOLDIERS
AT THE URGING OF HIS
WIFE BATHSHEBA
ALL FOUR WERE
EXECUTED AT
WORCESTER JULY 2, 1778
Related Links: Macabre Memorials Part #1 - Josie Langmaid
Nearly twenty-five years after I last climbed out from beneath the ground of Sugar Hill, four of us donned our climbing gear and made the two-hour drive to my once favorite place to explore. This was a trip back in time for two of us in the group, and for the other two they weren't even born when lastI made this journey. It was somewhat a leap of faith to make the return without really knowing what we'd find. Our only reassurance was that, at least since Google Earth had last been updated, they hadn't plopped a Wal-Mart where the cave used to be. But in order to find the entrance we'd be relying on my memory from over half a lifetime ago, and I'm a guy who most days can't make it out the door without help from my wife. One morning she even had to help me track down my missing hat which I had hidden on top of my head. Sure enough, we arrived at Sugar Hill without any trouble but then spent the next two hours bushwhacking up and down the mountain in a scavenger hunt for the cave. My daughter Madison got the worst of it as she trampled over a nest of angry bees. I tried to convince her how lucky she was to have been able to outrun all but five of them, but she wasn't in a "glass half full" mood at that moment.
After meeting back at the truck to retrace our steps my memory clicked - we should have turned left and the bottom, not gone straight - and ten minutes later we stood at the cave's entrance, recreating a picture from my youth.
It's not the easiest cave to get into, and for our first challenge we had to scoot down and off this ledge. Here is Madison using the same technique my wife uses to exit our Jeep.
Once moving Madison quickly went from hiding between the grownups to leading the pack, and with her unique ability to squeeze into places that would make a field mouse claustrophobic, she led us into the depths of the earth.
As far as caves in New Hampshire go, I don't know of a better one than this. There were tight areas we had to crawl through, but there were also large cavities like this one where we could stand around in a group, chatting. Most times the conversation ended with us saying how much cooler of a way to spend a Sunday this was, as opposed to all those poor people wandering around a mall somewhere.
Although this has the look and feel of a wild cave, after reading some old maps I've pretty much determined that it's actually what remains of a section of the old mine. This part was described as an open, sixty-foot deep trench carved into the mountain. I believe the cave formed when the trench either collapsed or was buried. Sections of the mine still exist farther down in the form of a separate open trench, and beyond that a shaft which we were able to enter by climbing through the backside.
This is an area that requires extreme caution when exploring, although looking at this sign I'm not sure what the bigger threat is, mineshafts or bears.
We left the woods that afternoon tired and muddy, but more than either of those, happy. Fellow adventurer Alex asked his father, my friend Dave, how he and I knew of this place to begin with, and we told him the story about researching abandoned mines many years ago and lucking into this spot. Taking it a step further he wondered why we had been looking this stuff up to begin with, and Dave answered in a much better way than I ever would have. To paraphrase, he said that we all start off with a sense of wonder in life, but too many of us lose it along the way. Never let that happen. Each of us should have an insatiable sense of curiosity for our world, and we should always be exploring the things that interest us. And as Madison will tell you, an afternoon spent spelunking is a wonderful way to satisfy that sense of curiosity and adventure!
Trudging up a mountainside in central Massachusetts one drizzly Sunday, if I'd have stopped to contemplate my mission I would have put my odds of success at about a coin flip. Dusk would soon be settling in, roots hiding under a layer of wet leaves threatened my ankles with every step, and my only directions were an X marks the spot hand drawn map I squinted to read on my phone. Besides all this, I really had no idea how big this thing was I was looking for - I could picture it being both as small as my laptop and as large as my television.
But when I finally spotted it from a distance I had no doubt this was the rock I was searching for, even though nothing in the woods indicated this was a special place.
Can you spot the treasure in this picture?
This adventure began in the year 1800 with the birth of Solomon Parsons Jr in Leicester, Massachusetts. The grandson of a reverend, Solomon himself was a religious man who in 1840 purchased a 10 acre plot of land on a hillside in Worcester with the intent of building a temple on it. He paid $125 for the property, which Google tells me in today's currency is nearly $3,500.
But here's where things get weird. Rather than recording the purchase into his own name through the city's registry, Solomon bypassed that processes and instead had the man he purchased it from, William Hall, give the 10 acres of land directly to God. How exactly did he do this? By having a 200 word deed carved into this boulder which sits within the woods of the property, where in consideration of the money received Hall is said to give the land "Unto God" through "the laws of Jesus Christ."
These weren't just some scratchings on a rock, either. The man Solomon hired to perform this task, Sylvester Ellis, carved these words so deep and meticulously that "Deed Rock" remains as clear and readable today as it was 176 years ago.
Not so enduring were the boundary markers he used to define the land, which included such mainstays as a chestnut tree, a pile of stones, and the corner of a fence.
Just in case Deed Rock wasn't a big enough clue, Solomon was a kind and gentle man but also had a touch of the crazy. Caught up in a religious sect called the Millerites (led by head crazy William Miller), this group believed the world was facing a cataclysmic end in the year 1844. To survive this rapture Solomon built his temple on top of the ten acres, but unfortunately he was a better worshipper than builder and legend says the temple was leveled by a windstorm.
Other structures have come and gone in these woods as well, and in my search for Deed Rock I found the remains of two other building, including this large foundation.
After the world didn't end in 1844 as the Millerites predicted, Solomon began selling off chunks of the property. When he passed away at the age of 93 the remaining land was scooped up by a real estate mogul who simply claimed it as his own. And although houses and apartments now surround the hill, Deed Rock and the patch of woods that hide it remain as secluded and peaceful as I imagine they were when memorialized in 1840.
This rock is a work of art that I almost feel should be in a museum. Almost. Because although putting it on display would allow it to be shared with the public, I worry that something would be lost by making it so easily accessible. Anyone could go see it simply by standing in a line.
But having to climb a mountain in the rain, not quite sure what I was looking for or even if I'd find it, then the joy I experienced when finally locating this treasure? That's a memory that will stay with me forever.
* My transcript of Deed Rock, complete with errors. Solomon was many things, but a good proofreader was not one of them:
KNOW ALL MEN BY THESE PRESENTS THAT I WILLIAM G HALL OF WORCESTER IN THE OUNTY OF WORCESTER AND COMMONWELTH OF MASS IN CONSIDERATION OF 125 DOL PAID BY THE HAND OF SOLOMON PARSONS OF THE SAME WORCESTER THE RECEIPT WHERE OF I DO HEAREBY ACKNOWLEDGE DO HEAREBY GIVE GRANT SELL AND CONVAY UNTO GOD THROUGH THE LAWS OF JESUS CHRIST WHICH ARE MADE KNOWN TO MAN BY THE RECKORD OF THE TESTAMENT RECORDED BY MATHEW MARK LUKE JOHN THE EVANGELIST THIS LAND TO GOVERND BY THE ABOVE MENTIONED LAWS AND TOGATHER WITH THE SPIRIT OF GOD THE SAID TRACT OF LAND IS SITUATED IN WORCESTER ABOVE MENTIONED THE SOUTH WESTERLY PART CONTAINING TEN ACRES MORE OR LESS BOUNDED AS FOLLOWS VIZ BEGINNING AT THE SOUTHWEST OF THE LOT AT A STAKE AND STONES BY LAND OF E DANIELS THENSE EASTERLY BY LAND OF S PERRY ABOUT 97 1/2 RODS TO A CORNER OF THE FENCE THENCE NORTHERLY BY LAND OF ABOUT 54 RODS TO A CORNER OF I FOWLER ABOUT 24 RODS A CHESTNUT TREE IN THE WALL AT THE CORNER THE LAND OF SAID DANIELS AND A HEAP OF STONES BY THE SIDE OF THENCE SOUTHERLY TO THE BOUNDS FIRST MENTIONED
Of all the places I have written or plan to write about, the one I have visited more often than any other is Fort Dearborn at Odiorne Point in Rye. I've been coming here as far back as elementary school field trips in the 1980's, and I've been here as recently as the fall of 2016.
Driving into Odiorne Point, you know you're in for a good time the moment the first bunker comes into view. Like other bunkers within the park this one is a series of underground rooms and tunnels masquerading as a hill, complete with a covering of bushes and trees. The giveaways are the entrances, one of which is flanked by these impressive looking bombs.
As much as I've wanted to see inside this first bunker, I've never found a time when it was accessible. But although it's remained tight, there's a second and larger one in the woods we've generally have better luck with thanks to those mischievous young kids. Most recently a hole had been punched through the wall near this entrance.
I almost had Logan convinced to come inside with me, but it's dark and creepy in there and he got no further than one leg through the opening before wishing me luck. Maybe next year. So in I went alone, and because I'm always so well prepared I began my journey down this long hallway with nothing other than my cell phone flashlight. The dot of light you're seeing in the distance is me looking back at the hole I crawled through.
Perhaps a dozen rooms line one entire side of the hallway, and I wandered through most of them while Tina periodically called out in her best whisper-yell to ask if I was alright.
Getting into this bunker already made that day a successful trip, so after climbing back out I was happy just to wander the trails a bit before heading home. Our wanderings eventually led us to the third bunker. This one never excited me much because not only were its entrances barred over, but giant rocks had been piled over the bars to double the protection from getting inside.
Exploring this one had always been a dead end, but here's where this day went from being good to being great. Me being curious and poking around the rocks, I found a spot that - when I lay down and sucked in my gut - I was able to slither through the rocks, around the gate, and into the bunker. Just like that I found myself standing inside bunker number three, taking selfies.
Rather than a long, straight tunnel like the previous one, this bunker sits inside in a round hill and has several twists and turns.
In the corner of one room I found this rotting, unidentifiable corpse. I concluded it was either a very large bird or the mythical chupacabra.
I also found the limits of what I was willing to do that day. This crawlspace was big enough for me to enter, but after seeing the creatures that wandered around on the upper levels of this place, that hole remained unexplored.
Looking at the graffiti it became apparent that, somehow or another, people have been getting in and out of this bunker for decades. Finally, I could add myself to that exclusive club.
Our last place to explore that day was this building in the woods. Much tamer that the war bunkers but perfect for the younger adventurers in our group.
If you live anywhere near the Seacoast and have not visited Odiorne Point yet, I suggest moving this to the top of your to-do list. It doesn't matter what your interests are because Odiorne Point has something for everyone; a playground for the younger kids, a science center for all ages, miles of trails, long stretches of sand to sunbath in, the ocean to wade through ...
... and of course my personal favorite, war bunkers.
It's hard to imagine that a 20-foot stone tower could go largely unnoticed within the town it was built, but that's just what seems to have happened in our neighboring community of Berwick.
This adventure begins twenty-five years ago when I lived along the Salmon Falls River in Somersworth. It was just my second apartment, me and my friends were all poor, and for entertainment we spent much of our time hanging out along the river. A friend's grandmother had a small boat we had access to and we got to know those waters like our own backyard. We boated, fished, possibly caused a little mischief now and then, and spent many afternoons exploring the surrounding woods on the Maine side. And somewhere in the course of those explorations we came across this stone tower.
Unfortunately I didn't have the sense of curiosity then as I do now, and rather than wondering what the heck this thing was it simply became one of the many places we liked to hang out at. In those days we were interested in much more important mysteries such as could a Chevy Chevette get hangtime if you sped fast enough down the dirt whoop-de-dos next to the train tracks (it could, but plan on saying goodbye to your radiator), or how far up the river's drainage tunnel we could walk before it became too narrow to move (well past the manhole at the old Robbins Auto on Main Street, for anyone who knows the area). Eventually I moved away and the tower passed from memory.
Fast forward to 2016, and as a curious older man I start wondering what, if anything, has happened with that structure. I couldn't get to it by boat like we used to, so I made a few scouting missions through Maine and looked for any trails that would lead me in its direction. Not finding any, I picked a road where the abutting woods were the shortest distance as the crow flies to where I remembered the tower being, and on a recent Sunday afternoon I went for a hike.
It was maybe a mile I expected to walk, but the big question was how difficult it would be. The first half was actually enjoyable with the hint of a trail leading me alongside the river. Then I came to an intersecting stream which would normally have stopped my progress, but with our recent drought it was low enough to where I could rock jump my way to the other side. No trail existed on the far side of the stream, however, so there began my bushwhack. And although I can't remember where I leave my car keys or what I had for breakfast on most days, it wasn't long before I arrived exactly where I remembered it being a quarter-century ago.
I spent some time taking pictures and learning how to use the timer mode on my camera before reluctantly heading home, assuming this would be my last time seeing it. That night I searched every combination of phrases in my vocabulary for "tower" in the town of Berwick, but Google doesn't have a clue this thing exists. Somebody knows it's here though, for as you can see there is a clearing a hundred feet beyond where it stands that is being maintained.
So I emailed researcher James Gage, a local historian who wrote the book on stone structures in New England. Literally. James is co-author of A Handbook of Stone Structures in Northeastern United States, and since he'd graciously helped me with a previous location I was researching (a future post) I thought he may be aware of this one too. He wasn't, but he was interested and gave me a few clues as to what he thought it could be. He also ruled out my amateur's guess of it being a kiln furnace.
My next step was reaching out to the town of Berwick, so I wrote to the folks at the Old Berwick Historical Society. Within half an hour I received a very nice email from their spokesperson saying she wasn't aware of the tower but thought it fascinating. We talked back and forth a bit and she forwarded my emails and pictures to a handful of life-long residents for help.
That was this past weekend and now I wait, hoping one of these local historians can shed some light on Berwick's mysterious stone tower.
*Edit*
I learned that the Old Berwick Historical Society (OBHS) is a separate organization from The Berwick Historical Society. I've been referring to them as one group and apologize for any confusion. - Dave
As an adult, I once spent an
entire summer in my backyard each night building a treehouse with my friend Barry. The appeal of having a clubhouse never left me from childhood, and as a first-time homeowner there were two things I wasted little time doing - first was buying a go-kart like the ones I used to drool over in the Sears catalog, and second was building that treehouse.
So when I learned recently about the "Spruce Swamp Beagle Club" - a group of guys who many years ago built a small cabin in the woods of New Hampshire - I immediately made plans to track it down. The cabin is called Camp Nasty, and armed with some general directions I found online a friend and I grabbed our backpacks one Saturday afternoon and headed out.
Our trek to Camp Nasty was a tale of two hikes. Part one was a leisurely, mile-long stroll down a snowmobile bed wide enough that my Toyota could have driven it. Part two was a bushwhack that featured impenetrable bushes, bug infested swamps, and at least a month's worth of bad language all packed into a half mile. Whatever trail once led to Camp Nasty is long gone (hence the cabin's name), and although we felt like giving up at different points we trudged on and eventually stumbled onto this welcome sight.
The first obvious thing was that, even if people still visited the cabin, it's probably been a long time since it's seen any meaningful use. Beginning with the broken front door that was propped up sideways, Camp Nasty is in a terrible state of deterioration.
What remains, however, are all the signs of a once place once treasured. Although no longer in usable condition, everything a person would need for an overnight stay remained. There were 2 bed frames, pots & pans, a table, lantern, and even a wood stove.
We signed the "new" logbook which dated to back to 1991, so people have been visiting this cabin for quite a long time. In fact, we later learned that this is the second cabin built on this spot. The first one was constructed from logs left behind by a tree cutting service but ended up burning down. Perhaps that explains this seemingly out of place smoke detector.
The builders of Camp Nasty loved their cabin and wanted to share it. They even wrote a mission statement welcoming people to use their "meager facilities" and asking only that it be left in the same condition it was found. One of the builders, Ralph Crocker of Exeter NH, loved this cabin so much he chose to be buried in it. Here is his cremation box which we found resting peacefully on a shelf. Holding his remains and thinking about the enjoyment this place brought him, I felt a momentary connection with someone I’d never even met.
Later that night as I was flipping through the pictures, Tina commented how the cabin is on the verge of collapsing. What will happen if it falls down, she asked. I said I guess the pile of rubble will remain there until nature claims her back. But what about Ralph's remains, would someone come and get them? Maybe he has family that will come for them, I speculated, but more than likely I think they'll stay buried in the rubble until nature claims them back as well.
And although I cannot know for sure, I suspect that's just the way Mr. Crocker would have wanted it.
Earlier this spring a friend asked me if I'd want to take a mountain bike ride with him that included traveling almost four miles underground. The answer I gave him was as emphatic a yes as I get when asking my wife if she wants to go for a double scoop ice cream at Lone Oak. Then he mentioned that this place was nearly a ten hour drive away, and after the slightest of hesitations my answer was still the same. Let's do it.
In 1968 a 13-mile section of Interstate 76 in Pennsylvania was carved off and rerouted around two mountains, which up until that point it had tunneled through. The interstate was a four-lane highway but reduced to a mere two lanes each time it entered a mountain, then opened back to four lanes when emerging the other side. Many would ask why a highway was built in such a curious way, however this interstate didn't start life as something cars were meant to drive on. It was originally constructed as part of "Vanderbilt's Folly", a reference to the over-ambitious and unfinished railroad construction attempted by William Vanderbilt in the late 1800's. And having been built for a railroad, these re-purposed train tunnels were never wide enough to be part of a major highway. So although a novelty to drive through in the early years, as traffic increased these bottle-neck entrances had commuters screaming for a fix.
A total of seven problem tunnels existed throughout the turnpike, and in an attempt to salvage them several were widened, or "twinned", to increase them from two to four lanes. This eliminated the bottle-necks for the tunnels it was performed on, and we actually drove through one of them one our trip down.
However, this proved too costly a solution and the decision was made to scrap the remaining three tunnels and build new interstate around them. One of the bypassed sections of road, which contains two of the tunnels, later became known as the Pennsylvania Abandoned Turnpike. Over the years it has become a destination for adventurers eager to make a journey underground. In fact it became so popular among bicyclists that control over nine miles of this bypassed section, including both tunnels, were given to a local cycling group, and today cyclists from near and far make the pilgrimage to Pennsylvania to ride the abandoned highway.
We made our own pilgrimage in June of this year. Our hotel room was conveniently located just a quarter-mile down the road, so we biked from our front door to where these cement barriers opened the way to our journey.
We rode the first few minutes in awe at how much nature had taken over this four-lane highway. The middle barrier was overgrown to the point we sometimes couldn't even see the gravel on the opposite side.
Between running and bicycling I've spent many years exploring new and different places, but I cannot think of a more beautiful sight than what greeted us a couple miles down the road. We came around a bend and there in the distance was Ray's Hill Tunnel.
Arriving at the entrance, we spent a good 10 minutes wandering around and taking pictures of its mammoth opening.
And listening to the hoots and hollers of tunnel-dwellers within.
Inside was a cold, wet, and dark world where we occasionally passed other hikers and cyclists. In the light of day encountering these same people was a friendly experience, but underground - where you can hear them but not really see them - everyone is a potential ax murderer. I'd find myself giving a quick "hey" into the darkness, then moments later peeking over my shoulder to make sure they weren't coming to "get" me.
3,500 feet later we triumphantly emerged out the other side, having conquered our first tunnel. We spent some time climbing and exploring the framework ...
... and admiring all the graffiti, which is plentiful at each entrance.
Once we were moving again it was perhaps three miles until we reached the longest of the seven original tunnels, Sideling Hill. At 6,662 feet in length this monster blasted cool air over us long before we actually reached it. Riding through was similar to the first one except it's so long we couldn't even see the exit light in the distance. And there was also a moment where two motorized buggies (against the rules but fine with us) came buzzing by in the dark. I could easily have believed I was in a Mad Max post-apocalyptic world at that moment.
Beyond Sideling Hill the road ended abruptly where the old interstate connects to the new section. We had completed our journey - or half of it, at least. We still had to ride back. And although the return was anticlimactic at times, the tunnels were just as fascinating the second time through.
We ended the day on the balcony of our hotel room looking out over the rolling Pennsylvania hillside, where we had some celebratory beer, retold the stories of that day, and talked about where we would be going on next year's adventure.
And wondering, how would we ever be able to top this one?
