![SmugMug > all-time keyword > massacre > Massacre Grounds
Before you make your first step across Fremont Saddle you had better read this - me and my first visit to the Massacre Grounds, and a little 'background'. And so close to the Valley of Armageddon - it's almost like 'A'm-a-gettin'' outa' here. This was all a few years back.
Back then, i took a shuttle down to Phoenix and then hitched out to the Golden Hillside Mine in Lost Dutchman State Park. I checked my pack to see if all i needed was there. I struck out east across the road to the area known as the Massacre Grounds. i had to appease the ancestors by leaving stones there, so i set up a small fire and lay out my sleeping mat and bag.
Over this i erected a small plastic sheet, in the unlikely event of rain. It was in earshot of the road. My idea was to enter the heart of the Superstitions and wait until i was trapped in the loop. It was late afternoon and i was exhausted after the preparations of the day before. After i had made a hot drink with my second to last bottle of water i crept into my sleeping bag and lay thinking. I had a grasp of all the clues but i didn't want to think too much of them at this stage. I half knew that the gold was just a reason to get me into these mountains.
Humphrey Bogart had been here before searching for the treasure of the Lost Dutchman in a Hollywood movie called 'The Treasure of the Sierra Madre'. He and his companions were gripped with the cursed madness tearing at their very being. Laughter echoed in the valley of the Massacre Grounds. And then there was howling, screaming, anguish, and blood curdling yells. There was slaughter all around. The Apaches fired volleys of arrows at the scared foreigners. They penned them into a ravine. They screamed to their God for mercy, vomited, choked and stood on the precipice of death. From above, the attackers rolled boulders and these fell through the darkness striking the life from those below. They were helpless in their armor, suited more to the jousting field. The Apaches cursed them as their souls departed this world.
Their chief spoke:
'You come to steal our gold. Why do you treasure it so? You can't eat it. Yet you wish to steal it. Before you came to steal, and we had know that you came with honest intentions, we would have fed you, shared our shelter, and seen you safe through the desert. Now when we meet you on the brink of death in the desert we will stuff your mouths full of gold dust.'
The Peraltas were massacred at this spot but in my dream i saw conquistadors in armor dying under a hail of boulders. It was also here that the two strange, old prospectors known as Goldlock and Silverlock [no joking about names - Ed] recovered $15,000 in gold around 1914. It is likely that they recovered this from the Peralta cache that had been abandoned at the time of the massacre.
In the morning i awoke and looked for pieces of armor which had been crushed by rocks and rattling with bones. My dream in the harsh light of day had vanished. Obviously the Black Legion had not cottoned on to a lone camper in the Massacre Grounds yet, or at least they would have left some form of warning. i searched thoroughly around for footprints, and went beyond the sandy area to look for signs of disturbance. Nothing. So passed an uneventful first evening on the edge of the Superstitions alone.
At First Water Creek i realised that i was running out of water, so i searched around and dug in the sand, at a place where arroyo came together. Water started to fill the small hole and i let it settle before i started carefully filling the bottles with the oozing brackish water.
i looked around and it seemed that i was penned in by the steep rocky cliffs. It was about half a mile as the crow flies to the recesses of O'Grady Canyon. There was seemingly no way through and a huge circular bluff dominated the access path. At the entrance to O'Grady Canyon i started climbing up through a notch that would lead north. An eagle soared above and i took heart that it was a good omen and guide. i cast sigils in the air and placed a piece of stone at the entrance to the notch. i had no idea where I was going but i knew that the passage northeast would eventually intersect a trail which led southeast to Weaver's Needle - the famed Weaver's Needle that featured in just about every legend of the Superstitions.
It was tough going in the canyon and progress was interminably slow. The ground eased off to the east and i climbed up through a boulder field. Below i could see an indistinct trail that zig-zagged across a creek led into Boulder Basin. i dropped into the trail, tripped and fell against a cactus. Fortunately it was not cholla but several lines of blood oozed from my palms and my arms. i disregarded the blood, knowing that this would happen time and time again. i had a bag of beef jerky and sat momentarily, then greedily ripped at a large piece and munched on it noisily.
Instead of heading north to the Dutchman's Trail i decided to take an easterly short cut to the Peralta Trail which i knew dropped south to Weaver's Needle. All the time i kept my eyes peeled for recesses and caves on the canyon wall. The ground was not too difficult but i know i would have saved time if i had used the actual trail.
Finally i could see Weaver's Needle to the southwest, and East Boulder Canyon and the Peralta Canyon Trail heading northwest-southeast. Weaver's Needle is one of the most dominating features you could ever imagine in a desert. It reminded me of Uluru in the red center of Australia or Chimney Rock in Nebraska. There was a group of hikers in the far distance. This was the most popular time of the year for hiking, because of the lower temperatures of November and December. i was tired but knew that i had to get down in the canyon to look for a pool of water. You can stay alive in the desert if you have water but a pocketful of gold or semi-precious gems is next to useless.
i sat gathering my thoughts and just as i was about to start walking i spied some petroglyphs on a nearby rock which lay in the recess of an overhang. They were covered with rock varnish and i deduced that they were of considerable age, perhaps Tohono o'Odham.
Unbeknown to me two men inched to a prominent viewpoint and peered at me through the telescopic sights of their rifles.
Working out the meaning of the petroglyphs wasn‘t easy. One which i traced with my finger was familiar. It was a snake that entwined around a staff. The staff was crooked at one end. To the left of the caduceus was a maze symbol with two barely visible figures at each end of the maze. i knew it to be the Hopi man in the maze, and i knew that i was well and truly in it. All other figures were too varnished to discern. i took the discovery to be a sign that i was being guided and that i had reached the point in this three-dimensional anagram that i had to be.
i clambered down towards the Peralta Trail with the lofty bulk of Palomino Mountain to my north. When i found a flat patch of ground, more sand than rock, i set up camp for the night, about half a mile from the trail. The sun was getting low and it would soon be dark. i boiled some water and made some tea. Tomorrow i'd explore around the Needle so i lay back and thought of possibilities. And this entailed recapping more of the stories of treasure hunters.
Adolph Ruth, the cripple who came to search for the Lost Dutchman's mine alone. He had been left in West Boulder Canyon by two cowboys. He was armed with a copy of the Peralta map, which he had told all and sundry was an authentic version. To the east of my small camp, about a mile away, was Black Top Mesa. Ruth disappeared for six months until his skull was found by dogs on top of Black Top. The skull had a single bullet hole. Later his headless body was found in another location. There was no sign of his map, only a notebook with some of Ruth's handwritten notes. But the notebook was incomplete, with pivotal information missing.
In Ruth's handwriting were the words 'veni, vida, vica... about 200 feet across from a cave.' The 'it' in the notebook could well refer to the mine, and the 'it' was within a two and a half mile radius of Weaver's Needle. But Ruth came, saw something, but certainly, unlike Caesar, did not conquer. The Superstitions were a killing ground, no doubt.
A dozen or so people disappeared in here between 1951 and 1961, and gun battles were involved in some of these deaths. Some seven of the missing had been shot and killed and their murders left unsolved. Someone may still have the important missing notes from Ruth's notebook, passed down over time. i felt a chill up my spine and my hair stood on end.
And James Cravey. Another crippled man who had disappeared. He came in by helicopter and landed near the head of La Barge Canyon. After the helicopter lifted off Cravey was never seen alive again. His body, wrapped in a blanket, was found seven months after he went missing, in February 1948. He had been decapitated, and a short time later his skull was found. In Cravey's case it was obvious that someone had moved the body to a place where it could be found, attaching it to a rope which had been laid across a well-trod trail. It may have been that the person who moved the body wanted to deter further searching in the region.
It was a lonely spot when dark descended and i stared up at the stars of a now familiar night sky. I heard what I thought were footsteps and hurried out of my sleeping bag to investigate. i couldn't go far as i had deliberately not carried a flashlight. It could well be an animal. i moved over to a clump of boulders and saw what seemed to be a human form. My heart was pounding. Suddenly a figure came into the firelight behind me with his hand held out:
'Is this your stone?'
i composed myself as another armed figure appeared in the half light.
He aimed his rifle directly at my head, and i gulped, preparing for death. i was no stranger to the feeling having been detained at gunpoint several times before in Africa, when i traveled there writing for Lonely Planet.
'Take it!' the figure demanded. i could now see that he was Native American.
'Take it and go away from here.'
i took the piece of stone in my hand and it was the greenstone i had thrown to the ground at the start of O'Grady Canyon. These two people had retrieved it and followed me all the way to this camp.
'It is pounamu from New Zealand, my country. i mean no harm. i have come into these mountains to look for something, something more important than gold. The gold is just a clue.'
'You have been to our sacred grounds. You walked through our burial ground and touched our rock carvings. We have seen you. You are not hiking here. You are looking.'
The other intruder cocked his rifle and i prepared to die. The person who handed me the stone spoke:
'Tomorrow you leave here. Take the Peralta Trail to the south. You can live but you may not return or we will kill you. This is your last chance. This is our sacred ground and we want no strangers. You do not travel the beaten path. If you had we would not have followed. So go.'
As quickly as the appeared they melted into the darkness. They could have been Black Legion protecting their treasures or secrets, or they may have been merely preventing violation of their burial grounds. i had decided much earlier that if i died in the quest so be it. It would be the will of God. i would head down to the Needle in the morning and try and lose these watchers. They had the advantage of following and watching in the distance by virtue of their telescopic sights. But i would watch for them.
It was a fitful sleep of no remembered dreams.
There was a chill in the air the following morning. The sun had not yet risen over the surrounding rock features. i knew that every movement i made was being watched so i packed slowly, every now and then glancing around at the surrounding high points. i started off down the Boulder Canyon-Peralta Canyon Trail in the direction i had been told to go.
i was soon at the base of Weaver's Needle which loomed over the trail at this point. In a likely sink where i knew i'd find water, i filled mybottles again - it was in East Boulder Canyon. Fill when you can, fill every time - and be ever mindful that you may not be so lucky every time.
Behind me was a flash, the glint from glass. i was still being observed. Perhaps i could hide and wait until i could watch the watchers. i moved into a crevice, carefully covering my tracks with a broken piece of bush. But knowing that they would have seen me leave the path i knew I’d have to keep low until they came into my view.
They would be master trackers - that was obvious from their following me the previous day, so i would have to be careful. i was right beside the point where Weaver’s Needle rose abruptly to the sky, but the rugged hillside offered a mass of possibilities for concealment.
After about an hour i saw them. Two figures were silhouetted on a far ridge. Every now and then they would stop, move a hundred yards or so, then scan the surrounding area. They were well away from the trail, carefully avoiding a large group of hikers i could see snaking their way up towards the Needle. i could have joined them, seeking safety in numbers, but realized that they would consider my explanations a little mad.
The two intruders from the evening before crossed the trail. They had guessed rightly that i was somewhere near its southern base where an indistinct trail led over a narrow saddle and on to Needle Canyon, the prominent arroyo on the Needle's east. They passed about two hundred yards below me and i could see that they both still carried rifles with telescopic sights. They were the two i had encountered yesterday and they also carried small backpacks. Not one hiker would have considered this unusual as just about every party coming into the Superstitions came armed, except for me.
When i was sure they had dropped well into Needle Canyon i moved to a position where i could better observe them. They were now distant. i decided to stay near Weaver's and camp in a crevice where it would be difficult to find me. There would be no fire this evening. i ate a little food, crawled into my bag, and listened intently, all the while thinking of the path to this point. i had entered a strange realm, almost unbelievable, and had to pinch myself to prove that i wasn't imagining it all. New Zealand and my family, Australia and Cal, and the Eredo in Nigeria, seemed so far away. This journey was nothing like the usual assignment for Lonely Planet, that was for sure.
i fell asleep and the next i knew it was morning, bitterly cold. The crevice was dark and the sun had yet to rise. i remembered where i was and looked around to see if anyone was approaching. The air was still and i could hear birdsong only. No human voices in between. i decided to stay in the sleeping bag until it was light enough to scan the surrounding countryside. i was stiff all over and badly in need of a pee. i moved to my side and urinated on the ground, careful not to spill over the bag as it had do considerable service from this point.
Thinking that my two pursuers would be looking for me in Needle Canyon, i decided to continue south towards the Peralta Trail. i'd keep well away from the trail, although i would come close to it at Fremont Saddle, the dividing point between East Boulder and Peralta canyons. It was too dangerous to stay and explore around the Needle and i had to distance myself from it as quickly as possible. Using the more difficult route it took me about three hours to reach the Saddle. There was a tired party of hikers at the top.
[And that is where i find anyone following this treasure hunt for the Lost Dutchman’s gold now - only a few years’ later - Ed:]](/Street-Scenes/Roadside-Arizona/massacre-Ground/667210224_97G2a-Ti.jpg "SmugMug > all-time keyword > massacre > Massacre Grounds
Before you make your first step across Fremont Saddle you had better read this - me and my first visit to the Massacre Grounds, and a little 'background'. And so close to the Valley of Armageddon - it's almost like 'A'm-a-gettin'' outa' here. This was all a few years back.
Back then, i took a shuttle down to Phoenix and then hitched out to the Golden Hillside Mine in Lost Dutchman State Park. I checked my pack to see if all i needed was there. I struck out east across the road to the area known as the Massacre Grounds. i had to appease the ancestors by leaving stones there, so i set up a small fire and lay out my sleeping mat and bag.
Over this i erected a small plastic sheet, in the unlikely event of rain. It was in earshot of the road. My idea was to enter the heart of the Superstitions and wait until i was trapped in the loop. It was late afternoon and i was exhausted after the preparations of the day before. After i had made a hot drink with my second to last bottle of water i crept into my sleeping bag and lay thinking. I had a grasp of all the clues but i didn't want to think too much of them at this stage. I half knew that the gold was just a reason to get me into these mountains.
Humphrey Bogart had been here before searching for the treasure of the Lost Dutchman in a Hollywood movie called 'The Treasure of the Sierra Madre'. He and his companions were gripped with the cursed madness tearing at their very being. Laughter echoed in the valley of the Massacre Grounds. And then there was howling, screaming, anguish, and blood curdling yells. There was slaughter all around. The Apaches fired volleys of arrows at the scared foreigners. They penned them into a ravine. They screamed to their God for mercy, vomited, choked and stood on the precipice of death. From above, the attackers rolled boulders and these fell through the darkness striking the life from those below. They were helpless in their armor, suited more to the jousting field. The Apaches cursed them as their souls departed this world.
Their chief spoke:
'You come to steal our gold. Why do you treasure it so? You can't eat it. Yet you wish to steal it. Before you came to steal, and we had know that you came with honest intentions, we would have fed you, shared our shelter, and seen you safe through the desert. Now when we meet you on the brink of death in the desert we will stuff your mouths full of gold dust.'
The Peraltas were massacred at this spot but in my dream i saw conquistadors in armor dying under a hail of boulders. It was also here that the two strange, old prospectors known as Goldlock and Silverlock [no joking about names - Ed] recovered $15,000 in gold around 1914. It is likely that they recovered this from the Peralta cache that had been abandoned at the time of the massacre.
In the morning i awoke and looked for pieces of armor which had been crushed by rocks and rattling with bones. My dream in the harsh light of day had vanished. Obviously the Black Legion had not cottoned on to a lone camper in the Massacre Grounds yet, or at least they would have left some form of warning. i searched thoroughly around for footprints, and went beyond the sandy area to look for signs of disturbance. Nothing. So passed an uneventful first evening on the edge of the Superstitions alone.
At First Water Creek i realised that i was running out of water, so i searched around and dug in the sand, at a place where arroyo came together. Water started to fill the small hole and i let it settle before i started carefully filling the bottles with the oozing brackish water.
i looked around and it seemed that i was penned in by the steep rocky cliffs. It was about half a mile as the crow flies to the recesses of O'Grady Canyon. There was seemingly no way through and a huge circular bluff dominated the access path. At the entrance to O'Grady Canyon i started climbing up through a notch that would lead north. An eagle soared above and i took heart that it was a good omen and guide. i cast sigils in the air and placed a piece of stone at the entrance to the notch. i had no idea where I was going but i knew that the passage northeast would eventually intersect a trail which led southeast to Weaver's Needle - the famed Weaver's Needle that featured in just about every legend of the Superstitions.
It was tough going in the canyon and progress was interminably slow. The ground eased off to the east and i climbed up through a boulder field. Below i could see an indistinct trail that zig-zagged across a creek led into Boulder Basin. i dropped into the trail, tripped and fell against a cactus. Fortunately it was not cholla but several lines of blood oozed from my palms and my arms. i disregarded the blood, knowing that this would happen time and time again. i had a bag of beef jerky and sat momentarily, then greedily ripped at a large piece and munched on it noisily.
Instead of heading north to the Dutchman's Trail i decided to take an easterly short cut to the Peralta Trail which i knew dropped south to Weaver's Needle. All the time i kept my eyes peeled for recesses and caves on the canyon wall. The ground was not too difficult but i know i would have saved time if i had used the actual trail.
Finally i could see Weaver's Needle to the southwest, and East Boulder Canyon and the Peralta Canyon Trail heading northwest-southeast. Weaver's Needle is one of the most dominating features you could ever imagine in a desert. It reminded me of Uluru in the red center of Australia or Chimney Rock in Nebraska. There was a group of hikers in the far distance. This was the most popular time of the year for hiking, because of the lower temperatures of November and December. i was tired but knew that i had to get down in the canyon to look for a pool of water. You can stay alive in the desert if you have water but a pocketful of gold or semi-precious gems is next to useless.
i sat gathering my thoughts and just as i was about to start walking i spied some petroglyphs on a nearby rock which lay in the recess of an overhang. They were covered with rock varnish and i deduced that they were of considerable age, perhaps Tohono o'Odham.
Unbeknown to me two men inched to a prominent viewpoint and peered at me through the telescopic sights of their rifles.
Working out the meaning of the petroglyphs wasn‘t easy. One which i traced with my finger was familiar. It was a snake that entwined around a staff. The staff was crooked at one end. To the left of the caduceus was a maze symbol with two barely visible figures at each end of the maze. i knew it to be the Hopi man in the maze, and i knew that i was well and truly in it. All other figures were too varnished to discern. i took the discovery to be a sign that i was being guided and that i had reached the point in this three-dimensional anagram that i had to be.
i clambered down towards the Peralta Trail with the lofty bulk of Palomino Mountain to my north. When i found a flat patch of ground, more sand than rock, i set up camp for the night, about half a mile from the trail. The sun was getting low and it would soon be dark. i boiled some water and made some tea. Tomorrow i'd explore around the Needle so i lay back and thought of possibilities. And this entailed recapping more of the stories of treasure hunters.
Adolph Ruth, the cripple who came to search for the Lost Dutchman's mine alone. He had been left in West Boulder Canyon by two cowboys. He was armed with a copy of the Peralta map, which he had told all and sundry was an authentic version. To the east of my small camp, about a mile away, was Black Top Mesa. Ruth disappeared for six months until his skull was found by dogs on top of Black Top. The skull had a single bullet hole. Later his headless body was found in another location. There was no sign of his map, only a notebook with some of Ruth's handwritten notes. But the notebook was incomplete, with pivotal information missing.
In Ruth's handwriting were the words 'veni, vida, vica... about 200 feet across from a cave.' The 'it' in the notebook could well refer to the mine, and the 'it' was within a two and a half mile radius of Weaver's Needle. But Ruth came, saw something, but certainly, unlike Caesar, did not conquer. The Superstitions were a killing ground, no doubt.
A dozen or so people disappeared in here between 1951 and 1961, and gun battles were involved in some of these deaths. Some seven of the missing had been shot and killed and their murders left unsolved. Someone may still have the important missing notes from Ruth's notebook, passed down over time. i felt a chill up my spine and my hair stood on end.
And James Cravey. Another crippled man who had disappeared. He came in by helicopter and landed near the head of La Barge Canyon. After the helicopter lifted off Cravey was never seen alive again. His body, wrapped in a blanket, was found seven months after he went missing, in February 1948. He had been decapitated, and a short time later his skull was found. In Cravey's case it was obvious that someone had moved the body to a place where it could be found, attaching it to a rope which had been laid across a well-trod trail. It may have been that the person who moved the body wanted to deter further searching in the region.
It was a lonely spot when dark descended and i stared up at the stars of a now familiar night sky. I heard what I thought were footsteps and hurried out of my sleeping bag to investigate. i couldn't go far as i had deliberately not carried a flashlight. It could well be an animal. i moved over to a clump of boulders and saw what seemed to be a human form. My heart was pounding. Suddenly a figure came into the firelight behind me with his hand held out:
'Is this your stone?'
i composed myself as another armed figure appeared in the half light.
He aimed his rifle directly at my head, and i gulped, preparing for death. i was no stranger to the feeling having been detained at gunpoint several times before in Africa, when i traveled there writing for Lonely Planet.
'Take it!' the figure demanded. i could now see that he was Native American.
'Take it and go away from here.'
i took the piece of stone in my hand and it was the greenstone i had thrown to the ground at the start of O'Grady Canyon. These two people had retrieved it and followed me all the way to this camp.
'It is pounamu from New Zealand, my country. i mean no harm. i have come into these mountains to look for something, something more important than gold. The gold is just a clue.'
'You have been to our sacred grounds. You walked through our burial ground and touched our rock carvings. We have seen you. You are not hiking here. You are looking.'
The other intruder cocked his rifle and i prepared to die. The person who handed me the stone spoke:
'Tomorrow you leave here. Take the Peralta Trail to the south. You can live but you may not return or we will kill you. This is your last chance. This is our sacred ground and we want no strangers. You do not travel the beaten path. If you had we would not have followed. So go.'
As quickly as the appeared they melted into the darkness. They could have been Black Legion protecting their treasures or secrets, or they may have been merely preventing violation of their burial grounds. i had decided much earlier that if i died in the quest so be it. It would be the will of God. i would head down to the Needle in the morning and try and lose these watchers. They had the advantage of following and watching in the distance by virtue of their telescopic sights. But i would watch for them.
It was a fitful sleep of no remembered dreams.
There was a chill in the air the following morning. The sun had not yet risen over the surrounding rock features. i knew that every movement i made was being watched so i packed slowly, every now and then glancing around at the surrounding high points. i started off down the Boulder Canyon-Peralta Canyon Trail in the direction i had been told to go.
i was soon at the base of Weaver's Needle which loomed over the trail at this point. In a likely sink where i knew i'd find water, i filled mybottles again - it was in East Boulder Canyon. Fill when you can, fill every time - and be ever mindful that you may not be so lucky every time.
Behind me was a flash, the glint from glass. i was still being observed. Perhaps i could hide and wait until i could watch the watchers. i moved into a crevice, carefully covering my tracks with a broken piece of bush. But knowing that they would have seen me leave the path i knew I’d have to keep low until they came into my view.
They would be master trackers - that was obvious from their following me the previous day, so i would have to be careful. i was right beside the point where Weaver’s Needle rose abruptly to the sky, but the rugged hillside offered a mass of possibilities for concealment.
After about an hour i saw them. Two figures were silhouetted on a far ridge. Every now and then they would stop, move a hundred yards or so, then scan the surrounding area. They were well away from the trail, carefully avoiding a large group of hikers i could see snaking their way up towards the Needle. i could have joined them, seeking safety in numbers, but realized that they would consider my explanations a little mad.
The two intruders from the evening before crossed the trail. They had guessed rightly that i was somewhere near its southern base where an indistinct trail led over a narrow saddle and on to Needle Canyon, the prominent arroyo on the Needle's east. They passed about two hundred yards below me and i could see that they both still carried rifles with telescopic sights. They were the two i had encountered yesterday and they also carried small backpacks. Not one hiker would have considered this unusual as just about every party coming into the Superstitions came armed, except for me.
When i was sure they had dropped well into Needle Canyon i moved to a position where i could better observe them. They were now distant. i decided to stay near Weaver's and camp in a crevice where it would be difficult to find me. There would be no fire this evening. i ate a little food, crawled into my bag, and listened intently, all the while thinking of the path to this point. i had entered a strange realm, almost unbelievable, and had to pinch myself to prove that i wasn't imagining it all. New Zealand and my family, Australia and Cal, and the Eredo in Nigeria, seemed so far away. This journey was nothing like the usual assignment for Lonely Planet, that was for sure.
i fell asleep and the next i knew it was morning, bitterly cold. The crevice was dark and the sun had yet to rise. i remembered where i was and looked around to see if anyone was approaching. The air was still and i could hear birdsong only. No human voices in between. i decided to stay in the sleeping bag until it was light enough to scan the surrounding countryside. i was stiff all over and badly in need of a pee. i moved to my side and urinated on the ground, careful not to spill over the bag as it had do considerable service from this point.
Thinking that my two pursuers would be looking for me in Needle Canyon, i decided to continue south towards the Peralta Trail. i'd keep well away from the trail, although i would come close to it at Fremont Saddle, the dividing point between East Boulder and Peralta canyons. It was too dangerous to stay and explore around the Needle and i had to distance myself from it as quickly as possible. Using the more difficult route it took me about three hours to reach the Saddle. There was a tired party of hikers at the top.
[And that is where i find anyone following this treasure hunt for the Lost Dutchman’s gold now - only a few years’ later - Ed:]")
Boston Massacre Site Marker on Boston's Freedom Trail
Boston Massacre site marker made of a circle of cobblestones surrounding a star. It is located in front of the Old State House. Need to use this photo as commercial stock photography? It's available for licensing at Boston Massacre Marker Stock Photo.
Boston Massacre Site Marker on Boston's Freedom Trail
Boston Massacre site marker made of a circle of cobblestones surrounding a star. It is located in front of the Old State House. Need to use this photo as commercial stock photography? It's available for licensing at Boston Massacre Marker Stock Photo.Camera: Nikon Corporation (Nikon D200) |
More details: exif |
Original size: 2711px x 1815px |
Current: 400px x 268px |