PART I

STUN IF BY LAND

WHITE MOUNTAINS, NEW HAMPSHIRE

Where New England Legends Are Born

The White Mountains are among the most breathtaking of all mountain ranges in the world. Established in 1918, the White Mountain National Forest covers 1,225 square miles of land full of fun and adventure. It is evident that the Native Americans knew the land was magical, as twenty-one Paleo-Indian sites have been discovered, some dating back ten thousand years. European exploration began in the mid-seventeenth century, but settlement did not occur until after the Revolutionary War, when people cleared the land for farming and formed little villages. As the nineteenth century bore on, many of these farms and villages were abandoned due to advances in farming techniques and the open spaces in the West providing for larger farms. Recreation in the mountains began around the early nineteenth century as trails, shelters, summer homes, resorts and ski slopes began to pop up everywhere. This aspect of the White Mountains has become the main draw of countless numbers of people each year. There are attractions of all kinds to enjoy, and then there are the ghosts.

The legends and tales that have emanated from this weird and wonderful place are often outlandish, yet by all accounts, they are said to be true. Some stories have detailed writings that prove their validity, while others have been handed down through the years by word of mouth. Some tales refer to places in the White Mountains that can still be visited, and some are of people who have long since passed but have shaped the very framework of the region's folklore, making this area so mysterious and alluring.

The places and stories in this section have been arranged to take the reader along a circular route, beginning at a southerly position and working back to the starting point in Woodstock.

BENTON

Mount Moosilauke's Eternal Wanderer

Lightning streaks across the mountain peaks as pelting rain and thunder make it impossible to talk at a lower volume than a shout. The Ravine Lodge sways in the heavy wind as the squall takes on full fury. This is the perennial scene of a storm in the White Mountains. There is another perennial figure that is still spied along the peaks and fissures near Benton, New Hampshire: a man named Dr. Thomas Benton.

What makes the appearance of Dr. Benton so terrifying is the fact that he was born in the early 1800s. In fact, his family was one of the first to settle the area in the late eighteenth/early nineteenth centuries. The town of Benton was originally named Coventry but was later renamed in honor of Missouri senator Thomas Hart Benton, not to be confused with Dr. Benton, the main character of this narrative.

Young Benton grew into Squire Benton, and his intentions of practicing medicine were more than sincere. The community banded together and funded his education on the stipulation that he would return to become the town's first and only doctor. While studying medicine in Germany, he became close friends with a Dr. Stockmayer. When Thomas Benton returned to his hometown as a full-fledged doctor of medicine, he brought with him a large trunk that had been willed to him by his friend in Germany. Its contents were believed to contain everything needed to complete experiments on an elixir of youth.

Benton soon met the love of his life and became engaged to marry. All seemed to be going well for the young doctor until his fiancée died of typhoid fever. The blow was devastating to the young Benton, and he became a bit mad. He stole away to the mountains, where he built a cabin on the top of Mount Moosilauke. There, it is said, he began experiments with an elixir of youth.

The young doctor completely disappeared from the community. Not too long after his departure, local farmers began to notice that their livestock was either disappearing or found dead under mysterious circumstance. When examined, it was discovered that the only mark on the animals was a bizarre red swelling with a white pinprick behind the left ear. The farmers deduced that it might be the elusive doctor performing some kind of experiment on their animals.

Some of the local farmers gathered together and ascended the mountain in hopes of finding out once and for all what the doctor was up to. Once inside the doctor's cabin, they found strange apparatus and the remnants of some recent experiment, but no doctor. They began to descend the peak, but darkness set in and one of the men became separated from the rest. The next day, the poor soul was found dead of mysterious causes. The only mark on him was strange swelling and a pinprick behind his left ear.

Soon, stories began to circulate that babies from nearby towns were mysteriously disappearing during their slumber hours. The people of the region feared that the doctor was stealing them for his evil experiments. One day, a woman was in her yard when a man with long white hair and a black cloak ran up to her young daughter and snatched her away into the woods. A band of men led by the child's father followed the footprints in the snow along Tunnel Ravine to a cliff. There, they found Benton high above them on a ledge and demanded that he release the girl, which he promptly did — to the ravages of the rocks below. After that, he was never seen again.

In 1860, the Prospect House was built at the top of Mount Moosilauke. People were afraid to bide their time at the hostel, despite the fact that the evil doctor had not been seen in thirty years. Fears were substantiated when a cable holding the house in place was cut by hand. A logger volunteered to repair the truss but never returned. He was found dead a short time later, with red swelling and a pinprick behind his left ear.

By 1881, the building had been expanded and renamed the Tip Top House. People began to stay there, feeling that Dr. Benton was either too old to do anyone harm or had long since passed. Still, there were frequent reports of a dark shadow in a cloak seen scuttling through the trees.

In 1920, the house was given to Dartmouth College, which ran it as an Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC) hut. It burned down in 1942, but the stone foundation remains. Of course, the doctor was blamed for this incident. There is another concrete foundation just below the remains of the Tip Top House. This was another AMC hut that was dismantled for safety reasons in 1978, although no one has divulged what those safety reasons were.

Reports of a mysterious dark form roaming around the mountaintop in period clothing are still broadcasted to this day. In 2003, a hiker spied an old- style boot print in the mud on a trail near the summit of Mount Moosilauke that had not been used for many years. Not only did the print belong to a boot that had not been worn for more than a century, but also the print had not been there moments before, and the hiker had not seen anyone go by him. Some have glimpsed the shadowy figure as it bounds through the thicket. Those who believe it is Dr. Benton swear that he has not aged a day in centuries. If it is the evil doctor, he may have found the secret of eternal life and is now a hermit of the mountains, or perhaps he is in search of a bride.

Mount Moosilauke is located between Benton and North Woodstock. Take Exit 32 off Interstate 93. Turn right onto Route 112 West. Travel about 3.0 miles to Route 118 and turn left onto that road. Continue 7.2 miles to Ravine Road and turn right there. Travel to the end of the road and reverse direction in the turnaround. Drive back down and find a parking space on the right side of the road closest to the lodge without blocking the roadway. The trailhead to the summit can be reached from here. The Ravine Lodge is located at the eastern base of the mountain. Guests enjoy a view of the mountains and satisfy their appetites with family-style meals.

THE COPPERMINE TRAIL

Hike but Do Not Settle Down

About a mile or so north of where the Old Man of the Mountain once watched over the territory there is an abandoned trail where about fifty homes, a store, a church and even a school once sat. The buildings are long gone; uninhabited for over two centuries, the land has long since reclaimed them. Adventurers down this trail might spy a cellar hole reaching out from the brush or a remnant of timber that was part of a wall. This was once a thriving community, but because residents did not heed the warnings of the Great Spirits, the town thrives no more.

About 1859, settlers migrating to the area discovered a vein of copper running through the rocky precipices. It was not long before prospectors zeroed in on the area of potential wealth and began laying out a town and railroad tracks to haul the copper down the mountain. The workers began to erect homes for the miners and their families, but something very eerie was going on. When they would resume their tasks in the morning, they would find that the previous day's construction had been undone. Foundations had been filled in or roofs completely removed from the homes. The oddest thing was that no one in the camp ever heard a noise.

People started moving into the finished homes, and the store, school, blacksmith shop and two churches went up without incident. Townsfolk began to notice Indians carefully watching their progress from just outside the perimeter of the little village. One day, the pastor of the town asked one of the natives what was going on and was told that they had built their homes on the burial ground of the Indians' ancestors and great chiefs. It was imperative that they move their town a few hundred yards away or suffer the fate of the Great Spirits, who watched over the burial ground. The roofs' being lifted from the homes was a warning to the White Man to move his village.

The pastor asked why the churches had not been touched by the infinite power of the Great Ones, and the Indian replied that the Great Spirits did not want to impede on the settlers' sacred places as a sign of mutual respect. The settlers, he said, should do the same and move. The people were not about to listen to native mumbo jumbo, and the town was completed and settled, in spite of the Indian's entreaties.

It was a hot day in August 1859 when travelers of the notch heard a thunderous roar from above. The sky over the village turned blood red, and a cloud resembling a great hand came down from the heavens into the mountains. Older Indians recalled that fateful moment well into the twentieth century.

Many living around the notch made haste toward the village but were taken aback by what they saw. Smoke billowed from the fireplaces and tables were still set with half-eaten plates of food, yet not a living soul remained. All of the men had perished in a massive collapse of the mine, and the families around the mine had choked on the heavy copper dust that blanketed the air. There was no sign of any living creature, human or animal. Many of the residents had just vanished, never to be seen or heard from again.

The mining company made an attempt to reopen the mine, but the White Man had learned that the power of the Great Spirits was not to be scoffed at. In time, the buildings began to decay and crumble as the earth reclaimed its post in the mountains.

The Coppermine Trail is open to hikers, but settling there is not a good idea. The trail is located off Route 116 in Franconia. Take Interstate 93 to Exit 32, Route 112, Lincoln/Woodstock. Stay straight on Route 112 at the intersection of Route 3. Follow Route 112 to Route 116 and bear right onto Route 116. The trailhead will be on the right.

FRANCONIA

Sugar Hill Inn

Strange tales of the White Mountains have made them one of the most mysterious and charming places to visit. Laced among the countless attractions are the scores of legends that have forged the very alluring charisma the region holds. The Sugar Hill Inn is no different. The Oakes family came to Franconia in 1789. They built a farmhouse and planted crops. The house, with its post-and-beam construction, wide pine floors and ornate trim, was elaborate for farmhouses of the times. The floorboards are over two feet wide, as there were still plenty of tall trees in the region when it was built.

The house changed hands only one time before the Richardsons acquired it in 1925. In 1929, they built a large addition onto the existing house and opened a hotel called the Caramat Inn. That same year, an Austrian-born skier named Sig Buchmayr started America's first ski instruction school in Franconia. Although Beckett's-on-the-Hill sponsored the school, many still flocked to the Caramat for lodging, as the area was quickly becoming a popular tourist stop. During the 1950s, the successful Caramat Inn added three small cottages to accommodate tourists. In 1972, the name was changed to Sugar Hill Inn, where guests and ghosts together enjoyed the wonders of the White Mountains.

In one ghostly incident, an elderly couple entered the inn and exited through a set of closed doors to the right while guests looked on in astonishment. It is believed that they had been regulars of the inn a long time ago and were returning to their favorite getaway spot once more. The silhouette of a male figure is often seen in the kitchen, where the original owner of the house, Mr. Oakes, passed away.

The spirits of the inn are not harmful by any means; they just seem to like the atmosphere. The seven-room main house and six-room cabins have breathtaking views of the Presidential Range. Some have fireplaces, in front of which one may relax as the flames take the chill out of the cool mountain nights. New owners Judy and Orlo Coots take extra measures to ensure that their guests have an awe-inspiring stay at the inn — even the permanent ones.

The Sugar Hill Inn (603-823-5621) is located on Route 117, PO Box 954, in Franconia, New Hampshire. Take Interstate 93 to Exit 38. Take a left at the stop sign. Bear right onto Route 18 into Franconia. Bear left onto Route 117; the inn is a half mile uphill on the right.

BRETTON WOODS

The Mount Washington Hotel Where the Princess Still Takes Care of Her Guests

The Mount Washington Hotel has changed hands several times over the past century, but there is one former owner who has never relinquished her duty of watching over the guests of the hotel. She is affectionately known as the "Princess" — and with good reason. Carolyn Foster not only dressed and carried herself as elegant as royalty but also, in her later years, actually married into it. Her father was a prominent meat merchant, and the family summered at the Twin Mountain House, where his choice cuts were a feature on the menu. Carolyn met the owner of the Mount Pleasant House, Joseph Stickney, and before long they were married. Stickney had made his fortune in coal and the railroads. They traveled the world together, spending their summers at the Mount Pleasant House. He had dreamed of owning another hotel in the White Mountains, and that dream came true when the Mount Washington Hotel opened its doors on July 28, 1902.

The hotel was Spanish Renaissance Revival and offered panoramic views of the mountains. The porch, one-sixth of a mile long, was almost as stunning as the appointments throughout the grand lodging. It was truly a magical place that became known the world over for its magnificent architecture and modern amenities.

Guests were treated like royalty. They would assemble for dinner in their best attire, and then Carolyn would make her grand entrance dressed the most elegantly of all. The guests were always astounded by her knack for outdoing everyone; they never knew that she had a secret curtain where she could spy on the throng before setting up her evening wardrobe.

Carolyn always brought her own bed when she traveled. It was a fourposter of ornate hand-turned maple, and the couple had it assembled wherever they stayed. Unfortunately, Joseph died in December 1903 at the age of sixty-four. Carolyn had a stone chapel built as a memorial for her beloved husband. The Stickney Memorial Chapel still stands to this day. Ten years later, she met a French prince by the name of Aymon Jean de Faucigny-Lucinge. They were married at London's Westminster Cathedral in July 1913. The couple ran hotels in Switzerland and France, as well as New Hampshire. Staff at the Mount Washington Hotel got a thrill out of calling Carolyn a princess. In August 1922, she became a widow once more. She remained fully involved in the hotels, spending summers at the Mount Washington Hotel, making sure her guests were treated second to none.

Carolyn died in 1936, leaving the hotels to a Harvard graduate and Hospital Trust banker named Reynolds. He had the Mount Pleasant House razed but kept the Mount Washington until it fell into shambles and closed in 1942. After several other unsuccessful attempts at running the hotel, a group of New Hampshire businessmen bought and reopened it in 1991. In 2001, it became a year-round venture. It seems that the princess has never stopped working there, as witnessed by guests and staff alike.