If it has a bottom, weʻll find it

The old Bar-X Ranch just southwest of Jesse (which is about 7 miles south of Stonewall) had some beautiful hills and clear streams of water typical in the Washita Mountains. Most of the streams around Stonewall tended to the murky side and after local trapper and explorer Jim Greenlee showed me a place called the Haint Hole I knew I was looking at a very special place.

It was very different and it was hard to get to so no one went out there too much. The rancher who ran the place didn’t just allow any Tom, Dick or Harry to go out there — but you could get there in a sturdy truck. The ravines were deep, the hills steep and there was a serious “ford” across a mean looking creek but you could get there. Far be it for us to walk in.

Gann was his name — the guy who ran the Bar-X — and we told him we were representing a church youth group who loved to go to special places such as “The Haint” and have church socials where we sought to draw closer to God. He went for it and even gave Jim a key which he wanted back when we got done. Back in Stonewall later that day Jim made a few copies. Keys are convenient for places like that. To show a tiny trace of integrity we gathered up some church kids and as soon as was possible had a church cook out, swim party and threw in a word of prayer in case Mr. Gann was spying.

Another thing or two that had captured our imagination (if not the social-spiritual wellbeing of the youth group at First Baptist Church, Stonewall) it was the legends of the Haint Hole itself. The pool itself had a cliff on its north side and a beautiful sandy beach on the south. It was fed by a creek that featured several noisy little waterfalls and many shallow pools which, when it was sunny, heated the water up to a nice swimmable temperature. It was very beautiful with something called “Robber’s Roost” just north of it. A beautiful cone-shaped hill high enough to afford visibility for many miles.

And the legends? The Haint Hole had no bottom according to local Indian lore. The same Indians also explained to whoever would listen that at midnight each night, a mythical and headless Indian chief broke out of the pool riding a beautiful white horse. Both the headless chief and his horse were iridescent enough to flood the adjacent countryside with a blue-white light. Like a lightning bolt.

A squad of self-appointed explorers (us) which included myself, Jack Eden and, of course the resourceful Greenlee, made plans. Some other brave souls tagged along and we took our camping gear, our forbidden key and set up camp. We also took measuring devices (rope). First we set up next to the pool. A half of one cinder block tied to a good (long) rope was marked each 10 feet and lowered carefully and slowly into the water. We found bottom at 90 feet. One myth done away with. Next we built a fi re, fixed supper and then waited. As the summer twilight finally turned to a moonless night we transferred our camp to a safer vantage point — atop the Robbers Roost Peak.

We justified our move saying we could see the Chief come out of the water better some distance away. I knew there wouldn’t be an Indian come out of that hole but like the other boys, I got a little bit scared as the magic time, midnight, ticked down. There was a brief argument over which of our cheap watches was actually correct but there was no dispute after a little while about one thing. Our long-awaited Indian had failed to appear. Not even a hoot owl fl ew over. It was a big silent bust.

I hope your summer is going half as well as some of my summers went over at Stonewall with some pretty great guys. Be sure and go to church Sunday. I guarantee that will not be a big bust.

Wayne Bullard, DPh

waynebullard@sbcglobal.net