The ghost of sego canyon – Henry mountains , Utah

The ghost of sego canyon – Henry mountains , Utah

http://www.fourwheeler.com/events/0901-4wd-the-ghosts-of-sego-canyon/

Recently, I came across this story on fourwheeler.com about the Henry mountains in Utah. It reminded me of my tenure as a senior wilderness instructor at a wilderness corrections program for Juvenile offenders back in the late 80s.

In just over 2 years time my fellow staff , students, and myself had numerous “odd” experiences from the awapa plateau on Boulder mountain, to pipe springs in the Henry mountains. We saw everything from UFOs, to strange lights. We heard ghostly murmurings, singing, drumming, and a host of others things that spooked us out pretty good. Some of the students and staff even had bad dreams about skin walkers and ghosts.

Collectively, I could fill volumes with interesting yet spooky encounters from that region. One night in particular, back in 1989 my fellow staff member Luke and me were escorting an incorrigible student on an Impact hike from Boulder mountain to the Grey desert. It’s a long tough Haul. One the way we had been having some strange occurrences; like missing gear, boots moved in the night, fires raging for no reason etc. and of course, faint murmurings – like hearing people talking in the next room……

Anyway; Once you cross sandy wash ,which is basically lower Burro Wash. You will enter the Gap. Bloody Hands Gap is on the western side of a barren mars-like landscape that is very different than its neighbor Capitol Reef National Park. These hand prints are not native American. They are quite possibly made by sheep herders or early settlers as a marker to identify water, or a cache of some type. They are probably made from oil of some type and dye.

The fourwheeler.com story is as follows;

The road skirts the Book Cliffs about half way up the walls and offers scenic views of the Henry Mountains near Hanksville and the Manti LaSal Mountains near Moab.

The small group was sitting around a campfire in Sego Canyon. Lone Writer tossed a stick into the fire as he continued his story. “Legend says the ghost of the Ancient Ones guard the panels of rock art on these canyon walls. A couple folks I know stayed here once … only once … never again. They said they were kept up most of the night by moving shadows and eerie sounds. Another fellow was here by himself one night and started hearing whispers in the wind. He couldn’t make out the words. It was like listening to people talk in the adjacent room at a motel. He packed up and left before bedtime.”

As the story continued, everyone unconsciously looked into the darkness outside the ring of light made by the fire. Shadows from the flames bounced off the canyon walls but there was nothing unusual.

Lone Writer continued. “One old timer told me the rock art marked an ancient ceremonial site for three different cultures of people. He said the ghosts of those people, the ones that lived in Sego Canyon, still come out on certain nights to worship near the rock art.” Lone Writer paused. “I been here dozens of times and I ain’t never seen or heard anything unusual.”

When the stories ended, the campfire was extinguished. Some of the group headed for their tents and some picked up their flashlights to find the trail to the outhouse. Suddenly, from out of the silent night, came an ear piercing scream. It roared through the canyon, bounced off the walls, and echoed back to the campsite as if searching for a target. The campers backed toward the darkened campfire. Lone Writer reached into his vehicle and pulled out a 357 magnum.

“You gonna shoot a ghost,” Happy Jack said with a grin as he reached for his own iron
“Don’t sound like no ghost to me,” someone said from out of the darkness. The scream did not sound human, nor did it resemble the scream of a bobcat. It was more like a sound from another place and time.

The night fell silent again. Not even a breeze to challenge the silence. For several long seconds, the group continued scanning the darkness with flashlight beams. Then, as suddenly as the first, another scream roared through the canyon. Because of the echoes, it was impossible to determine where the challenge was coming from but it sounded very close. The group scanned the perimeter of the campsite expecting to see someone or something coming at them. Everyone sensed a presence that could not be explained. It was a feeling of being watched; a feeling of being hunted.