Backpacking Mammoth Cave NP: Echo's From Times Past - Something Strange Happened While Camping Next to an Old Cemetery

 It was a faint sound at first almost drowned out by the wind that swirled through the tops of the massive ancient trees. I did hear it, a distant, indistinct laughing that seemed to emanate from all around not coming from any particular direction. At random, it would echo across and through the woodland blending with the wind. It was the faint and distant sound of a child playing and laughing, yet there was nothing visible to see. Did it have any connection to the old Miles-Davis cemetery?

My adventure began as an idea to make another photography/videography trip into the backcountry of Mammoth Cave National Park. This time around, I was going to stay for three days and two nights with the intent of spending the entire three days at my favorite location known as "The Bluffs". 

As it turned out when I arrived at the park headquarters to get my backcountry permit, The Bluffs area was already booked for the first night I was going to stay there. Instead I opted to reserve one night at Sal Hollow, and spend the second night at the Bluffs. To get to Sal Hollow required taking a short alternate route, branching off the Buffalo Creek Trail, which added another mile and a half or so to my hike. The cut off to that trail was located close to the Bluffs side trail cut off.

Somehow or another, I missed the cutoff turn to Sal Hollow. How this happened I'm not sure because it is pretty obvious where the trail connects with the Buffalo Creek trail. I just simply walked right past it without seeing it, and this is why I ended up at the old cemetery. By the time I realized what had happened, my troublesome hip was hurting and my legs were a bit tired and my desire to backtrack and continue hiking down to Sal Hollow had pretty much evaporated.

Leaning against a corner fence post, I stood at the entrance to the cemetery and surveyed the 1/4 acre or so of headstones most of which appeared to be heavily weathered. I chose at that time not to take a closer look at this well kept plot of land. It was clean, not overgrown, and possessed a peaceful, rustic value all its own and I thought the light would be better later in the day to capture a few photos within its boundaries. Before moving on, I looked at the map and realized my mistake of missing the turn, then sighed as my rebellious hip dictated against any further heavy hiking for the day, so I decided to setup camp near the cemetery.

Even though the area is not a designated campsite, I thought it would be okay to stay there for the afternoon and one evening and I found a nice flat area off in the woods, a few yards in front of the cemetery and pitched my tent. A thick layer of leaves provided a soft cushion however, a burn ban was in effect so no fires were allowed. I would not have created one anyway as it was much too windy to be safe with all those leaves blowing around. That's why I always pack my venerable Coleman Peak 1 packer stove.

Throughout the afternoon I meandered around the area looking for photo ops snapping pictures here and there. The wind worked the tops of the trees pretty much all day, and with each gust hundreds of leaves would spin across and fall onto the woodland floor like a work of leaf art showcasing various shades of brown, red, and yellow snow. It was this canopy of color that caught my attention photographically and I spent a lot of time and covered a lot of ground simply looking up to find suitable compositions on high. 

It was during this time I began to hear the laughter of a small child off in the distance. At first I wasn't sure of what I was hearing. It was a tiny, subtle, yet happy voice really, one that seemed somewhat distant, yet hauntingly real and innocent. What was troubling about it was, just how haunting it sounded for it seemed to flow across and through the woods not coming from any particular direction. It seemed to emanate from all around like it was a part of the ambient atmosphere. There was no real pattern to it as it occurred at random times ever so often. I'd be working the camera and hear it again as slightly more than a whisper, but distinct, almost like it was trying to catch my attention without being too obvious.

I really did not think too much about it at first, yet I would turn my head trying to pinpoint from where it was coming, but mostly I simply explored the surrounding woods looking for photo opportunities. Over the next hour or so, I continued to look for photographic opportunities and as the afternoon progressed, the laughter continued to randomly occur, yet it became more prominent, a more distinct echo through the woods. Eventually, I made it back to the cemetery and this time I stepped into it to take a closer look at the headstones. 

To my dismay, many of the headstones were carved with the names, birth dates, and death dates...of young children.

A chill ran through my spine as I read a few of the inscriptions; 

William J. 

Son of R and E Davis

Born Sept 12, 1861 

Died Aug 14, 1864.

I stepped over to another one of an adult;

J N Miles

Born Aug 1, 1847

                                                           Died Oct 27, 1886

I continued on to several others a few of which told the sad stories of just babies who were no more than a few weeks old. Many of the headstones were simple stones with no markings on them and appeared to have been taken from the surrounding area and placed as a simple memorial to mark the grave of someone. There were headstones marking the lives of wives and husbands, but the most sad ones were the ones of infant sons and daughters of which there were several. This small plot of sacred earth spoke of the struggles those who tried to tame this rugged land must have endured.

Eventually, I continued on, looking for a composition to photograph, but randomly through the afternoon up until almost dark, I kept hearing that child's laughter in the background. I guess through the afternoon I must have heard it at least 8 or 10 times, maybe more. 

Eventually, I discovered what appeared to be the foundation of an old cabin consisting of large squared off boulders taken from the surrounding landscape. The structure itself was long gone, but the foundation was unmistakable. I figured it must have belonged to some early homesteaders from long ago. While there, I again heard the soft laughter and I wondered what connection this old cabin had with the names of those from the cemetery.

Not being someone who is prone to over play his hand or allow his imagination run away, I tried to convince myself it was just the wind rubbing tree limbs together, but the laughter of a small child sounded so real, yet far off and so dream-like, I had a difficult time reconciling what I was experiencing. Later that night as I lay inside the tent reading a true adventure book, I subconsciously listened for something that may be related to the sounds, but can not for sure say I heard anything except possibly for one faint, remnant laugh of a child playing off in the distance. In time, I drifted off to sleep as the wind continued to blow across the trees through the night.

The next day began as a routine breaking camp morning; a quick oatmeal breakfast, tearing down the tent, packing away the gear, then the short hike out to the junction trail that would take me to The Buffs area. The wind continued to blow throughout the chilly day. While I was setting up camp at the new location, a time or two I thought I heard that laughter again, way off and even fainter than before...coming from the direction of the cemetery which was maybe a half mile or so away as the crow flies over the other side of the ridge. 

The rest of the second day was uneventful and my thoughts were consumed with searching for photographs, making video clips, and resting my troublesome hip. By that evening, I was pretty tired and called it an early day. 

As I lay in my tent that second evening reading, just after dark, I heard what was the most chilling and heart stopping sound of the entire trip. The best I can describe, it sounded like a very loud screeching / hollowing, that lasted about six or seven seconds, followed by some faint rustling of leaves and cracking of small branches, the sound of movement, across the ravine like something was walking over there. Then all was quiet except for the breeze that still moved across the trees, and it never happened again occurring only that one time. Even so, with the events of the previous day still fresh in my mind, it was an eye opening sound, one in all my years of camping in the woods, I had never heard before. 

The next day was spent hiking back to the real world. All the while as I was walking down the trail, I listened for that child's laughter, but never again did it materialize, just the sound made by the continuing wind cutting across the trees and a few birds singing a cheerful song. 

With each step, and during each rest stop, I pondered about the lives of those who were buried in that cemetery, especially those of the children. Who were they really, and what heartaches did they endure? 

What was the sound I heard? I'm not sure, but it sounded like a small child playing and laughing. Maybe it was just the wind...but maybe...just maybe...it was a haunting echo from times past.