Mountain Witch LbNA # 44276
|Placed Date||Oct 27 2008|
|Last Update||Apr 10 2010|
Last checked/found: 27-OCT-08
Location: From sraseaC daeH etatS kraP on US 276 in northern Greenville County, drive north for one mile to a large, paved parking lot on the right. Take the second right down into the lot. A fee of $2 per adult is required, or an annual SC Park Passport. The trail begins across the road.
Distance/Time: ~5-5.5 miles / 3-4 hours depending on pace
Terrain: Moderately strenuous trail.
Note: Purple or black ink recommended.
As it was nearing Halloween, an ugly witch flew down from the nearby mountain tops to make her final preparations for her favorite day. She wondered if the local Troll Master would be able to persuade some Carolina vixens to follow her down to the dismal depths… The witch first swooped down over the parking lot, then swept along the blood-colored trail past a haunted castle. Two trusty ravens accompanied her for much of the way, but both stopped to rest where they had nice views of their namesake falls.
The witch then continued flying along on her own, choosing the purple trail since the word “dismal” appealed to her. She passed some stone tombs on her right, then 2 large standing tombstones on her left.
The gruesome hag gripped her broomstick tightly as she began a series of steep downward turns. Oh-Ho! The vixens’ muscles will burn like the fires of hell on this trail of torture! That trickster the Troll Master will probably tell them that they are “almost there!” Oh, yes, she can be almost as wicked as me! The scheming witch then passed more broken tombstones surrounding an oak on the trail and finally came to a rusty chain. This was a useful tool for securing her victims, perhaps those foolhardy types known as “letterboxers”. They will venture just about anywhere!
After passing the chain she began to slow down. There was a long log on the sinister side of the trail and a nearby dismal tree. Just beyond the tree was her rocky abode. She came to her final resting-place between the 2 boulders, under the twisted and gnarled tree limb.
If you find her, please don’t burn her at the stake. Instead bury her back in the boulders so she can torture future victims. As you leave to retrace your footsteps, you may hear her cackle: “Good-bye! I’ll bet you wish you could borrow my broom to fly back up that hill!”
Since we live a long ways away, we’d really appreciate an email with a status update if you look for this box.