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|Beware the Black Ghost of the Bozeman Tunnel (standard:Ghost stories, 3534 words)|
|Author: G.H. Hadden||Added: Jun 04 2013||Views/Reads: 2236/1029||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|I don’t mean to scare you—honest I don’t, but you best be forewarned Mister. Beware the Black Ghost of the Bozeman tunnel!|
Teaser: I don't mean to scare you—honest I don't, but you best be forewarned Mister. Beware the Black Ghost of the Bozeman tunnel! Beware the Black Ghost of the Bozeman Tunnel By: G. H. Hadden I don't mean to scare you—honest I don't, but you best be forewarned Mister. Beware the Black Ghost of the Bozeman tunnel! Least that's what I wanna tell him if he'd just listen to me for a minute. But he just don't wanna hear anything a country boy like myself has to say about it. Nope, he's much too busy settin' up all that fancy photography equipment at the side of the tracks down there in the gully about ten yards from the west portal of Bozeman Tunnel... Nosir, he's much too busy to listen to reason. See him? Ya, right down there where I'm pointing...see? What say, Can't you help me get his attention Fella? You look like you're already halfway convinced he's crazy yourself. So let me tell it to you. Then maybe we can both talk some sense into him. You're not from around here are ya? Well, let me fill you in. We're in God's country out here in case you haven't noticed, Big Sky blue above, and seldom is heard a discouraging word unless from the mouth of the occasional motorist much like yourself...poor unfortunates unlucky enough to find themselves stranded on the breakdown lane on the adjacent Interstate 90/Route191 at our backs. This yours?...tricked out citified Toyota Tundra? Ha, thought so. Too clean to be a workingman's truck; my daddy always said black was a bad color for a truck, hard to see at night in a whiteout. Anyways, as you can see, traffic about 13 miles east of Bozeman, Montana is pretty light this time in the early afternoon, wouldn't ya say? A few cars whizin' past us, few trucks purr happily by along their smoothly paved way, but luck's with us, it ain't near noisy enough to ruin the natural ambiance of this magic place—at least not yet. For now the birds still warble and the heat bugs buzz in the grass at the side of the railway cutting that rises steeply along the gentle curve leading up to the new (completed in1955) concrete tunnel. Asked me; it has all the modern charm of an oversized square rain culvert. But hidden behind the bare and rocky rain-sculpted slope in front of us are the weed-choked remnants of the old right-of-way first carved through the pass in 1912. Go on...have a look for yourself if you want to. There's an old sooty stone arch façade that leads to nowheres now, fenced off to keep us locals out of trouble. Whatever ghosts lurked in that tunnel are long gone now, as is the Northern Pacific that built it. Hmmm. Seems to me conditions are ripe for the ghost to make an appearance today. The breeze is gentle and cool here at 5,819 feet above sea level. The valley around us is green and unspoiled for the most part, and the mountains loom gray on each side of the horizon, just as pioneer John Bozeman must've saw them as he guided his fast moving wagon trains west through the pass in the 1860s. The sun is hotly pleasant on the back of the neck don't ya think... although it leaves more of a tan today than what I can remember when I first started coming to the tunnel as a youngster in the ‘70s. Ha! “Look at him!” you're probably thinking; “A grown man yet, in pretty good shape surely, but why's he haulin' all that stuff down to the track's edge?” Kinda leaves you scratchin' your head there, don't it Fella? He's sturdy and sure-footed as the Great Northern's mountain goat mascot but a man his age (probably in his early thirties I'd say) oughta know better, right? I've heard that complaint from all kinds of tongue-waggers before many a time, that a full grown man has no business at all setting up to photograph trains coming up out of this here tunnel. You'd think so too, wouldn't you? But ah well...Huhhhh, I sure can tell you somethin' about that too, stranger. Can't say as I blame him ‘cause I've got the same bug in me that's in him too. So let me ‘splain it to you as best I can here. I call it the train bug, and once it crawls in you and gets under you skin there just ain't Click here to read the rest of this story (290 more lines)
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