The Journey Begins...

We set out from Horseshoe Bay, BC early in the morning, sipping our warm international coffee to keep warm and chase all the cobwebs away. A heavy fog had settled into the inlet, creating a perfect mood for deep contemplation. I have traveled this route enough times in my life that the journey should be almost routine by now, but this one particular trip would be very different though, I was aware of this right from the start of the project.

As I watch the ferry pull away from the dock I am curious as to what adventures await me in the next few days, and I can’t help but wonder grimly if this adventure would be my last. We are being sent to investigate a reportedly haunted graveyard located at one of Canada’s notorious native residential schools.

The stories and legends surrounding the graveyard and abandoned community are very intriguing, and I don’t mind admitting that I am already a little uneasy with the thought of visiting the place. Stories of land surveyors and tourists that have been scared away from the place by audible screams, loud bangs, and a supposed overwhelming evil energy. The local denizens refuse to even visit the wicked place, claiming it to be cursed land. One legend which surrounds the place suggests that in well over 20 years there has never been a person to successfully spend even just a few hours in the old abandoned hamlet, never mind an entire night. Our main goal is to spend a few days and nights there and record what we can in relation to spiritual and/or paranormal activity.

I am reflective of my many other extreme encounters with poltergeists and I instinctively remind myself of the danger we could all be placing ourselves into. My crew and I spend some more time getting to know one another, and attempt to prepare ourselves for as many potentially dangerous events our imaginations could fathom. Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction!

At the time, we didn't know just how much we were going to need to count on one other to provide metaphysical safety, as well as the mundane tasks of daily physical survival.

Very Remote Location...

A quick debriefing of new information relating to severity of our journey does very little to subdue the restlessness we all feel. As we skip along the surface of the inlet waters we see many seals swimming, and Orcas can be seen rolling along the waters surface. We dodged tugboats, pleasure craft and old cruisers with bright sails billowing in the wind.

The sun sparkling off the water has magical hypnotic properties to it, casting rainbows all around me, and I find it very easy to imagine why people are attracted to spending a lifetime near the sea. Blue skies, and majestic green mountains reflecting off of the waters mirror-like surfaces sedate and calm me as swirling water currents come together in a moving jigsaw puzzle of hypnotic dancing whirlpools.

The Butte inlet has a beauty that makes it difficult to place any merit to the horrible stories of what had happened when the two very different cultures clashed. From our floating position of safety here on the dock we can view most of the buildings as we all try to get a feel for the place from a distance. The only way to access the overgrown and decrepit location was by loading gear to the old damaged pier by rope, and hoping ashore ourselves. We know that the area is bear country so we are prepared for the worst case scenario, but hoping for the best. The best bear encounter to survive, is to have no encounter at all.

First Impressions...

The towering white steeple of the church stands as a silent sentinel watching over the little village. The few visible homes appeared abandoned, weathered and slightly decrepit… but normal. We were able to relax a bit from where we stood, thinking we were safe.

We try to take in all we can while the daylight held, and I am left with a very uncomfortable feeling that we are being watched from the onset of our arrival. We are relieved to discover a mule deer curiously watching us from a bluff that hung out over the water, and we were all too eager to agree that this must have been what I had felt to be watching us. The only other thing that moved about the place was honey bees, swallows and a single black raven. We decided to unload our gear while our courage still held, and secure our camp on shore. We unload directly to the shore because the dock had been made accessible from the shoreline only, the gangplanks for the pier have been removed or have long since rotted away.

After we had hastily established our camp at the pier entrance we send an initial scout out with a camera and a two way radio to secure the area. The boat was to remain just offshore, but nearby in case of any serious emergencies requiring us to leave. We had also worked out several possible escape routes if they should become necessary.

We were ready.

Extreme Reconnaissance...

As I communicate via two-way radio with our advance scout Shane, I am easily able to look about the cluttered shoreline. I see many lost souls on the beach, washed up with all the other memories as a stark reminder that a living community had once existed here, played here, loved here, survived here. I see an old pair of worn work boots left in a very curious manner facing away from the land toward the sea. Who had left them here? Why had they been forgotten? Why such an odd placement? There were many more questions than answers to this foreboding place and I was beginning to feel uneasy.

Our hardened veteran scout reports feeling very ill at ease with the residual energy of the place, but there are no wild animals or people to be found. From my vantage point I could not see him up on the hilltop, a silent two way radio is my only connection to him, but as he entered the school and residential building, I was impressed with a very tangible hostile reaction to our presence to this place. "Someone knows we're here... over!"

I prepare a small purifying ritual, offering natural tobacco, fresh sage, salmon oil and sweet grass smoke to the native spirits elders of the area. My intent is to ask for permission to heal the land of the pain and evil that it still held. I offer the spirits an opportunity to discover the peace found through truth and understanding, and I offer up myself humbly as a messenger between the ancient spirit elders and the rest of the world. My heart is pure with the desire to know the truth of the land.

Through this simple ritual I find my own inner connection with residual energy of the area, and I begin to commune openly with the living aura of the hillside village. There was fear hanging in pockets everywhere, suffering, and neglect pervaded every subtle naunce of all my senses.

We are supposedly alone, but I knew we were being watched, and I also know that these spirits were used to dealing with humans that could not see them.

No Way Out...

My own senses perceiving an unwelcome feeling towards our physical intrusion to this sacred place. I became slightly agitated and nervous as I try impatiently to shake the tangible overwhelming feelings of violence, fear, and pain that ebbed from the resident buildings all around us. I am glad I asked permission for us to enter. Whether I was truly given a yes from the elders of the area or my mind convinced me I did, I must admit to feeling much more at ease with the entire situation.

Lush, but overgrown dangerously thorny blackberry bushes and heavy under brush overgrow the narrow pathways leading up the hillside as mother earth tries desperately to reclaim the land from mans previous invasion. Nature has a very profound way of purifying and healing even the most evil residual energies from the environment, but it takes time, and the black raven caws it's disapproval of our approach.

Extremely remote location, spirits crying out in the night, bloodshed, stigmata, possession, extreme weather and something very very evil.

We've got it all on tape.