Ghosts, Magic, and Science

 On Sunday mornings, the ring of a bell cuts through the mist of the North Fork of the Skykomish River. Some of Index, Washington’s 150 residents are God-fearing people. They hear the church bells. Others are deaf to the toll. The pagans who live below Mt. Index paint their doors with pentacles, five-pointed stars contained within a circle. The five points represent the four classic elements. There is also a fifth element. In the town, stories exist of ghosts, magic and science.

From the post office and the grocery store, from the small park and the train bridge, the Upper Town Wall rises above the fog. Ascending the steep slabs of dark rock involves a technician’s eye for subtleties and a street sorcerer’s ability to levitate. This is blue-collar science. Practicing the art is difficult because good conditions are rare. The sun heats the rock from sunrise to a few hours before sunset. Summer bakes. Spring, like winter, is rainy with sporadic bursts of sunshine. But sometimes in the fall, when the clouds sit just right, when the rock is cool and the rain has yet to burst, Index can be perfect. That’s the magic time.

The Index general store.

In 1984 the Department of Natural Resources granted the Robbins Company, whose equipment helped construct the Channel Tunnel between Great Britain and France, the right to dig a test mine in Index. With an enormous excavation machine, the company bore a 12' x 21' x 278' hole in the wall and removed 3,000 cubic yards of material. Local climbers argued against the heavy machining, and the Robbins Company voluntarily ceased their digging, permitting the University of Washington Gravity Lab to use the tunnel for research. 

The fifth force may exist. Elementary particles interact with each other through four different forces: gravity, electromagnetism and strong and weak interaction—known as “strong” and “weak nuclear force” respectively. Scientists have recorded tests on the gravitational constant in a borehole in the Greenland ice sheet, in an Australian mine shaft and on board the deeply submerged USS Dolphin submarine. These experiments search for discrepancies between the estimated and the actual forces, for the existence of a fifth force. Proximity to a known large mass allows for a constant. Because of the massive rocks or perhaps because of the known high levels of gravity at Index, the University of Washington Gravity Lab researchers thought the tunnel would work. They covered tables and mounted strange measuring devices. A stream flowed beneath their feet while they worked. The scientists invented magic.

The tunnel entrance drilled into the cliff

 While climbing a ringing flake at the Lower Town Wall, Drew Philbin was bitten by a sharp-toothed winged creature that lived in the granite. A bite from these creatures can cause dementia, seizures, an intense fear of water and almost-certain death. Men in white coats stabbed Drew in the stomach with a long needle and then emptied his bank account. The doctors claim they cured him of rabies. I supposed that’s why he was screaming on lead. “We used The Ave as an approach pitch; not the most elegant outing even if you are fond of thorns, spiders and dirt,” he reported to Washington climbers of our brief attempt on Good Girls Like Bad Boys, at the Upper Town Wall. Behind the cobwebs lurked another stab to the stomachache, an empty bank account, a bat.

A dike cut through polished rock above a large ledge. Drew bore down on smooth holds, fighting the high gravity to finish the first pitch. A small roof, tiny edges and an above-the-ear high-step marked the crux. While he managed to pull the move off, no amount of magic could help me. We descended into the night.

Locals hang signs outside their houses. No trespassing. Private Property. Trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot again. Index residents are known for having 12-gauge firearms.   

My little black box played dead people’s sounds into my ears. A light displayed the topo. I screened the information, tracked my fingers across the box to the picture of the next pitch, and continued rappelling. There are 3Gs in the air of the Upper Town Wall. The Gs are invisible and intangible, but my little black box tells me they are there. I don’t understand it. It may be science or it may be magic. On the wall, I am in a world of both. I try to climb. I smear. I edge. I fall. A few mornings later I return to the Upper Town Wall to explore another route. My predawn start did little to keep the sun from rising. Soon, it was over Baring.  Mount Baring, rising high above the flat town of Index, cut a jagged line across the horizon.  The rock heated quickly. My feet burned in my black shoes. Climbing became impossible. I retreated.

Andrew Philbin at Index

“We weren’t invited. I don’t go into places I’m not invited,” Mikey Schaefer said. He stared down at the broken windows and scattered shingles of the Bush House.  I wondered where his sense of adventure was. Perhaps he left it on the pitches below. Mikey stepped high through the crux of Good Girls Like Bad Boys and palmed his way through a series of changing corners. We rested, perched on a small stance and stared down at the haunted house of Index.  

The Index hotel

Built in 1898 to serve train passengers heading over Stevens Pass, the Bush House was a hub for the small town of Index. Mrs. Bush, the owner, greeted travelers at the train, ringing a bell and calling out “Bush House Hotel.” The building shut down when Snohomish County revoked the occupancy permit because of structural and public safety concerns. The hotel’s disrepair, the poor foundation and the collapsing structure, were just part of the problem.

In 1907 Annabelle Holsten stayed at the hotel as a young bride while her husband Jacob worked in the Monte Cristo mine. Prospectors had found rich surface deposits in the area, but the past few years had been less fruitful. Annabelle’s husband thought he could revive the mine, make money to support his new wife and raise a family in Index. From the table by the window, Annabelle watched the 6 p.m. train passengers enter the hotel restaurant. They brought news of a catastrophic accident. The rains of the past few days had flooded the mine. “Everyone died,” they said. 

Annabelle’s fork clattered off the plate of her untouched blackberry pie. She left her food, and returned to Room 9. Just off the 7 a.m. train, Annabelle’s husband rapped on the hotel door, excited to tell his love how he’d escaped the disaster. He pushed the door open. Annabelle’s limp body hung from the chandelier at the foot of their matrimonial bed. Her husband laid her body on the mattress and joined her in the next life.

Now, the ghost of a woman in a white dress walks through the hotel at night. Tears run down her face and onto her deeply bruised neck. She screams for the miner. When the hotel restaurant was open, visitors complained that the silverware at the table by the window fell off while they were eating.

WSGS, the Washington State Ghost Society, investigated the paranormal activity at the Bush House a few years ago. The group spent the night, setting up video cameras and tape recorders to capture EVP (“electromagnetic voice phenomenon”). I’m not sure how the equipment worked. Probably like the fifth force testing. “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,” wrote Arthur C. Clarke. 

Mikey Schaefer climbing on the Upper Town Wall

“This is the hardest pitch in the world!” Mikey’s yell soaked into the mist of the Upper Town Wall. The white light of a headlamp jumped across the granite. He’d put together the fourth and the fifth pitches. The summit was suddenly close. That’s when the sun set. Mist hid the rising moon. The air was cold and the rock colder. With a scream, the small, incandescent circle levitated upward. It was the magic time in Index.

A shout bounced to the belay. Our single shared headlamp lowered down the rock face. I unclipped the light and scanned the blank expanse of vertical rock. How was it done? How could Mikey have climbed it? The fifth force?  I dangled on the end of the rope feeling more like a wrecking ball than a technician of the sacred art. I fumbled to the top.

Rain wet the trail on the way down from the Upper Town Wall. My headlamp picked out a newt walking along the path. I’d seen a fist-sized frog and a large snake hiking with Drew.  Thumb-sized brown spiders wove webs between the trees. Were the pagans in this town because of these animals? Why were the scientists experimenting with the fifth force in a place like Index? What else lived in Index? I wanted to find magic in the woods.

Previous owners nailed plywood to the windows and doors of the Bush Hotel. A small opening, just past a No Trespassing sign, allowed entrance. I stared into the room full of dust and old couches. I wondered whether I should go in. The voices of dead people sang in my ear. I switched off my music player and the voices ended. A little bit of the magic stopped. I turned around and went back to my car.  I was afraid of seeing ghosts. I was more scared of not seeing one. A boring reality is more frightening than unknown possibilities, even dreadful ones. I want to live in a world of imagination, where a fifth force helps climbers ascend, where the impossible exists. I want to believe in ghosts, magic and science.

First published in Alpinist