The Devil's Backbone

Just in time for Halloween...

The Devil's Backbone is the the local name for a winding ridge that meanders between a couple of small Texas Hill Country towns (Wimberley and Blanco). It's flanked on both sides by a series of deep canyons and valleys. There's a two-lane state Ranch Road (RR 32) that follows the ridge most of the way.

Fog, mist, winds, and temperature variations are not unknown along the ridge. Rational people believe that these result from topographical and meteorological conditions arising from the sudden and severe elevation differences between the ridge and the canyons. Others, however, have a different explanation.

Residents sometimes hear stallions galloping through the darkened canyons. But no one has ever seen any horses. And when they check the ground later, there are no hoof prints.

Charlie Beatty has heard the horses, and more. He claims to have stumbled upon unexplained cold spots — patches of chilly air — in distant corners of his ranch. This has happened in mid-July.

Dozens of locals and passers-by, meanwhile, have reported ghostly sightings of Confederate soldiers, Apache chiefs and lost travelers on the roadside, in pastures and at their doorsteps. The apparitions always disappear when confronted.

“The legend of this area goes back hundreds of years,” says resident Bert Wall, who has written several books about the Devil's Backbone. “It was known to Apaches and Comanches, who viewed it as a spiritual area.”

The name comes from the Spanish term “Diablo Espinoza,” or “spiny devil.” Wall says it was a nickname given to an overbearing Spanish priest by his workers during the 1750s.

Given the setting and the stories that have been told since then, it appears the name “Devil's Backbone” is a classic example of foreshadowing.

While ghosts are reported all over the place, the Devil's Backbone Tavern, a narrow honky-tonk built on the site of ancient Indian campgrounds and the area's first stagecoach stop, is Spook Central.

Doors and windows fly open and shut, says bartender Melia Walker. Sallie Tate, another bartender, claims a large limestone doorstop rose off the ground by itself. Three weeks ago, when the widow of a regular patron was speaking ill of her late husband, a framed picture of him abruptly fell from the wall and hit her. Twice.

I've spent many an hour in the Devil's Backbone Tavern. Most of the bizarre things I've seen there can be attributed to customers - and the bartenders - being overserved.

Sometimes, when bartender Mary Johnson is closing the bar for the night, she says invisible hands will brush against her hair while she's sweeping.

“Will you guys knock it off?” she'll snap.

And, she says, they do.

At least until the next night.

It's easy to dismiss this as spiderwebs. In fact, given the age of the place and its general level of cleanliness, that's quite probable. But then again, alone in an eerie old place late on a dark moonless night, who knows...

Ghost Hunters of Texas has a short report and video, for what it's worth. 

For a slideshow that captures the essence of the Devil's Backbone Tavern, go here. In particular check out slides 10 (repaired bullet holes in the ceiling) and 13 (a hole in the floor where a bunch of drunks poured the ashes of a dead friend).

I'm not sure one way or the other. I think ol' Willie Shakespeare got it right:

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

"Hamlet", Act 1 scene 5