DUANE
Duane's take
Here's how the official marker on Ghost Road tells it, and I'll do my best to do it justice. Ghost Road. Even the name sounds like a dare.
It runs arrow straight through territory that was once thicket, cypress brake, baygalls, and loblolly pines — the kind of country that swallows sound and keeps its secrets. And oh, has it kept some secrets. The road began as something a lot more ordinary: the bed of a branch rail line of the Gulf, Colorado and Santa Fe, running between the towns of Bragg and Saratoga to provide access to the timberlands of the area.
Down at the southern end of the line sat the McShane Lumber Company operation at Dearborn. Workaday stuff. Timber in, timber out.
Except — even then, while the trains were still runnin', before a single automobile had rattled through that corridor, the stories started. A light. Moving through the dark.
Unexplained. Tales of a ghostly light began even as the line was in service. Think about that for a moment.
The rails were still warm and people were already whispering. The line was eventually converted to a county road in the 1930s, but the light didn't get the memo. It stayed right where it was.
Then along came Arthur Fullingim — outspoken editor of the Kountze News — who published accounts of the ghost light sightings and brought widespread attention and interest to the phenomenon. Once Fullingim put it in print, well, there was no puttin' it back. The road became a popular site for travelers, young couples, and others drawn to what folks were calling the Ghost Light, the Bragg Light, the Big Thicket Light, the Saratoga Light — take your pick, it answers to all of them.
Now, everybody who's ever stood on that road in the dark has their own explanation, and the marker lays them all out fair and square. On the natural side: swamp gas, or the reflection of phosphoric foxfire. On the historical side: gold hidden by Spanish soldiers and explorers.
And on the supernatural side — well, pull up a log, because there are options. A rail worker searching for his lost head. A groom looking for his murdered bride.
A lost hunter. Disgruntled rail workers. Jayhawkers.
The marker doesn't choose a favorite, and honestly, neither will I. Beyond the light and its legends, Ghost Road had another kind of struggle playing out. Its once dense timber stands attracted development and lumber interests, and for decades, county officials disagreed with others — including noted Big Thicket conservationist R.E.
Jackson — over the road's importance. That argument had some staying power. It wasn't until the late 1990s that the road finally became a protected resource.
Today, visitors come for the flora and fauna, for the quiet, and of course, for the light — that mythic, ghostly light that has been out there on a straight dark road in the Big Thicket longer than anyone can rightly explain. The tracks are long gone. But whatever was followin' them is still out there.
Arrow straight through the dark.
What the marker says
Ghost Road runs arrow straight through territory that was once thicket, cypress brake, baygalls and lobolly pines. It began as the bed of a branch rail line of the Gulf, Colorado and Santa Fe that ran between the towns of Bragg and Saratoga to provide access to the timberlands of the area. At the southern end of the line was the McShane Lumber Company operation at Dearborn. Tales of a ghostly light began even as the line was in service, before automobiles ran through the area. The stories continued after the line was converted to a county road in the 1930s. Arthur Fullingim, outspoken editor of the Kountze News, published accounts of ghost light sightings, which brought widespread attention and interest. The road became a popular site for travelers, young couples and others interested in the phenomenon, known as the Ghost, Bragg, Big Thicket or Saratoga Light. Explanations over the years have included the natural -- swamp gas or reflection of phosphoric foxfire; the historical -- gold hidden by Spanish soldiers and explorers; as well as the supernatural -- the spirits of a rail worker searching for his lost head, a groom looking for his murdered bride, a lost hunter, disgruntled rail workers or jayhawkers. In addition to its place in popular lore, the road's once dense timber stands attracted development and lumber interests. For decades, county officials disagreed with others, including noted Big Thicket conservationist R.E. Jackson, over the road's importance. In the late 1990s, it finally became a protected resource. Today, it draws visitors enticed by its flora and fauna, as well as by its mythic, ghostly lights. (2005)