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Central Central National Bank Member FDIC. Haunted Highways, Ghost Stories and Strange
Tales written by Dan is Far published by Lone Pine Publishing. Pouting Light Robbins
Lake Road wins through the woods of Michigan's Upper Peninsula between two quiet northern towns,
Pouting and Watersmeat. At the top of a hill about half a mile
west of US forty five, you will find a barricade blocking the inconspicuous back
road. There's a sign here put up by the Michigan Forest Service, and
on any summer evening, a crowd of observers usually stands around their cars,
eagerly scanning the sky for the famous Pouting light. The light has been documented
by scientists and paranormal experts alike. It eludes all sorts of reaction actions from
rationally minded theorists regarding swamp gast mineral deposits reflecting light and electromagnetic energy, to
supernatural explanations that involve the lingering spirit of a murdered postal worker, a dead
railroad brakeman, a broken hearted engineer, and a dowdy old pancake joe.
Although numerous hypotheses abound, it seems that most observers lean towards supernatural explanations.
The Michigan Forest Service itself endorses the most unscientific of explanations, with the place
court it erected on the site. Yet the ghost of the dead brakeman is
only one legend among many other storytellers ascent that the multicolored glow that dances after
dusk is indeed a lantern, but it belongs to a railroad engineer, not
a brakeman. This version of mortal strife in Ontong County as an engineer confronting
a lude lumberjack and a local pub over rumors the larger was spreading about his
one and only. The engineer was stabbed in the ensuing fight and died later
that night. After he was buried, it became clear that the stories of
the lumberjack was telling were actually true that the late engineer's sweetheart was in fact
unfaithful. So it is said that the ghost of the engineer still wanders the
woods around Padding, looking for his own soul, and this version the Padding
Light is the lantern he carries when he goes on his nightly searches. Another
folk telle involves one of the state's earliest postal workers. He traded in his
horse for a dog sled while working his route during michigan snowbound winter months.
On a cold January morning, a local hunter greasely discovered explained why the people
in the region had not been getting any letters. There Amid the wreck of
a dog sled and scattered melt that had yet to be delivered, lay the
corpse of the postman and what was left of his sled team. The bodies
of master and dogs alike were frozen and gruesome poses of death. Both were
stern across the stretch of blood red snow, their throats split open from ear
to ear. Their region has been called dog Meadow ever since, and some
people believe that the pouting light is a murdered mailman coming back every night to
get his team together. There is also the story of Pancake Joe, the
big man who ran a saloon and waters meat and ended up buying a rock
farm nearing pouting. If it is indeed Pancake Joe's spirit on Robin's Lake Road,
it is not a traumatic death, but firmly held convictions that causes Joe
to linger on after his death. Pancake Joe was a man who shunned civilization
and fought the settlement of America's hinter lands to the very end. His temper
went bad after power lines went through the area, and he died soon after.
This theory has the spirit of Pancake Joe climbing the electric poles and dancing
along the lines, sending sparks flying in a tireless attempt to frighten people away
from the secluded land that he knew and loved. Who can say which version
of the pouding light story is true, given the variety, probably no one,
but come to the sub zero temperatures of the frigid winter of the balmy
evenings of Michigan summer months, the pouting light continues to shine, attracting scientific
observers, paranormal enthusiast and undecided onlookers alike