Gwen tightened the laces on her shoes and then bent over, touching her toes, stretching her legs in preparation for the hike. Jack had a map and pointed out where Jeanne’s skull was found, explaining where they would go once they reached the bottom of the Niagara Gorge.

They were about to enter the walkway leading down the gorge to the water’s edge. Val read the state park sign posted at the entrance to the trail. The Devil’s Hole was a large cave that was once used by Seneca Indians as a hiding place in times of war. To keep the hiding place secret, all those who entered the area were killed and that section of the gorge quickly got a reputation as the home of a spirit of evil.

The notoriety was intensified when the Senecas and British soldiers fought a fierce battle there in 1763. The Senecas were about to lose control of their land. They ambushed a wagon train, scalping the troops that accompanied it and the oxen and carts were driven over the cliffs. This skirmish was named the Devil’s Hole Massacre.

This place certainly has a violent past. Val looked around. The terrain was rough, aggressive almost. Dense foliage covered the walls of the gorge. Thick woods lined the slopes down to the water’s edge. Leaves were budding, masking any view they might have had of the Niagara River from this vantage point. But you didn’t need a view to know the Lower Whirlpool Rapids were below; the thunderous pounding was an obvious sign.

Val knew immediately this journey wasn’t going to be an easy one. She skeptically evaluated the condition of the near-vertical winding stone staircase that would bring them to the river’s edge. She examined the sign that stated the distance of the trail: “Two miles down.”

Val reluctantly grabbed a rubber band from her pocket and pulled her hair into a ponytail. It was a warm day and she was already sweating. After some personal debate on the level of intense strenuous activity she was about to endure, she ventured down, slowly at first. The steep stones were in need of serious repair. They were jagged and worn away in many places, making the footing difficult. She slipped several times on just the first flight, becoming worried about breaking a leg somewhere on the rest of the journey. She stopped on the nearest landing, evaluating the crumbling condition of the next section. This wasn’t going to get any easier.

As they made it farther, one landing at a time, the sound of the water grew louder, and at the one-mile marker Val looked back up to where they’d started, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Though the trail was intimidating in the direction they were going it was much more so in the opposite direction.