I guess you never know what you find...
I guess you never know what you find...
While casually researching the LDM, I found this odd "account". The most obvious question is: is there a real Phil Allen (common name, huh?)? <br> <br> <br>Subject: The Superstition Mountains And The Dracos. Jan. 16, 2001. <br> <br> Gather round ye hearties and I will spin a little tale about the <br>Superstiion Mountains. I've been there and didn't get a good vibration <br>from it, so I left. I wouldn't recommend you going there unless you <br>have some connections. This material is scary and will bring fear into <br>some people's hearts but then to others it will bring in the spirit <br>of adventure. <br> <br>..................................................................... <br>..................................................................... <br> <br>From: D <br>Subject: TRUE SA-GA OF DRACO HUMAN SACRIFICE AND RETALIATION BY A <br>PRIVATE HUMAN MILITIA <br> <a href="http://www.wiolawa.com">www.wiolawa.com</a> <br> <br> I am submitting to all Dragonslayers a multipart true life adventure <br>as told to me by one of our members as he experienced it 24 years ago. <br>Some of you know him for who he is; a retired, at the age of 22, <br>highly decorated Vietnam war veteran who was Special Forces trained <br>and who served three tours fighting communists, rescuing POW's and <br>working special missions for Air America. It cost him his right leg, <br>yet he was still well equipped to meet this next period of his life. <br>Keep in mind that the Soldier had no knowledge of Dracs at the time. <br>When we met, and he began his new education to what is going on <br>around him, and I could see curious recognition from time to time <br>coupled with a deep fear that he quickly hid. It was three months <br>later that he told me of his 18 month ordeal in the Superstition <br>Mountains in May of 1975 . The story came grudgingly at first; <br>obviously with much mental pain, and with occasional reluctance and <br>reservation. But because of what he knows now, taught by myself <br>and others on DS, he knew he couldn't keep hidden what he now <br>recognized as a Draco base camp. He desires to use for the present a <br>fictitious name for his boss.... we will call "Phil Allen". <br> Here is the beginning of his story.... of his life for two years <br>among the Dracos and Pteradons with their little ( 5 foot) Pets!! <br>In May of that year, I was asked to join a group of men who were <br>bringing gold out of the Superstitions. The leader, Phil Allen, spent <br>20 years of his life researching Me-ican archives, Spanish landgrants <br>and Mexi-an Go-ernment do[beep]ents. He discovered what he believed to <br>be routes to 9 of the 12 Peralta family mines. Phil enlisted the aid <br>of several others and together they found all 9. Using pack mules and <br>horses, they moved in electric generators, hand held drills, food and <br>supplies and set up a base camp 15 miles in. Others would keep this <br>camp supplied and alternating teams of men would keep the mining camp <br>supplied....well supplied, especially with ice, lots of ice as they <br>liked to drink cold beverages, the one pleasure of the long hot day. <br> Since the last of the mines, No.'s 7, 8, & 9 were the most <br>productive, they started there, core mining much in the ways the old <br>timers had 150 yrs prior. The operation was covert. It was illegal <br>for civilians to own bulk gold in those days. It was processed and <br>flown out of the country. At 18 to 25 ounces per ton, it was a <br>lucrative business at best. The mining camp was very small. It was at <br>the top of a small arroyo or 'holler' and measured about 60' square.. <br>flaked on two walls by cliffs going up...on one by a sheer 90' <br>drop-off and open on the arroyo side which looked downhill of the <br>1/4 mile long arroyo. The mines were in the sides of the arroyo <br>walls... so was the Draco entrance to their lair. Two-thirds of the <br>way down from the mini-camp was a small stand of pinion pine trees <br>..about 400 yards away and downhill. Phil Allen knew. He had known <br>of their existence for over 20 years. He had read of them in the <br>old archives. He knew what they were ...but not why-they were. Phil <br>had spent his life in these mountains running down leads to the gold <br>he was searching for. He saw them from time to time, following him, <br>pacing his movements. Terrified at first, he soon came to the <br>conclusion that if he simply ignored them nothing would happen and <br>nothing ever did. <br> It was different at the little camp, for in the arroyo walls was <br>a fourth entrance, hidden behind brush as were all of the others. At <br>first the group would set up a night guard for themselves. But it <br>soon became evident that they could not continue mining by day and <br>guarding by night. It was decided that they would hire a full time <br>night guard. They lost five men in the first three months. One simply <br>ran-never to be heard of again. Two returned via the base camp, not <br>even stopping for water or supplies, they rode their horses clear out <br>to U.S. 60 and on home! Two were found shredded, some parts missing <br>but obviously quite de-d. They were found down toward the end of the <br>arroyo near a small stand of pinion pine trees, about two hundred <br>yards from the camp. This was where the Dracs congregated and fed <br>at night. This was were the Soldier's year and a half nightmare <br>began. <br> Let's digress for a moment and set some background to this epic. <br>Phil and I met years ago shortly after I had retired from Vietnam. <br>We both had an affinity for guns and through the heat of a summer <br>afternoon we drank be-r at a bar in Apache Junction while discussing <br>ballistics and shooting. It came out that Phil and some friends <br>owned a local horse ranch and when called, worked as stuntmen for <br>whatever Hollywood movie set that needed them. We got along <br>famously and over the course of the next two years, I learned <br>horses-how to ride, how to care for them, how to do stunt falls, <br>trick mounting and dismounting and guns. They taught me how to fast <br>draw, shooting two hundred rounds a day and reloading them in the <br>evening. They had a quick draw holster rig that was handmade for me <br>and periodically I would join them in the little skits doing stunt <br>shoots and falls they put on at Rawhide. <br> Conversely, I taught them long range shooting; being the expert <br>and at the end of two years, all five were as deadly at 800 yard <br>shots, as I had become at 50 feet with my Long Colt 45. We had fun. <br> From time to time the men would disappear for a few weeks at a <br>time to do movie stunts leaving the operation of the ranch to me. <br>More often, Phil would go with some of the men and some others <br>that I didn't know into the Superstition Mountains. When I would <br>ask about it, I was told simply, "Don't ask!" - and I accepted that. <br>In May of '75 Phil came to me and explained what they were doing. <br>Phil had spent his entire life researching and prospecting in the <br>Superstitions. He spent months in northern Mexico in libraries, <br>monasteries and in family archives researching Spanish land grants <br>looking for information on what others thought were only rumors, the <br>mysterious Peralta gold mines. These were the mines that the Peralta <br>family supposedly had developed between the mid 1700's and the early <br>1800's. Phil spent twenty years of his life being rich one-year and <br>then dirt poor the next. He found 9 of the 12 reported mines. <br> It was at this point that Phil decided he needed my help. After an <br>afternoon and most of one evening explaining what he had accomplished <br>and what he wanted me to guard, Phil offered me what appeared at the <br>time to be an exorbitant amount of money for the job. I was to move <br>into the mountains with them and literally live there; sleeping days <br>and doing the guard job at nights. I would be guarding against would <br>be claim jumpers and the occasional weekend warrior who had stumbled <br>off the beaten path who needed guidance to forest service trails <br>........and against the Others. <br> Phil then told me what he had seen over the years. Only fleeting <br>looks and occasional glances of men who looked like lizards. <br> Apparently the mines, No.'s 7 , 8 and 9 were nestled in the <br>middle of a whole community of them. I had a hundred questions none <br>of which Phil could answer. Two things came out, number 1- they <br>did not attack the miners unless they went down to the stand of <br>pinions near the end of the arroyo at night and--number 2- there were <br>unspeakable horrible screams, growls and sounds that came up the <br>arroyo for hours on end. <br> I was to ignore them and under no cir[beep]stance leave the safety of <br>the camp. I knew Phil Allen; and despite the disbelief running <br>around inside my head, knew that he believed what he had just told <br>me. I then suggested that the authorities be called in and was <br>promptly told that the mining operation was covert at best, since <br>owning bulk gold was illegal. Phil had worked too long and too hard <br>all of his life for this fortune to lose it over some <br>"anthropological throw back". I went to bed that night doubting Phil <br>Allen for the first time since knowing him. But for $5000 a month, <br>I'll stay up nights and listen to anything scream a little. <br> At dawn the next morning we were on our way to the base camp with <br>a small convoy of supply trucks, pickups pulling horse trailers <br>and a new crew to replace those at the base camp. The operation <br>lacked for nothing. At the main camp we had steak, b-er, water, <br>tents with comfortable bunks and beds, generators and the fuel to <br>run them with electric lights-there were barbecue grills, hibachi's <br>and ice; Sweet wonderful ice. 105 temperatures were a daytime norm <br>and 110+ were too frequent to count. We lived on ice. I was told that <br>at least half of the supplies muled in to us every few days was <br>ice. <br> We arrived at the mining camp about 4pm on my first day. As we <br>rode up the arroyo the stand of pinions was pointed out to me. I <br>stopped to have a look around and everything appeared to be normal. <br>There were no signs of anyone or anything having ever been there. <br>Off to the north in the canyon wall could be seen the entrance to <br>what Phil called their cave. It was slightly larger than 4' in <br>diameter and was perfectly round. Nature doesn't do straight lines <br>or round ones. That was obviously man made. As I turned to go back <br>to my horse and continue up to the camp, something caught my eye <br>between two clumps of scrub grass. Moving one aside I saw what <br>immediately scared the living h--l out of me. It was a footprint <br>...... three toed, wide and long enough for my size 11 Cochran's <br>to fit inside the print. <br> This brought goosebumps up along my arms and a chill to my spine. <br>"Lets go," I said. I suddenly didn't want to be there anymore. My <br>mind was having a hard time absorbing what I'd just seen and making <br>it come out normal. One part said that what you just saw cannot <br>be, and the other part said, well, there it is. It was then too, <br>as we rode up the arroyo, I understood the Hollywood movie term <br>we've all heard, "I need a drink". Phil had some cold Beam at the <br>camp.