Hell Hole

Aw. I Think Simsbury is Nice!
Hell Hole, Simsbury

This page is a great example of who I am at my deepest core… for better or for worse. And I won’t even burden you with how far down the Satanic rabbit hole I went just now either.

Okay, so, yeah. I try to find all these places around the state named for the Dark Lord or his fiery home. Fine. Plenty of people do that. (Right?)

I have a list of these places and many of them are deeply historic and no longer carry ol’ Lucifer’s name anymore. I try not to let that stymie me though. I power through, as this is very important to my readers.

It took me a while to find an old explanation of Simsbury’s Hell Hole. Here it is:

In Simsbury, two village sites are known. The main one was Weatogue, meaning home place. Indian artifacts found on three farms within the district enrich the ancient history of East Weatogue. Several sites have been the subject of study in the Farmington River Archaeological Project of the Department of Anthropology of Central Connecticut State University. Dr. Kenneth Feder, head of the project, maintains that objects discovered in these sites offer “evidence of continuous habitation from 8,000 years ago to the present.”

That gave me nothing. But then the next paragraph…

Legend ascribes a knoll directly north of the falls of King Phillip Brook, or “Hell Hole” or “Cat Hole” as called by the Indians, as the site of an Indian workshop. Noah A Phelps’ history records an Indian burying ground near the house of the late Col. James Cornish. During the excavation for this house, human bones were found. This is probably the Louis Epstein house at 25 East Weatogue Street.

… confused me. King Phillip (or Philip) Brook flows off of Talcott Mountain and parallels Route 185, heading west, down to the Folly Farm. There are no falls along it at all anymore, but if there was a few hundred years ago, it would be just east of the horse farm – based on topography. I actually poked around in there one day and while there’s a little gorge there, I never felt the presence of the Dark Lord.

So I reread the passage above. The address on Weatogue Street is actually Rosedale Farm & Vineyards today. That’s “north of King Phillip Brook” – but too far north to make sense. However, lost in the excitement of the Devil himself, I went to 25 East Weatogue Street and noticed Powder Mill Brook flows towards it. Checking the topography here:

There’s definitely potential for a small falls here as well. Now, not only is that privately owned land, it’s privately owned by wealthy people. I tend not to trudge through wealthy people woods looking for … I don’t even know what I’d be looking for. “Sorry, sir, I don’t mean to trespass, but can you point me to Hell Hole?”

That wouldn’t work. I mean, look at this house that the presumed falls and potential Hell Hole is near:

But something was wrong. I blame the old timey mention of Hell Hole, because it really doesn’t make any sense. But I read it again. This time slowly. The Father of Lies and Deceit was perhaps muddling my brain.

“Legend ascribes a knoll directly north of the falls of King Phillip Brook, or “Hell Hole” or “Cat Hole” as called by the Indians…” Hm. So it was definitely back along King Philip Brook, not Powder Mill Brook. And if there was a knoll directly north of it, that puts it back to where I originally thought it was – right alongside Route 185 where King Philip enters a bit of a gorge.

Physically reaching that mythical spot would be stupid, difficult, and dangerous.

Sounds good. Let’s go.

I parked at the entrance to the very wealthy neighborhood along Cobtail Way. I walked along the property nearest Route 185 and hit a wall of vegetation that only Satan himself could have grown. I peered down into the woods and saw a hole. I swear. It was hellish.

I called it Hell Hole and returned to my car – coincidentally this was just before I embarked on another stupid and dangerous trek to King Philip’s Caves. I’m reminded again that I am lucky that while my wife supports my endeavors, I’m luckier that she never reads about them.

So here we are. Simsbury is a lovely town and it’s hard for me to call any part of it a Hell Hole. Which is probably why the moniker has long been lost to history.

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