by
Jennifer McDaniels
It was just a coon hunting trip. Some of my distant relatives (I prefer not to publicly say their names because what happened to them was bone-chilling and disturbing, not to mention they fear being scoffed) ......these distant relatives of mine decided to go coon hunting on Big Black Mountain one August night when the air was thick with humidity and ghostly mist. I was just a child in the mid 80's, and I remember sitting in the back of my Daddy's blue Chevy truck as my distant family (all men) were taking inventory of their equipment for the all-night excursion upon the state's highest peak.
They tried to talk my Daddy into joining them, and although he was an avid coon hunter himself, something just "didn't set right" with him. He told the men "I don't reckon I want to be up on that mountain in the middle of the night." Once they were satisfied they had all the equipment they needed, they piled in their truck and sped up KY 522 toward the Tri-Cities where Big Black Mountain towers over the old coal mining towns of Lynch and Benham, as well as Cumberland, which was more of a municipality for commerce.
I went on to bed that night, saying my prayers for the poor, defenseless coons (that's just the kind of child I was) and never gave the hunting trip another thought. In fact, it wasn't until months later that I overheard another family member relay to my mother the events of that horrific night experienced by my coon-hunting distant relatives upon Big Black Mountain.
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