In the Shadow of Black Mountain

5/25/2025

by M.P. Pellicer | Stranger Than Fiction Stories
In Kalkajaka National Park 16 miles southwest of Cooktown (Queensland, Australia), black granite boulders create a maze that lead inside Black Mountain. Throughout the years it has developed a reputation for strange sightings and the disappearance of people without a trace.

Kalkajaka National Park Black Mountain

Two hundred and fifty million years ago, magma solidified and created giant boulders that measure as much as 20 feet across, and tower 1,000 feet in height. The pile of boulders extend for two miles.

A primeval forest surrounds it. Sunlight heat the surfaces of the black boulders, and cool rain fractures them sometimes in a sudden explosion. Hot air moves through passages from the mountains, and fill the space around the rocks. Strange noises accompany the heated air, as well as a nauseous stink.

The Kuku Nyungkal indigenous people knew it was a place to avoid, and folklore surrounding it has always been ominous. They called it Kalkajaka which translated as the "Mountain of Death" or the "place of the spear". They believed demons and evil spirits inhabited this place. These beings hungered for human souls. One of them was known as the Eater of Flesh, a medicine man who was seduced by darkness. This is the story according to an interview with a local named Peter:

Back in the age when the human race was young, there dwelt among the tribe in the vicinity of the mountain range a terrible medicine man whose name meant Eater of Flesh. So great was his craving for human flesh, and so great was the dread the superstitious tribesmen felt before his powerful magic known to spirit away even a strong man that they sometimes allowed him to eat an old woman or a diseased tribesman.

One day, however, being very hungry, he overstepped his boundaries and partook of a young chief, whom he found asleep. Caught in the act, the tribe rose up against him, but an evil spell helped him change into a monstrous snake. Hissing away, he made his home in the very heart of the barren and desolate Black Mountain. Only hunger could drive him out. Ever since then, people as well as animals have been disappearing there.

Queensland Tiger

Aboriginal people until this day steer clear of it, as do animals and birds. But it is not only the native people who tell of strange encounters. In modern times there are stories describing disruption of navigational equipment experienced by some who traverse the Bermuda Triangle. Pilots take steps to avoid the area. There are also reports of strange lights and UFO activity. Many wonder if deep under the Black Mountain are alien bases and lost civilizations. The extraterrestrials who live here are said to be reptilian humanoids, who claim human beings as slaves.

Stories circulate of a giant python that attacks humans as well as something called the "Queensland tiger" that is blamed for cattle deaths and mutilations. However the strangest phenomena is the disappearance of people and animals.

Herds of cattle appear to be swallowed by the mountain, and no trace is found of hikers and others who have vanished into air. Tales are told of an entire Aboriginal tribe trying to take shelter from enemies, who made the same fatal mistake of seeking refuge there.

Taken from the Sydney Mail c.1933

Phillip Graynor in July 1872, was on his way to the Palmer River with a pack-horse team loaded with provisions. He camped with other carriers near Black Mountain. That night three of his horses broke loose and headed towards the mountain. At dawn he set out to look for them in the direction of Black Mountain and was never seen again.

Hours later three carriers went in search of him. All they found was Graynor's horse grazing close to the pile of granite slabs. The next day police and trackers searched the area for miles, but with no success. Many feared he fell into one of the crevices between the boulders.

The second disappearance involved Sugarfoot Jack, a bushranger and criminal who fled into the Black Mountain with his gang. The authorities followed them but the three men seemed to have disappeared into thin air, and no trace was found of any of them.

The Black Mountain appeared to be the favorite destination of fugitive criminals. About 13 years after Sugarfoot Jack's disappearance, a constable from Cooktown which lies about 14 miles southwest of the mountain, tracked one to the mouth of a cave. Constable Ryan accompanied by other trackers could not find any more clues of the man they sought, but not willing to let the man slip away Ryan went into the cave after him. Neither man was ever seen again.

These were not the last to disappear when entering the Black Mountain. Renn a gold prospector went missing. In November 1882, Harold Owens a local man who settled in the Oakey Creek district went in search of either stray cattle or horses. Like those before him, he disappeared. Police and trackers, accompanied by family members made an exhaustive search of the mountain, and the surrounding vicinity. In this case, not even Owen's horse was found.

In the middle of the search another man was reported missing. It was George Hawkins, better known as "Red Faced George". He had a club foot and in December, 1882 he left the Four Mile district and rode towards Black Mountain. His aim was find out if there was any feed for cattle in the locality, since he planned to buy land there.

He knew about Owens' disappearance but took little notice, declaring the man had just gotten lost, even though Owens was an experienced bushman like him.

Hawkins rode along Palmer River road where he met other travelers. He was last seen riding in the direction of Black Mountain.

Settlers, miners, carriers and natives from the district joined in a search for Hawkins who had failed to return from his trip. Two policemen were sent out to find Owens and Hawkins. They entered one of the caves, but only one emerged. Reports of the time described that he was crazed by what he experienced while in the cave.

Only after several weeks was the search abandoned.

The following year the bones of a deformed human foot was discovered by a hunter near the base of the mountain. Many believed the bones belonged to Hawkins, but had no way to prove it.

Aerial view of Black Mountain approaching Cooktown

In 1892, most of the population had left due to the production of the Palmer River goldfield coming to a standstill. However with the discovery of rich tin deposits, a rush of miners returned to the area.

One of the first was named James Wren, a veteran miner. During August, 1892 he had been working a field for several months and decided to spend a weekend in Cooktown. He left Friday morning, and returned on Monday in the company of another miner. His companion stayed behind at a small bush hotel along the Palmer River Road. Wren was seen about 2 p.m. by three miners traveling to Cooktown on the same road. These men were the last to lay eyes on him.

When the miner who had stopped at the hotel arrived at Rossville the following day, the word got out that Wren had not arrived. Again a search party was organized, and for a over a month efforts were made to find him. However neither hide nor hair of Wren or his horse were found. Even the native trackers who were very adept, could find a sign of what happened to the man.

Thirty-five years passed, and the Cooktown districted became a ghost town. The mining fields were abandoned and the Palmer River road remained unused.

Not all the miners that disappeared remained unfound. On November 27, 1900 the bones of a prospector named Killane were unearthed. There were indications he was killed and eaten by the natives.

Not put off by this history of strangeness, in the 1920s, two European cave explorers took up the challenge of Black Mountain. They wanted to solve the enigma of the caves, and became part of it, as well as two native trackers sent to look for them. None could account as to the fate of any of the men.

In 1928, G. Packer a prospector went missing. One of the searchers was attracted by flies and inside a shallow fissure between two granite slabs was Packer's decomposed body. His rifle was with his body and he had a bullet wound in his head. Nearby was his prospecting equipment. The verdict was suicide. Nevertheless the natives believed he had been killed by the devils that lived in the mountain.

In 1932, Harry Page who went hiking was later found dead from unknown reasons. This was the only time a corpse was produced, and despite intensive police investigations no explanation could be produced as to what happened to all these people. None returned to tell what they saw.

In 2009, a cave explorer described an experience he had while camping at Black Mountain:

Around ten o'clock a strong wind picked up and down from the tree tops came a cracking sound. We crawled inside the tent, lay down on our mats and stared at the dark fabric, straining to hear every possible sound. The nighttime cries of the primeval forest were frightening at first, full of odd wails mingled with horrific laughter and the occasional crunch of a branch broken off by the wind. It was enough to make your soul shiver. But little by little we got used to it and began to fall asleep when a sudden hush fell over everything. Not only did the wind cease but the voices of animals and night birds were gone. The silence was deafening.

Danny and I looked at each other in surprise. We began joking, saying it must be the boogeyman, when we heard stone crumbling from the rock above us. As if something was slowly crawling out of the mountain. It sounded quite close and we thought it might be an animal. Maybe a rock wallaby. But once it climbed all the way down, what we heard from the bushes and dried up leaves was the sound of human steps. A crawling animal would not sound like this. This was clearly a human walking.

'Let’s see who it is,' whispered Danny, reaching for a flashlight. 'Wait,' I stopped him. 'I bet it's hard to see our black tent. Maybe he won't notice it and leave.'

To be honest, I was scared and didn’t want to call any unnecessary attention to us. After all, we were foreigners in the wilderness, without a permit to build a tent by a holy site. By now the steps were definitely headed for us, as if someone knew very well where we were. Heart in my throat, I automatically gripped the handle of a long hunting knife. The prowling footsteps began to circle the tent.

'Let’s go for it,' cried out Danny, unzipping the tent with a jerk. I jumped out after him, with a flashlight in one hand and a knife in the other. The oval reflections of our flashlights pierced through the spots from which the sounds had come. A formless dark mass, undulating by the grim wall of black bushes and trees quickly dissipated. An ominous silence set in. True, no one was attacking us, but we heard no evidence of a person or animal escaping. All was still. We were completely baffled. Carefully, we searched all around our tent for possible traces and called into the dark forest, but to no avail. Dead silence was our only answer. We crawled back inside, ready to run out again at the slightest provocation, but we no longer joked about demons.

Life returned to the primeval forest and so did its nighttime music, which we knew by now to be harmless. Even so, I couldn't fall asleep until dawn. My dreams were chaotic, full of fear before the evil powers emanating from the bowels of the Black Mountain, and full of images so vivid that I had a hard time separating them from reality. I was progressing down a long corridor, straight into the mountain's heart. I ended up in a square chamber, its floor strewn with curiously long skulls with a blue-and-red checker board painted all over them. We woke up to the sound of the car horn and human voices. It was eight in the morning, and our friends were waiting for us on the road. They said they had returned to the mountain last night and watched it with binoculars. They reported seeing flashing lights.