As he was walking toward his fishing spot, he looked back at his car and saw it rolling up hill. He thought that ghosts were pushing the car, and his story spread all over the town and other people started trying it. Some folks thought that there was a big magnetic meteor buried beneath the hill that defied the local law of gravity. Many other theories popped up over the years; some credited supernatural causes, others tried to explain the mystery scientifically.
The fact is that the natural terrain and vegetation alongside the road is responsible for the illusion. Don't let that fact spoil your fun. Just believe your lying eyes. A private group has raised money to build a new monument to replace the old sign on the site.
The City Council decided the Indian story was the real deal, and approved a conceptual design that includes a Seminole chief and an alligator. Our Facebook page has more than , followers who love off the beaten path Florida: towns, tourist attractions, maps, lodging, food, festivals, scenic road trips, day trips, history, culture, nostalgia, and more.
We post articles every day. Please check it out and if you like it, we would appreciate a "like" from you. He headed for the Lake. The song froze on his lips as he glanced back at his Jalopy. That is how Spook Hill came to be named. The story said Gimme retired from plundering in beautiful Lake Wales.
His trusted aid, Teniente Vanilla, was buried at the foot of the hill. The newspaper clipping said that the captain was awakened after a man stopped his car at the foot of the hill. When the school first opened, principal James W. Cooper struggled to get transcripts for transferring students. Apparently, other institutions saw the name and thought they were being pranked. Cooper was responsible for bringing in Casper as the mascot.
He wrote to Harvey Comics asking to use it for the school. They bundled Spook Hill in the same trip as a visit to a nearby haunted home.
They detected no electromagnetic activity at the attraction. Perhaps Henry Ferguson, a visitor in the s, told it to The Ledger best. By the time I finished my research and headed back to Spook Hill, the sky was drizzly and pale. Dare I say: It looked spooky. Maybe if I could watch others visit, I could pick up on the secret. I ordered a sandwich to go on the way over, bracing myself for a long stakeout.
But the line was two cars long when I reached Spook Hill. I watched the first, a gray sedan, gradually approach the line before stopping and rolling back. They braked just before the sign. Then, the car drove forward to leave, driving even slower as they reached the top of the hill.
The woman in the passenger seat held up her phone to film. The driver threw his hands in the air. They started their day at Bok Tower and ended at Spook Hill. Eason shared a few pointers before heading back for one more attempt.
As his car rolled back, he flashed a big grin and a thumbs up. Then they left. My turn. This time, I put my car in neutral and then peeled my hands from the wheel, hoisting them up above my ears. Instead of just releasing the brake, I took my foot completely off the pedal.
I stared straight ahead. Not looking up at the top of the hill. Not peering back. The further back I rolled, the more the road looked like it was curving up. It felt like I was being yanked back, rising higher and higher as I got closer to the sign and finally rolled past it. Expressed through signage, advertising brochures, and even a locally-produced play, the legends of Spook Hill are an excellent example of the craft of legend-building applied to a local tourist attraction.
With an expansive lore consisting of a series of narratives which increasingly connected the site to the pivotal aspects of Florida history, the stories of Spook Hill show the ways that successful branding imbued a site with increased meaning and appeal. One legend explains that a Florida pirate Captain Sasparilla is buried at the hill and pushes cars away. Another legend claims that the spirit of a giant alligator inhabits the area.
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