My frequent shooting buddy Joe and I were down on that stretch of road between Harriet island and lillydale last night to take photographs of this cool old railroad bridge that's down there. On our way there he tells me, when we get there I'm going to tell you a ghost story. I don't think much about it the rest of the way. When we get there we are setting up our tripods and he says.

"So it was a cold December night a bunch of years ago. Kind of like tonight. I was with a friend who was an amateur photographer. Kind of like you. We were taking pictures and I heard a loud crack! We went running back to my car to find my back window smashed. My friend started snapping pictures all over the place trying to get a picture of whatever had done it. When he got home there was a person clearly visible in one of the pictures"

I know that all of that land was a Native American battleground and that the Mob used to dump bodies down there. It gave me the shivers. I may have gotten a couple of good photographs but I sure didn't waste any time taking them.