Not mine: Stole this one from a Texas fishing forum about Padre Island Seashore
“GHOST AT THE 33”
Many long term visitors to PINS come to realize that it is indeed a very unusual and mystical place. From time to time, if one is down there long enough, events can occur that cannot be categorized simply and logically or explained away. I had such an experience 27 years ago and quite a few folks have heard part of it or at least something about it. I often get e-mails from people wanting me to tell them the entire story as they too have had unusual experiences "down island" and want to see how theirs compares with mine.
Obviously I can't take the time to continually tell the story at length so I thought I'd put it down on paper for y'all before I get so old I forget it myself. I'm simply going to tell it the way it really happened and you believe what you will about it, for I really don't care. I will assure you that there's not a word of fiction in it. It happened and I'm simply relaying it to you. I will caution on judging its merit though when you weren't there.
On October 19, 1978 a buddy of mine named David and I went on an overnight trip down into the Devil's Elbow section of beach south of the Big Shell. We intended to put out shark rigs and spend the night but our primary goal was to catch and bring back as many large jack crevalle as possible for freezing
for next year's shark bait.
There was not much happening in the Big Shell but once we dropped off into the Devil's Elbow the large jack crevalle were everywhere and we went to work with 20 pound test and spoons and by mid-day had landed 18 or so of over 20 lbs. We also encountered the largest group of sharks I have ever seen in one bunch up shallow. There were 40 sharks in the school, with most being four and a half foot to six and a half foot lesser blacktip sharks, there were also 6 or 7 good bull sharks present. We considered sight casting one of the big bulls but it seemed too easy so we just followed them along for a while and enjoyed the show. Late in the afternoon we set up camp at the 33-mile beach and rigged and deployed shark baits utilizing a one man life raft. I barely got back on shore in time to head for the nearest high dune to say my evening prayers before sunset when I noticed the temperature was beginning to drop as I hurried along. All at once the hair began to stand up on the back of my neck and I began to break out in goose bumps even though I was walking at a fast pace. Almost instantly I was so cold I thought I would shake to pieces. I determinedly continued toward the dune and within seconds realized the goose bumps were going away and by the time I reached the dune I was once again quite comfortable. When walking back towards the truck after saying my prayers I could feel the chill beginning to happen all over again. On a hunch, I skirted to the north of my earlier path and sure enough I found I could control my body temperature by avoiding the cold spot.
I changed into dry clothes and told David to come with me. I said nothing of my “chilling” experience and we took off by lantern light towards the dune. As we neared the area, I felt the chill coming even through the dry and more appropriate clothing and David said, "Wait a minute, I'm about to freeze to death."
We were both shivering and his teeth were chattering. David was going on about what could possibly be causing his chill and I told him I didn't know. I also told him that it appeared to be something about that particular spot and that if he would back up towards the truck he would get warmer. He did, and just as I predicted, he got warmer. Something about the ground in that spot or something in the ground was making us cold.
We returned to camp and had supper. A double mantle lantern sat on the hood of the truck along with the shoulder harness, belly plate, flashlight and other necessary shark gear. The lantern gave us a good view for thirty feet in three directions; the area to the rear of the truck was shadowed by the vehicle. We sat in lawn chairs in front of the truck. There was not a person, camp, or vehicle visible in any direction. And in fact, having driven the length of PINS earlier in the day, we knew there was only one other camp on the entire beach. There was no moon and no wind and it had cooled back down into the 50’s. Around 8:30 p.m. David landed and released a beautiful 6' 8" female bull shark. We'd just settled back in the lawn chairs when we heard someone walking towards us at a moderate pace from the direction of the "cold spot" between us and the dunes. I listened intently and decided it was one individual; 180-200 pounds. Putting one hand up to shield my eyes from the lantern glare, I reached with the other for the large Marine Corps issue knife I've had for many years. Glancing over towards David, I found him leaning forward in his chair tensely with our three pound camp hammer in hand. Try as I would, I could see no movement or shadow, just the sound of the oncoming foot steps. As the steps reached the rear of our vehicle they stopped momentarily and we could hear muffled mumbling. Then they started again, much quicker this time and I could also make out another sound mixed in with it. It was a metallic sound, like chain hitting on chain. Nobody comes unannounced into a camp at night that way… NOBODY! I braced in my chair, sure that hand-to-hand combat lay only seconds away. He burst into the full light of the lantern, 7 or 8 feet from us, and began the most God awful moaning and shouting you ever heard. This was accompanied by the sound of chain rapidly striking on chain. This went on for what seemed like several minutes and we just sat there in awe… there was no one there… NOBODY!
Finally David leaned towards me and whispered, "Where in the hell is he?"
I replied, "He's right here in front of us David, about three feet southeast of the front bumper as near as I can tell.” David's eyes were huge, as if made larger in a vain attempt to see that which could not be seen. The noise lessened to a low mumbling and the sound of shells crunching as if he were rocking back and forth on his feet. Then came a yell and he ran to the rear of the truck, stopped and yelled again and then came around the truck, yelling all the while, to a position alongside the driver's door where he stopped and went through his whole routine again. He then stopped and walked back in the direction from which he had came and everything became deathly quiet.
David was scared to death and he said, "Mr. Sandifer, if you ever get me back to town I'm never coming back down here the rest of my life." Shortly thereafter our visitor returned and David went into the truck, locked the doors, pulled his sleeping bag over his head and stayed that way ’til daylight. I was worn out and exhausted and the mosquitoes were horrible so I lay on my cot and pulled my sleeping bag over my head - to ward off the mosquitoes, not our visitor. I don't truly know how many times he returned during the night; four or five, maybe. Every time I dozed he'd wake me with his uproar. Finally in desperation I sat up on the cot and spoke to him. I asked him to please let me know what he wanted or how I could help him or else please leave me in peace so I could get some rest - he seemed unimpressed.
We broke camp shortly after daylight and drove to town without speaking. David has never since been south of the 4-wheel drive sign. The cold spot remained until Hurricane Allen in 1980 and then disappeared. I never camped at that location again as long as it remained
