Rock On
Daredevils and imaginations run wild, but others fear to tread, amid Purgatory Chasm's dark caverns and granite slabs
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SUTTON -- Once upon a time, two enemies went to war. On one side, ogres: brutal, reckless, stupid. On the other, trolls: ornery, wicked, even more stupid. Their battlefield was a rocky outcrop in the woods of what would be known, eons later, as Central Massachusetts.
No one remembers the reason for their feud. By the time they had finished smashing each other's brains, they had gouged out the earth and left a terrible mess: Purgatory Chasm. (
Entering the chasm)
Originally, scientists believed the chasm was formed by ocean waves. Later, such theories as water erosion, tectonic forces, or a passing glacier were put forth.
Since no one knows for certain, my equally unproven (but groundbreaking) ''Ogre-Troll War" hypothesis struck me as no less worthy an explanation.
I did not share this theory with Girl Scout Troop No. 1117 from Chelmsford.
''This is actually our first hike," said leader Cheri Buckley, 45, as she prepped her 13 girls in the visitors center parking lot. Tie your shoelaces, she told them. Don't scream at snakes. Stay together.
''This is to build confidence," Buckley added.
I decided not to frighten the girls with tales of giants hurling boulders.
The girls fully briefed, Buckley bravely marched them down the path. They began to chant, ''Left-right, left-right-left."
I watched them scramble over the jagged, mossy stones and disappear into the chasm. I followed.
(From chasm floor)
The November day was incomparable. The morning's dull swath of clouds dissolved into cerulean skies. The black birches lent their wintergreen scent to the air. Amber leaves of birch and maple rained down and decorated the chasm floor.
I looked up at the 70-foot-high wall beneath Lover's Leap.
(Lover's Leap) The cliffs were not neck-achingly tall, like the Southwest canyons. Ahead, a jutting triangle of rock, the Overhang, (The Overhang) was seemingly supported by a single hemlock. The sheer sides and scattered chunks of brown and gray granite, six or 12 feet on a side, persuaded me that something actually built this place. The word ''enchantment" felt reinvented.
Breaking the spell were the boys of Boy Scout Troop 303 from Marlborough. They ran timed races, hopping or ''rock bouncing" from boulder to boulder.
''It's very safe," assured their chaperone, Tony Martinez, 38.
By midday, voices began to bounce around the gorge:
''It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt."
''There are scheduled lovers who jump every hour."
''You don't want to go in there!"
''I heard a wolf!" (from a boy who apparently had not understood ''The Boy Who Cried Wolf").
Then: ''Where'd Ben go?"
I wondered what beasts would pluck the errant children like chicken wings and pull them shrieking into their lairs.
This is a good place for kids -- of a certain minimum age. A few beleaguered parents hauled their toddlers up and down the rocks. Some children cried.
I had seen the chasm before. A friend of my childhood friend J.P. had brought us here about two decades ago. Back then, I was really into J.R.R. Tolkien.
''There are fouler things than orcs in the dark places of the earth," Gandalf the wizard said while in the Mines of Moria. J.P. and I were intrigued by those foul things. J.P.'s friend led us into the crevices between the rock slabs. We entered one called ''His Majesty's Cave," crawled on our bellies into the dark, and popped out somewhere we did not expect a few hundred yards away.
Today, the park discourages such behavior. The cave is now unmarked. Signs warn how dangerous the chasm can be. In 2001, a 13-year-old boy had to be rescued after wandering 50 feet into a cavern. A 21-year-old college student died after slipping off Lover's Leap in 2002. There have been six deaths in 132 years.
The geological features along the main Chasm Loop Trail have names like Devil's Coffin, Devil's Pulpit, and the less-menacing Devil's Corncrib. (Click to see video) Climbers are not deterred. A half-dozen ropes for rappelling and top-rope climbing typically dangle from the cliff face.
''Sometimes, you'll see a red-tailed hawk or peregrine falcon shoot down the chasm," said rappeller Nate Burch, 33, of Norfolk. He first visited here when he was 13. I forgot to ask if he had ever seen any trolls.
The individual climbs have names that Dante and Milton would appreciate: Paradise Lost, Limbo, and Charon, Greek mythology's ferryman of the dead.
''You'll understand why it's called Limbo once you get under that roof," said another climber, Jim Palmer, 38, of Hopedale. The roof was an insurmountable, craggy overhang. ''That's where the girl fell. No, I didn't see it."
Fat Man's Misery (Click to see video) is a fissure about 18 inches wide and two dozen feet long. The sight of adults squeezing through inspires comments from children such as, ''We have a fat man and he's stuck!" They run around and repeat this a hundred times.
Non-daredevils can occupy the recreation area outside the chasm.
''We hang out at the picnic tables . . . and use the grills to make lunch," Liz Stewart, 34, of Chelmsford, wrote me after I found her website that chronicles a dozen years of picnics here. ''Sometimes we wander far into the woods to 'our' swimming hole and take a dip."
Beyond the chasm, I discovered walks like Charley's Loop that go past Purgatory Brook. It was here that I decided November is a good time to visit. No bugs. Smaller crowds. The low, burnished sun flaring through the leafless trees. Natural, but supernatural. I felt alive.
I wound my way back to the parking lot. There was Buckley, trailing her lucky chain of 13 girls.
''We had a blast!" she said, smiling. None eaten by goblins or troglodytes. Good.
I asked the Boy Scouts whether they had gone into the caves.
''There was a giant spider and we ran away," said one. ''We're not the bravest scouts."
Imaginations are hard to capture. Mine had been. Purgatory Chasm inspired its own creation myth. Forget geology. Long live stones and fouler things in dark places of the earth.
Contact Ethan Gilsdorf, a freelance writer in Somerville, at ethan@ethangilsdorf.com. 
