What a pretty view! It is a hike up to the top but totally worth it. If our little 25lb dog can do it anyone can! It’s so peaceful at the top. It’s kind of confusing to get to as there is no signs and it’s around a bunch of homes, but mapquest got us there!
Larry B.
Place rating: 2 Houston, TX
Until just a few weeks ago, I had put my memory of this place out mind for decades. This once locally popular 1,178 ft mini-mountain is now placed in solitary confinement by a fence and no trespassing signs, due to legal reasons. They may have good reason, too, since some young people(like me 35 years ago) do foolish things upon that hill. __ _/\_o _/\_/|\ _____/\_____/\. . ___ Richard Boone(actor):(climbs up steps on a hill towards the house on the top to get in hearing range of his captors under siege in the house) «Send the woman down with the money. That’s my terms. Any questions?» Paul Newman: «Yeah, I got a question.(pulls out rifle and aims) How are you planning to get back down that hill?» That quote is from one my favorite little-known movies«Hombre», starring Paul Newman, as a man of half Native American descent who does not like to get involved with other people’s problems, but his honor reluctantly trumps that resistance. In my latter twenties, Bad Luck Girl(a name some friends gave her) wants to introduce me to her mom, who lives in Wimberley, TX. She wants to show me around her home town, and take me to Old Baldy Mountain to get a view overlooking the area in all directions. In early Texas history, Old Baldy was a lookout. Spaniards, Native Americans, and later settlers used it to monitor movements of people. Bad Luck Girl laughingly told me there were rumors of an Indian curse on the mountain after they were expelled from the area by white settlers. In the 1900’s Old Baldy was popular with the locals as a place for contemplation during the day and for lovers or riley teenage drinkers at night. In the 1950’s, the owner of the property built rock and concrete steps(218 of them) to the top of the mountain. We were climbing the stairs to the top in the late morning and about half way up, I said«let’s race!» Bad Luck Girl, a step ahead of me was getting winded and perhaps a bit dizzy towards the top of the mountain, loses her footing. I quickly take a step to steady her as she grabs the handrail and falls backward. Tip to hikers: Don’t wear flip-flops on this hill. My left flip-flop caught the top of the step and broke, and my foot landed on the step, which was littered with small pieces of broken beer bottle glass. It did not help that Bad Luck Girl was half in my arms putting pressure on the foot, which immediately wanted to lift off like an Estes rocket. After she regains footing, I lift my foot up and see the damage: multiple pieces of glass sticking out of my foot. Blood immediately starts oozing out like one of those rain shower heads. Bad Luck Girl screams in horror. I pick out the visible pieces of glass while trying to calm her. Now you see the relevance of the movie quote… how am I going to get down that hill? When she regains composure, we hobble down 200 steps leaving a trail of blood that subsequent hikers probably thought was from an Aztec Temple sacrifice with a head rolling down. I have to wrap my foot with a spare T-shirt and she drives us to her mom’s house. What a great way to meet her mother. I go to the bathtub and rinse off the foot, pick out some more glass. None of the cuts looks big enough for stitches, but it takes a long time with pressure to stop the bleeding. I do remember that she ironically offered me a glass bottle of beer. Back in Houston, it finally healed, but I had pain for a few months, which put a crimp in my tennis. So, I went to the doctor who took an x-ray and spotted a tiny sliver of glass deep in the middle of the foot pad. He said an operation would do more damage, and told me that scar tissue would build up around the piece and to give it a couple of more months to do so. He was right, although it took about 6 months for the pain to go away. Oh yeah, I stopped seeing Bad Luck Girl, too. Decades go by, and a few weeks ago, while barefoot, I roll my left foot towards the little toe for some reason, and a spike of pain occurs. I thought I had stepped on some broken glass in the house, but could not see or feel anything on the foot. Then I remembered Old Baldy. The curse of Old Baldy. A daily reminder some time is ahead of me until scar tissue builds up again. Meanwhile, the land developers have surrounded Old Baldy with a few houses and people who have to fend off the hikers by putting a fence around it. When the Trinity Church purchased the property years ago, they liked to refer to the hill as «Prayer Mountain». Going up the«Stairway to Heaven» was OK most of the way for me, but going back down was hell. So, if you get a chance to be foolish and climb the hill, remember that ghosts of Native Indians are on the lookout. Footnote: Mostly healed again. I am not limping, but feel a needle stab when I walk.
