Before any one corrects me, let’s get one thing straight. The correct spelling is Alferd.

At the foot of Slumgullion Pass just south of Lake City, Colorado is a small patch of dirt with a few white crosses. This final resting place for five hearty souls is often missed by tourists burning up brakes coming down one of Colorado’s steepest mountain passes.

First a little history about Colorado’s favorite Cannibal. You can read all about the life of Alferd Packer elsewhere, so I’ll just provide a synopsis…

In January of 1874 he met Chief Ouray of the Uncompahgre band (Ute tribe) who recommended he and his party postpone their gold prospecting expedition from Gunnison to Breckenridge until the following spring.

He should have heeded Ouray’s advice, or better yet, those in his party should have. After encountering dangerous weather as they had been warned, the party became lost and ran out of provisions.

Packer? Party of five…

To make a long story short, Packer survived by helping himself to the others. And unlike the Donners, this was no party. After a number of trials following the gruesome discovery, Packer claimed he returned from scouting one day to find Shannon Bell roasting and feasting on human flesh. Alledging that Bell rushed him with a hatchet, Packer shot and killed him in self defense, insisting the man had gone mad and murdered all the others.

Neither the Judge nor his jury believed him.

“You man eating son of a … There was seven democrats in Hinsdale County and you ate five of them.”

— Saloon keeper Larry Dolan following Alferd Packer’s first trial.

Now, about that spelling.

You will find Alfred Griner Packer’s given name on both the man’s birth certificate and gravestone. But that’s it. Everywhere else he is referred to as Alferd, including the tattoo on his arm where the artist misspelled his name. Legend has it that is when he adopted the name Aferd, so I’m sticking to it. Get it? Sticking? Tattoo…

Where is the latest roadside attraction you visited where you learned a little history lesson? Or, what places have you been that you insist are just spelt wrong?

The only mystery about the Marfa Lights is why nobody tells you the truth about your actual chances of seeing them.

On our way to Big Bend, we just had to investigate all the hype we had heard about the Mystery Lights of Marfa. We stopped by the Marfa Chamber of Commerce office and asked when was the best time to see the lights. “Oh, any time after dark,” we were told by a pleasant woman. “Any day of the year, really,” she added as we inquired deeper. She was apparently perpetuating the mystery.

We heard you can boondock where the lights are seen most and found the Marfa Lights Viewing Area nine miles east of town right on Highway 90. It’s really quite a nice rest area designed by local high school students, with ample parking, rest rooms, and interpretive displays. We settled in with a front row seat, and waited for dark.

One of the first the first signs that there would be no sign of mysterious lights that night was the half dozen or so displays themselves. They pointed out distant mountain ranges and discussed regional flora and fauna. But only one had any information about the lights themselves. And if you read the small faded printout pinned in the corner of the display case the truth was revealed.

Chances of witnessing the Marfa lights on any given night are quite rare. In fact, based on less than 30 viewings in 2002, your chances of actually seeing any anomalies in the sky after dark are about eight percent. This number decreases with each hour past sunset. But we were determined to try.

The freezing wind finally forced inside after nearly two hours searching the skies for anything other than oncoming headlights. Supposedly, people have reported seeing the lights since the late 1880s. Explanations range from weather related phenomena and human pranksters, to the piezoelectric effects of thermal expansion in quartz of the distant mountains. But we have developed our own theory …

The reports from the 1880s were fabricated some time in the 1970s when interest in Marfa, Texas had fallen. The hullabaloo from the days of George Stevens filming Giant in Marfa 20 years earlier was all but forgotten, and locals needed a reason to bring back the tourists. It worked. They’re still coming now. And they are still told they can see the lights any day after dark. Yeah, right.