The supposed tunnels in Hewitt Lake leading to the Sound interested me, and in the course of investigation I ran across the following. This is from the Daily Olympian, Dec. 26, 1976:

H-Hewitt Lake---
H-Haunted Or Not?

By Dorris Hensel

When the winter mist snags the fir tops and obscures the far shores of Thurston County lakes in ghostly vapors, it takes only a small stretch of the imagination to see shadows of the things that were, when deer came to drink at water's edge and a stalking cougar padded near.

At such times, before the fog lifts and we see the houses which now cram the perimeters, some lakes seem almost haunted. One, Hewitt Lake, located southeast of Tumwater, was once believed to be obsessed [note-- perhaps she meant "possessed"].

Read more.

Exactly when the lake got that reputation, no one is sure, but by 1903 it was labeled "The Haunted Lake" on the back of an old picture owned by the Washington State Museum.

Hewitt Lake was not named for the original settler, John Lowe, who received part of the lake in his donation claim in 1853. The donation lands, when later surveyed, did not show the lake on the 1863 Surveyor General's map for the Territory of Washington, but Howard E. Bray, Supervisor for the Bureau of Maps and Surveys, found notes from the original survey which said Lowe's land went to "the shores of the lake."

Lowe, one of the earliest settlers in the northwest, first brought his family to a cabin on Alki, now West Seattle, but he had to leave them for long periods of time when he cut timber for ships in port. According to an account in "Four Wagons West," by Roberta Frye Watts, Lydia Lowe, the only white woman in the early settlement, which at that time was called New York, was frightened of the northern Indians who sometimes landed on the beach -- 30 canoes strong. In 1853, Lowe sold his interest in the Alki venture and moved his family to Chamber's Prairie to live on the claim. After it was developed, apparently still restless, Lowe sold out and moved to Snohomish County.

Around the same time, Christopher C. Hewitt, a young attorney, was also gaining prominence in the early history of Washington State. He attracted favorable attention from President Lincoln who appointed him chief justice of the Territory. By 1865 he owned two lots near the lake; later he acquired more. By the time he retired from the bench, the lake was known as Hewitt's Lake-- later just Hewitt Lake.

The belief that the lake was haunted may have grown from a drowning incident. An old Indian customarily fished for the renowned, large catfish in Hewitt. One day he disappeared. He was not seen for several days and then his body appeared in the Sound. Old-timers remember that some people, 80 years ago, believed the lake was bottomless and there were mysterious, underground tunnels leading to the Sound, large enough to carry a body.

In reality, Hewitt is not bottomless, but is an estimated 60 feet deep, filling a kettle depression of the Deschutes River watershed. In comparison to the other 107 lakes in the county, Hewitt is one of the smallest and of average depth when measured against the others. (Statistics published in Lakes of Washington, a Department of Ecology study.)

As to the old Indian washing through a subterranean cavern from Hewitt into the Sound, James DeShazo said it was "highly unlikely." DeShazo, assistant Game Fish Chief-Operations, explained that while local lakes seep into other areas there are no large tunnels, although such geographic formations do occur in other places.

The "Indian Fisherman" story may be later than the legend which Hewitt descendants heard. Judge Hewitt Henry, great-grandson of Christopher, learned a different version: The phantom who haunted the lake was the ghost of an Indian maiden who lost her lover and so threw herself into the water to drown.

Today, surrounded by private homes, Hewitt Lake has no public access. The only glimpse most people get is a brief glint through the trees while traveling the road to Yelm. In ordinary light, a phantom would be hard to imagine.

Yet, when the winter mists catch in the trees and the houses are hidden by milky vapors, the sound of lapping water echoes like dipping paddle from somewhere on the empty lake.