The Witch Doctor of Long Point: John Troyer's Supernatural Legacy in Early Canada

From Amish roots to witch traps: how one man's eccentric beliefs shaped Norfolk County's folklore

Jan 23, 2025

Image attribution: LJL, Sept 3, 2017, findagrave.com

The iron jaws of the trap glinted in the moonlight, three feet wide and bolted firmly to the bedroom floor. Most men would use such a device to catch a wolf or a bear, but John Troyer had a far more dangerous prey in mind: witches.

On quiet nights near Lake Erie, when the wind whispered through the orchards of Norfolk County, Troyer would lie awake, listening. He knew they were out there, they taunted him during the daytime and he was ready for them to attack at night. One wrong move and the trap would snap shut, catching any witch red-handed, who dared to get too close to him.

John Troyer was born in 1753 in Pennsylvania, into an Amish family.

That Amish background alone might catch your attention—Amish folks were known for living simply and faithfully, not for hunting witches. But Troyer’s journey took a different turn. After the American Revolution, he moved north around 1789, travelling with his wife Sophronia and two children to what’s now Norfolk County, Ontario. He put down roots by Lake Erie in a place that still bears his name: Troyer’s Flats.

At first glance though, Troyer seemed like a typical settler.

He was a hardworking farmer, and he did well enough to build a log cabin, plant orchards, and even add a blacksmith forge. Although he was never formally trained, he claimed the title “Doctor Troyer.” He mixed herbal remedies out of local berries and roots, performed bloodletting to cure various ailments, and offered water-dowsing services to folks looking for wells. It’s fair to say, though, that word of his “witch doctor” skills spread faster than anything else he did.

How did a man of the soil and an untrained doctor become so preoccupied with witches?

Part of it could be his Pennsylvania Dutch heritage. As a boy, he might have heard stories of powwowing: a blend of folk magic, spiritual beliefs, and natural remedies. But Troyer’s intense fear of witches really gained ground after some hard times. He lost family members, claimed that mysterious ailments struck his household, and apparently drew the conclusion that dark forces were at work.

Locals say Troyer believed certain women in the neighbourhood were witches.

One widow, Mrs. Jennie McMichael, found his suspicions hilarious. She’s said to have teased him by popping out of bushes, making faces at him, and cackling. Instead of her reputation suffering, it was more often Troyer who became the talk of the town—some folks found his ideas ridiculous, while others admitted that he seemed to do a fair bit of good with his herbal cures.

Troyer might have been an odd neighbour, but he wasn’t lazy.

When he decided witches were sneaking into his home at night, he took action in a very physical way. He bolted a giant, modified bear trap to his bedroom floor. This contraption allegedly had jaws that spanned three feet. Each night, he’d set it beside his bed, hoping to snare any witch that dared cross his threshold. It’s hard to imagine how anyone crept around that bedroom without bruising a toe, never mind a witch.

Strangely enough, Troyer’s trap didn’t prevent him from reporting all kinds of supernatural troubles.

In one local legend, witches supposedly turned him into a horse while he was asleep, rode him across Lake Erie, and tied him up at a remote spot in Dunkirk. Another story claims witches made him swallow rye straw, leading him to brew “powerful medicine” to deal with stomach trouble the next day.

Along with the giant trap, folks talk about Troyer’s so-called broomstick stash.

Some say he followed witches to a secret meeting place and nabbed one of their brooms as proof that they existed. Others insist he collected more than one. There’s also a tale that Troyer flew through the air on one of these stolen broomsticks, though the source for that story is mostly local lore.

If you stop at the Eva Brook Donly Museum in Simcoe, you can see some of his items on display—though I’m not aware of any actual broomsticks in the exhibit. It’s the legends that keep people’s imaginations fired up.

By now, you might be wondering how everyone else in Norfolk County reacted to Troyer’s bold claims.

Honestly, it was a mixed bag. Some were amused or skeptical, while others were intrigued enough to seek him out for help with strange problems. He was apparently called on to advise people dealing with unexplainable mischief, like the famous Baldoon Mystery near the St. Clair River. That story involved poltergeist-like happenings and Troyer’s solution—shoot a suspected witch with a silver bullet—only adds to his reputation as someone who saw witchcraft at play in every corner.

Keep in mind, Troyer lived at a time when belief in witches was waning, especially compared to the notorious witch trials of earlier centuries.

You won’t find any records of Troyer dragging neighbours into court or having them punished. Instead, it was more talk, occasional accusations, and a few comedic standoffs between him and those he accused.

If you take a closer look at life in the late 1700s and early 1800s, you’ll see that beliefs about magic and the supernatural weren’t all that rare.

Settlers came from many places—Scotland, Ireland, Germany, and beyond—bringing their folk traditions with them. Someone like John Troyer, who mixed his Amish upbringing with Pennsylvania Dutch folklore, would have found a few people who believed his stories. Some might have joked about them, but others would have recognized similar ideas from their own childhood tales.

Troyer’s reputation as a healer and a witch hunter ended up going hand in hand.

When folks fell ill, they sometimes turned to him for herbal remedies. He would give them ointments or potions made from local plants. If those cures didn’t work—or if something odd happened—Troyer might blame witches for the setback. That sounds strange now, but in a time without modern medicine, people were often desperate for anything that promised relief. Even if someone found Troyer’s “witch diagnosis” a bit odd, they might have gone along with it if it meant getting some form of treatment.

One of the more talked-about tales is how Troyer supposedly helped with the Baldoon Mystery in southwestern Ontario.

That case involved eerie noises and items moving by themselves at the McDonald family home. Stories say that Troyer advised the family to use a silver bullet to shoot a goose believed to be a witch in disguise. And after that, the strange disturbances stopped. Whether it happened exactly that way or not is hard to confirm, but the Baldoon legend certainly gave Troyer extra notoriety beyond his local area.

There’s also the story of Troyer and his son using a divining rod trying to locate a buried treasure stashed a century prior by a fur trader named David Ramsay.

According to the legend, while searching for treasure, they disturbed a phantom black dog that chased them off and protected the hidden chest. If you’ve read about ghostly animals in Canadian folklore, you’ll know these kinds of stories pop up more often than you might think. People loved to talk about such encounters, and Troyer’s name was soon tied to all sorts of supernatural events.

Over time, Troyer’s witch-hunting made him something of a local celebrity.

Some saw him as a joke. Others thought he was a well-meaning person with some peculiar ideas. A few neighbours seemed almost happy to play the part of the “suspected witch,” poking fun at Troyer to see how he’d react. But there’s no evidence that Troyer caused any real harm or stirred up official charges against the people he pointed fingers at.

The Salem witch trials were long over, and Canadian laws never went to such extremes for superstitions like his.

Most folks probably felt Troyer was harmless enough—just someone who believed in things that were already fading out of fashion in many places. He never stopped believing, though. He kept his iron trap in place, and he kept warning that witches were still around.

John Troyer lived to be 89 years old, passing away in 1842.

He left behind a family, a prosperous farm, and a lifetime’s worth of tall tales. When you visit the Eva Brook Donly Museum in Simcoe, you can see his old flintlock rifle and the infamous witch trap. Historians have dug into his story, hinting that he might have experienced vivid nightmares or even a condition like sleep paralysis. But those explanations don’t capture how much his neighbours talked about him or how his legend grew over time.

In the end, Troyer’s story isn’t just about one man’s fear of witches. It also shows how people in early Canada combined old-country folklore with their new surroundings.

It reminds us that even the quiet farmland near Lake Erie could become a stage for talk of magic and curses. When you read about John Troyer, you peek into a world where beliefs crossed paths with harsh frontier life. Even if you roll your eyes at the idea of a bear trap for witches, there’s something memorable about a man who was so sure of what he saw that he dedicated his whole life to fighting it.

What Do You Think About this Story of Jonh Troyer?

Have you heard of Troyer’s legendary witch-hunnting and excorcisms?

Or maybe you’ve been to Norfolk County and heard Trory’s story from locals? Would you have been as nonchalant about being accused of being a witch as Troyer’s neighbours seem to’ve been? What do legends and folklore about witchcraft tell us about Canadian culture?

Take a sec. to type a comment and share your thoughts and stories. As always, I look forward to reading them all.

Thanks a bunch for reading this story. It’s a pleasure to share Canadian stories like this with you.

Have a rad rest of your day!