|
Lost Park, as it is referred to, is an area within National Forest where the notorious Lost Creek flows. It is nestled between the Kenosha and Tarryall Mountains. It is part of the Lost Creek Wilderness Area which is within an hours drive from both Denver and Colorado Springs. The Lost Creek Area is part of the Pike National Forest and is in Hunting Unit 501. It is the home of the Tarryall Bighorn Sheep herd as well as where deer, elk, small mammals and many kinds of birds live. This scenic area takes its name from Lost Creek, which passes through the center of the area containing many brook trout. The stream disappears underground and reappears a number of times as it tumbles through the jumbled terrain. Lost Creek becomes Goose Creek as it emerges from the rugged area and flows into Cheesman Reservoir, a Denver Water Board facility on the South Fork of the South Platte River.
Life In Lost Park
Lost Park was my home from 1955 to 1958; I was 11 years old when we moved to the already in operation Northup Logging Camp where my Dad was Head Sawyer. I am the youngest of 3 boys and one sister. Even at our young age my brothers had full time jobs cutting timber and working at the sawmill. My sister was married and her husband also worked at the camp, as well as my aunt and uncle. I attended the one room, first-seventh grade, school at the camp. After school I worked at the mill turning logs with a canhook or trimming trees. The Northup Logging Industry consisted of a sawmill and its necessary buildings, numerous tar-paper bunkhouses, a school, and a corral for work-horses used to skid large logs for the sawmill. Northup Logging continued working for several years after we moved to the Fairplay area in 1958, where I continued school and graduated from High School. A few years after logging ceased the site was completely reclaimed; today you cannot see any remnants of builds or workings in that area.
A few of my memories from those specials times: I remember one evening a bear came into our house. My Dad grabbed a 2x4 board and hit the bear on the butt as he chased it out of the house. I loved to go fishing with a willow pole and string. I would come home with fish in every pocket that Mom would end up cooking. Sometimes I would get to ride a work-horse, bare back. During the winter, only monthly, Mr. Northup would use the sawmills large bulldozer to plow the way out for workers to go to Jefferson, Colorado, 18 miles away, to purchase food and supplies to last a month or more depending on the weather. The area received higher levels of snow in the 1950s then we currently do. We did not have electricity or refrigerators, had to haul water from the creek and it was my job to bring in wood for our cook stove and heat. I remember the tough times and the even tougher men and women whom made the best of it and made it the good ole days of fun, laughter and hard work.
By: Roger Anderson |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
