Today’s normal Techspress will be released tomorrow and instead replaced with this true tale in recognition of the holiday.
Yesterday I stepped back in history to a place where time has stood still for over 40 years.
The once iconic entrance has since been torn down to allow for more parking. On the eve of Halloween and all things ominous, I stepped into the woods and following the twisting trail, winding through switchbacks, a thick layer of leaves crunching underfoot.
“What was that?” my wife would ask every ten steps. A squirrel. Not every sound in the woods is a bear. But in these woods… Not every sound is animal. Or real. Time has left it’s mark. And it’s echoes of days past. Some phantoms refuse to leave.
Some don’t like visitors.
“I hate coming here. Especially when there’s no people,” my wife complained. Again.
I held my course. Steadfast. Daring the spirits.
Fifteen minutes later, over rough ground laden with twisted roots, we met with the road again. We could have walked the road up but it’s a harder incline than the switchbacks of the trail. And less interesting.
The road opened to the first of several large parking lots. Off to the side, across from where we exited, an opening in the trees gave way to a small trailing leading to a cliff overlooking the small airport. I could hear a few small single-engine planes above, and I saw one breach the tree line a few minutes before, taking off from here.
I turn back and retrace my steps to the lot, following the road farther up the incline. I’ve explored here many times in the last 14 years.
But never so late in the day. And never at Halloween, when the spirits of days past were less restrained, less tolerant of trespassers in their domain.
A few minutes later I found them. Two walkway tunnels. A bridge between two worlds. The last barrier between the parking lots and the past.
Within these broken metal fences and razor wire, hidden behind open electrical gates, their control boxes with exposed wires and circuit boards resting in repose since the day they were abandoned, resides the remnants of adventure, excitement, and surprisingly unsafe conditions.
Telephone poles stretch through the decaying roadways, the thick sheathing now barren, it’s former copper wiring harvested by scavengers for its resale value. The top T of one pole suspended like a cross, entwined by other trees, it’s lower trunk cracked and decaying on the ground below.
Large animal bones have been found here. I found such a pile over ten years ago. They had been removed by the time I returned to explore again. Although the airport is a few hundred feet away and a relatively short walk in any direction will open to civilization, it’s hard to imagine you’re anywhere near life. It feels more like the deserted woods often seen in “The Walking Dead.” You immediately feel like you’re lost, yet not alone, that you’re being tracked. Or hunted.
Few live in West Milford for very long without learning of this place. Although the years have passed, this wooded and overgrown kingdom has held strong, mostly untouched by the sands of time.
It’s now part of Longpond Iron Works and the Ringwood State Parks. JORBA, a trail biking organization, has been working with them to construct trails and bike races have been held here.
Long before Six Flags Great Adventure, Warner Brothers built this park as a drive through safari in the 1970s. It lasted less than 10 years, but during that time Greenwood Lake Turnpike would back up for miles with traffic of families seeking adventure.
Jungle Habitat.
A quick search online will produce photos and videos of what the park was like then, with animals freely roaming the grounds, climbing over cars. I’ll slip the tales and rumors of what happened here and what led to its closure, and focus on the ghosts that still remain.
You can see the partially broken rails of the former train ride that circled it’s way around. Close your eyes and you can see the small locomotive following the path, families laughing and shouting. The aviary is still visible along a crumbling walkway, the wire canopy collapsed. The otter pen, once a centerpiece for shows, is full of leaves and debris instead of water. Other animal pens are strewn throughout control boxes, metal gates and fences, collapsed and overgrown roads and walkways.
You can’t help but feel the energy of this place, the ghosts of former animals, phantoms of a time long forgotten, except by those who visited here as children. If you’re ever in the area, it’s worth exploring.
Happy Halloween!