Family Land Secrets

Family Land Secrets


Jordan was shocked when a lawyer called and told him that he had received something from his uncle's estate. He had barely known his uncle and did not know that he had died.

Uncle Ira had been strange; actually, Jordan's great uncle on his father's side, he had only met the man a few times. As a child, Jordan had feared the old man. The last time Jordan saw Uncle Ira he realized he was a drunk with some minor mental problems. Jordan doubted that there was anything in his uncle's estate that he would be interested in. The old man had never married, and his house was a small single-wide trailer clogged with hoarder's trash.

The lawyer handed Jordan the document and waited for Jordan to read it. Jordan could not believe what it said. 2 square miles of Colorado mountain forest now belonged to him.

There was a pile of documents. Maps, deeds, mineral rights, historical records, and descriptions. The property was remote. It was over 4 hours away from Jordan's home in Denver. The closest Road came within 4 miles of his property border.

The land was surrounded by national forests and national wilderness areas. Jordan was shocked to find that it had once belonged to his great grandfather and his father before. The mining claim on both square miles of land had been claimed in 1889. One was claimed by Jordan's great-great-grandfather, and the other was willed to the man by someone named Enoch Brown.

Other documents showed that Jordan's great-great-grandfather and Enoch Brown had been mining partners, and Mr. Brown had died under mysterious circumstances.

Jordan was thrilled. The land itself was worth millions, and the US forest service already had a bid to buy it off his hands. They also had the first right of refusal claim, which meant that Jordan could not sell the land on the open market.

Jordan was curious to see the land itself before he would even consider selling. He knew little about his family's history with mining in Colorado. Jordan enjoyed camping and once spring came Jordan planned a backpacking trip to his new property.

Jordan's mother was thrilled when he called to share the news with them, but his father was silent.

"Are you okay dad? You're not upset that the land went to me instead of you?" he asked.

"I know a little about the property you've inherited. Why don't you come over for dinner soon and we can talk about it?" his father answered cryptically.

Two nights later Jordan sat eating dinner with his parents. He saw little of them since graduating college, especially since he was working 80-hour weeks. He missed home-cooked meals and the comfort of the house he grew up in. His parents still treated him like the teenager that had left for college 8 years earlier, but he enjoyed the attention knowing it would end when he left for his own condominium that evening.

After dinner, his father offered him a beer and asked to sit on the back porch while they enjoyed them.

"Listen, I don't want to scare you or anything," Jordan's father started. "...but something isn't right about that land that your uncle gave you."

Jordan's dad was silent for a while, then continued: "Uncle Ira was always a little strange, but he was fully functioning when I was younger. Back in the 70s when my grandfather died, and Ira inherited that property, he was as excited as you are now. He spent the entire summer up there, even quitting his job.

A park ranger found him in August beaten within an inch of his life on a forest trail near there. He never told any of us the truth about what happened, but I know he never went back.

"He refused to file a police report and started drinking. He was never the same after that. I know my grandfather and his father were changed by that property too. I know there's been at least a few deaths up there. I'm not superstitious, but I want you to be careful. If you do go, I doubt there's cell service, and no one within miles if you do need help. Don't go alone and don't go unprepared."

With that Jordan's father change the subject and said no more even when Jordan brought it up.

That night, Jordan studied Google Earth images of the property and could see at least two mines trailing’s where the rocks from a mine had been cast down the hillside. There was also a black rectangle which Jordan hoped might be the remains of an old cabin.

Winter turned to spring, and the snow melted off all but the highest peaks. Jordan had Memorial Day off and decided to take the rest of the week off work for a little vacation. He carefully loaded camping gear and food for a week. He weighed his backpack once fully loaded and found that it weighed less than 40 pounds, which he was proud of.

He had a steric pen, which could kill microbes in water, so he could drink water where he found it. All his food was freeze-dried and weighed less than 10 pounds. The heaviest single item he carried was his .38 revolver, which he carried out of respect for his father's warning. He brought it loaded along with 6 extra rounds.

Jordan climbed on his motorcycle early Saturday morning and flung his backpack over his shoulders.

The drive was beautiful all the way up through the mountains. He passed through the town of Buena Vista then over Cottonwood Pass and down to Taylor Park Reservoir. From there he headed south along a dirt road.

Jordan's motorcycle was a dirt bike with strong suspension and hybrid tires that he could take off-road.

Jordan left the main trail and headed up a single-track trail that looked like it would take him in the right direction. The road was overgrown, and he often had to stop or go around obstacles through dense forest.

There were no tire tracks but there were hoof prints from a moose or elk in the muddier areas. He guessed that this was the mining trail his great-great-grandfather had used to access the land, and the animals had kept it open. They didn't remove fallen trees, but they did seem to trample them, which made travel by motorcycle easier.

Moss-covered boulders and ferns lined the trail in places. Sometimes it was wide enough to drive a car and in other places century-old trees blocked the path. Twice the trail crossed a stream with no bridge.

His boots got soaked as he drove the motorcycle through foot-deep water.

By midafternoon Jordan's GPS told him that he had arrived on his inherited land. It was gorgeous. High grey mountains formed the backdrop for lush meadows and mixed forest of pine and aspen. The meadows were full of every color of wildflower, and deep green grass. A hundred yards away, Jordan saw a moose grazing by the side of a pond.

Jordan lost the trail through the Meadows and headed first for where he thought there might be there remains of a cabin. He was shocked to find a standing structure. The door stood cracked open, and there was some water damage on the rough wood floors inside, but there had been no squatters or teenagers here, looting or damaging the place.

Jordan parked his motorcycle and walked inside the cabin. It was a single room inside with a bed in one corner, a fireplace in the middle, a kitchen in another corner, and a small table with a single chair. Faded pictures and papers covered the wall. There were photos of Jordan's grandfather, and he recognized his father as a boy. There was a yellowed newspaper by the fireplace, and Jordan checked the date.

'July 24, 1973'

Jordan remembered what his father had told him about Uncle Ira spending a summer here in the 70s.

There were minor holes in the roof, but it could be fixed up with a few hours of work. The mattress on the bed was moldy and disgusting, so Jordan rolled it up and pushed it out the door. The plywood underneath was intact, so Jordan flipped it and unrolled his bedding on the frame. Jordan spent the next hour collecting firewood and piling it up next to the small stone fireplace.

Before dark, Jordan wanted to fix the door enough that it would close and repair the holes in the roof.

There were two shuttered windows, and Jordan opened them to air out the musty smell of the molded mattress.

Jordan took the door off its hinges and used his knife and hatchet to carve enough wood off that it would fit in the settled doorway. He used pieces of bark as shingles and plugged the holes in the roof.

Jordan had always wanted a home in the mountains. This small cabin held few comforts, but it was part of the land and held family history. Jordan could see why his uncle would want to spend an entire summer here. The closest neighbors were at least 10 miles away, and there was a deep sense of isolation and peace out here.

Remembering his uncle, Jordan tapped the revolver in his hip holster checking that he still had it. He wished he knew more of the story of how his uncle was injured, but he felt safe with his sidearm.

As night fell Jordan started a fire in the stone fireplace and filled the sink basin with water from the stream that ran near the cabin. He boiled enough water to rehydrate dinner and sterilized a plastic bottle full to which he added Gatorade powder.

Jordan spent the rest of the evening thumbing through the faded papers and pictures on the walls. His uncle had been obsessed with Bigfoot and even had books on the subject. There was a family photo album, and Jordan enjoyed seeing old pictures of his uncle, grandfather, and great-grandfather that he had never seen before.

The oldest pictures were grainy black and white images of miners working in a mountain valley that looked a lot like the one he was currently in. He pulled one out and saw cursive writing on the back that said, 'Enoch Brown and Silas White, June 1893.' It must have been taken weeks before Enoch was killed.
Jordan studied the face of his great-great-grandfather. There was a strength and determination there, but both men looked weary and tired.

The next picture was of the same two men, holding a rifle over the body of a dark, furry creature. Jordan guessed it was a huge bear, but the photo was too grainy to be sure. The description on the back was the same.

Jordan decided to save the batteries on his flashlight and turn it in early. He closed the cabin and threw a few more logs on the fire. He climbed into his sleeping bag and turned out the light. The warm glow from the fireplace cast dancing shadows over the walls and ceiling as Jordan drifted off to sleep.

Jordan was awoken in the night by a woman screaming. He forgot where he was and struggled to get out of his sleeping bag. The room was cold and dark, and when he found his flashlight, he realized that there should be no women for miles. He was worried that a female camper has wandered onto his land and opened the cabin door.

"HELLO!" Jordan shouted. "DO YOU NEED HELP?"

There was silence, and Jordan listened again, but there was no more noise.

"Is anyone out there?" he called again.

Suddenly Jordan remembered something he has read about mountain lions making a sound like a woman screaming bloody murder. He scanned the trees again with his flashlight and caught a flash of movement. He saw a furry shape move behind a tree and quickly pointed his flashlight there, but it was gone. It had moved away without a sound.

Jordan closed the cabin door and swung the wood latch down to lock the cabin from the inside. His tired mind briefly wondered if a bear or mountain lion had injured his uncle Ira all those years ago. He put the idea out of his mind and threw a few more logs on the fire before climbing back into his sleeping bag.

To be continued