Otter Creek Park

I’ve written about Otter Creek before. It holds a very special place in my heart. It’s where I got my first job, age 16. I didn’t even have my full license yet, just a learner’s permit. So I’d have to drive to work with my mom in the car, and then she’d come back to get me when my shift was over. Luckily, that only lasted a month or two - then I could drive myself back and forth alone, a relief for both myself and my mom, I’m sure. Working at Otter Creek Park was a very formative experience, and it helped shape the path I took in college and beyond.

I worked for the Adventure Programs Department back in 2006. We did all kinds of things related to getting people outside. I rented canoes, kayaks, and inner tubes for people to float down the creek on weekends. At the end of the day, we’d drive down to Blue Hole in the 15-passenger van to pick up all the paddlers and floaters and bring them back up top. Sometimes we’d even get to lead groups down the creek and paddle ourselves. We did rock climbing, rappelling, belaying. We even had an Alpine Tower, a sort of vertical obstacle course that all kinds of groups would schedule, from church groups to boy scouts to corporate retreats. There was also a team building course where I lead all kinds of activities.

In the fall, we’d help with the haunted hayride, judge the campground’s chili cookoff and Halloween costume contests, and stay late on Fridays and Saturdays for community bonfires and movie nights at the pavilion. I loved fall the most. There was a little food trailer that would come around the campground that month and all I remember about it was getting hot chocolate so hot it’d scald your mouth, and the best biscuits and gravy you could ask for. The lady always gave it to us for a discount because we worked at the park, and sometimes my boss would even buy us a warm beverage.

Occasionally, I’d even have to suit up in the Otter costume. He was like the park mascot. Parker was his name. My coworker Taylor and I would fight over who had to do it, because neither of us wanted to. It was crazy hot inside, and you couldn’t see anything. It was really a two-person job; one person in the suit, and one person to keep them from falling or running into things. Little kids would come up and hug you and unless someone told you they were there, you often couldn’t even feel them wrapped around your legs. We didn’t want to do it, but we always had fun.

We did our own team-building with other park employees, too. Once we paddled out on the Ohio River and went downstream to an abandoned train wreck on the side of the river. Another time we went spelunking in a cave deep in the woods that only the long-time employees knew where it was. Or sometimes we’d just joyride the gators around the park.

After we set everything up, there was a lot of downtime at the park. Sometimes while we’d be waiting for a scheduled group to show up we would play frisbee, or cards, or read…sometimes I even took a nap. The bosses napped too. Not much else to do when you’re out in a remote area waiting for a group to show up. We’d wake up if we heard the crunch of gravel and hop to work. I worked hard, and I played hard, and I loved every second. I was making $7.00/hour, and considering minimum wage at the time was $5.15, I thought I was making bank. I had no bills except car insurance and gas. In a single season, I saved up over $2,000, only working part time. I felt rich.

The season would end after October, and I’d be a normal high school student for a while. But I looked forward to the season starting up again so I could go back to the park. I worked there again in 2007 doing the same gig. My bosses loved me, and I loved my coworkers. We were all passionate about the park. Outside of my department, there was the Nature Department - they maintained all the trails and did educational programs at the Nature Center. There was a department that managed events and space rentals. Besides the dozens of cabins for rent throughout the park, there was also a gorgeous conference center overlooking the Ohio River. There was a disc golf course, horseback riding trails, hiking trails, creek-side access and open grills, the campground…it had everything.

It all went to shit in 2008. I showed back up in April and my boss told me they’d undergone a lot of budget cuts, and they couldn’t afford to hire seasonal workers this year. My boss was crushed. I was crushed. I was getting ready to graduate from high school in a month, and I thought for sure I’d have one more season at Otter Creek before I left for college. It didn’t happen that way.

In 2009, the park closed. Louisville Metro had been the owners of the park and they decided they didn’t want to maintain it anymore, but they couldn’t find any buyers. Over 2,155 acres of breathtakingly beautiful forest and streams, suddenly no longer public space. The gates closed and “No Trespassing” signs appeared. For two years, it sat there.

Eventually, Kentucky Fish & Wildlife bought the park. But they didn’t plan to use it like a park. They renamed it “Otter Creek Outdoor Recreation Area” and started charging $3/person entry fee. That effectively chased away the hundreds of visitors and huge families that came to visit every weekend. Now hunting is allowed inside the park, and there’s a shooting range. But they didn’t maintain the conference center, the cabins, or the nature center. The roads are all crumbling now and the windows on those beautiful buildings are busted out, and they have been for years now. Not even boarded up to keep the rain out. Some are covered in graffiti. The hiking trails still have signs on them with the Louisville Metro logo, but it’s so faded and dirty you can barely read it.

I don’t enjoy thinking about it, much less writing about it. It makes me want to cry if I linger on it too long. Otter Creek Park is a part of me. They took one of our state’s greatest public treasures and turned it into an eyesore. It’s an embarrassment. It’s disgraceful. The natural lands are still incredibly beautiful, but these days I can’t imagine anyone wanting to make a return trip if they visited once. It just gives you a feeling of abandonment and despair.

As a sixteen-year-old, I wrote a rap about Otter Creek Park. “OCP” it was called. I don’t remember the lyrics, but I remember my coworkers rolling on the floor laughing when I rapped it for them. They wrote the lyrics down and hung it on the wall where we kept all the climbing gear.

I hope someday someone saves Otter Creek. I would buy it right now if I could and turn it all around. But I that’s just a pipe dream. In the meantime, I hope people visit and see the magic underneath the crumbling facade. It’s still there, waiting to be rediscovered.