Day One
Coasting down from Montgomery Pass I could see the border ahead marked by the long vacant and dilapidated whorehouse. There is a faint dirt road from there that leads out to a mountainside. It is called Glass Mountain by rock enthusiasts, and I have several times in the past found some stunning banded obsidian there.
But this was no rockhounding trip and I sped on by, out of Nevada and into California. My sights were set for something yet far ahead. One could say it was just another ghost town trip, but there is no such thing as “just” in ghost town trips. Each trip is unique, never similar, no matter the state, county, destinations and stops along the way.
I passed through the charming streets of Bishop with a promise to self that I would acquire some sheepherder’s bread from the famous Eric Schat’s Bakery on the return trip, as I had done years past. Fifty-six miles later I entered Lone Pine, my home base for adventures to come. I secured my room for the next two nights and began the first exploration.
I took route 136 east, which is a road into Death Valley. I wouldn’t be going that far. My interests were in the towns of Keeler and Darwin. Keeler was only about 13 miles in and was slightly underwhelming with nothing photo worthy. However, I did find the road that winds eight miles up into the high Inyo mountains to Cerro Gordo, a place I would attempt two days later. For now, it was onward to Darwin. I had long heard of Darwin, and yet, had somehow missed it in all my past escapades around the Death Valley area.
I had recently watched a YouTube video about some of the characters that live in that isolated and scant populace in the far reaches of nowhere. Thirty-two miles past Keeler, at the end of a weathered and near ruined road I found it. The video highlighted some of the unique older residents that formed the core of the population of 30 or 40. Unfortunately, the video was nearly twenty years old and these older folks, as audacious as they seemed to be, were probably, for the most part, now gathered in the tiny town cemetery.
Just before the town itself was the expansive mine ruins. Silver mining had established the town in the 1870’s and the mining continued on and off for nearly one hundred years. After the town’s mainstay was lost forever, the semi ghost became a quirky destination for a few artists, nomads and the like. Darwin gave off the impression that they didn’t care much for outsiders, which as with other places in the past, drew me in.
Darwin relic
I saw very little of the human race as I entered town. One soul was doing some kind of carpentry work behind an old building. I stopped at what appeared to be the center of town, next to a 1920’s vintage gas station, although the old sign on the door read “Post Office.” This was not a restored roadside relic. The tall slender pumps were well rusted, and it appeared nothing at all had happened here in many decades. However, there was a second sign in the window which read, “Allergy Alert: Large quantities of Peanut Butter and Peanut Oil present inside.” I doubt there was anything inside except for spiders and maybe a packrat. There were a few other leftovers, four of them, in various states of decay in this meager downtown, including a building with a fading sign that read, “Darwin Station.”
Darwin Station
Even in this utter silence and desertion I could not help the feeling of being watched by something or someone. It simply did not feel like the kind of place to go walking around in. I got out and started walking around. I heard the distant barking of a dog. I snapped off a few photos. I went back to driving around. All side roads seemed to turn to dirt and wind off into an old house or trailer. I would have preferred to talk to someone, but with no open businesses and nobody about, it grew increasingly unlikely. I have done some brave things on my adventures, but I was not brave enough to wander off onto one of Darwin’s private property’s seeking an interview.
On the way out I stopped at the mine. There were chains across the roads in. It looked eerily possible that someone was living in these ruins. Again, I did not walk in. In fact, I felt on the precipice of being stalked by something nearby. I headed back to Lone Pine.
Day Two
I went 94 miles further south from Lone Pine to the sparse remains of Johannesburg. Here, there is a turn off to the charming semi ghost of Ransburg. This is one of those roads that I had driven by many times in years past but had never had the time to investigate. The time had finally arrived.
Downtown Ransburg
It was only a few minutes down this road when I saw the old gold mining town ahead. Ransburg is referred to as a “living ghost town” and it is evident that the few remaining residents have made progress in preserving some of the original town, which began in 1895. The road winds around and through this hilly hamlet, fronted by a host of these old structures. Most impressive (to me) were a string of beauties connected by a wooden sidewalk. These included the “Bakersfield Purveyors of Kern County Products” and the Barbershop. These buildings appeared to be in a state of arrested decay, being long closed and fairly dilapidated with peeling paint. Nevertheless, it was somewhat evident that the large and fancy barbershop sign that was spread across the false front had been repainted in the last thirty years or so. There were other noteworthy antiquities in town, such as the Icehouse, The White House saloon, and an old rustic church leaning onto support boards.
Leaning church
I saw one human in town. She was getting something from a car in front of the only operating business in town that I knew of, a bar. I asked her what time the place opened. She looked at me as if I had just violated some sacred decree. “Noon”, she mumbled, in no certain direction. Somebody else (not in town) had once told me if I took the road to the end where it turned to dirt I would find the mine workings. I did this and parked at a gate with a sign that read “No Trespassing: Violators Will Be Prosecuted!” I walked around the gate and went in. Afterall, I was there to merely take a photo of an old mine building. It wasn’t like I was prospecting. I got my photo about a hundred yards in and returned to the car.
I was actually at a crossroads. The road from town whipped off to the right into near distant hills, which became the next phase of the journey. It wound around for about five miles past other remnants, and finally on down into the backside of Johannesburg. Clearly visible was a fallen headframe and other old mine workings. I found the road in, which was yet another private road. But this one was not gated so I drove in, bouncing along the bumps and holes. Again, I got my photo and left, assuming, undetected. But I had to get back into Ransburg. There was one thing left to consider.
Collapsed headframe
Upon my loose planning of this trip, I had pondered the prospect of taking a road from Ransburg to Garlock, another ghost some 9 miles into the Mojave Desert. I found the road, but it was closed due to flooding. I was not alarmed, as there are other roads to get there. On the way down back towards the highway I came across one of those other roads to Garlock. A sign read “Closed Ahead” I went anyway, a whole half mile to where the road was blocked off. I thought, ‘Must have been pretty severe flooding.’ Once I was back on the highway I went a few miles north, knowing full well the main route to Garlock was nearby. And it was. And it was also barricaded and closed due to flooding. I gave up any notion of seeing Garlock on this trip.
The highway I was on, 395, was vastly different from how I remembered it many years before. In fact, it had been totally realigned miles from the original route. Because of this it no longer went through some of the old towns I remembered like Olancha and Pearsonville. I had wanted to photograph some old buildings in these places. It took me some time to realize just where the old road was and was eventually able to find a way to it. These once busy towns were now almost ghosts themselves thanks to the realignment which bypassed them.
Most importantly, I wanted to locate an abandoned landmark in Olancha I used to pass by once called the Airflite Café. The place was already long abandoned when I first saw it in the 1990’s. The building still stands but had deteriorated a bit since I last saw it. However, its streamline modern style, common with mid-20th century art deco roadside architecture, is still prominent. Built in 1948, the building served several functions for over thirty years. But its claim to fame was it had been featured in an episode of “The Twilight Zone.” The 1961 episode was called “A Hundred Yards Over the Rim,” starring Cliff Robertson and Jack Crawford. I had heard there was an old man who lived in the junk yard in back who would come out and yell at people. I waited but nothing happened.
Featured in a 1961 episode of The Twilight Zone.
I arrived back in Lone Pine with several hours of daylight left. Eager for a non-planned side adventure I headed out into the Alabama Hills. This is an area of impressive rock formations. Composed mostly of Biotite Monzogranite, its best features are arches, caves and giant rounded granite boulders. I explored a menacing face in the mountainside; its mouth serving as a doorway or portal into the mountain. Interesting!
Face and portal in the mountain
Day 3
I arose early, as I was anticipating a difficult drive. I headed back to Keeler and the road which climbs 4,700 feet to an elevation of 8,212 feet. I felt I had a good chance of getting there with my all-wheel drive Rav4, as long as I could clear the rocks. At first the only thing keeping it a slow climb was the wash boarding. As I went on, though, the road became narrow and steep with loose rocks. It was a slow climb and there were times, particularly on mountainsides, where I wondered what I would be able to do if I came across an oncoming vehicle. But I encountered nobody on the way up and stopped several times for photos. Just as I was getting sick and tired of the crappy road I saw it, Cerro Gordo!
The road coming up from Keeler to Cerro Gordo
Cerro Gordo
Cerro Gordo was established in the mid 1860’s as a silver mining town. A decade later there were several thousand residents calling this bleak mountaintop home. The town became known as the “silver thread” to Los Angeles, partially responsible for the growth and development of that city. But silver was not the only thing mined. Cerro Gordo’s half billion dollars worth of excavated minerals also included lead and zinc.
The silver boom lasted until 1877. But later the town was revitalized for the zinc and lead, lasting clear until the 1930’s, after which the town was completely abandoned. It sat forsaken and isolated for many years. But there is good news! A man named Brent Underwood bought the entire townsite in 2018. He started a non-profit called “The Friends of Cerro Gordo.” Brent and a few others live on the site and are dedicated to raising public awareness and educating visitors about the historical significance of the place, if you can get up that eight-mile hill! You can learn more by visiting https://cerrogordomines.com/
The first thing that was evident to me as I parked and began walking around was the number of tin sided structures, which represented the zinc era of the town. Only scant evidence remained of the silver mining era from the 1860’s. I trudged up the hill to the nearest structure, a smaller tin sided former general store, which now served as a museum of sorts. On the surrounding wooden deck were a few people lounging and one playing guitar. I spoke with a young man, who was one of the residents, and he gave me a layout of the town. I asked if I could speak with the owner, Brent. The young man proceeded to tell me that Brent was busy breaking up rocks and pointed to a higher road in town where I could see a man putting a fuse into a boulder. ‘Best wait a bit,” he said.
I toured the museum and then hiked up to an old bunkhouse and a broken trestle. I went back down to the lower part of town and took a look at a tin sided church. I was told it had never actually served as a church, but a shop. I got back in my car and drove up past the town to an overlook, which on a clear day you can see miles into Death Valley. I came back again to talk to Brent, but he was still blowing up rocks. I hiked around to the other side of the town, past the rebuilt hotel, to explore. Then I went down to the smelter remains.
By this time, I had been in Cerro Gordo for a good part of the morning. I decided, surely, I would be able to interview the owner by now and I hiked back up to that part of town. No. He was still planting fuses in rocks, but I never heard any explosions or even any sharp cracking sounds. The young man told me to steer clear of that area.
This was turning into one of those trips where an interview just didn’t happen.
Going back down the mountain was worse than coming up had been, mostly because it was difficult to go so slow. But I had to crawl down as I had crawled up as to not hit a bad spot too fast. Worse still was I encountered vehicles on the return trip. Only one was a truck and I was lucky enough to find a wide enough spot to pull off. Then there were the dirt bikes, three different groups of them, and they were not going slow! I crept around the blind corners, knowing they had only a couple of feet to clear me. They waved and I waved and the trip down was even slower than the trip up had been. But eventually I could see Keeler on the flat below and I meandered to the highway and went from 15 to 70 mph.
A very small part of the eastern Sierra
I am a bit of an oddball some would say. I find beauty in the abandoned. It even energizes me in some strange way. It is not only a historical attraction, but a kind of connection which resonates. I have no problem spending money to venture out into places long abandoned where nothing is operational. I prefer this any day over a city, and most definitely over traffic of any volume. I’ve been doing it for more than thirty years and reckon I’ll be doing it as long as I can. To read a past entry about Sierra ghost towns, check out https://outerrealmz.com/gold-rush-express/
I had already checked out of the room and had no reason to stop. I got back to 395 and headed for Nevada. Back to the mundane routine of working for a living. I only made one stop before Nevada, in Bishop, where I filled up on gas and, of course, picked up my loaf of sheepherder’s bread.
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