“Mining Relic, Death Valley” — A piece of rusted and weathered metal from an abandoned mining site, Death Valley National Park
Between having our sunrise light interrupted by an incoming storm (though it was not a compete washout) and retreating from the road past the charcoal kilns in heavily falling snow, we stopped for a while at the old Harrisburg site, where Harris and Aguereberry ran a mine for a number of years. (They reportedly didn’t get rich, but they also avoided going bust—the story is that they extracted enough ore to make it work.)
Calling the place “Harrisburg” is over-selling it! There is a small cluster of cabins—three, to be precises—tucked up into a slight indentation at the base of a low hill in a high, broad Panamint Range valley.The mine is found at the far end of the hill and around its far side, and a variety of mining detritus litters the landscape: remnants of old rails leading into the mine, some impressive scaffolding, lots of rusted stuff, an old abandoned vehicle. As we poked around near the mine I found this old hunk of weathered sheet metal hanging from some wooden structures.
The abandoned Skidoo Mill, high in the Panamint Mountains of Death Valley National Park
I have been out to the site of the old ghost town of Skidoo a few times. Oddly perhaps, snow has played a part in more than half of my visits—not what you might expect for a desert region like Death Valley. The first time I went there I really did not know much about the place at all, and I drove the nine mile gravel road more or less on a whim, arriving at the broad valley where the main town was, finding little there, poking around a bit, and leaving, a bit disappointed. (I did have a chance to investigate some other historical sites in the area on the same trip, so in the end I didn’t feel cheated.) More recently I visited last winter, during a very cold trip to the park when I encountered sub-freezing temperature down in Death Valley itself and colder temperature well down into the teens up here. Parts of the road were covered by shallow snow, and it was a quiet and lonely experience to be out there alone in the snow. This time I poked around a bit more, exploring some side trails and nearby ridges, until I decided that it was best not to push too far with the snow on the ground.
This past April we were there again, on a day full of interesting experiences and adventures. I often spend at least a day up in the Panamint Range when I visit the park, and I always find new and interesting things, but I don’t think I’ve ever encountered such a range of conditions and subjects in a single day before. We started before dawn and had a brief moment of sunrise light before the clouds of an incoming storm turned out the lights. Very soon we began to see snow flurries along the Panamint ridge and other summits, and soon after visiting one historic site it began to snow in earnest. We headed toward a higher location and finally had to back down as the snow continued to fall. Surprisingly, in these cold conditions and snow we found… abundant wildflowers! We stopped several times to photograph the unexpected display, and then decided to make the side trip to Skidoo as the storm passed and the sun came out. Once there we pushed out past the town site to the location of the old mill, where ore from the mines was processed. The mill, long abandoned and deteriorating now, is an astonishing thing. Its location is unexpected and stunning. It sits right below the crest of a steep ridge and the structure stretches down toward a deep valley below—and the entire site overlooks a vast and arid desert landscape, a bit of which is visible in this photograph. Even more amazing, this mill was powered by water, not at all what you would expect in such a dry and desolate place. But the miners ran a pipeline over 20 miles from a spring elsewhere in the high Panamints to get water to supply power and for the domestic use of the town’s residents.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist whose subjects include the Pacific coast, redwood forests, central California oak/grasslands, the Sierra Nevada, California deserts, urban landscapes, night photography, and more. Blog | About | Flickr | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | 500px.com | LinkedIn | Email
Green doors to an immense industrial shop building, Mare Island Naval Ship Yard
I’m intrigued by doorways, especially doorways painted in interesting colors, or which suggest a size different from their reality, or which hint at something beyond the doors. These doors, both the obvious small door at the left, and the larger three section doors to its right that you’ll see if you look a bit more closely, are along the front of a gigantic shop building at Mare Island. Many years ago they were, no doubt, devoted to work related to the ship construction that went on here for many decades. That work ended decades ago, the facility was decommissioned, and much of it was left vacant for a long time.
More recently things have begun to move again on the island. While some areas still lie dormant and others have succumbed to weather and vandals, many others still stand and quite a few of them are now used by small operations. Looking through the windows on this night, portions of the interior were dimly lit and it appeared that a few workers were busy inside. Incongruously, it looked like at least one computer screen glowed on a desk near a window.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist whose subjects include the Pacific coast, redwood forests, central California oak/grasslands, the Sierra Nevada, California deserts, urban landscapes, night photography, and more. Blog | About | Flickr | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | 500px.com | LinkedIn | Email
A gigantic ship yard crane extends high into the night sky, Mare Island Naval Ship Yard, Vallejo, California
For many of us, these gigantic cranes, towering above the historic ship yard buildings and docks, are the iconic structures of the Mare Island Naval Ship Yard near Vallejo, California. The facility has been here since the 1800s, when it was the first naval ship yard on the west coast of the United States, and its history is quite remarkable. I won’t even begin to try to recount it here since a) it is so extensive and b) I’m far from an expert! In the 1990s it was decommissioned and since that time parts of the facility have fallen into ruin, others have been maintained in more or less their condition at that time, and some have been converted to other uses ranging from industrial to housing.
I have photographed here at night for about a decade. It used to be that these towering structures were mostly just parked in somewhat inaccessible locations behind fences along the waterfront. (The folks I photograph with here have a policy of not going into areas that are off-limits, and this had led to generally very good relations with the folks who oversee the place.) More recently the dry dock facility has been put back to use to dismantle very old ships from the “mothball fleet” that had been moored nearby, and now when I visit I often find the cranes have moved and may even be in more accessible locations. The first thing that struck me on this night’s visit was the effect of the security lights playing over the structure—and the fact that the lights are still the older and very colorful lights rather than the newer, more energy-efficient, and very boring LED lighting!
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist whose subjects include the Pacific coast, redwood forests, central California oak/grasslands, the Sierra Nevada, California deserts, urban landscapes, night photography, and more. Blog | About | Flickr | Twitter | Facebook | Google+ | 500px.com | LinkedIn | Email
Photographer and visual opportunist. Daily photos since 2005, plus articles, reviews, news, and ideas.
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