“Funeral Range, Last Light” — The last direct light of the evening shines on the Funeral Range, Death Valley.
Am I the only person who has a set of odd little personal spots where they like to stop — places that others might pass by without noticing anything special? Over the years I’ve collected quite a few: a rock outcropping in Tuolumne Meadows, a bench at the high point on a local trail, a particular tree in the Central Valley, and this place in Death Valley National Park.
Years ago I turned off the road that passes through here and walked to the top of a small rise with my camera. There are no icons visible from the place, but it is in the middle of a portion of the immense, still, quiet space of this park. Something about it resonated with me, and I go there on every return trip. This time it was evening when I arrived, and I photographed the very last sunlight of the day on the Funeral Mountains.
“Abandoned Stamp Mill” — An abandoned water-powered stamp mill high in the Panamint Range, Death Valley National Park
It seems that every national park or monument has both a natural and a human hisstory, or perhaps a story about the relationship between the two. While the power of natural forces (heat, water, geology, and more) is abundantly obvious in the huge, austere landscape of Death Valley National Park, the human history of the place is rarely far from view. It begins with the evidence of people who lived here long before European-origin settlers came, evidence that can be seen in rock art scattered throughout the park, in the recognition that many settlements (current and now-abandoned) have a very much longer history than we may think, and in the native people who still occupy and identify with this landscape.
Perhaps more obvious is the more recent history of those who came to look for mining success. (There are places in the park where extraction still takes place.) Some examples are obvious to the casual visitor, but the more time you spend in the back-country of the park the more you understand that this particular history is everywhere — though not usually as obvious as this example. This stamp mill, built to crush gold ore, is amazing in multiple ways. Perched at the end of high ridge in very remote location, it was powered in the most unlikely manner… by water piped in from a spring over twenty miles away. The location is stupendous, and it is easy to think that practical issues may not have been the only considerations in choosing the site. From here one can look down thousands of feet to broad alluvial slopes leading towards Death Valley, but one can also look further into the distance and see the snow-covered peaks of the Sierra Nevada.
A rusting corrugated building, one of the few remaining structures at the ghost town of Leadfield, California
This is one of the few standing structures remaining from the boom town of Leadfield, in the backcountry of Death Valley National Park, in the Grapevine Mountains more or less midway between the Beatty, Nevada area and the main Death Valley. The standard story is that this town was the result of one of the biggest swindles and scams in the mining history of the area, and the story is often told of the main promoter salting the mine with ore brought in from other locations and producing brochures featuring boats on the Amargosa River… which is typically completely dry. In the process of preparing this photograph to share I did a bit of reading, and it seems like the story might not be quite so simple nor so dramatic. Apparently there was a history of prospecting and mining in this area before the town was created in the mid-1920s, and lead and perhaps silver were actually mined from the place. A range of problems led to its downfall—the distance the ore needed to be transported, problems with the sale of shares in the mines—but it may not be true that the mine itself was essentially just a scam.
This building is well-known to those who have visited the place, as it is one of two buildings that still stand. Both are located near the entrance to one of the mine shafts, and it seems likely that this was not a residence but rather some building related to mine operations. Today it is a mere shell, but I find it amazing that it still stands nearly 90 years after the “town” (which apparently consisted largely of tents) was abandoned. Even more amazing is to stand at this spot and look out at the surrounding landscape—a rugged and uncompromising mountainous desert terrain—and imagine what it must have been like to live and work in such a place.
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 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 perhaps over-selling it a bit! 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. The cabins are in a state of advanced decay. They still have walls and some interior walls and flooring are still there, though increasing numbers of holes have appeared. Enough remains to give you an idea of what life might have been like here. In some ways it seems very simply and primitive, but in other ways surprisingly modern. As we poked around near the mine I found this old hunk of weathered sheet metal hanging from some wooden structures.
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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