An abandoned mill on a steep slope high in the Panamint Mountains.
For someone like me, the first instinct is to think of Death Valley National Park as being mostly wilderness, and then to associate that with the idea that it is a place of little or no human presence. In truth there’s virtually no place in the world where we have not left a mark… and there are many examples in this park. They range from evidence of long-ago native populations and their descendants who still live there to the rather astonishing number of old mining sites. No matter where you go in this park., you are bound to see these things.
In the latter category is the site of Skidoo, where there was once a real town and lots of mining and ore refining… in just about the most unlikely location imaginable. It was near the summit of high desert mountains, far from any paved roads. The ruins of the water-powered mill (an astounding story too long to relate here) sit on a steep hillside, overlooking a remarkable expanse of rugged desert terrain and mountains that extends to the distant peaks of the Sierra Nevada.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, “California’s Fall Color: A Photographer’s Guide to Autumn in the Sierra” is available from Heyday Books, Amazon, and directly from G Dan Mitchell.
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 human story, or perhaps what might be seen as 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 to the place, 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 remnants of those earlier populations 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 this still takes place.) Some examples are obvious to the casual visitor, but the more time you spend in the back-country area 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 a number of ways. Perched at the end of high ridge in rather 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.
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
Black and white photograph of the ruins of an abandoned mining cabin high in the Panamint Mountain Range of Death Valley National Park.
There are a number of things that make Death Valley National Park, to the best of my knowledge, rather unique. One is the extensive history of human habitation inside the park boundaries, quite a bit of which is visible – though some takes a bit more effort and attention to spot. The history of mining in the park is well-known, and many of the icons of the park have connections to this history. If you visit Furnace Creek, for example, you cannot miss the displays of old wagons and so forth used to move ore out of the Valley. It doesn’t take a lot of careful study to figure out that many park roads originated in an era of prospecting and mining. There are several well-known examples of structures left over from that era in and around the park, too.
It is largely because of this history that many areas of this national park are (or have been – some are now reverting to wilderness status) accessible by gravel road or four-wheel-drive routes. I would argue that you can’t really get to know this park if you just stick to the paved roads and the points of interest that they access. If you drive any of these other routes and keep your eyes open you will often be surprised by the left overs from relatively recent mining and prospecting, much of which isn’t really written about or described in the usual guides to the park. (And I’m not going to offer specific details about where to find such places here, since I don’t want to be even a little bit responsible for damage to them. If you do visit, treat them with care and respect.)
As I drove along a gravel road in one of the many mountain ranges of the park, returning from a site that is somewhat well-known, I began to notice evidence of fairly recent mining and prospecting. Faint tracks depart from the main “road” and cross valleys and hills, here and there tailing piles and mine entrances are visible, and sometimes you come across old structures such as cabins, storage bunkers, or wooden towers above mine entrances. I spotted the ruins of this old cabin above the road at one point and decided to walk up and investigate.
I’m almost always surprised at how “modern” many of the traces found at these places seem to be. I guess I am expecting something from the 1800s, but quite a few of these places look like they were build and occupied much later than that. I find modern things like linoleum flooring or modern-looking nails or electrical wire in many of them. There obviously isn’t much left of this cabin now, but from the detritus lying around near it and the form and materials found here, it must have been a reasonably comfortable place to live. As I walk around such places I often try to imagine what it must have been like to wake up every morning in this silent desert and head out for another day of physical labor.
