IONE
INTERLUDE
(Originally titled: FROZEN ADVERTURES OF A MAD
POPSICLE)
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RECONNOITERING
IN THE EASTERN SIERRA NEVADA & GREAT BASIN |
Trips
“Ione
Interlude: The Adventures of a Mad Popsickle”
by
David A. Wright
Foreword
This
trip took place around January or February of 1984. A manuscript
about the trip was written during the winter of 1985-6 while I was
then living in Newcastle, Wyoming. It was submitted to Nevada
Magazine, but never published. It provides wonderful memories
for me nevertheless. The cartoon below was submitted with the
manuscript. The 35mm photos I took during this trip were taken on
Kodachrome film and are in slide format. I've lost many of the slides
over the years, but recently I found a few of them – but not
all of the photos on that trip – taken at the time. In the
event that I have the slides scanned into digital photos, I will
place them here on this page.
Edit 1/5/2007: All slides that were found from the trip are now scanned and placed in this story.
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IONE
INTERLUDE |
It was January and I had cabin fever in a very big way. At my home in the little resort town of June Lake (in the Sierra Nevada southwest of Hawthorne, just inside California) the snow was deep and it was cold. For me the anecdote for cabin fever is to pick out a spot on my huge relief map of Nevada, pack up “Old Trucker “ – my old Ford 4x4 pickup – with food, camping gear, photo equipment, books on Nevada history and ghost towns, and Reno, my fuzz faced mutt, and get lost. Any remove mountain range with trees and water will do and Nevada has plenty of all three ingredients (contrary to popular opinion). Oh yes, it must also have one or more ghost towns nearby. And an abandoned railroad does sweeten the pot.
The lure of peace and quiet, ghost towns, beautiful scenery, ghost towns, open skies, ghost towns, camping, ghost towns, exploring, ghost towns and exploring ghost towns (did I forget to mention ghost towns?) was too much, and I had a three day weekend coming up. There was absolutely nothing to do for three days, with the exception of going down to the local ski area to see the twice daily parking lot demolition derby, featuring flatlander BMW, Mercedes and Subaru carnage.
But it was January and it was cold! And contrary to what some folks think, it does snow in Nevada! But cabin fever is an awful thing, and I was tired of skiing anyway, so snow or now, Nevada here I come!
The ghosts of the Shoshone Range north and east of Hawthorne in the central part of the state include Ione, Berlin, Union and Grantsville. That was as good as any as I looked over my map for places to explore. I decided to call up Jim, my friend and fellow Nevada ghost town nut. “What!?,” he cried in answer to my seemingly lunatic question. “You gotta be crazy!! Do you think I’m really going to leave my warm and cozy house and freeze my butt off in this weather?! I’m packed, let’s go!!”
So early the next morning, Jim showed up with food, gear, Lady – his small collie mix – and Moose Mutt – Heinz 57/moose/mutt, who had a stupid expression, a voracious appetite for Jim’s socks and underwear, and a severe lack of anything resembling doggie brains.
We loaded up the back of “Trucker” with camping gear, dog food – in Moose proof containers – and firewood. My dog, Reno, went back in there with Jim’s dogs. Jim and I went up front with cameras, maps and my well worn copy of “NEVADA GHOST TOWNS AND MINING CAMPS.” Our destination that morning was Ione, four hours distant including a stop in Hawthorne for breakfast.
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This was to be my first visit to Ione and vicinity so I had no idea of what lay beyond Luning. Jim knew the road to Gabbs well, as he wintered his burro Jake with friends there. After a carrot break with Jake, we sped up into the Paradise Range, pleasantly surprised to find it paved, though the map showed it to be dirt. At the summit, the pavement gave way to a well, bladed, smooth and plowed road. I went ahead and locked the hubs and put the truck into four-wheel-drive, though it wasn’t necessary. We dropped into the wide Ione Valley. The landscape was typical of central Nevada, the long and wide valley bordered by the piñon covered Paradise and Shoshone ranges, with the barren Desatoya Mountains to the north. It was a beautiful day, bright and sun; cold but warm in the sun. With exception of the bottommost portions of the valley, the entire landscape was snow covered. |
We knew at least a dozen people lived in Ione, but when we arrived the only sign of life was a pickup truck parked at the store/café/bar/gas business house and the telltale sign of somebody with an overactive snowmobile gland.
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She was a rather small town but busy with the activities of 500 people. She was proud of her silver, her newspaper – the Nye County News – and the proud fact that she was the seat of huge Nye County. She was queen of an area that sprawled east across present day White Pine County to meet with Utah Territory; she went south to the boundary with Arizona Territory (which then comprised part of southernmost Nevada as well); south and west to squeeze under Esmeralda County to adjoin California; and if it were not for Lander County she would have touched Oregon and Idaho as well. IONE 1867 In February she had an unpleasant situation on her hands. Belmont – fifty miles, three mountain ranges and three valleys southeast – was booming. Belmont was rich, had a rapidly rising population base, it coveted rulership of Nye County. Belmont appealed, Belmont won. Ione shrank in defeat. IONE 1882 Her population was shrinking, but the faithful always stayed on. She had her ups and downs, but she was down more than up. Her population stabilized at about 25. Depending on who’s account, her post office either closed or changed names until 1903. IONE 1918 Production of mercury sparked some life into the old town. The small population was supplemented by a small influx of new residents who came to work the new mines, about 50 of them. Ione regained her post office once again. A large mill was constructed on the edge of town. IONE 1940s The old town was feeling old and lonely again. Mercury production had ceased during the last decade and only sporadic mining kept her barely alive. Population dwindled. IONE 1959 Only a dozen souls pick up mail, so the post office closes. Total mining production to date is about $1,000,000. |
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The old gal my have started small and stayed that way, but she outlived all her bigger neighbors, including Belmont. At the time of my visit, she still had a business consisting of a store, café and gas pump and it was 15¢ per gallon cheaper than at home! The business was open that cold January day. According to the only person Jim and I saw that day, “about 40 or 50” people inhabit Ione. We didn’t see any proof, but then mining is strong agin in the region and there were a few travel trailers and motorhomes scattered among buildings and ruins. Also, the fact that the state has bothered to plow the road of snow says that there must be tax payers out here to serve. Left at Ione is a pleasant variety of activities for the ghost town snoop. There are occupied homes amid rock and brick ruins, several false front wooden buildings, wooden cabins and a dilapidated old thing which is said to be the original Nye County courthouse. With an original cost of $800, you don’t expect Victorian grandeur, and this old thing looks like it was about $800 worth. |
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After browsing around, Jim and I decided to head up canyon to find a camp spot. About three quarters of a mile from town, we found an old Cousin Jack, a half shack-half cave with a level spot in front for a camp. It was turning cold as the sun had gone over the hillside, so first priority was a campfire. An hour later, we had a pretty fair home for the night. Our tent was set up, sleeping bags unrolled, lanterns in both the tent and around the camp, country music playing softly from the truck’s stereo, chicken sizzling on the fire, and kitchen facilities on Trucker’s tailgate. We had wine, books, companionship and heat – the perfect set up. After dark, we settled down to a great chicken dinner, and afterwards I laid back against “Fuzz Face” and enjoyed wine and conversation with Jim. After a couple of hours, it was just too cold to sit outside, even with a blazing fire, so it was into the tent for warmth and a good book. We stuck the dogs into the shack to keep Lady and Reno from making any late night rendezvous with coyotes and Moose from eating Ione. |
After an hour of warmth provided by the lantern, it was high time to turn in. When I turned off the lantern, it got cold and it did so in a hurry. There was a downslope breeze and it went right through the nylon like it was simply a window screen. Jim, in his down sleeping bag, fell off into a comfortable and sound sleep. The dogs were quiet and so presumably curled up around each other and fast asleep. I, on the other hand, was awake and quite cold. I had an old sleeping bag of canvas and flannel and it was of no use on snow. But after what seemed like an eternity, I fell into a fitful and shivering sleep.
I was suddenly awaken to a sudden and total chaos. Cussing and blinding alien light were the first soggy mists into my semi-frozen brain, followed by reality as I got smacked upside the head by the butt of Jim’s shotgun as he grabbed it to defend our tent from the aliens that had bathed our tent in blinding light. The dogs were going nuts in the cabin, Jim was cussing up a storm as he fought his way to extricate himself from our nylon prison. I was struggling to get my pants on and loosing the battle.
The “aliens” turned out to be a curious citizen from Ione, who heard that there were a couple of “crazy California flatlanders” up the canyon who were stupid enough to camp in the snow. I was inclined to think they were correct. The blinding alien light was the headlights, two spotlights and numerous quartz halogen driving and off road lights festooned about on his Chevrolet Blazer.
After Mr. Ione Citizen/Alien satisfied his curiosity and was satisfied that these two California crazies were of no threat to Ione, he went back home to a presumably warm home; leaving Jim and I to sleep and freeze, respectively. It was 2:30 AM and I went through the rest of the night freezing, awake and miserable.
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At 7:00 the next morning, we got up to face the day to frozen water in which to make coffee. After about a half hour thawing and boiling – and Jim bragging about his wonderful night’s sleep – we had coffee and Jim had a fire blazing. When I finally convinced my innards that they were thawed and functioning, we picked up camp and decided to have a looksee over the pass at the Reese River. It was another typical beauteous Nevada day as we wound up and over the pass. Coming down into the beautiful Reese River Valley, I thought and remarked to Jim how nothing could spoil this wonderful day. |
I promptly got my day spoiled.
I was letting the truck come down on the icy grade in third gear, the road straightened out and my next move was to shift to fourth. An adrenalin rush filled my entire body when I went to push the clutch pedal and it went to the floor with no resistance. Obviously some piece of linkage was gone and lost into the wild Nevada landscape.
Out in the middle of Nevada without a clutch. I brought the truck to a halt and I shakily crawled under the truck for an inspection. I was so relieved when I found that a small, adjustable piece of linkage between the clutch pedal mechanism and the lever that operated the clutch itself had fallen off. It turned out that nothing serious was wrong with my truck, it would not leave us stranded miles from home, I could still get around these parts without it.
Jim and I decided to head back to Ione. There, we stopped at the store/café/gas station and noted the thermometer. It was 11:00 in the morning and it was registering only 7°. The man inside told Jim and I that it was down to –4° before sunup.
I made a fool of myself trying to start the truck in reverse gear without the clutch, nearly taking out a parked truck and a corral fence. We then started forward and down the valley destination Berlin State Park and ghost town. About two miles out of Ione, a light bulb went off in my head. Vice Grips! Digging around under firewood and the dogs, I procured my tool box and extracted my trusty Vice Grips. They clamped onto the linkage and fit the gap between the linkage and throw out lever perfectly. I could even adjust the clutch using the adjustment knob on them. A quick tie down of the Vice Grips using wire and duct tape completed the job – assurance that I wouldn’t loose my clutch again. I was relived and content, no worse for wear except being muddy lying under the truck in the mud and ice.
We had Berlin to ourselves that day. Even the ranger who lives at the site was gone. There was a note on his door stating that he was gone for a while and would be back later. There’s a bit left at Berlin so Jim, myself and the dogs got out for an inspection.
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Silver is discovered by state Senator Bell, who then promptly sold out to John Stokes, of New York. BERLIN 1897 The townsite of Berlin is platted out. BERLIN 1905 The Nevada Company brought in two mills and construction of a new thirty stamp mill is underway. BERLIN 1907 Because of the financial panic that hit the west – and Nevada in particular – the business of mining slowed dramatically and the mine and mill closed. A few people remain. BERLIN 1909 Some life is pumped back into the town when two men lease the mine and mill. BERLIN 1914 Leasers pulled out of operations and Berlin sunk into decline. BERLIN 1919 Berlin as a town has died and the post office closed and moved to Ione on December 18th. BERLIN POST 1919 In the 1920s, the Goldfield Blue Bell Mining Company purchased claims. The mill was overhauled and modified, ore was run on a trial basis. The company kept the mine superintendent at Berlin until 1947, then dismantled the milling equipment and moved out. No activity has occurred since. Total production from Berlin’s pockets was $850,000.
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Jim and I enjoyed our stay at Berlin. The townsite is much like Bodie, in California – many wooden dwellings, cabins, assay office, a saloon. The mill was in the process of being restored during our visit in 1984 and is much larger inside than it looks outside. The entire area is covered by seemingly countless little signs that have a story to tell of some event, which building was there, etcetera. The site is being maintained in the state of “arrested decay” by Nevada’s state park system. In the early afternoon, Jim and I decided to head south a short distance to the site of Union. There is not much to see of Union because there is not much left of Union. We could find only two standing structures in 1984 – a small mill and one adobe and wood dwelling within deep sagebrush. Several adobe walls can be glimpsed among the underbrush in the canyon. Union was also full of interpretive signs as was Berlin. |
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Union sprung up as a small satellite town of Ione and nearby Grantsville. But it’s small flame was shortly thereafter snuffed out and Union was not heard again until the 1890s. UNION 1890s Union rose again when nearby Berlin popped up. People liked the situation of working in Berlin and walking the short distance of less than a mile to Union. The town had its share of saloons, a boarding house, cabins and a school. The Nevada Post Office Directory shows that Union’s post office operating between January and June of 1896. UNION POST 1910 Miners go on strike at the Berlin mine. The pay hike is not granted and Union soon emptied. Some stuck it out, the last resident moved out of the adobe/wood house still standing in 1956. There are no production figures for Union, which was primarily a bedroom community for Berlin.
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Jim and I stay at Union for a half hour, then decided to see “Ichthy.” Berlin and Union is part of the dual “Berlin-Ichthyosaur state park. Ichthyosaur? Well, Webster’s defines it like this:
“Any of an extinct order (Ichthyosauria) of prehistoric marine reptiles, which had a fishlike body, four paddle-shaped flippers, and a dolphinlike head.”
A large concrete slab with a life size representation of an Ichthyosaur looms over the site, which contains the petrified bones of the large creature. At least Ichthy decided to beach in a beautiful, piñon covered mountain setting. A large building stands over the remains, which was locked.
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We decided to look for a campsite. Just below the fossil house we noted a Nevada state pickup truck parked just off the road. As we started to pass, I noticed a man and dog coming down the canyon. It was the ranger for the park. Being a friendly sort, and very much short of company at that time of year, he gave us a personal tour of the “bone house” (and yes, the dogs were locked up in the cab of the truck lest they get temped for something to chew on!). Our guide was a young man, in his 20s like myself. He lives alone in the assay house at Berlin, but he did have a couple of commodities Berliners didn’t have – a hot tub and swimming pool just out of sight below his residence. |
It was getting late, so we decided to run on down to Grantsville for a place to camp, about three miles south.
Heading up Grantsville Canon, there is a small gap to go through, then the canyon widens into a small valley. Immediately we came upon ruins of a mill, mining office, operations from the 1945-47 era. An old bulldozer stands in front of the mill, intact except for tracks (it seems every ghost town bulldozer is missing its tracks …). Continuing up the valley, much evidence of mining is visible. A small hill is crested and then one comes upon downtown Grantsville.
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GRANTSVILLE 1863 Gold is discovered by P.A. Havens. The town of Grantsville, named for Ullysses S. Grant, is platted. About fifty residents make Grantsville their home. GRANTSVILLE 1867 The veins pinch out, Grantsville becomes a ghost town. GRANTSVILLE 1877 The Alexander Company comes to Grantsville at the insistence of one of the original inhabitants, who claims there is still gold to be found. He was right, the company made rich discoveries. A 30-stamp mill is built. A newspaper, the Grantsville Sun begins publication. GRANTSVILLE 1880 The mill is enlarged to 40 stamps. A thousand people live and work here. The paper, the Sun, has folded in 1879, but now another paper – the Grantsville Bonanza – takes its place as the town crier. In 1879, the post office had opened. GRANTSVILLE 1881 The town is prosperous. Over 40 businesses are lining the streets, including ten merchandise stores, five saloons, two assay offices, express office and a bank. Fourteen mines were pouring out wealth. GRANTSVILLE 1884 Things have slowed down. Population dwindles to 400. The Bonanza ceases publication. GRANTSVILLE 1885-1900 The town goes through the same vicissitudes as nearby Ione – up one year, down the next. Only a handful of people remain. GRANTSVILLE 1901 The post office ceases business at the end of the business day October 31. Less than ten people pick up mail. GRANTSVILLE 1921 The Webster Mines Corporation buys up the old Alexander shaft, the riches of all mines in the canyon. It is worked until 1923. GRANTSVILLE POST 1923 In 1927 the Webster interests are leased. It is worked a year then changes leasers and worked until 1929. The stamp mill is remodeled for this operation. The district then fell quiet until 1939. That year another mine was purchased and a small mill built. That operation was profitable until 1940. The district fell silent for five years. Then came World War II. The war effort killed most mining in the west, but it was determined profitable to the war effort that the Alexander and Brooklyn mines were worked for lead concentrates. This operation continued until 1947, and then the district fell silent for good. Grantsville’s total production came to about 1.6 million dollars.
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Jim and I set up camp on a sunny slope above town where the snow had melted. The night proved as cold as the previous, but I fell quickly into a deep sleep due to exhaustion. My sleep proved uninterrupted due to the fact there were no 2 AM raids on our camp by curious residents. Only coyotes kept us and the dogs company.
The next morning found our coffee water frozen. Jim came out of the tent bragging about his great night’s sleep, I told him to go to someplace hot – better yet, let me go! Someplace hot sounded like the place to be. After coffee was thawed and brewed, we set our sights on exploring Grantsville.
We had the ghost town completely to ourselves. Of the four sites, Grantsville is a true ghost town. The others either have residents or are protected and repaired. Grantsville is alone and out of sight due to the canyon. The only tire tracks through the snow was to a nearby ranch further up the canyon.
There were substantial ruins in 1984 left at Grantsville. The schoolhouse – made of brick – was one of the first ruins greeting visitors. From the outside it appeared to be in fine shape. But further investigation proved that inside some “sportsman” emptied a month salary on ammunition into the walls, floors, ceiling, roof and what was once a fine wood burning cookstove. It is a vivid example of the senseless vandalism that is found in all ghost towns of the west. The old schoolhouse roof looked too weak to shelter the structure after a few more winters of heavy snow.
A few wooden cabins are scattered about the rest of the townsite. The main business district is easily found by the rows of stone walls, nearly buried head high by the large sagebrush that grows at these altitudes. A stone cabin stands by a creek dammed up to make a stock pond. The book “NEVADA GHOST TOWNS AND MINING CAMPS” mentions that the cemetery is in good shape (in 1969), the Forest Service map shows it to be on a hill just southeast of the townsite, but Jim nor I could find it. The snow that day was a foot deep and more, not deep enough to cover any headstones, so it may not be in such good shape; or more than likely I overlooked it entirely.
By this time it was getting along into mid-afternoon, so Jim and I decided it was time to pack up and throw the dogs in the back. The mutts had gotten their quota of jackrabbits and squirrels to chase and enough sagebrush embedded in their fur to make a nice campfire. It was time to get back to the eastern Sierra and work the next morning.
We stopped in Berlin to say goodbye to the ranger, then sped off into the broad Ione Valley. A stop for gas at the “metropolis” of Gabbs, a burger at the “El Cap” at Hawthorne and then the long grade up to Mono Lake in the last rays of the sun.
Two weeks later the phone rang. “Hey Dave,” said Jim. “Wanna go camping over at Candelaria?” “What! You gotta be crazy!” was my reply. “Do you really think I’m gonna leave my warm and cozy house and freeze my butt off in this weather?”
“I’m
packed! Let’s go!”
Further Reading:
In May of 2006, another friend and I took a three day trip into Nye County, including Ione and Grantsville, and there are plenty of photos.
©2004,
2005, 2006, 2007 D.A. Wright
All Rights Reserved
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