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| Welcome to Garlock |
Starting in Hesperia and extending all the way north to the Oregon border, runs a wonderful highway most are familiar with - the 395. From the dry deserts to the snow-covered Sierra Nevadas, this 567 mile trail of black asphalt has everything a traveler could wish for in terms of expectations.
Vast tracts of vacant land with wildlife for visitors to view and enjoy. Lakes for fishing, boating, or just relaxing next to. Miles of hiking trails begging for the adventurous to tug on some boots and explore.
Highway 395 is a wonderful road to drive and experience, no matter the season.
The author Robert Louis Stevenson stated; “I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake.”
I find myself in that same mental state quite often. Of course, my lovely wife Laureen may believe I might be in another state of mental wellness - but I’ll keep that between myself and the little green men inhabiting my cranium at this time.
Driving north or south Highway 395 is always a joy. Small locales like Randsberg, Lone Pine, Bishop, and others come to mind but often it is right off the well traveled highway to the byway where other adventures await.
Recently I took one of those byways and made my way to the ghost town of Garlock, approximately nine miles west of Randsburg.
Ghost towns are wonderful experiences for the visitor. To wander where folks had made their hopes and dreams come true, even for a short period. We humans have this endearing quality that makes us believe in our dreams and pursue them. If we hadn’t, the moon would still just be a large bright thingie that circles our earth.
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| Things to see in ghost towns - Garlock, CA |
I first heard of Garlock years ago during a conversation I had been having with another traveler. But honestly when the gentleman mentioned it to me years ago, I actually thought he was talking about garlic - he had a lisp in all fairness.
“I use a lot of garlic, that’s why we don’t have vampires around our home,” I replied.
He looked at me, shook his head and walked away.
“Seriously,” I said. “Not one.”
Taking the advice from my fellow explorer, I decided it was time to actually visit the town in Kern County.
The ghost town has a very interesting history, as do most places, but this one was created for the benefit of other small towns nearby.
Garlock was originally known as El Paso City, after the small mountain range nearby, and then later as Cow Wells, since this is the area where many cattlemen and freighters would stop to obtain water for their cattle. The only other local place available was the wash of Red Rock Canyon which could be very dangerous during certain times of the year - especially monsoon season.
In the late 1880s some small traces of gold were discovered in the El Paso range and then in 1893 a gold nugget worth $1900 was found near Goler Heights and the rush was on. That amount would be approximately two gazillion dollars today. No wonder prospectors were tripping each other with their picks and shovels.
“That’s my claim,” one prospector may have yelled at another as he raced flat-footed across the desert landscape in search of his riches.
With an evil laugh, the other prospector stretched out his shovel. “And I claim you just done fell down on your noggin.”
In 1894, gold was being located all over the place and Eugene Garlock, a very successful businessman who was living in Tehachapi at the time, decided that it would be a good venture to set up a stamp mill in the growing small town.
And that’s what he did.
An eight stamp mill was built and miners from all over the territory utilized Garlock’s ingenuity. In fact, the town started to have name changes - first miners would say they were going to the ‘Garlock Mill’ then ‘down to Garlock’ and finally just to ‘Garlock.’ The name stuck and the previous ones went the way of the desert sands - blowing into the wind.
A historical marker erected in 1958 allows the traveler to know how important this once booming town once was: ‘NO. 671 Site of the Town of Garlock. In 1896, Eugene Garlock constructed a stamp mill near this spot to crush gold ore from the Yellow Aster Mine on Rand Mountain. Known originally as Cow Wells by prospectors and freighters during the 1880s and early 1890s, the town of Garlock continued to thrive until 1898 when water was piped from here to Randsburg and the Kramer-Randsburg line was completed.’
A very important part of the history of this whole area, and worth a look around.
There’s not much there, but that isn’t always the point when venturing into an unknown destination. Just walking over ground that others in the past have tread is worth the effort of getting there. To take in a vision they had for their future and wonder what it was like in their past.
Most of the time, it is humbling.
I once met a person who asked why I would want to visit old ruins of a bygone civilization - I happened to be on my way to Greece at the time and could not wait to walk where Socrates or Plato sat and thought.
“Humanity’s past is what made our present,” I responded.
“What's a humanity?” she asked.
As I looked across where the town of Garlock once stood, I realized that the people who had lived here had created a life not only for themselves or their families, but for the surrounding communities as well.
It was mid-morning when I found myself treading across Garlock Road investigating this and that of what was left of this town. As I stated earlier, not much, but there are signs which tell the history of the place as well as ones that tell the onlooker not to trespass across the chain link fences guarding the few remaining original structures.
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| Always respect the signs at historical sites |
But, unfortunately one building had been graffitied with the typical nonsensical scrawlings of a person desperately hoping someone can figure out who had been there.
Since this is a family blog, I will not write what kind of person would desecrate a historical site in my opinion.
The other structures are intact, though years and weather have taken their toll - as those same years and weather have taken their toll on the guy typing this column.
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| Not bad after a hundred years - Garlock, CA |
One area, behind a locked fence, seemed to be that of the original arrasta that was built during Garlock’s time to crush the ore on the premises.
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| Original arrasta in Garlock, CA |
No one was present. In fact, not a single vehicle cruised by the entire time I was wandering around admiring the ruins available to see. Then again, right off of Highway 395, there were signs and a road block stating that Garlock Road was closed due to flooding.
Being a professional, I traveled the roadway to investigate if it were true. Nope, it was not. The road was dry as a bone, but caution should be taken when ignoring road signs. In fact, it is always better to take caution seriously since in the desert flash floods can occur at a moment's notice.
I did not tell Laureen I had abandoned logic on this venture.
Garlock had a functioning post office from 1896 until 1904, and then again from 1923 until 1926. The building which housed the government business was made out of railroad ties and can still be seen today, with a flagpole still standing proudly - absent the flag.
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| Railroad tracks heading southwest from Garlock, CA |
Though the town did boast a population of several hundred during its heyday, delivering water and crushing ore and offering other services, soon other issues would spell its doom. In 1903 a stamp mill had been built in Randsburg and water had been piped to Randsburg and other close locations since the late 1880s.
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| Perhaps old water cisterns at Garlock, CA |
Eugene Garlock passed away in 1907 and the town seemed to drift away as well into the pages of history.
A school had been built in Garlock utilizing adobe for the walls. Later this structure was a store and rumor has it in the 1920s it may have served as a brothel and speakeasy for the local miners still managing to pull precious ore out of the ground in the nearby hills.
According to various sources, Roberta Ruth ran a curio shop in Garlock until the 1960s.
I ate lunch along the Redrock Randsburg Road and almost could hear the old wagons creaking by carrying water east toward the bustling mining town of Randsburg. It was probably just the slight breeze in my ears.
Then again . . .
