Cerro Gordo - the Ghost Town

The road to Cerro Gordo

“This road looks a bit sketchy,” I stated.

My traveling partner on this trip was our old friend, Paul.

“Nah, you got this,” he replied.

Just then a humongous propane tanker truck came down the narrow dirt track right in front of us and stopped.

“I don’t think I got this,” I said.

Nice view of Owens Valley from a steep incline

Being the courteous driver I am, I stopped and backed into a very little crawl space on the side of this mountainous road toward the ghost town of Cerro Gordo.

The driver of the tanker stopped, and yelled through his open window, “You’ll have to go around me. I’m too heavy and will topple off the dirt road to the valley below.”

The valley below is just east of Owens Valley, and was probably a hundred thousand feet straight down.

“I’ll get out and guide you,” Paul said. The truck door closing, nearly masking his statement.

I travel a lot. I sometimes get myself in situations that are not the best for me, or the particular vehicle I may be utilizing for this trip or that. This was one of those times.

I wasn’t sure what to do. So, I backed up, allowing the propane delivery vehicle to edge by me and take the spot in the tiny turn-out on the dirt road.

“You got plenty of room,” the driver yelled.

Plenty of room does not include the concept of not seeing the road from the driver’s window. All I saw was a steep drop off to the Owens Valley. The passenger mirror barely missed the end of the propane truck by the time I traversed this harrowing spot in the roadway. 

I applied the brakes and waited until Paul caught up with me.

“That wasn’t so bad,” he assured me.

“You weren’t driving,” I replied. “Heck, you weren’t even in the truck.”

“I was guiding you.”

“I should have guided you.”

Paul shook his head, “Nah, it is your truck. I wouldn’t want to be the one responsible for tumbling off the road and crushing it.”

The road to the tiny old mining town of Cerro Gordo is not for the faint of heart. It is eight miles of crooked earth, torturedly carved out of the steep mountain side in the White Mountains, just east of Keeler on Highway 136, which is off Highway 190 out of Olancha, which is on Highway 395.  

Welcome to Cerro Gordo

The history of the town though, is quite interesting and that made the white-knuckler adventure worth it.

Cerro Gordo – Fat Hill in Spanish – was named for the amount of ore found there through the years, beginning in 1865. And as with any mining town, that’s where our history begins. Pablo Flores found some rich veins of gold and silver and began processing it. Then, through the ensuing couple of years, others heard of the chances of getting rich and by 1868, the place was starting to get a pin in the map of next bonanzas.

The problem was, Native Americans living in and around Owens Lake didn’t like all the newcomers taking their ancestral lands and serious issues developed. To counter that, Fort Independence was built, and the United States Army explained to the natives living there that they could either go along with the mining operations or leave.

One of our darkest moments is history, they were generally expelled from their lands in favor of the mining operations when they complained. 

In 1868, Mortimer Belshaw came to town and began a partnership with another person in the Union Mine. The mine was the first to deliver a cart load of silver to what was then small town of Los Angeles, and the boom was starting for this high elevation locale in the White Mountains.

Belshaw was quite the entrepreneur. Not only did he own a large part of the riches coming out of the area near Cerro Gordo, but he developed, if we can call it that, the dirt path up the long and dangerous eight miles a toll road.

Part of what remains of Cerro Gordo

The road was known as the ‘Yellow Road’ for the color of the rock the road was cut through. He made a lot of moo-la-boola, with the ore he was sending to Los Angeles and the tolls for those willing to risk coming up the ‘Yellow Road.’

A pretty smart dude, that Mortimer Belshaw.

“Can you imagine driving a team of horses up and down the road we just drove?” I asked Paul.

“I can’t even imagine driving your truck on it.”

“You didn’t,” I replied, my white knuckles were still white as we approached the end of the road and into the town of Cerro Gordo. 

Almost pristine building in Cerro Gordo

The town is currently owned by Brent Underwood. Yes, ghost towns do go on the real estate market now and then, and Brent bought all three-hundred and sixty acres of the town in July of 2018.

A building under re-construction

In all fairness, I did email Brent a few times to see if we could meet in the town, but I never did receive a response. He’s a very busy man – he has a YouTube channel called Ghost Town Living, and probably has around five billion followers.

“Brent, it’s John,” I would have said. “Got time for an interview.”

“No interview for you,” he might have responded. “I’m a very busy man.”

Actually, speaking to the manager at Cerro Gordo, Brent seems to be a very nice and caring guy. He purchased the ghost town to restore it to its original design. And, that is going to be a lot of hard work.

“Brent wants to make this a go-to place for tourists,” stated the manager. In all transparency, I don’t recall the young man’s name. He was nice and very informative but my notebook was in the truck a hundred yards away, I was tired – it seemed a long walk to retrieve it, especially at such a high altitude.

Cerro Gordo Peak is over nine thousand feet in elevation, and the town of Cerro Gordo is nearly eighty-five hundred feet above sea level. Going back to the truck and grabbing my notebook would have acquired a twenty minute nap, and we were on a schedule on this specific day.

“We have plans to make the town exactly what looked like during its heyday,” the manager stated. “We have a lot of people driving up here and wanting to spend some quality time, just enjoying the serenity of the place.”

Standing on the wood porch in front of the visitor’s center, I knew why a person would want to come up this steep mountainside. The views of the Owens Valley and the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range to the west were spectacular.

Interior of the visitor's center

Cerro Gordo produced a lot of rich ore for the miners and owners in this desolate location. It is estimated that over seventeen million dollars’ worth of gold and silver was mined between 1865 and 1949. That is about a hundred billion dollars in today’s money.

“Wander around a bit and take in the scenery,” the manager said.

We did.

There are houses, buildings, and the like, that are still standing and being renovated for guests. Brent has an eye that Cerro Gordo will become a great destination for those willing to drive up a very narrow and often nerve whacking dirt road to see what a real ghost town was like.

Remains of a cart rail

I did ask the manager if there is any mining still going on.

“No, we explore them, but there is no active searching for minerals at this time.”

From some research, I discovered that Samuel Clemons – Mark Twain - actually spent some time in Cerro Gordo. He happened to be residing in Aurora, another small mining town to the east in the state of Nevada, and spent time in both places.

“I’m not sure which town I like best,” the master of words might have mused. “I think Aurora. It doesn’t get those dastardly easterly winds.”

But, during the winter, temperatures in Cerro Gordo can drop to a chilling ten or more degrees below freezing and receive somewhere around twenty-four inches of snow. And that’s not including the wind chill factor which can be drop the thermometer at least a hundred degrees, or so it feels.

That is cold in anyone’s world – unless you are filming in the Yukon which can drop to more than a million degrees below zero.

Paul and I wandered the ghost town, and it really is a place to visit. Residential houses are being re-done, but only to the time period they were built. Buildings are being shored up, and the whole town will soon be a location for those who want to spend a night or more in the past, in a very secluded but beautiful spot across form the Sierra Nevada’s.

Future Airbnb?

“What’s the draw?” I asked the manager.

“To visit, and experience what I see every day.”

“And that is…?”

He smiled and pointed west. “The sunset over the Sierras. I’ve never seen anything like that, and I’ve been here a year. Each day is like the first.”

Looking past his outstretched hand, I had to agree. The location of Cerro Gordo is gorgeous, but the drive is not for the faint of heart.

Weighing beauty versus safety, I sighed deeply and we got down the road before the sun dropped below the range to our west.

Cadiz - it is there

Welcome to Cadiz

I often find myself on the road, which is a good thing, since I write a travel feature each week for the Daily Press.  But sometimes I have no idea where to go, or where I might end up. And, that is sometimes, the beauty of traveling.

Go west young man, Horace Greeley told Mark Twain, and though I ain’t that young anymore, I just head out in any direction to see what there is to see. And there’s a lot to see.

Recently, while driving Route 66 – yes, I like America’s road – I came across a road closure sign just a few miles east of Amboy. I don’t like road closures. It seems there’s a reason why that road is closed and I want to know why. Is it closed due to a government secret? Perhaps an alien ship crashed in the desert that the government is hiding it from the citizens.

Think that’s far-fetched? Think Roswell, New Mexico, my friends.

So, anyway, I came across that road closure sign but when I read the fine print – it clearly said the road was closed to through traffic east of Cadiz Road. Well, that made all the difference in the world to me. Perhaps, I didn’t want to be a through trafficker past this Cadiz Road. That meant I could drive down the road to Cadiz and turn around, if I wanted to.

We think it means you can't drive any further

What was a Cadiz anyway? Wasn’t sure but knew I had to go there. Turned out the true closed road was exactly at Cadiz Road. That’s where the government actually was stopping any traffic from traveling further east on Route 66.

Route 66 - the Mother Road

What were they hiding? After a bit of research, it turned out there were no alien crash sites but simply the road was closed due to multiple bridges being washed out after some pretty heavy desert flooding in 2014. This section of highway has been closed for many years – many, many years. How long does it take to rebuild a few bridges? Apparently six, and counting…

Hmmm, I don’t believe in conspiracy theories, but I do believe in the occasional conspiracy. Maybe, just maybe, the Mojave Desert has a new Area 51.

I’ll check that out soon – I’m a professional explorer, so don’t try that on your own.

Back to Cadiz.

Turns out I had been to Cadiz. I had just forgotten momentarily, since it had been a bit over twenty years ago.

It happens to be one of the oldest constantly inhabited cities in Western Europe. This city, located on a piece of land jutting out into the Mediterranean Sea in Spain, is thought to have been founded in 1104 B.C. – oops, wait a moment. Wrong Cadiz.

Wrong Cadiz - nice looking though

Our Cadiz, the California one, was founded in 1883, by Lewis Kingman. He worked as a railroad engineer for the Atlantic and Pacific Railroad. This was the third railroad station located along this stretch of the Mojave Desert. Each station was alphabetical to its neighbor – Amboy, Bagdad, Cadiz, and so on. 

Driving into the area, the ruins of the Road Runners Retreat lines the south side of Route 66. This retreat was actually in what is now the ghost town of Chambliss – originally known as Chambliss Station. A water tower location for the railroads.

The buildings are boarded up. There’s no sign of life except for lizards, snakes, and possibly extraterrestrial life forms. I believe I saw a shadow run between two of the buildings. Can’t be certain, but the hair on my neck stood up. 

Not much left of Chambliss - a shame

However, this resort had plenty of life in the 1960’s, when Roy and Helen Tull built the comfortable and welcome resort for travelers along Route 66. But when Highway 40 was built miles away to the north, the business lost its customers and closed its doors in the mid 1970’s. The café struggled until the early 1990’s.

Once a bustling stop for travelers on Route 66

Chambliss, as with the resort, faded to obscurity with that darn highway that made traveling so much faster, but also so mundane. In fact, records indicate that in 2005, the population of Chambliss was six residents and a dog. I didn’t see a dog on my visit.

The sign for the resort is still standing tall. One can imagine the neon lights flickering in the clear night, beckoning road weary travelers for a bit of a respite from the dry desert.

Of course, there is the Bolo Station Bar/Grill and RV Park. It looked like life was percolating there. Well-kept buildings, tall trees, bushy bushes and plenty of space for RVs.  I drove in, asked a gentleman if I was in Cadiz, he pointed down the road and said three more miles.

Well, those three miles turned out to be quite interesting. As I thought I had been given erroneous information, suddenly there was the sign for Cadiz. There was no town. But, I did run across a smashed up vehicle on the east side of the asphalt. It looked like something out of Mad Max. Really cool.

This car has met Mad Max, and lost

Soon the asphalt ended and I was on dirt. I followed that dirt road to what appeared to be a large agricultural center. It should be noted that Cadiz actually sits atop one of the largest aquifers in Southern California. So much so, that it is listed as being able to supply water to Southern California for 400,000 residents with plenty to spare. The area is known for being in the forefront of water conservation and is earnestly working with the State of California, as well as the federal government for this very purpose.

As I drove into what was the labelled Cadiz Farm, I noticed what appeared to be a Christmas tree forest. But no, as I got closer and closer, the realization hit me that it was a gazillion acres of marijuana. 

Nope, not Christmas trees

I got out and walked through the fields for about ten minutes, or perhaps a couple of hours, or a week. Wasn’t sure, but when I got back to my truck, Jimi Hendrix was standing there playing his Fender Stratocaster. We laughed, exchanged musical lyrics and far too soon, he faded away – but just before he was gone, he smiled as only Jimi could and stated, “Cadiz you later.”

Turns out the farm actually produces an array of other farm produce – it’s a huge agricultural business.

Is Cadiz worth visiting? I enjoyed my time there, but with all traveling, there are hits and misses. I’ll take the hit on this, and perhaps you can take the miss. But then again - - -

Disney's Magic

Well, maybe not this time

When someone mentions the words, Mark Twain, the immediate identification is that of one of America's foremost story tellers, Samuel Clemens. But in reality, Mark Twain is a phrase with two meanings. Mark - meaning the measure of - and Twain -meaning two. When ships sailed or steamed up and down the Mississippi River in the 19th century, the pilots, that's the captain of the boat for landlubbers, would request a depth notification from crew. They needed to know the depth of the water they were sailing through for safety reasons.

Each fathom was six feet in depth, so when 'mark twain' was yelled up to the pilot after the measuring, the pilot knew they were in good stead with the water depth. Even though most river boats in the 19th century only had drafts of four to five feet, the extra depth was especially reassuring since the muddy Mississippi often had hidden dangers below the waterline. A little extra distance from the bottom was always welcomed.

Bad things can happen in shallow water 

Clemens actually worked on a paddle wheeler, learning the ins and outs of piloting a river boat as a cub pilot for two years before the outbreak of the Civil War in 1861. Under the tutelage of Captain Isaiah Sellers, Clemens learned a thing or two about mastering the helm and about writing. It seemed Sellers would pen paragraphs about current conditions on the river and have them printed in a local newspaper.

1861 Paddle wheeler on the Mississippi River

"The old gentleman was not of literary turn or capacity, but he used to jot down brief paragraphs of plain practical information about the river, and sign them 'Mark Twain' and give them to the New Orleans Picayune. They related to the stage and condition of the river, and were accurate and valuable; and thus far, they contained no Poison," Clemens once stated when asked about his use of the pen name, Mark Twain.

Clemons felt, as he had moved west to Virginia City and began working as a journalist he needed something special for a name.

"I was a fresh new journalist, and needed a nom de guerre: so I confiscated the ancient mariner's discarded one, and have done my best to make it remain what it was in his hands - a sign and symbol and warrant that whatever is found in its company may be gambled on as being the petrified truth; how I have succeeded, it would not be modest in me to say."

But, this blog is not about Samuel Clemons or Mark Twain the writer.

Sorry, Sam

So, now on to the blog.

No, it's about another famous Mark Twain, which paddles it's way in near oblongs, many times a day at Disneyland. The 105 foot long, 1/3rd sized replica of a 19th century riverboat plies the Rivers of America, located in the world famous park located in Anaheim, Southern California. Hundreds, if not thousands of guests line the three decks as the graceful and beautiful ship makes it's twelve to fifteen minute journey, allowing those same guests a chance to view different sections of the park. 

Passengers awaiting boarding upon the Mark Twain 

Laureen was surprised with a ticket to the 'Happiest Place on Earth' by daughters and sons-in-law for Mother's Day. And to entice John - there had to be an enticement since he had spent his early childhood visiting the park so many times, he'd hide out on Tom Sawyer's island until his cousins got tired of looking for him. A ticket for him to? Okay, deal with smiles and laughter. But what? No invite to the exclusive Club 33? Maybe next time. Being the good sport that John is - at least sometimes, he had a great outing.

Good Sport - not Old Sport. Learn your lines, DiCaprio

Since no one in the group of six had ridden the Mark Twain for many years, it was agreed that it would be nice to sit and rest. Fit-bit's go crazy at Disneyland where walking 20,000+ steps in a day is nothing. One must rest once in awhile or venturing from one make-believe world to another make-believe world would become a chore and not a joy.

As the party waited in the authentic 19th century appearing riverboat landing area, a bearded gentleman dressed in period clothing walked past and said something snarky to John. Of course, John returned the snarky comment with a bit more spice. Within seconds both men stood toe to toe smiling and exchanging harmless and comical comments to each other. Finally, the Pilot, we were to learn, told our entire group to come with him.

No, this isn't the Captain and John - we just stole this picture to make a point

We were escorted onto the Mark Twain before the other hundreds or so waiting passengers and led to the pilothouse. This was a special treat since it is rare to allow folks into the lair of the Captain of the ship. Three decks are the usual haunts for the passengers but we all were treated to the 'fourth' deck. The pilothouse was small but roomy enough that no one was smashing elbows with each other and the view was awesome. 

A non-disclosure agreement had to be signed - Not!

Roughly, thirty feet above the waters edge, gave us all a birds-eye-view of the park as the ship traveled it's course along the Rivers of America.

Unobstructed view of Disneyland - or at least most of it

Each got a turn at the helm, which was fine until Jessica took a hold of the large wooden wheel and John desperately wished Disneyland served alcohol. "I could use a drink," he was overheard muttering to himself. He watched as his daughter deftly spun the wheel to starboard, thankful there was only open water in that direction.

All small ships and children, watch out!

The Captain, which was his name since no one had jotted it down, advised us that the Mark Twain was under steam power delivered with bio-diesel and free floating along it's course. He also reassured us that the river was forty feet deep, so no fear of snagging underwater objects.

Justin and the Captain with no name - we're bad

Since John and Laureen believe in research, research was done and the fact checking proved that actually, the Mark Twain runs along a hidden steel I-beam to guide it's way through the water, and the depth of the river is not even a Mark Twain. The bottom is anywhere from 6 to 8 feet deep but looks deeper with the green and brown dye used for special effects. 

Are those guide rails we see?

 40 feet deep ? We don't think so, or those men are giants. 

This is all part of the Disney Magic, and no disparaging remarks or thoughts against the Captain for the 'fibs' he told us. It's all about make-believe, and we enjoyed the fantasy of believing this large ship was being guided by a bunch of neophyte pilots.

Hey, I just work here and recite what I'm told to recite.

Cruising the river, from the advantage point of the pilothouse, we could all see the new Disney attraction set to open May 31st of 2019. Star Wars: Galaxy's Edge, an all New Land. Though, we could not see every detail of the 'Black Spire Outpost' on the planet 'Batuu', the glimpses we did enjoy proved to be enough that another trip to see this 16 acre addition to Disneyland is in the works.

On the left, a spaceship in the New Land

A glimpse of the 'Black Spire Outpost' on the Planet Bantuu

Even the ever-faithful, Trekkie. Laureen agreed this would be an adventure worth exploring.

A Trekkie traitor or just seeing the light saber - bad pun

At the conclusion of the voyage, each 'pilot' received an 'authentic' certificate claiming how they had managed, without incident to pilot the Mark Twain without sinking her.

Only room for 4 'Skippers' at a time in the wheelhouse

It was a memorable moment on a memorable day honoring mothers all through-out America and many places around the world.

The 'Happiest Place on Earth,' made many people very happy that day and the thrill of being in that rare group to be in the pilothouse aboard the Mark Twain, only made the experience that much happier.

Happy sails to you.

Credits:

Photos - JandLResearchandExploration
               Justin Barr Photography - https://www.justinbarrphotography.com/