The Not so Ghost Town of Ransburg

Welcome to Randsburg, CA

Standing midway down Butte Ave, I believed I was in a new filming for the hundredth Mad Max series.

Run for your lives - nope, everything is safe

Dozens of RZRs, dune-buggies, dirt bikes, off road golf carts, and gyrocopters came screaming out of the northwest through this tiny burg.

Folks dressed head to toe in leathers, cottons, tree bark, and stretched out leggings barreling through this living ghost town one mile south of Highway 395 made a person pause.

There were mullets on helmets. Sideburns on helmets. Mohawks on helmets, and helmets on helmets.

It was surreal, but I did not stand in the middle of the road for long, not wanting to end up as roadkill, which was being served for lunch I was told at the local park. 

“It’s really good if it is fresh, with not too many tread marks,” a grizzled miner may have uttered.

I was in Randsburg, a supposed ghost town that seemed pretty alive.

“Fall, winter, and spring are our busiest times of year,” noted Neil, the owner of The Joint. “People love camping out in the desert nearby and then rolling in here for lunch and perhaps a cold beverage.”

Sort of funny, “rolling in here” by the owner of ‘The Joint.’ Just saying.

The Joint in Randsburg

Actually, in all transparency stopping by any saloon usually makes my day. It gets mighty thirsty on the road.

Interior view of The Joint in Randsburg, CA

I had traveled through Randsburg many times on my way here and there along Highway 395. It’s a quaint locale with friendly folks, an interesting history, and clean free public restrooms in the town’s city park.

A must for a traveler.

The definition of a ghost town, according to Dictionary.com, is a town that was once thriving  that has been completely abandoned. According to Geotab.com a ghost town was once a thriving community that has dwindled over the decades. According to Oregon.gov, ghost towns are abandoned villages or cities, often with substantial visible remains.

Well, that last one could mean a whole lot of towns and cities now in California.

“You know, Neil,” I said. “You live in a ghost town according to what I’ve read.”

He just looked at me and wandered back into The Joint.

I should have stuck with the one definition I knew had to be accurate from theydon’tknowwhattheyaretalkingabout.com which stated that a ghost town is what people call places they have not traveled to.

Downtown Randsburg

Randsburg is not a ghost town. Sure, there are ghosts, according to the paranormal folks, locals, and a few miners who told me they have shared bottles of whiskey with the ghosts - okay, but it is not a ghost town in any sense of common sense.

Prior to Neil abandoning me in the street, he did state there is a ghost of a miner that sits atop the roof of The Joint. The ghost is supposedly a disgruntled ex-customer who was told eons ago that he was no longer welcome due to his bad behavior. I glanced up to ensure no wily bearded miner was lingering atop the building and dashed inside in case I may end up with a dropped pickaxe on my noggin.

No, this tiny town 68 miles northwest of Victorville and 138 miles northeast of  Los Angeles has a lot of life to it and a wonderfully interesting history.

Randsburg is known as one of the small towns within the gold and silver mining belt of Kern County.

 Randsburg, as well as Red Mountain and Johannesburg - other so-called ghost towns, that were once hustling and bustling jurisdictions where gold and silver could just be picked off the desert floor.

“Looky, Maxwell,” a dandy of a miner may have shouted after picking up a three ton solid gold nugget. “I be rich!”

That is not true. 

Community church in Randsburg, CA

Randsburg is located in the Rand Mining District, named after the Rand Mountains where it is located along with Red Mountain and Johannesburg.

According to the Los Angeles Daily News, three down-and-out miners wandered the Rand Mountains in 1895 and stumbled across a huge gold bonanza southwest of Ridgecrest - later to become Randsburg.

The miners who had been down-and-out were Frederic Mooers, John Singleton, and Charles Burcham and rumor has it that Frederic smiled at his two buddies and said, “Guess we are no longer down-and-outers.”

Where Singleton may have replied, “I can’t wait to see the face on my mother-in-law now.”

But with all history things can become a bit wonky. According to other research it was actually Frederic Mooers and William Langdon who actually found solid traces of gold in the Rand Mountains  in 1894. It was in 1895 that Singleton and Burcham were brought into the partnership, along with Dr Rose. 

Whatever be the case, the Rand Mining District was created in December of 1895 and a gold rush began. Some reports state that it was one of, if not, the largest gold rushes in California history with the Yellow Aster mine being the centerpoint of gold discovery.

Starting with just a few folks mining for riches soon turned into a boom and by 1896 more than 1,500 people were calling the area home.

Of course, where there is one mine, soon many more started opening up as more and more deposits were located. King Solomon, Jolly Girls, Monkey Wrench, Bully Boy, and Look What I Found were just some of the mines that soon opened.

By the end of 1897, folks were getting very rich working the various mines in the Rand Mining District, especially the Yellow Aster which produced more than $600,000 in gold, which is about $22,000,000 today.

Another rumor is that when Singleton’s mother-in-law heard the news, she simply said, “You call that money?”

One of the old mines located in Randsburg, CA

So much ore was coming out of the earth that it was hard to transport to various locations for processing; Garlock and Barstow. Shipping the ore over the newly built Randsburg Railways was slow due to the extent of the output, so a thirty-stamp mill was built in 1899 in Randsburg. Soon a much larger one hundred stamp mill was called for to handle all the ore being taken from the various mines in the area.

By 1901 the Yellow Aster mine was kicking out $120,000 worth of gold each month, well over four million dollars today. Silver was also being mined with huge profits from adjourning mines that covered the Rand Mountains.

Like all boom towns, it wasn’t just miners that got into action. Nope, plenty of saloons, gambling halls, and brothels showed up to ensure the miners did not walk away with all that cash in their pockets alone.

To save the souls of the now nearly 2,500 citizens of Randsburg in 1897, churches began to sprout up along the narrow and congested streets. Since some of the miners were married, as well as the shopkeepers, schools also were constructed.

It was a good time for all.

In 1898 two devastating fires erupted and nearly destroyed the entire town of Randsburg, but some quick thinking individuals used dynamite to blow up structures creating a break where the fire could not spread from block to block.

With the tough spirit of these pioneers, the town was rebuilt even better than before.

An interesting side note concerns neighboring Red Mountain, where numerous accounts state that during prohibition, folks all the way from Los Angeles would travel there during the weekends to partake in the over 30 saloons and brothels located in the area.

A tidbit here, Dr. Rose Burcham is not only considered one of the first pioneer female physicians in Southern California but in 1904, the Los Angeles Times honored her with, ‘Men of Achievement in The Great Southwest Mining’. - the only successful woman mine operator in the southwest.

A hardy and smart woman, she outlived her mining partners, dying in 1944 after retiring to the state of Alabama.

By 1934, with the depression and the ore not producing as much gold or silver as in the past, the town started to dry up. Folks moved on to the next boomtown but today Randsburg is still very much alive with shops, restaurants, saloons, and places to stay for the night.

The small town offers wonderful events throughout the year, including; Old West Day, Bluegrass Jamboree, Mohave Dirt Bike Rally, Don’t Fall Into An Empty Mineshaft Day, and so much more for the visitor. 

And if camping in the wide open desert isn’t your cup of Joe, then there are places to stay for the night in Randsburg, from the Cottage Hotel Bed and Breakfast, to numerous Airbnbs - some supposedly used as cribs utilized by the soiled doves in the day. May have to use the Old West Dictionary for that description.

Cottage Hotel, one of many places to stay at Randsburg, CA

Though I’ve traveled through Randsburg for years, I learn something new with each visit, and isn’t that the way adventures go?

Daniel, a bartender at the Joint, poured me a drink. “Are you coming back?”

I may be there already.

Cantil - still thriving

 Back in February, I wrote a piece concerning a little town that no longer exists.

The name of this place was Saltdale. This town once existed in the Mojave Desert, on the edges of the now dry Koehn Lake. It was one of those stories that made me ponder as I walked across the mucky semi-wet salt beds checking out this abandoned house and that sinking structure in the salt.

Often I travel with my beautiful wife, Laureen, or perhaps with my buddy Paul, on these adventures. But many times I travel alone, this was one of those times.

As I stood alone, looking out across the vast stretches of land that lay before me, I could almost hear machinery running, vehicles driving here and there, people talking, and children playing. 

It was surreal. 

Recently, I received an email from a wonderful young lady by the name of Becky Gallen who had read the piece and enjoyed it.

That piqued my interest right away – she liked my story. A writer’s dream – someone who enjoyed what I wrote. 

Turns out that another small town, that still has a few residents, is just six miles to the west of the Saltdale I wrote about. It was once a thriving town of families, businesses, and the like – by the name of Cantil.

Cantil is an unincorporated community located in Kern County in the Fremont Valley.

Becky informed me that her 95-year-old mother still lived in Cantil – in the house that she and her husband, Bill, shared.

Like many small towns located across the vast Mojave Desert, there doesn’t appear to be much to see. But when a person looks closer, there is.

What I learned after briefly communicating with Becky reinforced what I had assumed about these small towns: some gone with the wind and some barely hanging on, were once vibrant communities with fascinating citizens.

Becky had shown my article about Saltdale to her mother. Becky’s mother told her that more than once over the years someone would drive out into the wet and mucky surface on Koehn Lake and get their vehicles stuck, hopelessly stuck.

Koehn Lake

I knew the feeling, since I had nearly lost a boot in the muck on my visit, and I don’t quite weigh as much as a pick-up truck – thank you Nutri-System.

The two communities of Saltdale and Cantil were linked with all the salt production occurring in and near Koehn Lake.

Of course, when the mining panned out so did Saltdale. Cantil is still viable, though not as thriving as it had once been.

Cantil was founded as a railroad station for the Nevada and California Railroad Company back in either 1908 or 1909. More tracks were needed from Owens Lake to Mojave to deliver minerals and other goods being mined or produced in the Owens Valley for consumers to the ever-growing town of Los Angeles.

Since it was the custom for railroads to follow the alphabet when naming stations, it was the letter C’s turn.

“Let’s call it Cansas,” one railroader suggested.

“No,” replied another worker. “How about Cornswabble?”

The lead railroader shook his head. “We’ll call it Cantil. After all the red cliffs we see in the nearby mountains which remind me of the time I spent in Spain.”

“Show off,” a railroad hobo stated from beneath a cattle car.

So, Cantil was off and running.

When I visited Saltdale, I was moved to write about it - nothing there but a large dry lake with lots of muck to sink into among the dilapidated buildings and other structures.

At first, I thought there wasn’t a story to be written, but I was wrong. People survived, thrived, and enjoyed living here. 

As they did in the neighboring town of Cantil.

In fact, Cantil and many other small communities played a major role in providing water and other goods for travelers across the Mojave Desert.

In a government publication, Routes To Desert Watering Places In The Mohave Desert Region, California, dated 1921, there is a section which show the importance of such a guide would be for those adventurers.

‘Four Roads come in on right (southeast) from Cantil (1.5 miles) and on left (northwest) from Redrock Canyon. Just beyond, cross old railroad grade. 26.9 Koehn and Cane Spring. Water at ranch house.’

When a place can supply water to a thirsty person, it is on the map!

Most of the towns I visit in the hinterlands are ghost towns. Of course, I have never actually seen any ghosts in these towns - a strange sensation or a sound I can’t quite recognize, but no white sheets floating effortlessly through the air giving me the heebie-jeebies.

Per Merriam-Webster, a ghost town was once a flourishing town wholly or nearly deserted usually as a result of the exhaustion of some natural resource.

In the cases of both Saltdale and Cantil, that would be mainly the production of salt. It ran out and so did most of the town life.

Turns out, the small burg of Cantil had a lot of life at one time.

Becky shared a book her mother published in 2021, ‘From Sunrise to Sunset,’ about her life while living in Cantil.

Cantil never grew into a hustling-bustling cosmopolitan city. No, it was a small place but with the other small communities nearby like Saltdale, Mojave, and Randsburg, it was a busy place.

Neighbors would come from all over for holidays, special events, and other festivities and fill the town with laughter and joy.

I liked that. I liked the fact that I was actually able to touch the soul of those folks who had lived in such places. Sometimes traveling as I do in remote areas, I do not get to see what came before, and am stuck looking across at what is no longer.

When I drove through Cantil, I saw houses half-buried in sand, abandoned and left to the brutality of time.

These homes were once part of Rancho Seco, but locals knew the place as Jack Rabbit Acres. It had been a large ranch with employees living in apartments not far from the homes I had seen sinking into the sand. 

The ranch was eventually abandoned and some sheep herders brought in their flocks who ate away the grass to the level of the ground. Combine that with the harsh winds, the topsoil soon was gone, leaving just a sandy floor.

Not far away is Red Rock School. It sits behind a chain link fence nowadays. Desks and chairs sitting out in the yard. No classes, no students, no teachers, and no tardy bells.

The school was built in 1918, expanded in 1937 and again in 1965, for the growing number of students coming in from the nearby communities.

The school closed its doors in 2008. There are continuing discussions with the school board about its ultimate future.

Walking through a couple of streets, I noticed houses with people in the yards taking care of this or that.

I did not bother them. I was a stranger, and they were doing what they were doing. It did not seem appropriate at the time.

I was simply wandering and wondering what life had been like when this town was booming.

It is not like the town is completely unknown though. The 1932 film starring Boris Karloff, The Mummy, was filmed in Cantil as were dozens of other films shot in Red Rock Canyon a short distance to the northwest. 

In October of 2014, the Virgin Galactic Spaceship Two, VSS Enterprise crashed in the Mojave Desert not far away, sadly killing one of the pilots.

The automotive company, Honda has a proving center not far away where all the brand-new cars that the organization wants to market go through all sorts of tests. Sort of like studying for the SAT but with more horsepower.

Honda proving center

It is a very hush-hush place and the security is extremely tight while the auto manufacturer does what they do with the prototypes.

Years ago, I tried to sneak a peek into what was going on there and since the fences were tall, I took a hot air balloon intending to fly silently above the proving grounds. Unbeknownst to me, the first thing a ballooner needs to check is the wind direction before leaving the ground.

Laureen had to pick me up in Seattle. 

So, my venture through Cantil was not what I thought, but I knew a story was there that needed to be written.

A story of family, friends, community and all the rest that makes a place worth living. Sure, there may not be much now, but it was surely a place to behold at one time.

Memories should be enjoyed, and not forgotten.

Perhaps driving through such places like Cantil would instill a stronger sense of community in all of us.

Might not be a bad idea.

Randsburg - A Lively Ghost Town

The main street was deserted – eerily deserted. Early in the morning, a summer warming the air, with the sun just breaking over the eastern hills, but there was not a soul around.

That is a deserted main street

       “It’s like a ghost town,” I stated. While looking around the small town of Randsburg, approximately 70 miles north-west of Victorville, just off of Highway 395.

        “Well, it is a living ghost town,” said Nikki Goldfinch, a local resident stated, as she sat in her OHV in the center of town. Since, Nikki was the only person I had seen that morning in the downtown area, I flagged her down to ask a few questions about Randsburg.

      Actually, I hadn’t flagged her down like I was in mortal danger, but gave more of a simple wave and a smile. She was nice enough to stop and talk about her community with this stranger standing in the middle of the main street.

John interviewing Nikki in Randsburg

      Nikki and her husband Bill have lived in the mining town for about 3 ½ years and love it. “I wouldn’t live anywhere else but here.”

      “There’s no one about,” I observed.

      She nodded. “That’s the point – there’s no one about.”

      According to the 2010 census, Randsburg had 69 residents, but according to Nikki, there are really about 40 full time people living the mining community. “The rest come up on weekends or vacations to ride their dirt toys in the desert or do a little mining on their property.”

      “Does the town ever get crowded?” I asked.

      “It sure does,” was Nikki’s response.

Randsburg is popular with OHV riders - or Main Street riders for that matter

      Tourism is a huge business for the town, located a mile off the main thoroughfare, Highway 395, on the way to destinations like Mammoth and Lake Tahoe. The local restaurants, the Black Horse Tavern, the General Store, and the Owl Café, see multitudes of visitors during the weekends and special holiday events.

The 'Joint' - a fine eatery in town

    

Come and sit for a spell

 “We have a parade of lights for Christmas,” Nikki told me. “It was great – all these off-road toys lit up like Christmas trees. The whole town is decorated, starting near Thanksgiving. It’s just beautiful and interesting how people decorate the place.”

      The founding of Randsburg is interesting in itself, and almost happened by pure luck. Three miners, who had spent time in Death Valley, and other desert locals had come up with little for all their hard work in the mines. But then they stumbled into the hills surrounding present day Randsburg and discovered gold –  lots of it. The strike occurred in 1895 and by the end of 1896, the three had pulled out over $250,000 in rich ore. According to some official accounts, over 25 million dollars’ worth of gold has been dug out of the ground around Randsburg.

      Originally, the town was called Rand Camp and the first mine, Rand Mine, were both named after a rich gold mining area in South Africa. The name was later changed to Randsburg.

      Obviously, as with all gold finds, Rand Camp sprung up with saloons, brothels, and gambling halls, to entertain the hordes of miners rushing in to seek their fortunes. Where there is money to be found – vice is not far behind.

Aye - we all need good luck! When hunting for the gold.

Or, perhaps a healthy diet

      Thus the term, gold rush. The miners were actually rushing there, or at least walking quickly – to become rich in the often inhospitable desert climate.

      According to an article in Forgotten Destinations (2016), author Natasha Petrosova tells the whole story of the mining area, including the two small towns near Randsburg – Johannesburg and Red Mountain.

      In great detail, Petrosova, tells of the hardships and triumphs of the original claimants to the Rand Mine - Frederic Mooers, Charles Burcham, and John Singleton. After a short time, the three co-owners, changed its name to the Yellow Aster Mine, taking its name from a popular pulp novel by that title, that Mooers was currently reading.

      Ah, the power of the pen.

A fight to the death, or just good literature?

      In this desert location, water was always a problem. It either had to be shipped in at two dollars a barrel, or brought over great distances over the low lying hills by pipe. The piping system won and soon – well, not real soon – the mines and towns had running water.

      The boom lasted until the early 1920’s when the mines stopped producing the volume of gold ore needed to keep the miners happy. Some mines are still being worked, and in fact, the Yellow Aster Mine is still in operation today, as well as some smaller ones in the nearby hills.

      The sounds of heavy equipment could be heard echoing off the hills, as I spoke to Nikki on the main street.

      “They’re still finding gold today?” I asked.

      “Yes, and they are moving tons of dirt to find more,” she stated. “With more modern means, they are able to find the gold a bit easier than in the past.”

      I don’t know much about mining, so that one question about mining, was about all I had. The resurgence in mining in the vicinity has been going on for the past twenty years, and who knows – there may be another gold rush soon.

Perhaps, this ore crusher may come back into service soon - it could happen

      The current monetary bonanza though, is again with the tourism. The town has annual events which draws hundreds, if not thousands of visitors at one time. One such event, is the annual, Randsburg Old West Day, held each September. It’s an all-day event, which includes live bands, western shootouts, line dancing, a car show, and much more.

      “It’s pretty popular, and you better get here early to get a parking spot in town,” Nikki told me.

      Bidding farewell to Nikki, who drove off through town in her OHV, I wandered a bit through the deserted streets.

      She had told me that the town didn’t come alive until after ten in the morning, and that was usually on weekends – but when it comes to life – it really comes to life.

      I liked it quiet – thought provoking.

Very Quiet, but the memories of the past were there to see

      I often wondered why these towns, like Randsburg, are called living ghost towns, but now, after speaking with a local – I’m beginning to understand.

      Ghosts, aren’t something to fear, as those the reality television shows want us to believe. No, these ghosts are just the memories of those who have gone on before us, but leave in their footsteps something for us all to remember and cherish. To understand that they, like us, had dreams and aspirations – some came true and some, sadly, did not.

A window, looking into the past - perhaps, but no ghosts

      The point, is to go out and walk in those past footprints and to try to imagine what it must have been like in a different era. Different times but with similar hopes.

      A chance to be remembered and not forgotten.

      Philosophy 101? No, but perhaps a smile for these ghosts, at what they accomplished, or tried to, so many years ago. A nod at immortality.

For more information: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Randsburg,_California

Photographs by John R. Beyer and Paul K. Bakas