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