Heading into the Hills - Exploring Historic Mines in Nevada

As always awesome stuff!
I'm always jealous of all the terrain you guys have at the tip of your finger tips. Nevada is definitely on our list this year...
 
Really enjoyed this thread and the rich history you shared. My great grandfather was the first one over and worked in a mine similar to that in Jackson CA called the Argonaut, just one canyon away from the Kennedy mine which you can still tour today. My GG is featured in a book called 47 down and was the skip box tender the day of that horrific accident. He's burried in front of St. Sava church. Your story made me feel like i was there with you. Thanks for all the history along with the great Pics!!! goosebumps on arms just thinking of the sacrifices made back then.

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What I love most about your trips is not only the pictures/videos, but also that you take the time to learn the history of every place you visit. It makes the adventure so much more valuable. Thank you so much for sharing your lives with all of us!


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What awesome scenery. I'm always hesitant to just explore on whim by myself, but your excursions like this make it so tempting. Thanks for sharing!
 
Your journals never disappoint

I'm so glad on a whim you and Cindy decided to make another trip and explore these scenes of intense if brief activity... vast activity from recent but almost forgotten past, details scattered by epic failures. In each place, it's very like a dream. So much happened in each place. Injuries, triumphs, joys, and sorrows... Words spoken in anger. Threats. Boasts. Promises made. Proposals. Acceptances. Rejections. Men and women made love in rooms no longer there on nights hot and dry, cold and wet, with the hours ticking by, with more work to do in the morning. Expectations to meet. Bosses to answer to. Hours to log. Pay to claim. Fears to conquer. Opportunites to capitalize on. On shelves there were photographs of mothers and fathers. There were desks built by craftsmen and chairs that people were grateful to sit in. There were painted doors and potted plants. Bruised knuckles and sacks of flour and sugar and the smell of pancakes on lucky mornings. Men whilstled songs and paid for meals with fat wallets. Letters of joy were sent and received. Knives were sharpened and dulled from use. Pencils recorded commerce in ledegers that have all returned to dust. But inevitabily came the crushing news as the high tide of revenue went out and left our pioneering denizens stranded on the beach of misfortune. Minds were crowded by thoughts of what to do? Thoughts of desperation. Earnest prayers were whispered in vain. Earnest curses were shouted in rage at the sun, in the night and again in the morning. Sweat dripped from furrowed brows of all ages. Already this so soon the end? How to pay debts owed? How to get out? Where to go? What possessions to take? What things to leave behind? Tearful goodbyes. Picks and shovels and buckets were touched and let go for the last time, left down in the mine after hope was done. What to say to those back home... what to say to the mothers and fathers and neighbors who had hoped to share in the wealth of their sons... after those dreams failed to materialize? Yet worse was for those whom fate took all, their bones lost and buried in graves unmarked, their flesh dried and turned long since to powder. Bones in the mines. Bones in shallow graves below the Nevada sun. The unrelenting sun that has continued to rise and fall, rise and fall, 365 times a year through 100 years or more since a faceless place in the Nevada hills became Somewhere... and then returned to anonymity. These places are graves. Graves of towns. Graves of time. Holy graves of American history. Every mine has thousands of stories to tell, if they only could. So we listen to the dried timbers, crumbling bricks and old tin cans, they are the ghosts of civilizations of our forefathers and brothers and sisters and mothers. Messages in bottles that broke on the rocky shore. No doubt to a few reading these journals may such places speak, stirring momentarily a breeze through the underground vaults and rivers of memories buried deep in our souls. Dreams from the past. Smells of wood and earth and rust. Wedding rings and lovers lost. Names that escape us. Precious sons and daughters who died too soon. Homes that burned as we watched dumbfounded. Pathways we walked a thousand times in shoes that are gone tied by laces that broke. Yes, these are graves of experience that some would rather not remember dug with purpose into the granite of meaninglessness. Or maybe it's just our habit of seeing things wrong. Or not really seeing at all. Perhaps there is a way to see our travails in a different light. The rocks, the timbers, the regrets, the lodes we pay homage to in odes such as this? Were we could see all differently, what would there be to see? The laughing face of futility driving home the bitterness of loss? Or might our days and hard tales melt into transparency as we awaken before the Light and Love of Total Forgiveness that exists within all things, that empowers. Us. Ever. Onward.
 
It's awesome how you can just literally drive off onto the desert there. I know the issues with the BLM and land usage out west, but at least with federal ownership you can still use it. Back east the land owned by the state is basically off limits except for the state parks and those are limited to hiking for the most part. Then there are the private owners like the utilities/developers/corporations and who knows who else that strictly limit land usage. It's really a shame to think of all the old trails, mining and logging roads out here that are just begging for use but will never see it :grayno:
 
I'm so glad on a whim you and Cindy decided to make another trip and explore these scenes of intense if brief activity... vast activity from recent but almost forgotten past, details scattered by epic failures. In each place, it's very like a dream. So much happened in each place. Injuries, triumphs, joys, and sorrows... Words spoken in anger. Threats. Boasts. Promises made. Proposals. Acceptances. Rejections. Men and women made love in rooms no longer there on nights hot and dry, cold and wet, with the hours ticking by, with more work to do in the morning. Expectations to meet. Bosses to answer to. Hours to log. Pay to claim. Fears to conquer. Opportunites to capitalize on. On shelves there were photographs of mothers and fathers. There were desks built by craftsmen and chairs that people were grateful to sit in. There were painted doors and potted plants. Bruised knuckles and sacks of flour and sugar and the smell of pancakes on lucky mornings. Men whilstled songs and paid for meals with fat wallets. Letters of joy were sent and received. Knives were sharpened and dulled from use. Pencils recorded commerce in ledegers that have all returned to dust. But inevitabily came the crushing news as the high tide of revenue went out and left our pioneering denizens stranded on the beach of misfortune. Minds were crowded by thoughts of what to do? Thoughts of desperation. Earnest prayers were whispered in vain. Earnest curses were shouted in rage at the sun, in the night and again in the morning. Sweat dripped from furrowed brows of all ages. Already this so soon the end? How to pay debts owed? How to get out? Where to go? What possessions to take? What things to leave behind? Tearful goodbyes. Picks and shovels and buckets were touched and let go for the last time, left down in the mine after hope was done. What to say to those back home... what to say to the mothers and fathers and neighbors who had hoped to share in the wealth of their sons... after those dreams failed to materialize? Yet worse was for those whom fate took all, their bones lost and buried in graves unmarked, their flesh dried and turned long since to powder. Bones in the mines. Bones in shallow graves below the Nevada sun. The unrelenting sun that has continued to rise and fall, rise and fall, 365 times a year through 100 years or more since a faceless place in the Nevada hills became Somewhere... and then returned to anonymity. These places are graves. Graves of towns. Graves of time. Holy graves of American history. Every mine has thousands of stories to tell, if they only could. So we listen to the dried timbers, crumbling bricks and old tin cans, they are the ghosts of civilizations of our forefathers and brothers and sisters and mothers. Messages in bottles that broke on the rocky shore. No doubt to a few reading these journals may such places speak, stirring momentarily a breeze through the underground vaults and rivers of memories buried deep in our souls. Dreams from the past. Smells of wood and earth and rust. Wedding rings and lovers lost. Names that escape us. Precious sons and daughters who died too soon. Homes that burned as we watched dumbfounded. Pathways we walked a thousand times in shoes that are gone tied by laces that broke. Yes, these are graves of experience that some would rather not remember dug with purpose into the granite of meaninglessness. Or maybe it's just our habit of seeing things wrong. Or not really seeing at all. Perhaps there is a way to see our travails in a different light. The rocks, the timbers, the regrets, the lodes we pay homage to in odes such as this? Were we could see all differently, what would there be to see? The laughing face of futility driving home the bitterness of loss? Or might our days and hard tales melt into transparency as we awaken before the Light and Love of Total Forgiveness that exists within all things, that empowers. Us. Ever. Onward.

Yeah, it was cool.


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Thanks for sharing, looks like a great trip to take in the future. Just need to get a dog that loves to wheel like yours and I will be set!
 
Thanks everyone! So glad you all enjoyed the trip report and photos :cool:

Nothing to see ahhhhh? No shit :)
How did the 40's performe on this trip?

Didn't do any crawling but the 40's did great on this trip and we had no rubbing even on big high speed hits. :D

Would say if you make your way over, check out the star mine on Harrison pass. It's small. Has a couple buildings.

Thanks for the tip - getting up into the Ruby Mountains and doing some exploring there is definitely on the to do list :yup:

What awesome scenery. I'm always hesitant to just explore on whim by myself, but your excursions like this make it so tempting. Thanks for sharing!

Honestly, there's good reason to be hesitant.
 
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