I inched toward the edge of the cliff under cover of darkness. My super-bright, bumper-mounted Diode Dynamics SS5 lights cut multi-mile-long daggers into the abyss over Death Valley. Anyone glancing my direction - from Badwater Basin to Ubehebe Crater and everywhere in between - would be justified in wondering, "What is up there?"
It was the perfect edge-of-Chloride Cliff camp.
Soon the tent was deployed, and I found myself standing on the edge of the same cliff, shoveling spoonfuls of Wheat Chex into my mouth. Below, tiny white lights followed a consistent route along the valley floor. Furnace Creek and Stovepipe Wells sparkled with activity.
The following morning...
A few minutes before sunrise.
Even with cloud cover, the Badwater view was everything I'd hoped.
It was cold as I climbed out of the tent. And it was wet. I'd remarked to myself the day before - talking to myself is a common occurrence when I find myself alone in the desert - how wet the ground everywhere seemed to be. Two weeks of on-and-off rain - in a place that averages only a couple inches a year - has that effect, and wet ground coupled with cool temps and 70% humidity meant that the rain fly and Tacoma were covered in a layer of frost nearly an eighth inch thick in some spots!
Luckily, I'd planned to explore around camp for a couple hours, which would give everything time to dry out a bit before I put the tent away.
Pulling on my sweatshirt and puffy - layers I'd soon regret - I grabbed the camera and evaluated possible routes to the site of the original Chloride Cliff Mine. I'd mapped a couple of roads that clung to the canyon walls, but I could see that there were numerous workings I'd miss if I took those routes down. Instead, I gingerly picked my way down the steep slopes, slipping and sliding my way - dislodged rocks picking up speed as they tumbled below - to a few of the more interesting spots.
An old ore chute.
"Dig in all directions."
Open stope with a view.
Still less than a quarter mile - as the crow flies - from camp, I'd lost nearly 1,000 feet of elevation, with more to go before I reached the highlight of the morning's excursion. Luckily, my straight-down path intersected an old mining mule trail, which - though just as steep - instilled confidence that I was headed in the right direction.
Chloride City's patchy 90-year history of not-so-successful mining started with the discovery of silver-lead ore in August 1871 by August Franklin, a civil engineer sent to this far frontier to assist in the survey of the California-Nevada boundary. In October, after staking claims, Franklin founded the Chloride Cliff Company - reportedly named after the silver chloride he had discovered.
Work started in April 1872. The ore showed good value, and progress proceeded at a good pace. The following year Franklin had several miners working for him, and 100 tons of ore had been stockpiled.
Mining in these pioneering days must have been terribly lonesome. It was 180 miles to San Bernardino, the closest sizeable town, with no established road to get there. This long trek was negotiated by mule trains, which left loaded with ore and returned with long-awaited food and supplies. In the process of traveling back and forth across the desert, the muleteers painstakingly forged the first route across Death Valley, via the salt flats and Wingate Wash. Together with the identification of mineral resources in the Funerals, this was probably Franklin's greatest accomplishment.
During his own time Franklin faced the same problem that was to plague most desert mines: the high cost of transportation. His mine's inaccessibility and unknown reserves probably made it unappealing to investors. The silver rush of 1873 in the Panamints diverted what little funding was available, and Franklin was forced to shut down after less than two years. But he did not give up. For the next 30 years he dutifully kept his claims alive by carrying out the required annual assessment work.
The catalyst for Chloride Cliff's revival was the discovery of Keane Wonder in 1904. In 1905, as hundreds of prospectors were lured to the area, several gold strikes were made around Franklin's old claims. Chloride Cliff was booming again. George Franklin was now working his father's property, and renewed interest meant new roads, supplies at nearby Rhyolite, and better chances to make a profit. The miners were housed at Chloride City, a small camp sheltered behind the cliff. By the spring of 1906 the deepest workings reached hundreds of feet, ore values held up, and companies began looking into ways of milling their ore.
The San Francisco earthquake and fire in April that year changed all of that. The destruction of the West Coast financial center jeopardized future support for mining and dealt a serious blow to the Chloride Cliff area. Within months, all activity was suspended and for three years the mines were once again idle.
By December 1907 the mines had been consolidated into the Chloride Cliff Mining Company, and by the end of 1909, new veins of gold-bearing ore were discovered, sparking renewed optimism. Soon, a one-stamp mill was installed just below Franklin's original mine, which still had the most productive tunnels.
Unfortunately, the local water supply was too low to run the mill, and the company had to resort to leasing time on Rhyolite's Crystal Bullfrog Mill. The return was insufficient, and in mid-October mining was suspended again. Attempts were made to address the water supply over the next two years but never materialized. The company closed down for good in June 1912.
One-stamp wonder!
It's rare to find a mill in such good condition. It's rare to find a mill at all, since so many were installed, barely used, and disassembled for movement to the next unsuccessful mine. The remote location and small size of this mill were surely factors in the decision to leave it behind.
Ready for rocks.
Union Tool Co, Los Angeles.
The bearings in this beast spun like well-oiled... bearings.
(Until the cam engaged, at which point I wasn't nearly strong enough to rotate the fly wheel.)
Excited to have found the mill in such great shape, I began the slow trek back to the top of the ridge. This time, I followed the old mining tracks - a longer route, but one with significantly less risk of slippage - as they negotiated still-unbelievably-steep terrain back to camp. It was about this time that the sun broke through the clouds, as though I wasn't already warm enough on the stair-like terrain.
Franklin Mill view (of Tucki Mountain and beyond).
In a sea of blue.
Not far now.
As I neared camp - now drenched in sweat from my rapid ascent - I was hopeful that the sunny skies and slight breeze would mean that the tent was dry. Alas, with ice covering both the top and bottom of the rain fly only 90 minutes earlier, there were still plenty of droplets to towel off, and then half an hour to burn before the fabric rid itself of dampness. This, it would turn out, was a blessing in disguise.
Telescope Peak gleaming above the clouds.
As a cloud passed overhead, I found myself standing on the edge of the same cliff as I had the night before, once again shoveling spoonfuls of Wheat Chex into my mouth.
All alone up here.
By 10:00am, the tent was dry, and I was finally ready to go. Because @mrs.turbodb and I explored much of the Chloride Cliff area on a previous visit, I didn't spend much time peeking into the dozens - or hundreds - of workings that litter the landscape. Rather, I had my sights set on a picturesque old miners trail that I hoped would lead to a rather interesting adit. Of course, I couldn't help but also admire some of the amazing overlooks.
Death Valley Buttes from my Chloride Cliff perch.
Sometimes it's nice to have a smaller truck.
Working my way along narrow roads that had been scratched into the cliffs more than a century earlier, it took longer to get out and scout the road ahead - in order to ensure I could turn around - than it did to reach my next jumping off point. This was a place that I'd seen Tom and Julie explore, and their ability to follow an adit from one side of the mountain to the other - much like the mine in Lemoigne Canyon - was enough to pique my interest in doing the same!
First though, I wanted to follow an old mining burro trail that wrapped around the hillside with sweeping views of the valley below.
A lot of work.
Soon, I was investigating a series of adits, shafts, and stopes along the expertly constructed trail.
A once tightly-framed portal.
Anyone in there?
A nearby vertical shaft.
Skylight.
Ultimately the most interesting thing about the trail was the trail itself, and after a few minutes poking around in old silver mines, I was on my way back to the Tacoma, ready to move on to the main hike of the day. Not more than 2.5 miles from my current location - as the crow flies - it would take me more than an hour to reach the trailhead for my next 6-mile adventure.
There's a rumor that everything King Midas touched would turn to gold, and I was keen to find out if that held true for the King Midas mine. But first, I'd have to hike high into the Funeral Mountains to find it!
The Whole Story
Love the old 1 stamp mill, beautiful photos! Have visited Chloride City & Chloride Cliffs several times, always windy!