I didn’t have work on Juneteenth, so I decided to go on a jaunt through ghost towns of the Gila. First I headed up 180 through Glenwood and Alma, taking a detour up 211 to Gila. Then I went to Mogollon, and returned to go to Silver City. From there, I snaked my way through the Black Range on 152 through Hanover, Fierro, San Lorenzo, Kingston, and finally Hillsboro. My last pit stop was Lake Valley.
Ah, Mogollon. I forgot how truly scary that one-lane road is. You are just one wrong move from certain death over the ledge, which does not offer the luxury of guardrails. Luckily, I didn’t pass anybody because there was barely room for my car in this one-lane nightmare. I read that mining traffic is getting bad up there – the poor residents! I can’t imagine living here and driving that road with mining traffic every time I need supplies.
The town was not worth that horrid drive in my opinion. It is great visit, locked away in its narrow valley, but the road needs to be fixed. There were signs of life but no one was outside. I felt watched as I took pictures.
The rocky road to the cemetery was pretty threatening to my tires so I did not go back there. Pity. Cemeteries are not sad or creepy to me, just peaceful and serene.
Next I drove to Silver City for gas. I couldn’t get out of town fast enough because I had a mission. I was only interested in ghost towns today!
I was soon in Hanover and Fierro. I came here once 10 years ago when I was doing modeling and got some cool photos within the abandoned houses. It looks the same now.
I poked around but didn’t enter any of the buildings since they were posted. Through a broken board, I got this cool photo of the new Chino mine equipment, as seen through the window of an abandoned store. The former owners had a completely different view.
There was also cool graffiti. Again I couldn’t go inside to get better photos from head on but I think this shows it well enough. Don’t we all have a ghost trapped inside?
The bank vault that used to be in here appears to be gone. Did someone steal it? I couldn’t find the house that I did a photo shoot in so long ago. It may be one of these collapsed houses.
The mine here has grown. On my way on to Kingston, I stop on the Chino Mine overlook and get depressed. Most would call this an engineering marvel; I call it a gaping wound from the rape of Mother Earth.
Next was the long windy drive to Kingston along Black Range Highway, Hwy 152. At first the road is very wide and freshly paved but that turns out to be for mining traffic. It narrows about 25 miles from Kingston and the curves make you go slow. The fresh pavement ends near Kingston, too.
San Lorenzo appears to just be an abandoned, decrepit store or former bar and restaurant. However, turns out 97 people live here. It had a post office until 1963.
I passed the Galinas campgrounds where Lorrain Ramirez died suspiciously. It was so beautiful. There are rocky cliffs along the highway that rival the Tonto National Forest in Arizona. I was spellbound. Now I don’t regret this day of driving.
Lots of deer along this route. But ultimately, the going was so slow because I was gaping at my surroundings, and I kept pulling over to take pictures. It was cool watching pygmy forest and yucca give way to lodgepole forest, then return to desert as I descended the Black Range into Kingston. The scenic overlooks of the mountains were just stunning and made my heart race. I passed a few waterfalls and gorgeous cliffs and sweeping vistas. I’m not posting most of the photos I took because they don’t do this area justice. You have to experience it yourself.
Kingston is not much of a ghost town. It appears pretty modern with quite a few residents. Only the Percha bank really seems to be a testament to its past. And the museum, but it was closed so I couldn’t explore it. It’s a cute town and a pretty one, with bright flowering bushes in yards against the gorgeous backdrop of the Black Range. I spent a little time here walking around.
Driving between Kingston and Hillsboro still on 152, you can see remnants of the old highway. There is a bridge and a piece of highway over the Percha Creek with a historic marker describing the challenges of getting through this rugged gorge prior to the highway being built.
I fell in love with Hillsboro. It is artsy, but not fartsy like Santa Fe or Taos. It is an authentic, earthy hippie haven. Half the buildings are cute and quaint; the other half are decrepit or outright abandoned. But it’s a town with a viable pulse, and not just a weak one like Mogollon. Signs of life spring out of artful fences, poetry boards, a bustling trading post, a shirtless man with a bandana wrapped around his long white hair at the post office, a kid on a dune buggy driving up and down the street.
Overlooking the town is the old high school, a beautiful building. It has been converted into a library and community center for the town. I tries to go in but it is closed. Darn federal holidays! The only way I got away from work without the kids is due to the holiday, but historical places are all closed! End gripe.
Behind the high school are steps to an abandoned and faded playground. It is appropriately spooky. If only a crow had flown over the area when I took this shot….
I like this end of the Gila more than the Alma side. I don’t want to leave. I feel at peace, happy. I see the potential of this town, but I also feel no desire to change it from what it is, just add to it. I can’t for the life of me understand why it has become so left behind. Yes mining dried up, eking out a living in this area is hard, but towns like Silver City endured. Why didn’t Hillsboro remain successful too? Funny how towns change and people move around and history slowly returns to the sand unless someone works hard to preserve it for future generations.
I attempted to look at properties on Google as I drove away but there is no service. I would love to never hear my phone ding. The peace and the history mingled with art charms me. I could imagine living out my days making art and jewelry, maybe teaching a yoga or dance class, gardening and raising milk goats and chickens, living off the proceeds of my famous books and my thriving blog. Spending my free time hiking in the Black Range. Completely off the grid. That’s the dream, right?
Finally, I drove down to Lake Valley. Moments ago I was in the lodgepole forests and waterfalls of the Gila; suddenly, I was in the volcanic Sierra de Las Uvas, so named due to their supposed resemblance to grapes. I don’t see it, but that’s OK.
The drive through here seemed exceptionally long and my mind turned to the possibility of doing a podcast. I had been listening to Connor Ratliff’s Dead Eyes this whole time. The only other life appears to be cows and grasshoppers. What compels people to settle in this yellow and black desolation?
I finally came around a bend and there was the schoolhouse, an imposing gray structure that sticks out from the rolling yellow windswept hills. It looks very austere and out of place, like a weird insane asylum. Sadly, it is closed due to Juneteenth. But I get some cool photos.
The schoolhouse is set up to be a museum and you can tour it. There is a ranger that lives in the true ghost town year-round in a camper behind the schoolhouse but I didn’t see him there today. Maybe he got to go to his family for the holiday.
I finally wound my way home. But my heart is still glowing from my day off in the Gila. Something about that place is like a siren call. I can’t stay away.