High-Grading at the Vulture Mine

by Gene K. Garrison High-grading, an old hardrock miner's term for making off with another's ore, has been going on ever since man first started digging into the earth for valuable metals. At $3.00 a day pay, in the Southwest of the late 1800s, it was easy enough for a miner to decide he deserved more than he was getting, and then sneak a little gold home with him one evening, after putting in an exhausting day bent over in a black hole, gouging out gold or silver ore.

The Vulture Mine at Wickenburg had more than its share of high-graders. The practice went on for decades. As sandwiches were eaten at lunchtime, gold would replace them in the lunch boxes. Helpful wives aided in the deception, sewing secret pockets in their husband's long-johns.

The gold strike that really popped the eyes of the miners was called the Glory Hole, or the Midas Glory Hole. The whole community was caught up in the excitement. Activity at the saloons was livelier, gambling stakes went up, voices were louder, laughter shook the rafters, the ladies of the evening were never friendlier, the drinks flowed, and high-graders became even bolder.

By 1923 the Glory Hole was a huge underground cave with drifts running in different directions. The thieves, sometimes by the dozens, would put on their carbide head lamps, take kerosene lanterns, and lead their burros down into the pitch blackness after working hours. Hushed voices reverberated around the rock enclosure when there was a lull in the tap-tap-tapping. There was a furtiveness about their work. They wanted to get out before they got caught, yet the gold acted as a magnet. They hated to leave before the burros were loaded up.

The rock pillars which were left to help the timbers hold up the overhead rock formation were, of course, also full of gold. The rich deposits gleamed in the lamp light. The high-graders worked night after night, diligently chipping at the pillars-getting rich! While picking away at the columns one night, their burros seemed uneasy. One of the men yelled at his pack animal to stand still while he loaded more gold. Suddenly a sharp crack sounded, bringing everything to a stop. Fear froze the grimy faces of the high-graders, as the burros screamed in panic, trying to escape from the sudden flood of dirt and rock falling around them and the dust mushrooming upward.

Choking, the men dropped their picks and ran madly toward the entrance. Then, screams of fear and pain. Too late. With a deafening roar, the ceiling collapses on men and animals. The lucky ones die quickly. The others fight for breath beneath tons of rock, slowly suffocating a dear price to pay for the lovely yellow metal.

Now there is a sign at the edge of the Glory Hole that marks the spot where the seventeen men and their twelve burros remain buried a monument to greed.

The visitor looks at this and feels something; it's history. The whole Vulture Mine property reeks of it. Little has changed the appearance of the min-ing camp except for the ravages of time and weather.

The assay building still stands. It was built in 1884 of gold-bearing rock.

The main shaft under the ground, where Henry Wickenburg found his gold in 1863, is well marked by a gallows frame.

There is the stamp mill and ball mill, and the more recently built powerhouse, full of mining machinery.

An area with a soft yellow tinge reveals where gold tailings were washed.

There's Wickenburg's house, a jail, and a bunkhouse for the employees.

An iron triangle which was clanged to call the men to meals hangs just outside the mess hall where the rock wall is crumbling. A huge cookstove stands in the kitchen. It seems strange to find cooking utensils still there. You can almost smell the hearty man-filling grub and hear the clatter of pans and ladles banging in the kitchen. With a little imagination you can look out front and see muscular, rough and tough men lining up, some of them craning their necks to see if beef is on the menu. And is there plenty of gravy to go with those biscuits?

The children playing in the streets surely have been warned by their mothers to stay away from horses' feet.

You blink, and those children are your own, calling to their friends, "Come look what I found. Here's the hanging tree!"

The Vulture Mine is a real place where an exciting part of our Western history was lived. You can feel the presence of people who dared to live dangerously because they couldn't resist the lure of riches.

You can even pan for gold yourself - and you don't have to high-grade.

Editor's note: Walking tours may be taken from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. every day of the week from September 15 to May 11. In the summer the Vulture Mine is open Thursdays through Sundays. Admission: $2.50 for adults, $1.50 for children. Picnic areas are available.