Ghost Towns

The Ghost of Vulture Mine

The welcoming committee of four stands awkwardly on the blacktop, enjoying a fresh breakfast rabbit, the road kill du jour. As I approach, they reluctantly relinquish the road, lumbering away a short distance with their enormous black wings, clearly showing disdain at the annoying interruption of their feast. I glance in the mirror to see them reconvene at their meal. What an appropriate moment on the 13-mile drive southwest of Wickenburg to revisit the famous Vulture Mine. The mine has been a frustrating place in recent years. In a book I wrote on Arizona ghost towns in 1980, I called Vulture "one of the best in the West." Unfortunately only a few years later that best ghost town was closed to the public because of work being done to extricate gold from old tailings piles. So my book sent people down a road to a ghost town dead end, so to speak, and I had no way to warn them.

But now the news is much better. Although some tailings work continues, Vulture is once again open to the public, much to the delight of back road travelers and ghost town aficionados.

Why is Vulture one of the West's best ghost towns? It features more than a dozen buildings, considerable mining evidence, and fascinating memorabilia scattered over several acres; it's much easier to reach than other impressive sites; you can explore at your own rate rather than be ushered about; and you can visit Vulture in relative peace, as the townsite is so spread out that even if many people are there, you'll feel as if you're practically alone.

The Vulture story begins in 1863 when Henry Wickenburg, investigating a quartz outcropping, discovered a rich ledge of gold ore. Why name the claim The Vulture? One account says that Wickenburg killed a vulture and saw nuggets lying around when he picked up the bird. A more likely version states that on the day Wickenburg made his find he saw several of the birds hovering over what is now Vulture Peak. Because Wickenburg was inexperienced at hard-rock mining, he sold the ore within the mine for $15 per ton; the customer would have to do the mining and milling himself. In 1866 Benjamin Phelps bought an 80-percent interest in the mine from Wickenburg and began to organize what had been a haphazard operation. In the mine's first six years of operation, it produced an estimated $2.5 million in gold. The total would have been considerably higher had not an estimated 20 to 40 percent been "highgraded" (stolen) by the company's own miners. Highgrading, however, could be a risky business: one source says that 18 miners were hanged at Vulture for the crime.

By the 1880s, the mining town had a post office and a population of about three hundred. The biggest structure in town was an 80-stamp mill, where rock was crushed by huge pestles, called "stamps," to separate ore from waste material. The water used in the process was piped 12 miles from the Hassayampa River. The peak years lasted into the 1890s; the post office closed in 1897.

Henry Wickenburg, who made the strike and who donated much of the land for the town that bears his name, never was paid his true share for the Vulture. In 1905, despondent and penniless in his 85th year, Wickenburg killed himself with a revolver.

Mining at Vulture continued on a lesser scale well into the 1920s and didn't completely cease until 1942, when President Franklin Roosevelt signed Executive Order 208, shutting down all mines that were not involved in the production

THE GHOST OF VULTURE MINE

of minerals strategic to the war effort. Even though Vulture became a historical footnote, the mine had a lasting effect upon Arizona. When Wickenburg made his discovery in 1863, the middle of the state, between Tucson and the mining claims near Prescott, was virtually uninhabited by Anglos. His gold strike brought hundreds of people to the area, making Vulture the third-largest community in the territory. To fill the demand for livestock feed, newly settled farmers began producing crops in the Salt River Valley to the south.

But let's return to the present. When you enter the mine's property at the end of the pavement on Vulture Mine Road, you'll see ahead of you, on a low hill, a mining superintendent's house, currently occupied by mine manager John Osborne and his wife, Marge. A left turn takes you to the headquarters, where you'll check in, pay a modest fee, sign a liability waiver, and receive a walking-tour brochure. Osborne also has some samples of gold taken from recent operations, a few tourist items, and news clippings and articles about Vulture.

From the headquarters, you'll follow a clearly marked trail at your own pace. The first stop is the 1884 two-story stone assay office building. Photographers who want a challenge can get some outstanding low-light moody shots of memorabilia framed inside cloudy windows. The brochure contends that more than $600,000 in gold is in the stone with which the building is constructed. I react to that statement with a healthy dose of doubt; how often in the search for riches has historical importance stood in the way of greed?

Beyond the assay office is the actual mine site (the "glory hole"), where a sign will tell you of another peril of highgrading ore: in 1923 seven miners were pilfering gold from stone support pillars in a main shaft when the pillars collapsed, entombing them all along with 12 burros. They remain there to this day.

Has the mine played out? According to manager Osborne, definitely not. But the price of gold has to rise considerably before it would be profitable to reopen the mine, which has 30 to 35 miles of tunnels. The main shaft, the source of Wickenburg's initial strike, descends to the 3,000-foot level. Next to the main shaft's headframe, a hoist apparatus that raises ore from the depths of the mine to ground level, stands the blacksmith shop. A short walk to the south takes you to the ball mill, which replaced the earlier stamp mill. A ball mill uses rolling metal balls to crush rock rather than the pestles of a stamp mill. But the workings of the ball mill are long gone, Removed for salvage following World War II. Adjacent to the mill is the power house. Remote mining communities were not connected, as they would be today, to electrical lines. Back then the mines had to produce their own power. In the case of Vulture, electricity was generated by an enormous diesel engine, still in place, that was brought from Germany and assembled on the site in 1904. One can only imagine the roar that must have emanated from this nearly two-story behemoth.

The return route to the townsite takes you past the walls of Henry Wickenburg's home and the hanging tree that had 18 short-term occupants, an apartment house that is collapsing on one end, a stone bunkhouse, an adobe shop building that has some crumbling exterior walls, and the mess hall and kitchen.

In the back of the kitchen stands a huge ice box that more than a few collectors have tried to purchase. But the hundreds of artifacts on the site are not for sale, a decision the visitor should applaud, as they are a substantial part of what makes Vulture such a treasure.

I do, however, feel a sadness about Vulture, because no serious attempt has been made to preserve the buildings. Osborne says that people do not want a gussied-up, restored mining town, so things are being left alone. As a result, over the 15 years that I have visited the townsite, I have seen some valuable buildings taking a severe beating from from the relentless elements. The mess hall has lost enough of its roof that a marvelous tin ceiling now lies collapsed on the floor, and the adobe walls. of the shop are crumbling. I agree, nevertheless, that Vulture should never become a Tombstone or a Virginia City. But a third option exists: maintaining the site in a state of what is called "arrested decay," in which efforts are made to stop further deterioration rather than to restore it to its original condition. This process is preserving the ghost town of Bodie, California, and historic Fort Union, New Mexico, among other sites in the West. At Vulture, walls need to be buttressed and roof leaks patched. If they are not, I advise visiting Vulture soon; the longer you wait, the less and less you'll be able to see of this extraordinary historic place.

At Vulture visitors will see an almost unspoiled site, much of it exactly as it was when the miners walked away. In a tiny cubicle off the kitchen are boxes of receipts and other miscellaneous paperwork. In the power house, replacement parts "new old stock" to collectors wait for the start-up of a diesel that will never fire again. And all about the town lie the discards of the once-bustling operation, for Vulture prospered long before a litter-conscious recycling generation.

The best place to end your tour of Vulture isn't mentioned in the official brochure. Walk north from the parking lot and go around the small knoll on which the superintendent's house sits. In a few dozen yards, you'll come upon two of the best buildings at Vulture: the schools. With its weathered wood and belltower cupola, the first, built in 1877, is one of Arizona's finest territorial schoolhouses still standing.

THE GHOST OF VULTURE MINE

Next door is its 1936 replacement, featuring an attached teacherage with a private entrance. Immediately adjacent stand a flagpole, a vintage swing set, and a marginally ridable seesaw. You can peer in the windows of the school room and discover that the building still sees occasional use for weddings and holiday events. I think we often ponder, in ghost towns like Vulture, about the hard lives of the men who worked down in the hole or in the earsplitting din of the mill. Perhaps less, regrettably, do we consider the lot of the women who had to tend to the needs of their families, bear their children under hardly ideal circumstances, perhaps watch the burial of an infant who could not survive. It is at a place like the Vulture schoolhouses that we remember that families lived in old ghost towns, not just names on shift lists or payrolls. They had picnics in the shade of the school yard trees, cheering as children played softball on the nearby field. We should be interested in their lives as well as their leavings. When you stand on the playground at Vulture, pause to reflect upon the people who settled in this desolate and now fascinating ghost town. Additional Reading: Explore the intriguing remains of Arizona's once-boisterous boomtowns with ghost town authority Philip Varney. Arizona Ghost Towns and Mining Camps: A Travel Guide to History is filled with lively anecdotes and rare historical photographs that document the turbulent lives of these towns, while detailed maps, reliable travel information, and color photography show you how to find these nostalgic relics of the Wild West. The softcover book will be available after March 15, 1994, for $14.95. To order, telephone Arizona Highways toll-free at 1 (800) 543-5432. In the Phoenix area, call 258-1000. Getting there: To get to Vulture Mine from Wickenburg, take Wickenburg Way west to Vulture Mine Road, turn south and proceed for 13 miles; the mine is on your right. Wickenburg is 58 miles northwest of Phoenix via State Route 60.

WHEN YOU GO

The mine is open to the public from mid-September through mid-May, 9 A.Μ. to 5 P.M., Thursday through Monday; mid-May through mid-July, 8 A.M. to 4 P.M., weekends only; closed mid-July to mid-September.

Pay admission fees and sign a liability waiver at the mine headquarters, where you receive a walking-tour brochure. Wear comfortable clothing and sturdy shoes. There's plenty to see, so allow enough time for your visit.

Nearby points of interest: The old gold mining town of Wickenburg once dubbed "The Dude Ranch Capital of the World" with its historic Frontier Street, Jail Tree, Desert Caballeros Western Museum; the Hassayampa River Preserve with its spring-fed pond; a Joshua tree forest along U.S. 93 about 20 miles northwest of Wickenburg (the tall shaggy-barked trees briefly produce pale green flowers in March and April, lighting up the desert); and the ghost town of Congress, 17 miles north of Wickenburg on State Route 89.

Accommodations: Places to stay in the Wickenburg area range from motels to dude ranches and luxury resorts.

For more mine information, contact Vulture Mine, P.O. Box 1869, Wickenburg, AZ 85358; mobile phone (602) 377-0803. For general visitors information, contact the Wickenburg Chamber of Commerce, P.O. Drawer CC, Wickenburg, AZ 85358; (602) 684-5479.