The Trail of Gold and Silver

by Duane A. Smith

  Silverton, too, had environmental problems after Standard Metals closed, but instead of declaring war, it worked them out with the company. While the EPA considered making the Silverton watershed a Superfund site, the newly created Upper Animas River Stakeholders Group charted their own way to a better tomorrow. The group surveyed other mines that were contributing to drainage pollution and set about cleaning up the problem. Its work included covering shafts, installing drain pipes, planting grass on waste areas, removing or covering tailing piles, and even stabilizing old buildings to preserve the area’s proud mining heritage. The government helped on this project through its Abandoned Mine Lands program. The 145-square-mile Animas watershed was “one of several chosen in 1997 to be a national pilot project for mine remediation.” As the Denver Post (October 7, 2007) observed, “For the past decade, government agencies and organizations along with a band of Silverton residents have worked together to clean up and close up—but at the same time save—San Juan County mines.”

  The 1983 EPA decision to clean up Leadville, another Superfund site, did not sit so well with locals. Summarizing their position clearly was a T-shirt saying “Shove it up your Yak,” referring to the problem of the Yak Tunnel, which oozed drainage into California Gulch. Said one critic, “this has just been an extensive landscaping project, and it is a waste of everybody’s money.” From the EPA’s perspective, more important were the facts that acid mine runoff contaminated the Arkansas River, tailings piles leached heavy metals, and “some of the town’s children” had “unhealthy levels of lead in their blood.” Local criticism of the cost, scope, and need for the project did not deter the agency. It removed and stabilized tailings piles and removed contaminated soil from yards to “reduce lead exposure in children.” The agency also leveled and re-landscaped mining sites, built a water treatment plant, and did other work that many locals felt was destroying their mining heritage. Twenty-four years and $150 million later, the cleanup was still not complete.7

  Colorado has a host of similar problems throughout its mining regions, where abandoned mine shafts, slag heaps, and portals drain mineralized water into nearby streams, polluting the local and downstream environment. Nor were mines the only activity that left behind environmental problems. For example, in Colorado Springs, where residential space brings premium prices, a housing subdivision was built on the Golden Cycle mill’s old tailings pile. While it was decided that “radon infiltration” posed no threat, people were warned against putting in backyard vegetable gardens or children’s playgrounds on such “soil.” Dumps clutter and mar the landscape, and old mines present a danger to all who venture underground, whether from curiosity or in a search for souvenirs. State and local groups and agencies have become increasingly diligent in closing shafts and portals, but much still remains to be accomplished as the twenty-first century moves along. Abandoned mines have no legally reachable owners, so the public is left to clean up “after the ball is over.” The problem remains so huge, with the number of abandoned mines scattered out there in the mountains, that no solution will be easy or economical.

  The popular expression “What comes around, goes around” is certainly true of mining. Scams were not confined to isolated occurrences back in the early days. That was abundantly shown in the activities of the Dixilyn Mining Corporation, controlled by a Texas oil company, in its “wildcat” adventures with the Old Hundred Mine. The property had been mined on and off since the 1870s, with little success in the twentieth century. In 1967, Dixilyn leased the property and started diamond-drilling and driving tunnels, drifting, and working in the mine. It acquired the Pride of the West Mill at Howardsville, leased other mines, and pushed ahead with all the projects. The company encountered plenty of water and lots of quartz, but little or no gold or silver. However, announcements in 1969 claimed to have found high-grade veins. Stock values jumped, investors came to see, and the company touted its up-and-coming property wherever and whenever it had the opportunity.

  A year later, the wonderful promises and ore values still had not been substantiated. High-grade gold seemed to elude Dixilyn, no matter where it drilled or mucked. They had plenty of zinc, though—enough that by late spring of 1971, neighboring Standard Metals was talking about a lawsuit, as it appeared that Dixilyn was mining on Standard’s property. The issue was ultimately settled out of court, with Dixilyn paying for the ore. In the meantime, even as layoffs occurred and rumors began to circulate, the company steadfastly maintained a stiff upper lip about prospects for the future. The finale came that fall, when the last employees were laid off, the mill was shut down, and Dixilyn wrote “off the extraordinary loss of $6 million.” The year 1975 saw the bitter end: a foreclosure sale for failure to pay the company’s debts and the demolition of the company’s buildings at the base of Cunningham Gulch.

  “Standard Metals had the muck, Dixilyn had the money” was a saying around Silverton a generation ago. In truth, that might be the epitaph for many Colorado mining ventures over the past generations—money and high-grade ore seemed unable to get together. The industry left behind broken dreams, shattered hopes, financial ruin, and the physical remains of many a mining venture.

  As gold and silver mining declined, though, its heritage started to produce revenue in a different way. Mines, mining sites, ghost towns, and declining mining communities have fascinated tourists for generations. In Colorado’s post-World War II years, all these things gradually emerged as a major tourist attraction when four-wheel-drive vehicles allowed easy access to once-isolated spots.

  By the late twentieth century, and on into the twenty-first, mining had become a tourist mecca. Mine tours could be taken in Silverton, Ouray, Cripple Creek, Breckenridge, and Idaho Springs, for example. Silverton and Idaho Springs both had old mills that visitors could tour. Because Silverton was fortunate enough to have all the major factors needed for successful mining, visitors get a more complete picture. Tourists can ride the narrow-gauge train, the Durango & Silverton, just as so many did a hundred or more years before. They can tour the Old Hundred Mine (which is more profitable now than when Dixilyn mucked out of it), and explore the completely equipped Standard Metals Mill, which was donated to the San Juan County Historical Society. A walk through Silverton lets tourists see architectural styles of homes, city and county buildings, and commercial structures. A quick change of weather could give the visitor a feel for what it was like to live in a high, isolated mountain valley. Maybe some lucky folk might even find a souvenir bit of gold ore as they “prospected” in the mountains—hopefully not taken from someone’s patented claim!

  Mining might be only a pale shadow of what it once was and what it once meant to Colorado, but it is still in evidence in a variety of venues. Two other factors also carried some of its legacy forward as the twentieth century ended: gambling and historic preservation. In 1990, Colorado voters approved limited-stakes gambling for three declining historic mining towns, Central City, Black Hawk, and Cripple Creek. Within a year, Colorado had hit a gambling bonanza. By law, tax monies generated from gaming were to be distributed to the towns and counties that hosted the casinos, to the state historical preservation fund, and to the Colorado general fund.

  Black Hawk, the nearest to Denver and its suburbs, profited the most, but at the cost of losing its historic character (during the gambling renovations, many “historic” buildings were moved to a designated spot). Central City and Cripple Creek did not enjoy quite the same influx of prosperity, but local historic preservation gained immensely. Preservation projects throughout the state, from prairie farming towns to foothill towns, mountain mining camps, and Western Slope ranching communities, received a monetary shot in the arm. Those funds especially helped depressed mining towns to preserve the ambiance and structural fabric of their earlier age. The preservation and renovation of historic buildings in such communities give the visitor a clearer appreciation and understanding of the urbanization that was brought about by mining and the life and times of another
age.

  Leadville shows the entire evolution of mining, from the 1870s into the twenty-first century, and the National Mining Museum and Hall of Fame there displays it all and more. Georgetown, Ouray, Central City, Creede, Rico, and Breckenridge likewise preserve their own mining heritage, as do many other communities throughout the Colorado Rockies. Aspen and Telluride have maintained some of their mining past, but have turned most of their attention to becoming resort destinations for skiers and the rich and famous. A few buildings have been preserved in sites such as Ashcroft, Animas Forks, Silver Cliff, and Nevada City. Fairplay’s reconstructed South Park City, which features numerous buildings salvaged from other sites, gives visitors the feel of a reasonably authentic mining community. Historical societies, museums, historical markers, and individual buildings also recapture and preserve mining’s heritage in a variety of ways. It is all beckoning for those with interest and the time to savor a taste of the past.

  Photographic Essay Colorado Mining in the Twentieth and Twenty-First Centuries

  By the turn of the century into 1900, it had become obvious that mining would not play the premier role it once had within the state’s economy. Much of the romance, excitement, and newness of the “rush” days had disappeared, replaced by an industrial America of union/management conflicts and, elsewhere, of small mines struggling to survive.

  In the decades of the twentieth century, the role of mining diminished steadily, and most of the once-flourishing mining communities became more of a tourist attraction than an economic pillar of the state economy. Even at twenty-first-century Cripple Creek, where modern mining methods extracted more gold than ever, mining drew little attention. Often it seemed that there was more interest in preserving the past than in planning the present and future of mining.

  Still, the photographers of the twentieth century left behind a record of an industry in transition and decline. Commenting about the South African mining excitement of 1897, that former miner Mark Twain observed, “I had been a gold miner myself, in my day, and knew substantially everything that those people knew about it, except how to make money at it.” With few exceptions, that is the epitaph of Colorado mining after World War I, a story that photography documented.

  Bullion Tunnel, the main access to the Smuggler Union Mine, high above Telluride. The Tomboy Mine was in the basin to the right.

  COURTESY OF MARK & KAREN VENDL.

  Miners in Cripple Creek’s Lillie Mine, 900-foot level.

  COURTESY OF MARK & KAREN VENDL.

  Mass labor meeting during the Cripple Creek labor troubles of 1903–1904.

  COURTESY OF MARK & KAREN VENDL.

  The ubiquitous blacksmith shop was a fixture at mines large and small.

  COURTESY OF COLORADO HISTORICAL SOCIETY.

  A superintendent could travel around his mine fast and easily on his special bicycle. This one is at the Newhouse Tunnel next to Idaho Springs.

  COURTESY OF SPECIAL COLLECTIONS, COLORADO COLLEGE.

  The Timberline Dredging Company operated a dredge near Fairplay in 1939, leaving behind its tailings pile.

  COURTESY OF U.S. FOREST SERVICE.

  Horses pull and push to get this boiler delivered to its destination, somewhere west of Silver Plume.

  COURTESY OF CHRIS BRADLEY.

  Even in the 1920s, mule and burro power still pulled ore carts and hauled ore to the railroad or smelter.

  COURTESY OF CHRIS BRADLEY.

  Double- and single-jack drilling contests were a popular attraction well into the twentieth century, and are still held in the twenty-first.

  COURTESY OF DENVER PUBLIC LIBRARY, WESTERN HISTORY COLLECTION.

  Locomotives replaced animals in many Colorado mines by the 1920s. This one is pulling a car used to transport miners.

  COURTESY OF CHRIS BRADLEY.

  During the hard times of the 1930s depression, Uncle Sam sponsored classes that taught how to pan for gold. How successful were these women? Their results are lost to history.

  COURTESY OF DENVER PUBLIC LIBRARY, WESTERN HISTORY COLLECTION.

  Snow has always posed a threat to Colorado mining. This snow slide hit a Telluride mill.

  COURTESY OF DUANE A. SMITH.

  Miners drifting with jackleg drills at the Bulldog mine, near Creede.

  COURTESY OF HOMESTAKE MINING COMPANY.

  Trucks haul thousands of tons of ore per day at the Cripple Creek & Victor open-pit mine.

  COURTESY OF CRIPPLE CREEK & VICTOR GOLD MINING COMPANY.

  For a generation, women have been involved in all phases of mining.

  COURTESY OF CRIPPLE CREEK & VICTOR GOLD MINING COMPANY.

  The heritage of silver and gold mining can be seen throughout the mountains of Colorado. This shaft house sits in the Red Mountain district.

  COURTESY OF JOHN NINNEMANN.

  Epilogue: A Tale Well Told

  David Lavender, in his One Man’s West, tells the tale of a heaven-bound prospector/miner stopped at the pearly gates by St. Peter. Inquiring why, the miner receives this startling answer:

  “You can’t come in. I passed a bunch of miners last month, and now they’re assaying their harps, digging up the golden streets and stoping out the Elysian fields. It’s driving the rest of the angels frantic.”

  “I’ll make a bargain with ye, Pete,” the prospector said. “If ye’ll let me in I’ll get rid of every mother’s son of them hard-rock stiffs.”

  The two struck a bargain, the gates opened, and in went the prospector. He quickly started a rumor . . . that there was a big gold strike in the vortex of hell. In an instant the entire mining population cast aside their crowns and disappeared over the rim. As the last one passed from sight, the old prospector suddenly grabbed up a pick and set out in pursuit. Amazed, St. Peter watched him start off.

  “So long, Pete!” he called over his shoulder. “I’m going too!”

  This classic yarn, nearly as old as Colorado mining and extant in several variations, neatly captures the allure—the “fever”—of mining.

  How else may what transpired, in the years between 1859 and 2009, be comprehended, appreciated, and perhaps even logically explained? Why would men and women endure the uncertain life they did, starting with the Pike’s Peak rush, were it not for the lethal attractions of silver and gold? This has been their story, an industry’s saga, and Colorado’s legacy.

  Over a century and a half, the mining industry’s contribution to the state, and to generations of Coloradans, has been virtually infinite. Starting with 1859, those include lure, settlement, territorial status, statehood, publicity, development, investment, diversification of the economy, employment both within and outside the industry, transportation, tourism, advances in mining and smelting technology, and urbanization, to name just a few of the obvious influences and consequences. One cannot measure the impact on the lives of the hundreds of thousands of people who lived, worked, invested in, and visited Colorado mines and mining communities, or the influence of mining’s legacy on the tourists who still visit this fabled land.

  The stories and personalities of the participants colored much of Colorado’s history for its first half-century. The overwhelming majority of its political, business, and social movers and shakers had ties to mining, and their influence lasted well past the turn of the twentieth century. Though they were well known, equally important to the story are the vast multitudes of people who passed through camps, towns, and mining occupations but left little trace of their having come and gone. They were the heart and soul of an industry and their generation.

  The poet Thomas Hornsby Ferril captured their lives in his poem “Magenta.” The poem’s narrator, looking over a declining Central City, told of its lost glory and the women and men who resided there:

  The town was high and lonely in the mountains;

  There was nothing to listen to but the wasting of

  The glaciers and a wind that had no trees.

  And many houses were gone, only masonry

 
Of stone foundations tilting over the canyon,

  Like hanging gardens where successful rhubarb

  Had crossed the kitchen sill and entered the parlor.

  . . .

  The men would measure in cords the gold they hoped

  To find, but the women reckoned by calendars

  Of double chins and crow’s feet at the corners

  Of their eyes.

  Their story tells the real saga of Colorado mining during its glory years.

  What magnificent years those were, even if one counts only the ore mined out of the river bottoms and mountain depths. The industry was the major economic pillar of the state until World War I. In the decades from 1859 through 1922, gold and silver mining produced more than $1,163,829,926. In the years that followed, production never equaled that level. In the past decade, though, thanks to increasing world prices and Cripple Creek’s continuing production of more than 200,000 ounces per year, production—in dollars’ worth, at least—rivals that of earlier years.

  What this meant in 2009, with the average spot price for gold at $926 on June 15, was that production topped $200 million. Nothing demonstrates the evolution of Colorado mining better than Cripple Creek’s open-pit operation, where gargantuan trucks move mega-tons of ore daily. This is the twenty-first-century version of “gold fever,” which, in many respects, Coloradans have never outgrown. However, the volume of gold ore “dug” in one mine in one day would have startled old-timers. Of course, the price of gold today would also amaze the miners of yesterday. Even their wildest dreams would not have included a per-ounce price hovering around $900; in mid-March of 2008, an ounce of gold topped $1,000 for a while before slipping down again. Both price levels would have been unbelievable only a decade earlier.