“Wickenburg fills an illustrious chapter in the history of Arizona and the West,” according to the Chamber of Commerce for Wickenburg, Arizona. “Though only 54 miles away from the hustle and bustle of modern Phoenix, Arizona's most western community hearkens back to a different time and place.”
A look at any map will debunk Wickenburg’s claim of being “Arizona’s most western community” in a literal sense, and there are a few thousand ranchers in Arizona who may want to know what, exactly, Wickenburg is implying in the figurative sense. If you ask me, them’s fightin’ words.
The 54 mile drive from Phoenix is a straight shot along route 60, the same road that serves as the first leg in any drive to Las Vegas or Needles, California. Route 60 is flat and gray and ugly, flanked on either side by concrete sound barriers behind which are huddled the planned communities of Surprise and Sun City. Billboards and signs abound along the roadside, advertising luxurious homes starting in the $60’s. Though natural impulse will urge you to put these places behind you as quickly as possible, frequent stoplights will make the drive an exhaustive and frustrating task. “Look right over there,” the stoplights seem to say. “There’s our new Walgreen’s. Need anything? And what’s this? Could it be? It is! Wal-Mart! Why on earth haven’t you moved here?”
The drive lends itself to a certain amount of “Are we there yet?” and the quiet, nagging thought that perhaps you should have stopped at that Walgreen’s back there after all. But eventually the concrete barriers fall away and mountains take their place, and it’s nothing but cacti and yucca and clear blue desert sky for miles and miles. It’s exactly the kind of thing Shawn and I were thinking of when we moved here, so it leaves us with a profound sense of inner peace and accomplishment when we visit these places, with plenty of time left over to contemplate roadside signs reading “DETENTION FACILITY. DO NOT PICK UP HITCHHIKERS.”
When you’re near Wickenburg, you’ll know it. Nothing will change much aside from an abundance of signs informing you that “You’re Out Wickenburg Way.” There are few houses, some shacks, and some dilapidated “Gem” shops with chunks of quartz prominently displayed in their grimy windows. It’s more charming than it sounds, and provides ample opportunity to point excitedly out the window and exclaim, “Look! Horsies!” more than any other town we’ve seen.
When you get closer to the center of town, there’s also ample opportunity to excitedly point and exclaim “Trailer park!” and “Wal-Mart!” Wickenburg prides itself on having a genuine “western” flavor to it, and has been a popular destination for “dude ranch” vacations for years. In reality, however, most of the real ranches went out of business long ago, and many of what mainstream ranches remain are carefully manicured for maximum “ooh” and “aahh” from tourists. I sincerely doubt cowboys in 1864 concerned themselves much with high speed internet access or had the leisure time or water resources to maintain an 18 hole golf course. There are, of course, accommodations for the more budget conscious tourist, including a string of small hotels that boast “washtubs” in each room and “fancy cocktails” available at the “saloon” in the lobby. (A small aside here: Arizona, especially small town Arizona, is obsessed with the notion of “fancy cocktails” and “cocktails” in general. I’ve never seen a word so prominently featured on marquis to so many dives in my life.)
Main Street Wickenburg has been carefully rebuilt to remember what it “might have looked like” in the late 1800’s. However, I must (again) sincerely doubt many cowboys spent their money in western-themed gift shops buying paintings of John Wayne or ceramic chili pepper salt and pepper shakers. I daresay a true cowboy would laugh outright at such “fancy notions.” But I digress.
Where, besides to Wickenburg, am I going with all this? Why, to the Vulture Mine, of course, located in Wickenburg. Why did it take me so long to get to the point? Shawn is redoing the bathroom and I cannot take a shower, thus I have nothing better to do but sit here and run on and on about Wickenburg. It’s my blog, I shall do as I like. So there, too. Besides, without the Vulture Mine, there would be no Wickenburg.
The Vulture Mine was founded by a man by the name of Henry Wickenburg, who was washed eastward from California in 1862 by the Gold Rush. The town of Wickenburg sprang up around the mine, which was closed by the government in 1942. Now it is one of Arizona’s most interesting ghost towns, due to many of the town’s structures, which, although crumbling, still remain erect. Most ghost towns contain foundations and piles of rubble that give you an idea that, at one time, something was built there. Hardly worth a 54 mile drive if you ask me.
Understandably, the Vulture Mine is a point of pride with Wickenburg, whose Chamber of Commerce describes it thusly:
“Among the gold searches was the adventurer, Henry Wickenburg. He came from far-off lands, lured by the dream of abundant gold. His quest was rewarded by the discovery of the Vulture Mine, where over $30 million in gold has been dug from the ground. Throughout the foothills surrounding Wickenburg are relics of other mines that stand as a tribute to the pioneer miner and prospector. The mining lore of the region, past and present, adds much to the charm of the area.”
For a town proud of its unique history, this summary is a little vague. It fails to mention that Henry Wickenburg was either Prussian, Australian, or at the very least, European. Though his origins are unclear, what is universally known is that Wickenburg wasn’t so much an adventurer as he was a fugitive. What crime he committed depends on where you think he came from, but everyone agrees that he fled to California during the Gold Rush and learned about gold mining there.
There are many legends about how Wickenburg discovered gold. Some say he shot a vulture and its carcass landed on gold. Others say he was chipping at a bed of quartz and found gold. However he found it, he found it, and the town of Vulture City sprang up from the mine.
Though Wickenburg was eventually named after him, Wickenburg himself isn’t really a very lucky or enviable fellow. Most of the mining structures were built after he sold the mine in 1866 for $20,000 and a promissory note for $65,000, on which he was never able to collect. After selling the mine, he tried his hand at ranching, failed, and ended his own life with a bullet to the head. Strangely, you find no mention of this on the Chamber of Commerce website.
This is the mineshaft and the adjoining blacksmith shop.
The entrance down into the mine, with tracks for the carts. We saw bats down there.
Shawn strikes a mining-related pose by the mineshaft.
The tracks come up out of the shaft and up this structure, where the carts were dumped at the end.
The Assay Office, where gold was kept in an underground vault. The rock used to build the structure are said to contain $600,000 worth of gold and silver ore, which explains why many people have pried stones out of it. I wonder if they have a smelter and ore crusher at home?
The underground vault. We also found a Coors can and a Pepsi bottle in the Assay office. I suspect these artifacts are not genuine.
The "Glory Hole." The mine shaft was supported by columns of stone left by the miners. Some of them attempted to get the gold out of the columns, which collapsed the shaft and buried seven men and tweleve burros. They're still there, under 100 feet of rock.
The ore was crushed in these buildings.
Sonoran Desert, home to the Vulture Mine.
The Hanging Tree. At least eighteen men were hung on this tree for various offenses. It is also the site where the battery in my camera ended its life.
We were given a laminated map of the town when we arrived, upon which were stickers reading "Not For Sale," "DO NOT TAKE," and "Please Return." Someone needs to get these people a Xerox machine. The only other person we saw was an older woman who lived in a shack by the town's entrance. She's the one who took our $7 admission fees and loaned us the map. She was quite friendly and seemed disappointed that we didn't have more questions for her when we returned from our tour. The one question I did have, "What do you keep in here?" wasn't about the mine, but rather two large cages kept out in front of her shack.
"Those are for the snakes," she said. "But we don't have snakes when it's this hot. They die."
Oh. Ask a stupid question.
There was a small gift shop as well, but it shared a room with the woman's personal living quarters, which made me feel a bit uncomfortable. It seemed impolite to browse in her bedroom. I was surprised that there were no other visitors the entire time we were there, but it did keep tourists from wandering in front of my camera and spoiling my pictures. No one wants a picture of a mineshaft that includes Dolores from Ohio, especially if you don't know Dolores personally.
The Vulture Mine is for sale. I have no idea how much it costs, but the idea rather depresses me. Am I wrong to think that it should be government owned and preserved? Anyway, the tour was ever so much fun. I should like to report that thrice I heard the angry buzzing of insects and was twice menaced by bees. I was certain a killer bee swarm was going to attack at any moment, despite the fact that I wore a light colored shirt (yes, there were flamingos and martinis on it, but the base color was white, and besides, this isn't about my occasional impulse to wear loud, tacky shirts, it's about preserving history). There were two old school houses there as well, with old swing sets, slides, and see-saws. They were down a lane lined with saguaro cactus, which would would have made an excellent picture, but, alas, my camera was dead. We were circled by vultures driving home, which was also most enjoyable, but only from the safe confines of a '96 Prizm.
