Gold Point, Nevada

As I cruised down US 95, I played a travel CD that I picked up free for the taking in Tonopah.  John Tyson got my full attention when he began talking about a gold mining ghost town.  Love those ghost towns!  So I followed Tyson’s directions, turned off 95 onto State Hwy 266, made a left turn onto State Hwy 774 and a little while later arrived in Gold Point, Nevada.  It’s a collection of ramshackle buildings, miner’s shacks, rusting metal, and abandoned equipment strewn over a big piece of high desert real estate.  Normally there are only seven people living in this relic, sixty miles from the nearest grocery store.  The jackrabbits and chukars outnumber the humans by as much as twenty to one.

    Herb Robbins, or as he calls himself, Sheriff Stone, owns practically all of Gold Point.  Robbins won a big casino jackpot and used the money to buy most of the land and then began restoring some of the buildings.  According to what I read on the Internet, he’s hoping to make Gold Point a tourist attraction.  Every Memorial Day weekend during the annual Chili Cook-Off, several hundred people show up.  The High Desert Drifters Western Historical Society routinely performs western reenactments in the town plaza.  His wife runs a bed and breakfast, renting out four old miner’s cabins and a house.  In addition, there are seven RV spaces available.

    I was sitting in my truck munching on a snack, when across the way several people came out of a small house.  Parked in the driveway was what must have been the family Suzuki.  A boy who looked to be eleven or twelve climbed into the car, got behind the wheel, fired up the engine, smoothly engaged a gear, and instantly popped the clutch.  The car lurched forward and died.  One of the adults walked over and said something to the boy.  Whatever he said worked because the next attempt was successful.  The adults watched as the kid zoomed off in a cloud of dust and disappeared over a low hill.  Off in the distance, I could hear the kid gunning the four cylinders making them do his bidding.  It reminded me of my first attempts at driving my family’s 1954 Dodge sedan with the semi-automatic transmission.  My first try was on the sly when my folks were away.  But this kid did it in full view of his family.  Only in a rural town can a kid drive off in the family car and do it with parents gleefully watching. 

    Gold Point has had good times, bad times and two other names: Lime Camp and Hornsilver.  It’s been open for business and closed often; the success or failure depended on the price of first, silver then gold.  During the down times, the town was always occupied with a few people.  Together, they watch out for each other and that is why there has never been any major problems or vandalism, as is the case with many other old mining towns.  It’s considered by many to be one of the best ghost towns in Nevada and a living history lesson of the best kind.  For me the fact that it has a whole lot of funk, junk and rust, well, that makes it just about perfect. 

Q