Chicago Basin

I feel like I could fall asleep right now, but it's only 8:30 pm. The skies are dark and the air is frigid. My fingers are so numb that I can barely move this pen, but at last I am in a warm tent and in a warm sleeping bag.

We are camped over 11,000 feet in elevation, under the brisk September sky. Our journey started far from here, several hours ago.

This was the fifth time I took the Narrow Gauge Railroad from Durango. The first was when I was a young boy. My brother and I went with my grandpa Lacy during winter when the train turned around at Cascade Station. I remember heavy snow on the ground and a large herd of elk that Grandpa spotted through the window.

I also came twice to search for a silver mine, and once with my wife. That was the only time I took it all the way to Silverton.

Taking the train to the trailhead.

This time I came with a friend and his three adult sons. We got off at the Needleton Stop and waited for the man to unload all the packs. I have been wanting to do this hike for more than twenty years now.

As soon as I strapped on my pack, I remembered how heavy these packs were! I had enough food to keep me alive for three days, two nights, and then some.

Crossing the Animas River. 

The grade up Needleton Creek wasn't steep, but still took a toll on my legs. The waist strap alleviated the weight of the pack from my shoulders, but instead transferred it to my hips.

The trail we followed ran parallel to the creek, usually staying quite a bit higher. I read that in times past, during the mining days, the path was closer to the stream, but after a flash flood they moved it up higher to where it is now.

Most of the trail was redundant, but beautiful. Here and there waterfalls cascaded down the canyon.

One of many waterfalls on Needle Creek.

After 5½ miles the mountain began to open up, and after 6 we were no doubt in Chicago Basin. We saw on a slope one pile of gold-colored tailings, reminding us that at one time this basin was mined.

We hoped to get as far as possible up the trail to alleviate our burden for tomorrow, so we didn't find a camp until around mile 7.

Entering Chicago Basin.

Looking north in Chicago Basin toward Windom and Jupiter Peaks. 

We found a nice location overlooking the basin, and beneath peaks that towered to over 14,000 feet. As we set up camp we noticed the temperature becoming dramatically colder. Before long I donned a long-sleeved shirt, coat and beenie.

We were able to explore some of the surrounding area and found another pile of tailings. Next to it an opening, just large enough to crawl through, led to a tunnel inside the mountain.

Tailings pile in Chicago Basin. 

Old Mine. 

Nearby and in the trees were a couple wooden cabins. Neither were very large and one was small enough we surmised it could be a tack shed. The larger one was big enough possibly for a couple beds. My guess is that these cabins were not connected with the mines, but built at a later date for recreation.

The first known white men in the basin came before 1877. They originally accessed it from Vallecito Creek, which is on the east side of Chicago Basin. When the railroad was completed in 1877, the easiest access came from the west side via the predecessor to the Needle Creek Trail. I don't know if that trail was wide enough for vehicles to come up, or only a pack mule. We have not see any abandoned machinery while up here, so that offer a clue.

Modern cabin hidden in the trees. 

Old wooden shed. 

It is such a peaceful setting up here. We have no connection to the internet and even though there are a few other campers, they are scattered throughout the basin and it feels as if they're not here.

Dave and his boys pulled out their portable camp stove and began cooking a bag of stuffing they brought from their pantry. For me, dinner was not hot. I chose not to bring a stove. We'll see later if that was a wise move or not. I scooped pulled pork from a vacuum-sealed bag onto the top of a cold pita bread.

They say there are mountain goats around here that are likely to scavenge around campsites. We haven't seen any yet. There is a friendly doe that likes to hang around.

Looking back across Chicago Basin. 

Tame doe coming into camp. 

I hope I am able to sleep. My body is exhausted. I thought about going outside and looking at the stars, but I'm comfortable inside my little tent.

After writing this I will lull myself to sleep with an Edgar Allen Poe story. I haven't decided which one yet, but they all go well with the dark night, far away from anywhere.

Chicago Basin

Distance from train: 6.7 miles

Elevation gain: 2,979 feet

Final (campsite) elevation: 11,147 feet

Silver Peak (#23)

Silver Peak.

One of the benefits of trying to hike as many peaks as possible is that I inevitably find peaks that I never knew existed. Such is the case with Silver Peak. It is only a half-hour drive from my house, and I've driven past it dozens of times in the past without noticing it. I don't even know the history behind it, although I suspect that at one time there was a silver mine.

It is a smaller peak, and is surrounded by hills nearly as tall. I was excited to explore this relatively unknown summit.

There is a dirt road that meets the highway and I parked on a side-road of the dirt road, under a tree. Since this was a smaller peak I decided to attack it with a circuitous route. I would ascend the “Younger Sister” as I will call it, a nearby and connected peak a few hundred feet lower. Then I would follow the ridge in a counter-clockwise route that would descend several hundred feet before regaining it, and then some, to the top of Silver Peak.

"Younger Sister Peak."

The ascent up Younger Sister wasn't too bad. I was able to take it slow and steady without too many breaks. Along the way I found a snake skin shed, but it was so faint I couldn't tell whether it was a rattlesnake or not. But it kept me on my guard. I heard a few weeks ago that stepping on a rattlesnake is a lot like stepping on a garden hose.

The top of the hill became rockier and I found a chute, through which I ascended. Still the summit remained higher. I persisted, climbing over boulders until I reached the top of Younger Sister Peak.

I am not including this in my official peak count because it is minor. But the view from here was still great. The two dominant features to the south were Stoddard Mountain and Iron Mountain, the latter having a communication tower on top. Highway 56 stretched out below and the Desert Mound Road behind me. For this first little peak I gained just over 1,000 feet in elevation.

Looking south from Younger Sister Peak toward Stoddard Peak.

I continued on, following the ridge to the northeast. Through the juniper trees I was able to catch glimpses of Silver Peak to the northwest. As I walked I noticed there were a lot of downed trees and old horse droppings. The trees didn't appear to be cut through, just toppled over. And with the horse droppings, I couldn't decided whether they were wild or belonging to a cowboy or miner.

A gradual descending ridge brought me lower in elevation. I dropped into a ravine where I saw more human activity, including a fence that stretched across the canyon and a little gate. I followed the ravine until I came to what I was looking for: a pile of tailings and white rock. It was at the edge of the cliff, up a level from the bottom. I walked up to the site and inspected it. I was confident that a mine was here at one time, but now there was nothing left of the portal. I'm sure they were mining silver, hence the name of the canyon.

Mysterious horse droppings.

Supposed old silver mine. 

Interesting square hole in the ground.

I had another hour and 700 feet to the top. I followed an old mining road part of the way up, but eventually had to bushwhack it. Twice I found markers created from a pile of rocks and a long stick acting as a pole. The second of these sat adjacent to a deep square hole dug into the ground. It didn't go any further than maybe twelve feet deep.

Silver Peak provided a decent vista. I had a good view of “Younger Sister,” as well as Iron and Stoddard Mountains. Behind me sat juniper-filled hills with nothing of distinction. To the east I could make out Red Mountain and a glimpse of Cedar City. Out west were mostly hills, but also with a view of the agriculture fields between New Castle and Beryl.

Looking south from Silver Peak. "Younger Sister Peak" in foreground.

Looking east from Silver Peak toward Cedar City and Brian Head.

Geological marker.

Looking west from Silver Peak toward New Castle and Beryl. 

I did not return the way I came, but instead completed a circuit. I was happy to have this peak under my belt, but it was certainly nothing to write home about. ♠


Silver Peak

Distance from car: 3.4 miles

Net elevation gain: 1,306 feet

Total elevation gain: 1,985 feet

Final elevation: 7,256 feet

Total round-trip distance: 5.7 miles

Utah's Most Haunted Cemetery on Halloween?

It is quite scary how everything came together! 

I didn't mean it this way, but my original plan fell through just three days before I left so I replaced it with a drive through Skull Valley, ending at the abandoned mining town of Mercur. Many consider the Mercur cemetery to be the most haunted in Utah. It wasn't until the day before that I realized I would be there on Halloween.

Now, as I make my little drive, more “coincidences” fall into place. The first happens as I scan the channels above 69 on my car's Sirius XM station. To my delight—or to my horror—I learn that channel 107 is Scream Radio and plays nonstop haunted music and stories. Everything on this channel sounds creepy—nails scraping on glass, laughter of a child doll, the scream of a woman. The music they play sounds like it came from A Nightmare on Elm Street or The Exorcist. 

And to top it all off, due to falling behind in my schedule, I arrive at the parking lot of the Mercur Cemetery right at dusk. I can't really say it's a parking lot, but rather a small half-circle space off the side of the road at the bottom of a hollow surrounded on all sides by sage and rabbit brush. The small cemetery is located on a small hilltop to the south. 

The town of Mercur not only had three lives, cycling from boom to bust, but was also burned to the ground twice. It all began in 1869 when a prospector stumbled on placer gold in the gravel of a creek bed. Claims were filed and by 1870 a village was growing with all the hustle and bustle of a typical mining town. It reached its peak in 1873 when over $80,000 worth of gold was shipped out. But soon the rich ore began to fade and by 1880 the buildings were dismantled and taken away, and the town was dead.

Within a decade it was revived after a lone European prospector discovered cinnabar, the chief ore mineral of mercury. Gold was also found in the cinnabar. In addition to the new finds there was now new technology—cyanide. This chemical compound was used to more thoroughly extract the gold. Mercur flourished, and even though it burned down in 1896, it was quickly rebuilt and grew to a population of 6,000.

The town burned again in 1902 after a grease fire from a kitchen spewed flames that spread and consumed the entire lower town, which included every business. Again it was rebuilt and grew to a population of 12,000 people. But by 1913 the mines stopped making a profit, and by 1917 the town was again deserted. 

Merucur had one more life, which began in the 1930's. This one wasn't as lively as by now transportation improved so that no one had to live there. Instead, most commuted from Stockton or Tooele. Then, during World War Two, the government temporarily banned all gold mining, putting the final nail in the coffin. Since that time there has been virtually no trace of the old mining town of Mercur. That is, except the old cemetery. 

As I walk up the short but steep trail that leads to the burial ground I feel sorry for the pallbearers who once had to haul a wooden box on their shoulders. As I get closer I can discern the distinct scent of smoke. Is it coming from somewhere else, or somewhere near the cemetery? There are no other cars down by the road and I am confident I am the only one here. 

Upon cresting the hill I observe the tiny cemetery. White picket fences surround most of the graves. Most are the same size and clustered together. I notice that none of them have headstones and several are adorned with dolls or stuffed animals. 

And then, on the far side of the graves, I find the remnants of a smoldering fire. A faint wisp of smoke slowly lifts to the sky. No one else is here. The sight of the smoke emits an eerie feeling. I remember that the Mercur fire of 1902 claimed the lives of several people. Perhaps the two smoldering heaps have a connection. 

Mercur Cemetery has had many claims of paranormal activity. Especially at night there have been claims of phantasmal apparitions. An Italian miner has been said to chat with investigators through an electromagnetic field meter. Others have heard voices say, “You don't belong here.” Many guests of the cemetery suddenly experience a drain on their electronic devices. And then there's the young girl who likes it when visitors place dolls upon her grave. (How people know this, I am not sure.) 

Death years of those buried range from 1895 to 1912. The vast majority are children, anywhere from newborn to a few years old. Although many of the graves are protected by wooden slats, others are marked only by a ring of rocks. Many, I'm sure, are not marked at all and are completely lost to time.

One of the graves in particular stands out from the others. The fence around it is smaller than the others and nearly the entire inside is covered with dolls, stuffed animals and other toys for children. I'm quite confident that this is the young girl who likes it when people put dolls on her grave. 

But the dolls don't seem to invoke the same kind of loving response that one might normally associate with a cute baby toy. These dolls seem to be more sinister. Imagine them more like Chucky in the movie Child's Play or Megan in the more recent horror flick of the same name. These playthings appear to be stirring the dead or conjuring evil spirits. 

But I'm not here to get sucked into any superstitious claims. 

In addition to becoming acquainted with this old burial ground, I also have in mind to find the one grave that is marked. Although we have records of at least forty-six burials in the Mercur Cemetery, it is unclear as to who is buried where. That is with the exception of five-month old Annie Jones. 

Annie died in the cold of January, probably under circumstances that were less than ideal. Her mother was an immigrant from Scotland who sang in the choir and her father was superintendent of the Sacramento Mine. Annie was the second child of a family that would eventually have eight kids, the rest of them growing to adulthood. From what I read, Annie was the only person in the cemetery to have a grave-marker. 

The sun has set and the rosy glow of dusk has disappeared. I brought no flashlight nor phone, but I can still see with the faint light that is left in the sky. I go from grave to grave searching for any that have a headstone. I find nothing. I search beyond the obvious cluster of graves and find several rings of rocks and other odd configurations, but no headstone. 

Finally I decide to give up and return to the car. My guess is that Annie is the “young girl who likes it when visitors place dolls on her grave.” I decide that when I get to the car I will get my phone and look up pictures of her grave on the internet (if I have service), then it would be confirmed whether or not I already saw it.

I stride down the hill to the car. To my surprise my phone has service and instantly I can pull up photos of the grave of Annie Calderwood Jones. And again to my surprise, the images on my phone do not match anything I saw. There is only one thing to do . . . and that is to return to the cemetery!

It is now becoming dark and cold. I don a jacket and bring a flashlight with a bright beam. I also bring my phone. 

As I return to the cemetery, I notice the dying fire with embers now glowing red in the dark. I squat and hold my hands over the small source of heat. 

Then I find the grave with all the dolls and systematically compare it with the picture from my phone. The fence is very similar, but the stone is definitely not the same. They are both square, but Annie's has a faint etching that reads: “Beloved Daughter.” I look at other rocks on the ground and they don't match either. The website includes a picture of the grave in context to the other graves with fences around them. That for sure doesn't match. 

Then I return to every grave in the cemetery, and one by one shine my beam inside, and one by one I conclude that this is not the grave of Annie Jones. In fact, I go to every grave at least three times. There isn't a single grave I can line up in a way that matches any of the pictures. 

It is now quite dark and becoming late. I am still very far from my final destination. But this little problem is driving me nuts! How can I not find a specific grave when there are only about twenty to choose from??!! 

Not only do I search the main section of the cemetery, but also on the periphery, or in other words, out in the darkness of juniper trees that cover the hill. Now, if there is going to be a ghost or something else to scare me, this would be the place. As I roam the thought crosses my mind that I might get lost. I occasionally come across more rings of rocks which would indicate possible outlying graves. Who knows how many restless spirits are lurking here in the nethermost depths of darkness! 

Luckily I do not get lost or killed and return to the main cluster of graves. Although now I notice another beam of light making its way toward me from the bottom of the hill. More than likely this is someone coming to visit on Halloween. But what if it isn't? What if it is a psycho-man coming up to murder me? What if they are coming to cause trouble? Or, what if it is a ghost? 

Knowing that it is likely a kindly living human, I confidently meet the beam of light as it reaches the top of the hill. “Hello,” I say as I accost the couple. It appears to be a teenage boy and girl, both dressed in ridiculously silly Halloween costumes. “Do you two come up here often,” I ask, hoping they might know the location of Annie Jones' grave. 

It turns out the boy has been here a couple of times, but isn't sure about the grave. (I suspect that he comes up once a year, and always after dark.) The two are very nice and for the next five minutes they help me search the cemetery one last time. 

With no luck it is time for me to go for good. I thank them for their help and let them continue without my presence. My evening would have to end with the bitter taste of not getting everything I had hoped for. But still, it was a good experience. 

Once again I return to my vehicle at the bottom of the now pitch-black hill. I start the engine and appreciate the invention of seat-warmers. Scream Radio once again surrounds the empty space inside my car and the thought crosses my mind that this is the perfect music to listen to after visiting the scariest cemetery in Utah. 

And then another thought crosses my mind. 

There is no doubt that Annie Jones was buried in the Mercur Cemetery. There is no doubt that her grave at one time had been documented to exist in the exact place I had just searched. Perhaps (and I know that I am inching closer to the crazy people who claim to see ghosts and hear voices) the grave has vanished and is gone forever, just like the old mining town of Mercur! ♠ 

 

 

Bradshaw Mountain and Cave Mine (Peak #12)

One night John Bradshaw dreamed he saw a white mule standing on a ridge north of Minersville, Utah. He then dreamed that he went to that ridge and near it he discovered a cave. He entered the cave and found rat nests and nuggets of gold. 

The dream was so vivid that the next day he went in search of the cave. He had never been there before, but knew exactly how to get there because of his dream. The scrub and thickets became so thick that he tied string onto branches so he could find his way back. At last he found the cave just as it was in his dream, including rat nests and nuggets of gold. Further inside he discovered stalactites covered with gold and silver. 

Later he came back with a friend to explore further. This happened in 1859. Eventually this area would become the Bradshaw Mining District. Even though it would produce a great amount of gold, silver and lead over the years, very little came during the lifetime of John Bradshaw. He would die destitute. 

One of many mine portals on Bradshaw Mountain.

Who was John White Bradshaw? 

He was born on February 12, 1819 in Ilkeston, Derbyshire, England. His family joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and in 1849 emigrated to Utah like thousands of others during the early days of the church. John married a widow, Harriet Burgess Moore, and together they had four children. Three of the children died and were buried at sea, while the other died two years later. They had no other children together. 

John and Harriet were called to settle what would become southern Utah, in the Parowan area. Minersville was settled in 1859, so this was likely when they moved there. John was a big believer in dreams, and I am sure that this is what gave him confidence to follow through and find the location. 

Unidentified building on Bradshaw Mountain.

In the beginning, not much ore was excavated from Cave Mine. It is said that a couple of men hauled ore from the mine and made gold and silver bars valuing $1,800 to $2,000. In 1879 the mine became property of the Fisco Mining & Smelting Company. 

With all this in mind I thought it would be a good idea to check out the place. The Bradshaw Mining District, which is no longer active, is only an hour from my house. It lies within the Mineral Mountains, a range I have never explored. And to boot, it lies at the feet of Bradshaw Mountain, another peak for me to climb. 

Many of the portals went nearly straight down into the ground.

It was another hot day in mid-June. Temperatures would be in the low to mid-nineties and I knew that soon I would need to start climbing the higher peaks. My plan was to hike up one ridge to the summit of Bradshaw Mountain and down another. Whatever I would find in the way of mining relics along the way, I would stop and explore. 

A cursory glance at the mountainside reveals a busy mining history with several colorful tailing slides. As I drove closer to my parking spot I found the faint foundations of buildings that once stood. I learned that at one time there was a little town within the mining district, but wasn't sure exactly where it was nor whether these foundations belonged to that town. 

I parked along the dirt road and within five minutes of walking through the trees I came across the portal of a mine at the bottom of a hillside. Interestingly, there was no framework or timbers to support the portal. Just a hole in the mountainside that resembled a little cave. I was quite confident that this was not the actual Cave Mine discovered by John Bradshaw, but it allowed me to more clearly imagine what the original cave may have looked like. 

I laid on my belly and peered inside with my flashlight. There was no way I was going inside this one. The tunnel reached beyond what my beam would allow. I was satisfied with that. 

It didn't take long before I was walking up the mountain slope. I noticed that my path was cleared of trees, wide enough for a road. Examining the ground below me it was obvious that there was no road now, but I suspected that at one time there was. 

This so-called path zigzagged up the mountain until it came to a tailings slide. Beyond that I found two good-sized portals, both of them supported by wooden framework. The thought came that there were probably miles and miles of tunnels all over beneath this mountain. I got as close to the portals as I dared. One of them went immediately downward and I was a little apprehensive because I didn't want my weight to cause a collapse. 

A hole in the cliff on the other side of the canyon.

I continued up the ridgeline. Although there was no trail, I was able to make the journey without any hardcore bush-whacking. After an hour and forty-five minutes of hiking I reached the summit. I had gained nearly 2,000 feet of elevation. 

The sight at the summit was pleasant. To the east I could see the snow-capped Tushar Mountains. There was a wildfire on the southern slopes of those mountains. To the west I could see Frisco Peak and faintly behind that the Snake Range. Below was Milford Valley and shades of green farms. 

View from top of Bradshaw Mountain.

View from Bradshaw Mountain looking toward the Tushars.

On my way down looking toward Frisco Peak.

After a forty-minute break on top, I started down a different ridge. I got more than half way down and again arrived at some mines. The first was the most interesting. At first I saw only a large hole in the ground. This hole dropped into a cavern and I knew at once that I didn't want to be anywhere near the edge. The drop inside the hole wasn't terribly deep because I dropped a rock and could hear the thud after only a couple of seconds. 

When I continued just a little further down the hill I discovered a portal with a wooden frame. Beyond this frame was the cavern that I had seen from above. 

With hesitation I entered the cavern, which had plenty of light due to the hole at the top. The cavern appeared to be a large room or grotto. I didn't know if the size of it was artificial or natural. I could see a couple of tunnels on the backside of the cavern where the mine continued. On the wall were painted names and dates, the oldest being 1965. A wooden bench sat at the center with an army ammo can sitting on top. The place felt cold and damp, a welcoming feeling from the heat outside. 

Inside an interesting cavern.

1965 date on cavern wall.

Framework inside the cavern, probably leading to another tunnel.

Once outside I saw other mines from a distance. Along the face of a limestone wall I spotted a cave-like opening with no tailings below it, but it was too far away for my weary legs to travel. 

From this point I was almost back to the bottom and due to the steep terrain I rock-surfed down a slide of tailings. There was much more here left to explore, which I will do another day. 

I was satisfied with my day of exploration. Not only did I bag a peak, but I was able to find a lot of old mining structures. I saw no one else the entire time. 

Tailings coming down the hillside.

The life of John Bradshaw was a sad one. He lost all four of his children with Harriet and thus has no descendants. (Some of Harriet's children from her first marriage survived and have progeny.) As far as I know, there are no pictures of John. His wife, Harriet, died in 1877. At the cemetery he has no headstone. On one hand you could say that John Bradshaw's legacy is all but gone. 

But on the other hand his legacy lives on because of Cave Mine. Named after him are Bradshaw Mountain, Bradshaw Springs and the Bradshaw Mining District. Today the mines are all closed. According to family legend a curse was placed on the mine stating that it will never again produce gold and silver until a Bradshaw family member owns the mine. ♠
 

 

Bradshaw Mountain.

Bradshaw Mountain
 

Distance from car (one way): 1.7 miles
 

Elevation gain: 1,992 feet
 

Final elevation: 7,998 feet

Grave of Thomas J. Chase, located somewhere near the Bradshaw Mining District.

“A highly respected miner, formerly of New England, but for the last twenty-five years or more had been mining on the Pacific slope, by the name of Thomas J. Chase, died at Betenson House, on Tuesday the 16th, of dropsy, occasioned by a diseased state of the liver and spleen. By permission of his friends, Drs. George Wenceslaw, J.W. Christian and George Fennemore, performed a post mortem examination on the 17th which revealed the foregoing facts. According to his own request while living, he was taken to the Bradshaw Mining District for burial yesterday morning.”—Thomas J. Chase Death Notice Published in the Southern Utonian, 19 Dec. 1884, Beaver, Beaver, Utah Territory, United States