Since my accommodations during my recent superbloom trip to Death Valley National Park were in Beatty, Nevada—and not inside the park or in one of the surrounding towns in California—my geography gave me the opportunity to explore some of the environs east of and in the eastern end of the park for the first time in a long time.
When I first moved to California, some places just seemed so far away. It was impossible for me to wrap my head around making a day trip to Joshua Tree or Palm Springs—a three-hour drive each way. But over the past 14 years, my home state has continued to feel smaller and smaller, easier and easier to tackle.
In April 2014, I made a detour from the Eastern Sierra to try to see Silver City Ghost Town in Bodfish, California, located in the Kern River Valley of the Southern Sierra. I'd gotten there too late in the day to catch it before it closed or to even photograph it in daylight. And it just seemed so out-of-the-way that it took me 11 years to try again.
This time, I planned my trip a little better and got an earlier start, as I headed home from the early-morning Burro Run I'd attended in Indian Wells Canyon.
I first heard of Gold Hill when I was researching a trip to Virginia City, Nevada that I ended up not taking last fall. All the travel guides recommended taking the train from Gold Hill instead of trying to find parking in Virginia City. That piqued my interest.
I always really enjoy the opportunity to share my discoveries with a wider audience—and sometimes beyond the written word, like at speaking engagements or via television appearances.
It feels like an opportunity to connect on a more personal level.
And it gives me an excuse sometimes to return to a favorite spot—like Surfridge.
In the 1880s, Southern Pacific Railroad led the charge in creating the nation's Second Transcontinental Railroad line—the first having been completed between the San Francisco Bay and Omaha, Nebraska in 1869, with the ceremonial "Golden Spike" (or "Last Spike") being driven at Promontory Summit, Utah Territory.
The second one was considered the "southern" one.
By 1881, it had connected Atchison, Kansas to Los Angeles, California. And by 1883, it had connected Los Angeles to New Orleans.
Last month, I had the chance to visit a little-known section of the second TCR—and see it from a perspective most passengers never get to experience—in the Inland Empire city of Perris, California.
It had been almost a year since I'd ridden the Sugar Pine Yosemite Railroad in Sierra National Forest (and gotten smoked out of the area by local wildfires)—and it had come time for me to ride the rails once again.
covered bridge (one of the shortest in the U.S,), built 1969
I'd planned a trip up to San Jose to tour Winchester Mystery House (blog post forthcoming) and had decided to drive the long way back home—mostly so I could ride the Roaring Camp Railroad on an antique train through the redwood forest of the Santa Cruz Mountains.
I almost didn't write about this adventure because it felt like a failure. But I guess it was actually a partial success.
And since I'm not exactly sure when I'll be able to ever complete the mission, I've decided not to wait—and share what I've got now, even though I found it a bit disappointing.
But let me back up for a moment.
In a constant boom-bust cycle that lasted nearly 100 years, the mining town of Cerro Gordo—in the Inyo Mountains of the northern Mojave Desert, near the 395 to the west of Death Valley—produced silver, lead (galena), and zinc ore at one time or another between 1866 and 1957.
I can't remember when I first heard of it. But I know I first tried to go sometime after 2013, after I'd begun working as a field agent for Atlas Obscura and thought that it would make for a great—albeit far-flung—excursion for our group.
Knott's Scary Farm may be canceled this year, but Halloween has nevertheless arrived at Knott's Berry Farm in Buena Park, California.
The annual haunt usually features a number of mazes with long lines and scare actors who interact with those who are waiting—neither of which is really possible right now with the coronavirus pandemic.
But the family-friendly theme park has figured out a way to open its doors—something Disneyland has yet to do—while it’s decked out for Halloween and Día de los Muertos.
During its "Taste of Fall-O-Ween" food event...
...games, shops and food stands are fully operational.
Rides, however, are not.
But honestly, Knott's is endlessly entertaining even without the rides...
And it's hard to resist the chance to have some pumpkin-flavored soft serve ice cream, washed down with a boysenberry beer.
And stilt walkers' faces are so high up, it's pretty easy to keep a safe distance.
The entire park is open—from Ghost Town to Fiesta and even the Boardwalk.
And while there's no indoor dining, you can find an outdoor spot to perch and refresh—a necessary thing, since you can't walk around with your mask off.
It had been a couple of years since I'd been to Knott's for its Boysenberry Festival—and I hadn't realized how much I'd missed it.
I'm hoping for a Knott's Merry Farm version of this tasting event so I can return (maybe not at 5 p.m. on a Saturday, when it's so crowded).
And whenever the rides reopen safely, I'll be queuing up.
[Last updated 7/27/25 9:55 PM PT—The Ryan Historic District was officially listed on the National Register for Historic Places in January 2025. For more info, click here and here.]
In 2013, Death Valley Conservancy received a donation of a 40-acre site—3000+ feet above sea level, overlooking the valley below, 15 miles from the main visitors' area at Furnace Creek.
Part of the Hillside Group of mines, it had been the main operation for borate mining in Death Valley for Pacific Coast Borax Company from 1914 to 1927.
Borate ores mined here were transported or processing via the narrow-gauge Death Valley Railroad (dismantled 1931) to its eastern terminus at Death Valley Junction.
In 1927, PCBC relocated its operations to Boron (a.k.a. the Kramer District), where it became known as U.S. Borax as of 1956 and heretofore Rio Tinto, since1968.
Today we know the area simply as Ryan Camp, named after PCBC's field engineer John Ryan—but this conservancy-owned parcel outside the bounds of Death Valley National Park is more than just an old mining ghost town. And it's far from abandoned.
Take one of the tours offered in the spring and fall—led by the full-time, live-in caretaker—and you'll see how Death Valley Conservancy is delivering on its mission to "preserve what is left and restore where possible." And that includes the second life of Ryan, when PCBC got into the tourism business and converted its facilities into the Death Valley View Hotel.
Operated by the Death Valley Hotel Company—whose holdings also included facilities at Death Valley Junction and Furnace Creek (until the 1960s)—it provided desert accommodations full-time until 1930, when the railroad was dismantled.
Visitors would arrive from Death Valley Junction via gas-fueled motor coaches along the former mining rail right-of-way...
...or, after 1930, from Furnace Creek Inn, if it was full and guests came to Ryan to take advantage of overflow accommodations.
Sure, there was a fascination with the hot, unforgiving desert in the early 20th century—but at Ryan and its Death Valley View Hotel, the main attraction wasn't necessarily the view, but rail trips through the workings of the old abandoned borax mines on the "Baby Gage" (more on that in a little bit).
Since tourists had come all that way—and to such a remote area—they'd make a whole trip out of it, staying at the hotel and eating in the dining room that had been fashioned out of the old mining camp's messhall.
There was a kitchen in the back, but I doubt any travelers came here specifically for any of the hotel amenities.
The novelty was in how you'd be surrounded by all this mining stuff—frozen in time and literally frozen on the tracks—and you could pay your respects in a kind of outdoor reliquary of Old West-ament artifacts.
There's another reason why people still visit Ryan, though the property was mothballed by 1962. A film crew made the ridge above the old power house (circa 1924) famous when they featured it in the film Spartacus.
It looks exactly the same now as it did back then. (Scroll to the bottom of this post to watch the clip.)
Of course, the movie's depiction of what's become known as "Spartacus Hill" doesn't show the circa 1924 warehouse that likely also housed staff (including kitchen personnel)...
...though it's fared the hot, dry summers and occasionally snowy winters very well.
And it's still a kick to see rusty old relics emblazoned with "Pacific" and "U.S. Borax"...
...as well as the old ore cars still in place.
Probably the highlight of the tours given today is the 24-inch baby gauge railway that once hauled water, timber, explosives, and other supplies to the Grandview, Lizzie V. Oakley, and Widow mines to the south for a total of 6 miles.
The "Baby Gage," as they called it, also hauled borate ores back to Ryan, where they were transfer to the Death Valley Railroad and mosey on their way to Death Valley Junction.
When the Death Valley View Hotel began to welcome tourists to Ryan, its operators added seats to the Baby Gage so it could carry passengers "'round the Funeral Mountains" to the Widow Mine, 4 miles away—right there through that same old haulage tunnel—until it ceased in 1949.
From the present-day Baby Gage display, you can look up and get a good view of the Upper Biddy McCarthy Mine...
...where there are still remains of a skip track, a dump trestle, and who knows what else?
Now, one of the reasons that Ryan lent itself to being repurposed as a destination getaway is because it wasn't just a mine—but an entire company town that was home to the miners, their families (including enough children to necessitate a schoolhouse), and other staff.
And you can still see some of the worker dormitories, staff houses, and guest houses...
...which were outfitted with electricity, steam heat (generated by an oil-fueled boiler), and refrigeration and supported by a sewage system and an ice-making plant.
The huge, two-story house of Superintendent William Smitheram (until 1916) was converted (sometime between 1919 and 1921) into a hospital building, replete with a surgery room—though no surgical team was staffed alongside the nurse who gave onsite care. It later was retrofitted to provide rooms for hotel guests.
With its corrugated galvanized steel paneled roof, Bunkhouse #1 was constructed in 1920 and then converted into Guest House #1 for the hotel.
Its outer stairs and veranda are being restored and/or rebuilt, while the interior guest rooms are being returned to their former glory...
...right down to the 1920s-era patterned carpet, which has been successfully reproduced by Brintons in the UK.
Many different patterns of linoleum once appeared throughout the camp's buildings...
...but what remains now are often just fragments, yet to be identified (much less reproduced).
And there's plenty in Ryan that's gone forever, not to be preserved or restored—like various shops, garages, and cabins that burned down or were demolished or moved elsewhere.
One of Ryan's landmark structures was actually relocated to the camp via rail in 1919—the rec hall (a.k.a. clubhouse a.k.a. dancehall).
It was dedicated in 1907 as St. Mary's Catholic Church in the gold mining camp of Rhyolite, Nevada. It nearly ended up in the Goodsprings mining district, but it moved to Ryan instead.
After its arrival, a stage was added for community meetings and secular recreation, though its interior still evokes an ecclesiastical purpose.
Stabilizing and restoring the rec hall is one of the major undertakings for Death Valley Conservancy's efforts in Ryan right now.
And finally, there's the schoolhouse building (circa sometime between 1919 and 1922)—which, like so many other structures in Ryan, is clad in industrial corrugated metal. A playground stands eerily abandoned in its recess yard.
Inside, the old school desks sit empty, the water-damaged wallpaper curling with every passing day that the bell no longer calls children to class.
I know it may be tempting to try to catch a glimpse of Ryan, but it is tightly patrolled and non-scheduled visits are strictly prohibited. Trespassing is not tolerated and prosecuted under the fullest extent of the law.
I arranged my visit as part of a public tour in November 2018 and received permission to enter structures and photograph the site.
I would consider the definitive history of Ryan's period of significance in mining and tourism to be the dissertation "Life and work in the Ryan District, Death Valley, California, 1914-1930: a historic context for a borax mining community" by Mary Ringhoff, available to read via USC Digital Library.
For lots more contemporary photos (circa 2012), visit Steve Hall's Death Valley Adventures. For the National Park Service publication "Death Valley Historic Resource Study: A History of Mining," click here.
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