Jemez Ghost Town

Bland Canyon view.jpg, originally uploaded by craptastica.

A few weeks ago, after I had recovered from the thousands of e-mails that had clogged my work computer during vacation an opportunity came up to go to the old Bland Canyon Ghost Town. I had some stuff to do, but the ghost town is on an inholding on our Forest lands, so it is a rare occasion one gets to see it. Furthermore, we were invited by some of the current residents. So, I skipped the phone calls, e-mails, reports, and official forms for a spring day in the ghost town they call Bland.

Look in any book about New Mexico ghost towns and you'll find it was a late 19th Century mining town built from dynamite, guts, and dreams. The town had a one room jail, a hotel, a doctor's house, a mill, several other houses and office buildings, and of course - a brothel. The last mine closed in 1945 and the town was abandoned (probably due to all the cyanide and chloride used for processing the ore). Later a tough southwestern lady named Effie Janks bought the town, named herself mayor, and moved in to live there in the wilds all by herself.

It was gold and silver that made the town, but the latter is where it got its name - a Senator from Missouri who advocated for free silver coinage.

Since it is a fairly well known ghost town there are regular trespassers, thiefs, and squatters who visit the area. Usually they're met by one or more of the residents or friends of the residents bearing a .45 and looking pissed off. That is still very likely to happen today.

Actually, while I was there the current resident recanted with glee how she would often ask her eccentric, homeless, vietnam vet friends to watch the site for her. She'd ask them to bring their guns and leave them a couple cases of beer. After hearing of some of the stuff that happened to the poor adventurous fence hoppers who were curious about the ghost town, I doubt there could be a more effective security system.

Walking around the ghost town was to literally be walking through a time porthole. Besides the ravages of time and natural forces, most of the town looks exactly like it would have about 100 years ago. The jail with its massive tuff-carved stones told of prisoners who scratched away each day on the interior rock. The brothel with it's many inscriptions on the doorways told of whiskey-fueled nights and loneliness. And the falling mill, with it's giant tanks and half-buried wheels, tell of the contradictory fragileness in a town built and held by hope.

Recently one of the owners died and the land and properties have gone to the nearest kin. The guy lives out of state and has hired a real estate agent to sell the property for a residential development. Considering all of the mine waste and chemicals still present at the site I don't know if anyone can finance such a venture, but I sure hope not.