Mokelumne Hill CA – Chasing Phantoms

When I was a kid, my family would go camping each summer in California’s gold country. We’d hike to open mineshafts, visit countless museums featuring Gold Rush artifacts, and clamber around decaying miner’s cabins and rusty hydraulic mining equipment that had been abandoned in the foothills. My dad would collect antique square nails (a practice that we later learned was unlawful) and occasionally we’d try our hands panning for gold. My mom would stay back at the campsite, cooking meals, sweeping the tent, and wishing we soon would return to suburbia.

Even as a kid I was impressed by how these relics of the Gold Rush could be seen and touched out in the wild, even after more than a century. To a kid like me in the 1960s, the Gold Rush seemed like ancient history. And now it’s been another half-century since I was a kid! It’s hard for me to explain, but today, as I examined old stone buildings from the 1850s and hillside scars created in the 1860s, I felt a connection with a longer arc of history. The State of California was in its infancy then, and they didn’t call it the Wild West for nothing. We’ve come a long way since we routinely dumped cyanide and mercury into waterways, since we carved into hillsides with powerful water canons, since thousands of miners daily breathed toxic fumes and hundreds of them died in fires and cave-ins. That’s not to say we have no problems today; far from it. But clearly there’s been progress.

California’s Gold Country is a reminder both of how our civilization has changed, and how as humans we’re largely unchanged. There’s a persistent 49er spirit in those small towns that still dot the Mother Lode. You can sense the tenacity, patience, perseverance in your average Amadorian or Calaverasian. Take the owner of a coffee shop named Moke-A-Java in Mokelumne Hill. She told me she opened the place in 2019…just before Covid shut everything down. Somehow she managed to keep the business afloat with mail-order candy sales and catering. Today business is finally picking up, and she’s grateful. She’s a latter-day version of a patient prospector.

There’s also something very soul-soothing about the rolling, oak-covered hills in this part of the state. There’s plenty of space and natural beauty, and no one seems to be in a hurry. Take for example the owner of the B&B where I stayed in San Andreas. He sat in conversation with me through the three-course breakfast he’d cooked for me, then spent half an hour showing me his workshop and his Harley. It was as though nothing mattered more to him than visiting with his guests. You can be sure I’ll be back.

About 10 am I got back on Highway 49 and fired up the driving app I’d purchased specifically for this trip. The idea was to have a knowledgeable guide direct me through a handful of small towns from Angels Camp to Jamestown. While the concept of the guide was a good one, I found it to be a bit clunky and fussy. And not only was the app awkward to navigate (a process which is admittedly complicated on a motorcycle), but the interstitial diary readings by overly-enthusiastic community-theater actors were not my cup of tea. So the app was quickly bagged.

I did learn from the app that Calaveras County gets its name from the Spanish word for “skulls,” a quantity of which were discovered by early explorers along local riverbanks. And at almost the moment I learned that fact my eyes beheld this:

Walking into Howard’s Mystic Saloon is like entering an ossuary. You’re greeted by a giant skeleton standing just inside the door, and as your eyes adjust to the darkness you notice that all the chandeliers are decorated with skulls and bones. More skeletons hang from the ceiling, and the entire wall behind the wall is covered with black skulls.

I asked the bartender, Ivory, for the story, and she told me the skulls are not meant as a reference to Calaveras County. In fact, the owners (Curtis and Tana Howard) own another skeleton-themed bar in Oakland. At this point a jovial man with a beard and a cowboy hat sitting at the end of the bar said “This place is tame compared to their Oakland place!”

True to my theory about folks in the Gold Country, and despite being surrounded by skeletons, I found this to be one of the friendliest places I’ve been to in years. I chatted with the locals at the bar for the better part of an hour while nursing my hot apple cider. I had eschewed a higher-octane drink because I’d already had my beer of the day earlier in Murphys.

We’ll get to the BOTD shortly, but Murphys (pop: 2,000) was the one stop that didn’t feel authentic to me. At some point they went all-in as a wine tasting destination. According to Wikipedia, Main Street has at least two dozen wine tasting establishments. In between are boutique-y places selling scented candles, panini presses, and other appurtenances that a miner would never recognize.

Murphys is evidently quite prosperous, and I don’t knock their business model. But this is not the Gold Country experience I was looking for.

More authentic are places like Drytown (pop: 186).

During the Gold Rush it was home to some 10,000 souls, and despite the name, it also had 26 saloons. (The name refers to a dry creek.) It burned down in 1857, and never really recovered. But there’s a roadside marker and occasional artifacts among the rolling hills and oak trees.

I also appreciate how Angels Camp (pop: 3,700 and the only incorporated city in Calaveras County) has leveraged its purported role in Mark Twain’s story “The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County.” The little buggers are everywhere!

Now, if I had been in charge of that driving app I would have featured a Depression-era railroad bridge that crosses Highway 49 just south of San Andreas. It was part of a railroad short line that connected the Calaveras Cement plant to several local quarries. Calaveras Cement Co. produced material that built dams, freeways, and other infrastructure throughout northern California. The company shut down in 1983 as Chinese imports undercut domestic cement production. But the bridge remains as a proud (and shockingly graffiti-less) relic of a major local industry.

Before we get to the BOTD, let me leave you with a couple of photos of yard art I saw a long the way. These people are true artists.

*How many different car parts can you identify?*

*Please don’t tell the Charles Schultz estate about this one.*

BEER OF THE DAY

Just because I’m a cranky contrarian, I walked right past all the wine shops in Murphys and snagged myself a brew at Murphy’s Pourhouse. It’s an open, friendly place with outdoor seating and 16 beers on tap. I chose the rare and coveted Anniversary XXVI Strong Ale from Firestone Walker.

Even if you don’t like dark beer, you should try this. It’s aged in bourbon and brandy barrels, and if that doesn’t guarantee a symphony of flavors, it at least delivers a cacophony of flavors. We’re talking anise, black strap molasses, oak, Christmas fruitcake, semi-sweet chocolate, toasted pecans, vanilla extract, cherry sucrets, Worcestershire sauce, and those spent “grounds for your garden” you get at Starbucks. It’s on the sweet side, but there’s just enough hops to prevent it from becoming cloying. Well-carbonated but no head. 11 percent ABV, so if you are riding a motorcycle and find yourself at Howard’s Mystic Saloon shortly thereafter, have yourself a hot apple cider. I give this beer 5 points out of 5.

MAIL BAG

Faithful reader Peter D pointed out that I walked right past a pun opportunity in my post about the tailing wheels at the Kennedy Mine. I had explained that, despite their shape, they’re not Ferris wheels. Peter’s response: Of course they aren’t Ferrous Wheels; they’re made of wood! Peter also helpfully includes this newspaper report on the bordellos of Jackson, CA.

Meanwhile, Victor R points out that the Frolic’s delivery of a disassembled courthouse building in 1849 proves that Americans had stuff delivered from China well before Amazon was even a glint in Jeff Bezos’ eye.

Finally, Sherrill J informs me that the third book in her mystery series discusses mining for gold in southern California–a topic I confess to knowing almost nothing about!

The weeks immediately following New Years often can be difficult. The Christmas lights have come down, leaving a murky winter gloom throughout the land. It’s a time of chilly weather, short days,and family budgets decimated by holiday spending. Christmas vacation is over and it’s time to get back to the regular routine, made somewhat less enjoyable by my foolish New Year’s resolutions, which this year involve an ill-considered reduction in whiskey consumption. January, to me, is the real Humbug season. Spring won’t be making its arrival for another 68 days, though who’s counting?

So I figured a trip to southern California might at least allow me to catch a little sunshine. What’s more, my nephew Graham recently informed me, over beers, that near his house in Altadena (pop: 43,000) sits just a stone’s throw from the remains of a historic mountain railroad that dates back to 1893. The Mount Lowe Railway (for that’s its name) was gutted by several fires in the last century, but some ruins remain and the view from the top of the right-of-way is said to be impressive. The whole thing frankly sounds right up my alley, so I dutifully purchased a book about the railway, conducted some research, and began to plan a trip for next week.

You probably see where this is going: Tragically, wildfires this week wiped out Altadena, including, I’m sad to say, my nephew’s house. Can you imagine? You’re minding your own business, and suddenly, just a couple of weeks after Christmas, a Sheriff’s deputy knocks on your door and tells you to evacuate. A few hours later virtually everything you own is gone. It sure puts my puny problems into perspective.

So, with a prayer for the thousands of people displaced (and an unknown number killed) by the southern California fires, I decided a trip to the Southland isn’t in the cards right now. Instead, I figured I’d stick closer to home. And so this morning I saddled up the Speedmaster and headed south on Highway 49, which is one of my favorite routes. It’s a scenic, two-lane road that endlessly twists through the oak-studded Sierra Nevada foothills. And it passes through innumerable old Gold Rush towns that still somehow evoke the 49er spirit of tenacity and patience.

During today’s ride I stopped for a few hours in the town of Jackson (pop: 5,100). All my prior trips to Jackson have strictly been to purchase huge quantities of maple bacon from Swingle’s Meat Market, which calls itself “The Carnivore’s Toy Store.” They really lean into their identity, with taxidermied heads of elk, bison, deer, and something that looks like a water buffalo. Anyway, today I decided to see what the rest of the town has to offer.

Like many towns along Highway 49, Jackson sprang up during the Gold Rush. It’s home to the Kennedy Mine, which was among the deepest and most productive mines in the country. It operated from 1860 until it was shut down during World War II. Many features of the mine are visible to this day. I was drawn to the four enormous, wooden tailing wheels that had been placed on the low hills to the south of the mine. Those wheels stood about seven stories tall. Here’s a few photos of them today.

The story behind them is fascinating. Like most hard-rock mines, the Kennedy Mine extracted gold from rock by first pulverizing the rock into fine sand and then separating out the tiny grains of gold with a chemical process. This process left behind tons and tons of silty wastewater called “slickens” that over time fouled nearby streams and ruined local farms. Local farmers threatened lawsuits and eventually a settlement was reached: The Kennedy Mine would send its slickens to an impoundment basin a half-mine away. To get there, the slickens would have to get over a couple of hills, and that’s where those giant wooden wheels come in: They were each fitted with 178 buckets which lifted the slickens up to raised flumes and over the hills.

*Undated historic photo. The Tailing Wheels are inside the four buildings.*

You’ll note in the photo above that the four tailing wheels were contained within corrugated-metal buildings. After the mine closed the metal was sold for scrap and the wheels were exposed to the elements–Hence their condition today. But one wheel has been restored and is enclosed within a modern structure.

I really can’t explain why I became so fascinated by this primitive technology. But after spending a good hour hiking around the wheels, I went to the Amador Historical Society’s large scale model of the mine and tailing wheels. There I spent another hour chatting with Docent Gary about All Things Mining.

*Docent Gary, dressing the part. Behind him is a 1/12 scale model of one of the tailing wheels.*

Of course, there are other things to see in Jackson. It’s actually a rather charming town, with a busting historic main street, several historic cemeteries, and a restored, large hotel from 1852.

Speaking of historic hotels, I had lunch at the Hotel Leger in Mokelumne Hill (pop: 800). The Leger was rebuilt after several fires, most recently in 1875. My server told me the ghost of George Leger (1815-1879) still haunts the hotel. When I hinted at my skepticism, she told me she had “absolutely seen and heard things to make me a believer.” She also solemnly informed me that the hotel had been featured on Discovery’s Ghost Adventures in 2018. So that pretty much clinches it.

*Dining room of the Hotel Leger. The stone walls are original. Is that ectoplasm in the corner below the wainscoting?*

I ended today’s travel in San Andreas (pop: 3,000). There’s not a lot going on here beyond a short, historic Main Street and a small bridge that caught my eye for its age (over a century old) and graceful simplicity.

*Thirty-foot long, closed-spandrel arch bridge over San Andreas Creek.*

The Main Street does feature a worthy historical museum. Among its many artifacts, I will emphasize two: One is the jail cell where Black Bart had been imprisoned in 1883 for robbing a stagecoach.

Also notable is California’s first courthouse..which sits entirely within the museum.

The story goes like this: There were no sawmills in California at the beginning of the Gold Rush, so all lumber had to be imported. This building was essentially a “build-it-yourself” kit of pre-cut camphor wood that had been shipped from China. It served as the Calaveras County courthouse in 1850, and later served as the post office. A placard assures me that it is not a reproduction, but the actual building (though it has been truncated to fit in the museum space).

There’s a footnote to this story as well: The building was shipped to California aboard the brig Frolic. I thought the name sounded familiar, and then I remembered that last year I visited the site near Point Cabrillo where the Frolic sank in the summer of 1850–just months after it delivered the courthouse building to Calaveras County. This time she was carrying porcelain and opium.

*Just weeks before she sank off the coast of California.*

Tomorrow I am going to try out a downloadable driving tour app for the stretch of Highway 49 between Angel’s Camp and Jamestown. I don’t normally use travel guides on my trips, as I like to remain open to whatever catches my interest along the way. But this particular driving app is only a two-hour commitment and it seems pretty authoritative. So for twelve bucks I’m willing to take the risk. Full report tomorrow!

Tag: Mokelumne Hill CA

All That Glitters

Big Wheel Keep On Turnin’