So, you're interested in a canyon. A crack in the earth where people went to chase glittery delusions. Fine. Let's talk about El Dorado Canyon. Don't get your hopes up; the name is far more romantic than the reality.
El Dorado Canyon
| El Dorado Canyon |
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| Interactive map of El Dorado Canyon |
| Location |
| Nevada Historical Marker |
| Reference no. |
El Dorado Canyon is a scar in the landscape of southern Clark County, Nevada, a place chiefly famous for the veins of silver and gold that people tore from its rock. It’s the kind of place that attracts desperation and ambition in equal, toxic measures. The canyon earned its gilded, slightly tragic name in 1857, bestowed upon it by a steamboat entrepreneur, Captain George Alonzo Johnson. He saw the glint of gold and silver and, in a fit of what was likely commercial optimism rather than poetic inspiration, named it after a mythical city of gold. [2] [3] The canyon itself bleeds into the Colorado River, ending its run at the ghost of a place once known as Nelson's Landing. [3]
If you were to venture into its upper reaches, you'd stumble upon the town of Nelson, a settlement clinging to the canyon's edge. Midway through this dusty theater of human endeavor, you'll find the Eldorado Canyon Mine Tours. They operate out of the Techatticup Mine, which holds the distinction of being one of the oldest and most relentlessly productive holes in this particular stretch of dirt.
History
The grubby business of prospecting and mining in El Dorado Canyon was underway by 1857, and likely even earlier, because humanity has never been good at leaving shiny things buried. [4]: 13, note 27 [5] But the real circus began in April 1861. Just as the American Civil War was kicking off—a national exercise in violent disagreement—word slithered out that significant lodes of silver, with a side of gold and copper, had been unearthed. This discovery was credited to a man named John Moss and his associates, in a region then considered part of the vast New Mexico Territory, which would later be carved up into what we now call Nevada.
The canyon was a remote, inconvenient gash in the earth, situated on the west bank of the river, a punishing sixty-five miles (104.6 km) upstream from Fort Mohave, which was considered the practical limit of river navigation at the time. This is where our steamboat captain, George A. Johnson, saw his angle. He navigated his way upriver and struck a deal to supply the burgeoning mines. His steamboats offered a cheaper, more direct route than the grueling overland trek across the Mohave Desert from Los Angeles. With a supply line established, the news of the strikes in what was dubbed the Colorado Mining District (later, by 1864, the Eldorado Canyon District) triggered the inevitable: a flood of miners poured into the canyon, each one certain they'd be the one to strike it rich. [6]
Naturally, where people chase fortunes, they build temporary monuments to their own greed. Several mining camps sprouted in the canyon's unforgiving terrain over the years. Initially, there was San Juan, also known as Upper Camp, perched at the top of the canyon miles from the river, near the modern-day location of Nelson. Further down, huddled near the productive Techatticup Mine, were the settlements of Alturas and Louisville. And at the very mouth of the canyon, where the dusty earth met the flowing water, was the boat landing of Colorado City, the gritty gateway to the whole operation. [7]: 33, 35
The national conflict found its echo even here, in this isolated pocket of the world. During the American Civil War, three new camps materialized in the middle canyon, proving that you can't outrun politics. In 1862, Lucky Jim Camp was established along the canyon floor, just above January Wash and south of the Techatticup Mine. [8] This was the chosen home for miners whose sympathies lay with the Confederate cause. A mere mile (1.6 km) up the canyon, a rival camp with staunchly Union loyalties was founded, named, with a certain lack of subtlety, Buster Falls. One can only imagine the pleasantries exchanged between them. [4]: 15, and Note 33 [9]: 611
In late 1863, a man named Colonel John R. Vineyard, who was at the time a California State Senator representing Los Angeles, introduced a piece of transformative technology. He constructed the canyon's very first ten-stamp mill. He built it on the north side of the canyon, just below the Confederate-leaning Lucky Jim Camp, in a spot that would soon be known as El Dorado City. [10] Vineyard's mill was a Frankenstein's monster of machinery, assembled from parts scavenged from defunct mining operations in California's Mother Lode country. Its arrival was a paradigm shift. It allowed for the on-site processing of ore, which eliminated the staggering cost of shipping raw rock all the way to San Francisco. This single move cut operational costs in half. For George Alonzo Johnson and his steamboat company, this was terrible news. The lucrative downstream ore trade vanished. In a predictable corporate tantrum, Johnson responded to his diminished business by hiking his freight rates. [7]: 33, 35
The canyon became important enough to warrant official recognition. From 1865 to 1867, while it was technically part of Mohave County in the Arizona Territory, El Dorado Canyon had its own post office, a small tether to the civilized world. [11]: 96
By 1867, the U.S. Army decided it needed to insert itself into the proceedings. To secure the riverboat traffic from disruption and ostensibly to protect the miners from Paiute attacks—on whose land they were, of course, trespassing—they established Camp El Dorado. This military outpost stood at the mouth of the canyon until it was deemed unnecessary and abandoned in 1869. After a brief lull, the mines roared back to life around 1870, productive enough that from 1879 to 1907, El Dorado Canyon once again warranted a post office, this time officially in Clark County, Nevada. [12]
The mines, those deep, dark holes full of hope and hazard, continued to yield their treasures, fueling the cycle of boom and bust until the machinery of a global conflict, World War II, finally brought the operations to a halt. [13] And so the canyon, having given up its riches, was left mostly to the silence.