Places That Were

After the mine adventure, I drove to Oatman, a remote mining town in the Black Mountains of Arizona. The area was originally settled when prospector Johnny Moss discovered gold in the area in 1863, though it did not officially become a town until 1906.


Oatman remained a modest mining community until 1915, when major ore deposits were discovered nearby, and it quickly grew into a gold rush boom town.


When United Eastern Mining closed in 1942, the population declined dramatically, but tourism kept the town alive. In 1953, Route 66 was rerouted to completely bypass Oatman, and the population dipped to about 60.


In the 1960s and 70s the town was rejuvenated in an effort to preserve and celebrate its history. The population is now about 135, with hundreds of tourists passing through daily.


I usually avoid tourist-oriented spots and prefer to explore places that are actually abandoned, but I enjoyed my afternoon in Oatman.

One of the town's most notable aspects is that burros freely roam the streets. Like the feral animals I encountered in the hills, they are descendants of those kept by miners as pack animals. Acclimated to crowds of humans, they stroll lazily among the tourists, often blocking traffic, unfazed by the honking of impatient motorists. They seem to know they've earned their place in Oatman through the hard work of their ancestors, and refuse to be hurried along by out-of-towners.

Many of the shops sell snacks to feed the burros. The animals have become so accustomed to the handouts that they boldly snatch handbags in the hope that they might contain a tasty treat. I witnessed several instances of burros attempting to steal purses from unsuspecting women, and had a good laugh.





Oatman Hotel is one of the town's most famous landmarks because Clark Gable and Carole Lombard spent part of their honeymoon there. It is also allegedly haunted by "Oatie", the friendly ghost of an Irish miner.


There are many historic buildings with artifacts on display from the mining era.




I had to get a photo of the Glory Hole museum and antique shop because of its provocative name. Apparently "glory hole" originally meant "a hole in a mineshaft where an orebody is mined upwards until it breaks through the surface into the open air." It wasn't until the 1940s that the term was used as sexual slang.


A gunfight occurs every day at noon and 2:15 in the middle of Oatman's main street, a stretch of Historic Route 66 now known as Oatman-Topock Highway. Just before the gunfights begin, they completely block off the street, which is the only route through town. Anyone driving through has no choice but to stop and watch. A semi and several other vehicles were forced to stop while I was there. The drivers' irritation at the inconvenience quickly vanished when they realized the novelty of the situation.


I spoke with a friendly older woman, who said she comes to Oatman every year. I can see why she would; it's a charming place. The only drawback is the total lack of phone reception and internet, but I suppose it makes the old mining town that much more authentic.

I grabbed lunch at The bucktooth Burro, a cute restaurant with a Route 66 memorabilia lining the walls. It also had a creepy mechanical pianist at a saloon-style piano. Someone put a quarter in the slot and the automaton sprung to life, playing an awful tinny tune way too loudly. I noticed people at neighboring tables tense up when the cacophony began, and then breathe sighs of relief when it ended.



I was disappointed, but not terribly surprised when I opened my menu and found that Bush-era jingoism is still alive in Oatman.

I reached the tailings and found that they came from another vertical mine shaft. 

The site was littered with rusty metal scraps from long-gone equipment and the remnants of collapsed wooden support structures. 

The hill offered a good view of the surrounding area, including several more mines and a run-down homestead that appeared occupied. I climbed down the hill and saw signs warning people away from the homestead, but not the mines. Not wanting to get kicked off the land, I kept my distance. 

I was tired from crossing the rough terrain with the sun beating down on me, but my adrenaline was pumping so I roamed the countryside, determined to check out every mine within eye shot. Most were vertical shafts accompanied by the remains of wooden headframes and rusted metal junk.

I found two horizontal mines and strolled through both of them. The first only went back about 20 feet. 

The second mine extended several hundred feet and connected with a tight vertical chasm I had seen earlier. 

Near the end of my hike, I came to a mine with a warning sign posted at its entrance.

On the way back to the car, I passed a sign left by the same people who had put up the Christmas tree that caused me to stop in the first place. It was a fitting bookend to my hike. 

I also happened past a few wild burros. One stared at me, occasionally making loud noises, which I assumed were meant to intimidate me. I kept a respectful distance. There are many wild burros in the area, descended from those kept by miners as pack animals. 

I got back to the car and continued toward Oatman. To keep this post from getting ridiculously long, I'll tell you all about Oatman next week.