Abandonment

Tucked deep in the Idaho Rockies far away from any paved road is the open pit at the former Stibnite mine. Once a thriving company town of 1,000 people, Stibnite was the source of 98% of the antimony and tungsten used to make hardened steel for munitions and battleships during WWII.

Other than the open pit, the tailings are all that remain today.

Rainstorm sweeps across the barren Oregon desert.
General Mercantile, Paradise Valley, Nevada


Clouds and shadows dance upon the sagebrush hillside.

Parish church on the high plateau.

Silver City

While the actual number of Idaho ghost towns is anyone's guess, there's no dispute as to which one is in the most pristine condition: Silver City, nestled deep in the remote Owyhee Mountains of southwestern Idaho. What makes this site so unique is its authenticy; for in the western U.S., most ghost towns are either long abandoned piles of timber and metal or kitschy tourist traps, such as Tombstone and Virginia City.

Getting there is no easy task; once the pavement ends the road rises through outlying sagebrush hills on the way to subalpine 8,000 feet passes. Mining is still occuring in the area, and encountering an ore hauler barrelling around one of the numerous blind curves could be disasterous. Further on, the road narrows to a one-laned jeep trail as it traverses high ridges covered in mountain mahogany and juniper.

Silver and gold were discovered in the area in the 1860's, and soon after the town boomed to 2,500 people. Thanks to the quick prosperity, Silver City is historically notable for several reasons; it was the first town in Idaho to have telegraph service and a daily newspaper, and one of the first in the west to have electicity. While few of the buildings are occupied today, they are in remarkable good condition given the harsh desert environment and unmerciful threat of wildfires.

What's always amazed us about western ghost towns is how the residents abandoned all earthly possesions in the quick exodus after the lode ran dry. Cars and equipment were left behind, as well as fine china, furniture, and every other type of househood goods. It's as if the people presumed all they owned could be replaced as soon they arrived at the next boomtoom. Now, antiques (and junk) left behind from the golden age of mining can be found in abundance for retail in many mining boomtowns such as Globe, AZ, and Deadwood, SD.

Outside the city limits, old mine shafts dot the adjacent hillsides. In total, an estimated $60 million dollars (obviously worth much more today) of gold and silver were extracted from the hundreds of miles dug deep into the mountains.

Someday, as Silver City continues to age and the effects of time wear hard on the buildings of this once prosperous town, there will be little left but fallen timbers and heaps of scrap metal. But today, as one stands in the center of town, it's easy to imagine the sights and sounds of a whiskey fueled Friday night at the Idaho Hotel one hundred years ago, when dreams of silver and gold were the reality.

Idaho Big House

We're still here! Despite our ever-lessening blogging tempo, we have a batch of fresh posts on the way (let's face it. The blogosphere peaked long ago, and RR was never much to brag about even during the golden era of blogging. So from now on we'll be limiting postings to unique places or experiences, like Idaho). First up: the Idaho State Penitentiary, one of three remaining territorial prisons still standing despite the erosion of time and neglect.... just like this blog!




Built in 1872, the Idaho State Pen housed 600 inmates at a time, for a total of 13,000 before closing in 1973. All 13,000 entered through the bars of this sallyport entrance and upon completion of their term, walked out this same gate. Lifers left in coffins of course, as did 10 inmates executed by hangman's noose in the rose garden.



High sandstone walls with rifle towers rim the complex, which housed several dorms, a hospital, dining hall, commissary, and laundry facilities. The rocks were cut and hauled from local quaries and meticulously placed by the hands of.... you guessed it.... inmates. Building the walls of your own prison must be one of the more disheartening things a man can do with himself.



When the prison closed in 1973, the Department of Corrections transferred the property to the Idaho State Park system, which greatly benefitted the facility's preservation. Unlike many other historical prisons which were dismantled, looted, or simply fell victim to neglect, the facilities at the Idaho State Pen are in the same condition as the day the last prisoners left.






Many cells look as if the residents had just left for recreation time in the yard.... soda cans and cigarrette butts sit on makeshift card playing tables; toothbrushes and shaving razors stand in cups along the sinks. The only sign of abandonment is the peeling paint, although not to say it wasn't already peeling in 1973.






Throughout the prison are photographs and stories of some of the more notable inmates. Like Henry Wilmbusse, who served a life sentence for killing the judge who previously committed him to an insane asylum. The brief vignettes offer insight into the people who occupied the often violent and lawless western frontier.


Scattered among the many cattle thieves and bank robbers are stories of the 200 women prisoners who served time at the prison. Like Mary Mills, Idaho's own "Typhoid Mary", sentenced for spreading VD. In the early days of the prison, women were actually mixed in with the men. Of course, predictable problems ensued, and so a womens dorm was built in 1905.


Even though the cells are empty and the washing machines sit idle and the only residents are the quiet ghosts of former inmates, it isn't difficult to imagine the constant commotion and clatter of when 600 prisoners occupied the prison. The best part of the visit: walking out the front gate, freely and without impedence, an event the 13,000 inmates of the Idaho State Penitentiary could only dream about.

Shooting Rats

Ah, springtime. Time for budding tulips and chirping birds. Time for turtles on the log and peeper frogs in the swamp. Time to head to the desert west for the annual spring RR varmint eradication mission!








Drew laid down waves of suppression fire with his sporty new S&W MP15-22.

Andy kicked it old school with a Marlin Model 60 and shooting sticks.

"To kill, you must know the enemy, and in this case my enemy is a varmint. And a varmint will never quit- ever. They're like the Viet Cong. Varmint Cong. So you have to fall back on superior firepower and superior intelligence. And that's all she wrote." -Carl Spackler, Caddyshack

Drew after he let the air out of his first rat. Honestly, the boy couldn't have been prouder.

Hours later, the ground was littered with scores of dead rodents.

Goodbye, Mr. Harwell

May 6, 2010: Ernie's final visit to the ballpark.

News trucks from all over were on site.

Major League Baseball network, filming live.

Fans wrote kind messages the kind man will never read.

By noon, the line wrapped around Woodward.


To pay respect to perhaps the most publicly beloved man Detroit, Michigan has ever known.

The Bull Fight Part II

WARNING: THIS POST IS NOT FOR KIDDIES, BUNNY HUGGERS, AND WELL-MEANING PROGRESSIVES WHO ESCHEW BRUTAL OLD SCHOOL TRADITIONS.

Now that we've gotten that little disclaimer out of the way, we can show you what a real professional bullfight looks like. Watching one is a very unique experience, for many reasons. We'll delve into the why so in a minute, but first, let's discuss a brief history of the tauromachia.

Bullfighting dates back to ancient Rome, when Roman soldiers engaged in various man vs. beast contests, both as a machismo rite of passage and entertainment on remote empire posts. Over the centuries, the sport spread across Europe and due to expansion of the Spanish empire, eventually much of Central and South America.

Today, in this modern age of animal rights and political correctness, few countries still permit bullfights. Even in Spain, where bullfighting is deeply engrained in the national culture, it is controversial. The Spanish royal family is divided on the issue... while Queen Sophia is known for her public dislike of bullfighting, King Juan Carlos regularly presides over his countries' national pastime.

There was no royality present at our bullfight. The stands were mostly empty in fact, and the atmosphere had a blue collar feel. Before the fight, when the bull was released into the ring, the matador appeared pensive, as if he recognized that minus the pageantry, the event came down to him vs. the bull, and only one would walk out of the ring.

Bullfights have three acts, known as tercios. First is the tercio de varas, where the matador confronts the bull and engages in a series of passes to impress the crowd and gauge the bull's ferocity. This stage includes the lancing of the bull by a picador on horseback, a move intended to weaken the bull by severing powerful neck muscles. Obviously, the bull doesn't approve and attempts to gore the horse. In days of old, before horses were protected with padded armor, they were often disemboweled and stepped about on their own guts before collapsing in front of shocked audiences. Thankfully, this did not happen during our bullfight.

Next up is the tercio de banderillas, the stage where two bandrillas (barbed sticks) are planted into the bull's back in an attempt to anger and invigorate after the lancing.

For the final stage, the tercio de muerte, the matador engages the bull with a crimson cape for the series of passes known as the faena. The goal is to not only fatigue the bull, but impress the crowd with how close he can get to the bull during the tandas, or the passes.

When the matador feels the faena is complete, he readies his sword for the estocada, or the thrusting of the sword into the bull's back.


With a deft move that took less than a second, the blade is inserted into the bull and driven into the heart. The bull stumbles and snorts blood for a moment, then falls to the ground.

As the bull writhed on the dirt floor, we were struck by the complexity of the moment; the brutality mixed with pageantry. Here's a man wearing ballet slippers and an outfit with more sequins than a Liberace Vegas costume facing a 1,000 pound horned beast. And how this animal died under much more nobel circumstances than the bovines who get a piston to the head in Iowa slaughter houses.

The sword is withdrawn and the bull takes his final gasp of life.

The matador is given a hero's ceremony.

After cowboys roped the back legs of the bull's lifeless carcass and pulled it off the arena floor, a bloody stain and drag mark is all that remained.

The Bull Fight: Part I

We're getting to the bullfight.... but just like how it went down at the Plaza De Toros, first up are the many dances, parades, and contests- all part of the pageantry that take place before the official la fiesta de toros.

For almost two hours, horsemen and dancers engaged in spectacular displays of cultural showmanship, like this Mexican square dance on the dusty arena floor.

Sash wearing chareos dance their crazy sword dance.

Horseriders display the flags of the tourist countries.

A mariachi band warms up the crowd.

Tourista damas play a game of catch the greased piglets.

And the tourista hombres play an invigorating game of man vs. little bull soccer.

Which didn't go so well for this guy.


Or this guy.

And the pre-bullfight activities concluded with the grandest of animal contests; the rooster fight.


Up next: the moment you've all been waiting for, the tauromachia.