Rhyolite

The desert slowly reclaims Rhyolite. The town once supported a thriving community and now it sits alone in the desert. The Nevada Historical society take care of in however it can. The stone buildings are all that remain. Being inside them is like walking through an archaeological dig site. Columns lie on their sides, foundations are cracked, bricks are strewn, few clues remain. But every so often as I walked inside a building I would get a flash of what once was.

The bank, clean save for a fine dust on the floor has people milling about inside. It's dark and cool inside. A woman walks with her husband to the teller. The owner of the bank sits in his office above the main floor looking down with pride. And suddenly I'm back in the glaring heat. The walls white with time and sunlight. The ground is covered with dirt, brick, stone slabs and desert plants.

Rhyolite, Nevada.

Goldfield

A handful of businesses remain open on the main road through town. Houses further out from the road are in various states of decay. Some have for sale signs that optimistically list a phone number. Others sit vacant, open, and empty. Shops are closed. The town is listed as a ghost town in most modern atlases. Those residents who remain stare blankly as tourists gawk and pose in front of what used to be a thriving community. The Goldfield Hotel, once the largest in the West, sits boarded up. The schoolhouse rots slowly as repair efforts are made in vain.

Further out, where no tourist dare venture, are the mines. A range of hundreds of mounds. Each one a mine. Each one fenced off with barbed wire. The earth in this area is stained yellow and red by what was pulled up from below.

The town of Goldfield, Nevada.