D.K.P., 1960
NEVADAVILLE HAD THIRTEEN SALOONS
This view looks northeast across Nevada Creek to the main street, which continues at the right on down to Central City and Denver.
A. M. Thomas, 1900; D.P.L.
CORNISH COTTAGES COVERED THIS SLOPE
The population of Nevadaville was twelve hundred in 1900 when the upper photo was taken. The Union Bakery wagon was delivering bread and pastries; an ore wagon was heading up toward Alps Hill, and a number of residents, both on this side of Nevada Creek and the other, were interested in the photographer’s work. In 1960 no one was around to be curious; the lower bridge was gone, but the slopes were the same.
D.K.P., 1960
Nevadaville, similar to all gold camps in Colorado, had a renascence during the 1930’s when the price of gold rose from $20 an ounce to $35. During this period a number of its mines were re-opened including the Hubert, which was worked by Frankie Warren. Frankie was one of the delightful Cousin Jacks left from the old days and could tell dialect stories by the dozens. I spent a number of delightful evenings in Nevadaville listening to his reminiscences and was particularly amused by his ‘ant’ (haunt) stories. One of these was about the Bald Mountain cemetery (a charming spot west of the settlement and worth a side trip) where the parents of Estel Slater had installed his photo on his tombstone and covered it with glass. On moonlight nights a ghost moved in the cemetery. Frankie went up to investigate and discovered the reflected light. I, too, followed Frankie’s example and was startled by the effect—I hope they are still there for you to see. There is always the danger that they have been vandalized. But let us return to Nevadaville.
Of recent years hardy souls who did not mind coping with the meagre water supply have renovated the remaining houses. In 1960 parts of Nevadaville presented a spruce appearance. But the mines which were once rich and storied, contributing a large part of Gilpin County’s $106,000,000 production, are ruins. The ghostliness that they cast and the derelict Main Street were little affected by the neat cottages. It does not take much imagination on a still afternoon to hear a Cornish “tommy-knocker” or to see why Nevadaville rates first among the ghost towns....
Farther on toward the continental divide, past Apex and a sign erroneously marked Private Road, is American City. A mixture of occupied and deserted buildings, the town lies hidden on the wooded side of Colorado Mountain overlooking a glen. A number of the deserted cabins and pretty sites may be bought from the county for back taxes. But others are in fine repair and lovingly cared for. Be wary in American City not to cast yourself in the role of “trespasser.”