A natural thread of wildlife presence woven in, showing how desert creatures went about their lives while miners, homesteaders, and road-trippers came and went:

Ivanpah Valley: Mining, Settlement, and the Story of the Mojave

Nestled in the northeastern part of San Bernardino County, the Ivanpah Valley tells a story of shifting sands, silver dreams, and the rugged endurance of those who dared to live in one of the harshest corners of the American West. This desert basin, with its sweeping alluvial fans and ancient hills, bears the marks of both geologic forces and human ambition. From the first mining camps to homesteaders and the rise of Route 66, Ivanpah is a quiet but enduring witness to the broader saga of the Mojave Desert, a place of allure and mystery that has captivated generations.

The valley lies 2,600 and 4,500 feet above sea level and is part of Major Land Resource Area (MLRA) 30g. Its surface comprises fluvial, lacustrine, and wind-blown sands laid down during the Quaternary period, while occasional outcrops of rugged Precambrian rock poke through the sediment. Gently sloping alluvial fans define the terrain, while basin floors and dry lake beds, known as playas, stretch toward the horizon. Rain is rare—only about 4 to 7 inches fall yearly—yet the soil and climate support hardy desert plant communities like creosote bush, Joshua tree, saltbush, and greasewood, depending on moisture and soil type.

Amidst all this change and activity, the local wildlife continued its existence with a quiet resilience. Wagons rattled over gravel trails, and miners pounded away at rock walls. Yet, desert tortoises quietly roamed the flats, burrowing down into the cool earth to escape the heat. Coyotes trotted unseen along arroyos, pausing now and then to listen. Jackrabbits darted through greasewood and shadows, while red-tailed hawks circled high above the empty mining camps. For the creatures of the desert, life pulsed to an older rhythm, indifferent to boom or bust, a testament to the enduring resilience of the natural world.

Into this arid but mineral-rich land came waves of miners in the 19th century, drawn by tales of hidden veins and easy fortunes. In 1860, the first productive mine in the Mojave—called “Christmas Gift”—opened in Death Valley, setting off a flurry of activity across the desert. Borax, known as “the white gold of the desert,” was soon discovered and began to be mined profitably. By the 1870s, the Clark Mountain Mining District was established, and with it the town of Ivanpah, at that time the only sizable American settlement in the eastern Mojave.

The Bullion Mine, located on the north end of the Ivanpah Mountains, began production in the 1860s. Its rich silver ore was shipped down the Colorado River and on to Swansea, Wales. In 1879, the mine was producing steadily—about five tons every three days—and wagons driven by Jesse Taylor hauled the ore out across the desert. That same year, the mine superintendent, James Boyd, made headlines by replacing an Indian laborer who earned 75 cents a day with a teenage boy, advertised in the San Bernardino Weekly Times, who would work for $30 a month and board–this was frontier economics at its most practical.

The mine changed hands over the years, and in 1909, it was leased by George Bergman of Eldorado Canyon, backed by a $50,000 bond. With multiple shafts and a depth of 250 feet, the Bullion Mine produced ore containing lead, copper, and silver into the 1910s but has seen no significant production since.

Other mines in the Ivanpah Mountains also flourished, if only briefly. The Standard Mine, discovered in 1904 on the west side of the range, operated from 1906 to 1910 and again during World War I. It was nearly 700,000 pounds of copper and 20,000 ounces of silver. By 1908, a small company town had sprung up around it, with bunkhouses, a store, and an assay office.

The Kewanee Mine, discovered around 1901, was especially busy between 1907 and 1911, employing fifty men and operating its mill.

The Morning Star Mine, just west of the Kewanee, saw its most active years between 1927 and 1939, and by the 1970s, it was still being worked in search of the estimated 100,000 ounces of gold beneath its claims.

A particularly curious chapter comes from the Kokoweef Caves, where, in the 1920s, a miner named E.P. Dorr claimed to have discovered an underground river of gold. The tale has since become the stuff of legend, with some continuing to search for treasure in the shadows of the Carbonate and New Trail copper mines nearby.

While miners chased fortune beneath the ground, another wave of settlers sought a different treasure—land. In 1910, homesteaders arrived under federal land programs, usually staking claims on 160-acre parcels. Many came to the Lanfair Valley and surrounding regions, hoping to make a go of desert farming. The rains of the early 1910s encouraged them—fields sprouted crops, and the dry air drew veterans of World War I suffering from the effects of mustard gas.

But the good years were short-lived. When the rains failed, wells dried up or never reached water. Homesteaders found themselves hauling water across miles of open land. Tensions over water rights flared between settlers and ranchers. Gradually, families gave up. They left behind lonely cabins, wind-worn and silent, scattered across the desert.

And still, the lizards sunned themselves on warm rocks. Desert bighorn sheep lined the mountain ridges, standing like statues in the morning light. After a lucky rain in the springtime, wildflowers painted the valley in yellow and purple while hummingbirds zipped among the blooms—untroubled by claims or county lines.

In the 1920s, the iconic Route 66 was born. Built to connect the Midwest to California, it followed old wagon trails and pioneer routes. It symbolized freedom and opportunity—nicknamed “The Mother Road” and “Main Street of America.” It inspired books, songs, and even a TV show. Its significance in shaping the American landscape and culture is undeniable, evoking a sense of nostalgia and appreciation in those who traverse its historic path.

Then came the Great Depression in the 1930s. Struggling families from the Dust Bowl followed Route 66 west, hoping to grow their food and escape the failing economy. After World War II, traffic along Route 66 surged. Though the road was narrow and dangerous in spots, it remained vital—until the 1950s, when new interstate highways like I-15 and I-40 began to bypass the small desert towns. The last section of Route 66 was officially decommissioned in 1985. But its memory lives on. Starting in 1995, “Historic Route 66” signs began appearing in all eight states the route once crossed. Today, travelers trace its path through the Mojave, chasing a piece of American history.

The Ivanpah Valley and its surroundings may seem quiet today, but the landscape still whispers the stories of boomtowns and busted dreams, sunburned miners and hopeful homesteaders, and dust-choked cars rolling west on Route 66. It is a land shaped by wind, stone, and determination—where people once came looking for gold and found, if not riches, a chapter in the great American tale. And through it all, the desert’s original residents—the coyotes, quail, snakes, and tortoises—have never left, carrying on as they always have, desert-born and desert-bound.

Lake Tecopa was a large lake in southeastern California during the Ice Age. Due to changes in climate, earthquakes, and shifting rivers, it formed and disappeared several times over the past two million years.

How Lake Tecopa Changed Over Time

Early Lakes (~2 million to 765,000 years ago):

• Before the Amargosa River reached the area, smaller lakes from local rainfall and runoff filled the basin.
• These lakes could not drain, so water stayed in the basin until it evaporated.

Amargosa River Connection (~765,000 to 580,000 years ago):

• Around 765,000 years ago, the Amargosa River started flowing into the Tecopa Basin.
• This caused the lake to grow much larger, filling the basin several times over the next 200,000 years.

Final Overflow (~185,000 years ago):

• The lake reached its highest level and spilled over, creating a channel that drained into Death Valley.
• Once this happened, Tecopa was no longer a closed lake. Water from the Amargosa River could now flow toward Death Valley instead of staying in the basin.
• This spillover permanently changed the region’s water system.

How the Spillover Happened

• The lake overflowed because of heavy rainfall, rising water levels, and erosion of the basin’s southern part.
• As water broke through, it carved a channel that deepened over time, allowing the Amargosa River to connect with Death Valley.
• After this, Lake Tecopa could no longer reform as a long-lasting lake.

Evidence Left Behind

• Ancient Shorelines: Rings around the basin show where the lake once stood at different times.
• Fossils: Scientists have found tiny fossils of algae and freshwater mollusks, proving that the lake supported life.
• Rock Deposits: Layers of calcium carbonate and tufa formed in the lake, marking its highest water levels.
• Spillover Channel: The area where the lake drained remains a landform today, showing where the water escaped.

Comparing Lake Tecopa to Other Ice Age Lakes

• Lake Tecopa vs. Lake Manly (Death Valley):
  • Lake Tecopa’s overflow helped form Lake Manly in Death Valley.
  • Lake Manly was filled and dried up multiple times, depending on the climate conditions.
  • Unlike Tecopa, Lake Manly was always part of a larger river system.
• Lake Tecopa vs. Lake Mojave (Mojave Desert):
  • Lake Mojave (which included Silver and Soda Lakes) was fed by the Mojave River instead of the Amargosa.
  • Unlike Tecopa, Lake Mojave did not spill over into another basin. Instead, it dried up when the climate changed.
  • Both lakes grew and shrank over time due to changes in rainfall and temperature.

Why This Matters

The story of Lake Tecopa helps scientists understand how Ice Age lakes formed, changed, and disappeared. The lake’s final overflow was an important event because it changed how water flowed across the region. Studying Tecopa’s past gives us clues about ancient climates, shifting landscapes, and the history of water in the Mojave Desert.

Harry Oliver’s Desert Rat Scrapbook was a quirky, hand-assembled publication that ran from 1946 to 1965. Created by Oliver, a former Hollywood set designer and self-proclaimed “desert rat,” the Scrapbook was a mix of tall tales, local history, jokes, and desert lore, all presented in an old-timey, Wild West newspaper style.

Oliver published the Scrapbook from his adobe home in Thousand Palms, California, near Palm Springs. It was printed on rough, oversized newsprint and mailed out to subscribers, who were part of the informal “Lost Horse Phonygraph Club.” The content was an eccentric blend of factual history and outright fabrications, which made it both entertaining and sometimes infuriating for those trying to separate fact from fiction.

Oliver was deeply fascinated by desert culture and the people who lived in remote corners of the Southwest. His work helped popularize the image of the rugged, independent desert wanderer—part prospector, part storyteller, and part trickster. Through the Scrapbook, he connected far-flung desert enthusiasts, building a community around the shared appreciation of the oddities and legends of the region.

1. The Lost Pegleg Mine – One of the most enduring legends in desert lore, Oliver frequently wrote about Thomas “Pegleg” Smith’s supposed gold discovery in the Colorado Desert. Pegleg allegedly found black-coated gold nuggets but could never relocate the spot. Oliver’s Scrapbook added layers to the tale, sometimes claiming new clues had surfaced or spinning yarns about hopeful prospectors who had set out on doomed quests.
2. The Curse of the Lost Dutch Oven Mine – A variation of lost treasure stories, this one involved a prospector who discovered a rich mine but was killed before he could cash in. Supposedly, he buried his gold in a Dutch oven somewhere in the desert, and anyone who searched for it was met with misfortune.
3. Desert Dynamite Fishing – One of Oliver’s more humorous pieces claimed that some old-timers out in the desert had perfected the art of “dry fishing” with sticks of dynamite. They’d toss a charge into a dry lake bed, wait for the explosion, and then go around picking up dazed or dead fish. Complete nonsense, but it made for a great desert tall tale.
4. The Phantom Burro – Oliver often mixed ghost stories with desert humor, and this one involved a spectral burro that would lead lost travelers to safety—or, depending on the version, trick them into wandering deeper into the dunes.
5. The Tin Can Mail Route – This was based on a real oddity: desert drifters and small communities that used tin cans to mark trails and leave messages. Oliver’s version exaggerated the practice, describing elaborate systems of tin can “mailboxes” where hermits and prospectors exchanged cryptic notes, treasure maps, or just empty cans.
6. Jackass Mail and the Desert Post Office – He wrote about makeshift post offices set up in desert outposts where letters would be delivered by burros or left under a rock for the next traveler to take along. These informal mail systems weren’t unheard of, but Oliver took them to absurd levels, claiming they were still in use well into the 20th century.
7. Lost Vikings in the Desert – Oliver had a particular fondness for weird history, and one of his pieces speculated that Norse explorers had made it to the Southwest long before the Spanish, leaving behind stone ruins and petroglyphs. While there’s no evidence for it, the story fit in well with the other strange desert myths.
8. The Camels Are Still Out There – Playing off the true history of the U.S. Army’s short-lived Camel Corps experiment in the mid-1800s, Oliver spun yarns about feral camels still wandering the desert, occasionally showing up to spook travelers.

Harry Oliver knew exactly how to mix fact and fiction into something that kept readers entertained, even if they weren’t sure what was real. His Scrapbook became a kind of time capsule for desert folklore, blending the true stories of the West with the kind of campfire tales that made the region so colorful.

In the lonely reaches of the El Paso Mountains, where the desert stretches wide and the wind whispers through the canyons, Dutch Charley—better known as Charles Koehn—built a life that was equal parts rugged and legendary. A German immigrant turned desert rat, Koehn made his mark not with gold, but with grit, ingenuity, and a bit of old-fashioned stubbornness.

Koehn’s story begins in the 1890s, when he staked a claim at Kane Springs, a much-needed watering hole along the route between Tehachapi and the Panamint Range. While many men chased dreams of striking it rich in the goldfields, Dutch Charley had a different plan—he set up shop right in the heart of the action, offering supplies, water, and even a mail service to the miners and drifters passing through. For 25 cents a letter, a prospector could send word back home, and for a few more coins, he could rest his bones and share a drink at Koehn’s outpost. It wasn’t just a business; it was a lifeline in an unforgiving land.

Despite his knack for trade, Koehn had a prospector’s heart. He spent years scouring the desert for something valuable, and while he never found the gold mother lode, he did uncover something else—gypsum. In 1909, he staked claims on a massive gypsite deposit near his homestead, and by 1910, he had a small operation producing wall plaster. It wasn’t the romantic vision of striking it rich, but it was a steady business. His holdings expanded over the years, and soon, larger companies were leasing his land to extract the valuable mineral.

But life in the Mojave wasn’t just about hard work—it was also about holding your ground. In 1912, a group of claim jumpers, backed by hired guns, tried to push Koehn off his land. The desert was a lawless place, and disputes like these were often settled with more than just words. Koehn, known for being tough as nails, didn’t back down. A gunfight erupted on the dry lakebed, and when the dust settled, Dutch Charley was still standing. The courts later ruled in his favor, affirming his rights to the land. It was the kind of incident that turned a man into a legend.

For decades, Koehn’s outpost—known as Dutch Charley’s Cabin—served as a beacon for desert wanderers. Whether it was a weary prospector looking for water, a film crew from Hollywood needing a mule team, or just a lost traveler in need of a friendly face, Koehn’s place was a welcome sight in the vast emptiness. His generosity was well known, and many recalled his habit of offering water to anyone who needed it, free of charge. It wasn’t just about business—it was about survival, about knowing that out here, in the middle of nowhere, a little kindness went a long way.

But time and fortune have a way of shifting like the desert sands. In the 1920s, Koehn found himself in a series of legal battles over his gypsum claims, and in 1923, he was arrested for allegedly attempting to bomb the home of a judge involved in one of his disputes. Whether he was guilty or the victim of a setup is still debated, but the outcome was clear—he was convicted and sent to San Quentin State Prison. It was a tragic end for a man who had spent his life fighting to carve out a piece of the desert for himself. He died behind bars in 1938, just days before he was scheduled to be released.

Though Koehn himself is long gone, his legacy remains. Koehn Dry Lake still bears his name, a reminder of the claim fights and salt works that once played out on its barren surface. The remains of Dutch Charley’s Cabin stand as a ghostly relic of a bygone era, a time when men built lives in the harshest of places with nothing but their hands, their wits, and an unbreakable will. His story, filled with hardship, adventure, and the occasional brush with the law, is woven into the fabric of Mojave history.

Dutch Charley was more than just a miner or a businessman. He was a character, a survivor, and above all, a man who belonged to the desert. He may not have left behind great wealth, but he left something just as enduring—the kind of story that echoes through the canyons long after the last prospector has gone.

Charles Koehn, famously known as “Dutch Charley,” was a German-born prospector who became a prominent desert character in California’s El Paso Mountains around the 1890s​

vredenburgh.org. In 1892, he homesteaded land at a desert water source called Kane Springs (later often referred to as Koehn Springs) with the intent to profit from the stream of travelers and miners between Tehachapi and the Panamint Range​

publiclandsforthepeople.org. Koehn established a way station there that soon turned into a one-man desert outpost. In September 1893 he even secured a post office at his ranch (officially named “Koehn” post office) and began delivering mail to local mining camps at 25 cents per letter​

publiclandsforthepeople.org. His station offered much-needed services: he ran a store and bar, sold staples like hay, grain, and meat to prospectors, and even provided free water to any traveler or teamster passing by​

vredenburgh.org. This generosity and entrepreneurial spirit made Dutch Charley’s place a well-known stopover in the Mojave Desert. By late 1893, two stores were operating at Kane Springs alongside Koehn’s facilities, attesting to the little community that sprang up around his oasis​

vredenburgh.org. Koehn’s resourcefulness and commanding personality earned him colorful nicknames such as the “Bismarck of the Desert” and the “Wild Dutchman,” reflecting both his German heritage and his formidable presence on the frontier​

angelfire.com.

Role as a Prospector and Mining Claims

Despite primarily running a supply station, Dutch Charley was also an active prospector and mining man. During the 1893 gold rush in the El Paso Mountains (notably at Goler and Red Rock canyons), Koehn capitalized on the boom by supporting miners rather than striking gold himself​

publiclandsforthepeople.org. In early 1896, he built a small stamp mill at Kane Springs to process ore​

vredenburgh.org, one of the first mills outside of Garlock, though such mills were soon overshadowed when railroads enabled shipping ore to larger mills elsewhere​

vredenburgh.org. Koehn’s true prospecting successes came from the desert’s less-glamorous minerals. He dabbled in borax: in 1896 he discovered a deposit of ulexite (a borate mineral) near his homestead and worked it sporadically over the years, though total production was only a few railcar loads of borax “cottonballs”​

publiclandsforthepeople.org. His most significant find was a large gypsum deposit. In late 1909, Charles Koehn located an extensive bed of gypsite (a gypsum-clay mixture) in the dry lake adjacent to his ranch (now Koehn Lake)​

publiclandsforthepeople.org. By 1910–1912 he had attracted outside interest in this gypsum; a small calcining plant started making wall plaster, and the California Crown Plaster Company produced the first sacks of gypsite from his claims​

publiclandsforthepeople.org. Koehn began leasing portions of his gypsum property to various companies between 1910 and 1930 to be mined for plaster and agricultural additives​

publiclandsforthepeople.org.

Aside from gypsum, Koehn also held salt claims on the dry lake itself. Koehn Lake (sometimes called Kane Dry Lake) was rich in surface salt, and Koehn had staked claims there in the early 1900s​

vredenburgh.org. By leasing or working with larger capitalists, Koehn managed to derive income from these mineral claims despite not having the means to develop them entirely on his own. His ventures made him locally famous – if not for striking a mother lode of gold, then for uncovering the desert’s more humble riches like salt, borax, and gypsum.

Conflicts over Claims and Notoriety

Charles “Dutch Charley” Koehn’s mining ventures were not without conflict. His gypsite and salt claims led to fierce disputes in the wild lawlessness of the Mojave. In January 1912, a band of claim jumpers, backed by hired gunmen, attempted to seize Koehn’s holdings on the dry lake​

publiclandsforthepeople.org​

vredenburgh.org. This confrontation erupted into a gunfight on the alkali flats of Koehn Lake. Koehn, described by historians as “feisty,” stood his ground and won what was by all accounts a brief but lively battle​

publiclandsforthepeople.org​

vredenburgh.org. The aftermath of the shootout landed the instigators in court – the Randsburg Miner newspaper reported that T. H. Rosenberger and ten others were found guilty of forcible entry in the incident (effectively acknowledging Koehn’s rights) and were fined for their actions​

vredenburgh.org. Ultimately, about a year later, Koehn reached a deal with his rivals: he sold his salt claims to Thomas Thorkildsen (one of the claim jumpers’ financiers), who then passed them to the Los Angeles-based Diamond Salt Company​

vredenburgh.org. This resolution allowed an organized salt works to proceed at the site, while presumably earning Koehn some compensation. A local paper even headlined “Charles Koehn Sells Famous Salt Springs” in late 1912, marking a victorious end to that particular feud​

vredenburgh.org.

Koehn’s battles moved from the desert to the courts in the ensuing years. With multiple companies leasing or coveting his gypsum deposits, contractual disputes arose. Various firms sued Koehn over percentages and rights; one such company, Alpine Lime & Plaster, demanded $50,000 in damages around 1920​

publiclandsforthepeople.org. Legal skirmishes dragged on, but a far more dramatic incident occurred in 1923. That year, Koehn was arrested under alarming circumstances: he was caught fleeing the Fresno home of Judge Campbell Beaumont (who had been involved in one of the civil cases) and was accused of planting an explosive device there​

publiclandsforthepeople.org. Suspicious evidence – a bomb with fuse and bits of newspaper – was allegedly found in Koehn’s car, though Koehn steadfastly proclaimed his innocence​

publiclandsforthepeople.org. Despite lingering doubts about whether he was truly guilty, Koehn was convicted of attempted bombing. The aging desert miner was sent to San Quentin State Prison in 1924 to serve his sentence​

publiclandsforthepeople.org. Tragically, “Dutch Charley” never regained his freedom – he died behind bars in 1938, just days before a scheduled release which might have pardoned his late-life transgression​

publiclandsforthepeople.org. This inglorious end stands in stark contrast to his earlier years of desert independence. Nonetheless, his notoriety from the claim wars and the courtroom drama only cemented his legend in Kern County lore.

Dutch Charley’s Cabin and Desert Wanderers’ Haven

Throughout the turn of the century, Dutch Charley’s outpost at Kane Springs became a well-known haven for desert wanderers. His stone cabin (often referred to as Dutch Charley’s Cabin) served not only as his home and base of operations but as a reliable refuge for prospectors, travelers, and stagecoach drivers crossing the arid expanse. Reports from the Bureau of Land Management note that Koehn’s supply station included a rock house which may still be extant decades later​

scvhistory.com. In the 1890s, this cabin and ranch was essentially the only “town” for miles. Koehn dispensed mail from the station until 1898 (when the small post office was discontinued as richer diggings at Randsburg drew away the miners)​

vredenburgh.org​

vredenburgh.org. Yet the site itself remained active; Koehn kept his ranch running for some 30 years more, and his stone cabin continued to be a landmark in the El Paso Mountains long after he was gone​

vredenburgh.org. Travelers could stop at Dutch Charley’s place to water their horses at his well, rest in the shade of his porch, and perhaps hear a story or two from the garrulous host. He was known to give out water freely to parched passers-by and was generally hospitable – as one contemporary observer put it, desert wayfarers were “warranted to keep out the desert heat” at Koehn’s spring, which was “a veritable oasis in the desert”​

vredenburgh.org​

vredenburgh.org.

Koehn’s cabin-stopover also fostered interactions with many other desert characters of the era. He dealt daily with prospectors grubstaking in the El Paso range and the Rand District; men like the gold discoverers of Goler Gulch would have frequented his station. He was part of a network of desert personalities that included figures such as William “Burro” Schmidt – the lone miner who famously dug a tunnel through the El Pasos not many miles from Koehn’s ranch​

publiclandsforthepeople.org. It’s easy to imagine Schmidt, during his 1906–1930 tunneling feat, stopping by Dutch Charley’s for supplies or mail. Likewise, when early Hollywood film crews came out to Red Rock Canyon (just west of Koehn’s place) in the 1910s and 1920s to shoot Westerns, it was Dutch Charley whom they contacted to rent wagons and mules for their movies​

angelfire.com. He supplied produce from his garden to these crews and local mining camps, showing a surprisingly domestic side (cultivating vegetables in the desert) alongside his rough prospector image​

angelfire.com. By serving as a hub for miners, wanderers, and even filmmakers, Dutch Charley’s cabin became embedded in desert lore as a welcomed stopover – a place of cold drinks, warm meals, and lively conversation in an otherwise desolate region.

Legacy and Cultural Portrayals

Charles “Dutch Charley” Koehn left an indelible mark on the Mojave Desert’s history. Several geographic landmarks still bear his name and attest to his activities. Koehn Dry Lake (north of California City in Kern County) is named after him and was the site of his salt and gypsum exploits​

vredenburgh.org​

vredenburgh.org. The site of his homestead, Kane Springs, is sometimes referred to as Koehn Springs on old maps, acknowledging his role as the founder of that desert settlement​

vredenburgh.org. Even the short-lived mining camp of Gypsite (which grew around the gypsum diggings near Koehn Lake) owes its existence to his discovery – a California state mineral report noted that Koehn’s gypsum deposit covered about a square mile and was significant enough to be mined on and off for decades​

publiclandsforthepeople.org. While little remains of “Gypsite” today, the ruins of Dutch Charley’s rock cabin at Kane Springs reportedly survived for many years; historians in 1980 observed that the stone house was “still extant”, a tangible relic of Koehn’s desert enterprise​

scvhistory.com. The cabin site, though remote, is considered an archaeological and historical site within the El Paso Mountains, symbolizing the era of lone prospectors and desert hospitality.

In popular culture, Dutch Charley’s adventurous life has been portrayed with some creative license. An episode of the classic Western TV series “Death Valley Days” titled “One Man Tank” (1960) fictionalized Koehn’s story for television. In that episode, actor John Bleifer plays Dutch Charley Koehn as an aging prospector who, having failed to strike it rich in gold, buys a goat farm instead – only to inadvertently hit a gold vein on that very farm​

conservapedia.com. The plot includes a scheming character trying to oust Charley from his property and a friend helping to fight the injustice​

conservapedia.com. While this TV tale takes liberties (there is no record of Koehn ever running a goat ranch or belatedly finding gold), it reflects how Koehn’s persona had entered frontier folklore. The very inclusion of “Dutch Charley” in a 1960s Western show underscores his local fame; viewers were treated to the legend of a stubborn old desert rat whose luck turned in a fanciful way.

Beyond television, Koehn’s name appears in regional histories, museum exhibits, and guided off-road tours of the Mojave. He is remembered as a quintessential Mojave Desert prospector: resilient, shrewd, and a bit rebellious. Writers have alternately cast him as a hero of the desert (standing up to claim jumpers and aiding fellow miners) and as an outlaw figure (given the later bomb plot conviction). In truth, his life encompassed both aspects. Today, visitors to Red Rock Canyon State Park and the surrounding El Paso Mountains might hear about Dutch Charley when exploring sites like Garlock (where his mill once operated), Last Chance Canyon, or the Old Dutch Cleanser Mine – all part of the same historical landscape he inhabited. The story of Charles “Dutch Charley” Koehn – from immigrant prospector and “Desert Bismarck” to embattled claim owner and folklore character – is an integral chapter of California’s desert heritage, illustrating the grit, conflict, and community of the old prospecting days​

angelfire.com​

vredenburgh.org.

Sources: Historical mining accounts and archives such as Desert Fever: An Overview of Mining in the California Desert​

publiclandsforthepeople.org​

publiclandsforthepeople.org, the Randsburg Miner and other contemporary newspapers summarized in Vredenburgh et al.’s research​

vredenburgh.org, as well as cultural references like Death Valley Days​

conservapedia.com, have been used to compile the above information on Dutch Charley’s life and legacy. These sources document Koehn’s activities (mail delivery, mining claims, legal battles) and paint the colorful narrative of a desert character whose cabin became a Mojave legend.

Lake Tecopa was once a vast body of water located in what is now southeastern California, near Death Valley. During the Ice Age, when the climate was much cooler and wetter, rain and melted snow filled the basin, creating a long-lasting lake. It existed for thousands of years, supporting various life forms and leaving clues about the region’s ancient past.

The lake was home to tiny aquatic creatures such as snails, clams, and microscopic algae. Larger animals, including mammoths and other Ice Age megafauna, gathered along its shores to drink. Over time, layers of mud and clay accumulated at the bottom, trapping fossils and preserving a detailed record of the lake’s ecosystem. These sediments also captured evidence of significant volcanic events. One of the most well-known ash layers in the Tecopa basin originates from a massive eruption of the Yellowstone hotspot approximately two million years ago. This ash, which traveled hundreds of miles, settled into the lakebed and became part of its geological history. Other eruptions also left behind layers of light-colored ash, which now serve as chronological markers for scientists studying the ancient environment.

Eventually, the lake’s natural barriers eroded, allowing water to escape and connect with what is now the Amargosa River. This event permanently drained Lake Tecopa, leaving behind a dry basin filled with clay and sediment. Today, the remnants of the ancient lake tell the story of changing climates, shifting landscapes, and the forces that shaped the Mojave Desert. Scientists continue to study the lakebed’s layers, using fossils, ash deposits, and sediment patterns to better understand the past and how this once-thriving lake disappeared into history.Lake Tecopa was once a vast body of water in what is now southeastern California, near Death Valley. During the Ice Age, when the climate was much cooler and wetter, rain and melted snow filled the basin, creating a long-lasting lake. It remained for thousands of years, supporting various life and leaving clues about the region’s ancient past.

The lake was home to tiny aquatic creatures such as snails, clams, and microscopic algae. Larger animals, including mammoths and other Ice Age megafauna, gathered along its shores to drink. Over time, layers of mud and clay built up at the bottom, trapping fossils and preserving a detailed record of the lake’s ecosystem. These sediments also captured evidence of major volcanic events. One of the most well-known ash layers in the Tecopa basin comes from a massive eruption of the Yellowstone hotspot around two million years ago. This ash, which traveled hundreds of miles, settled into the lakebed and became part of its geological history. Other eruptions also left behind layers of light-colored ash, which now serve as time markers for scientists studying the ancient environment.

Eventually, the lake’s natural barriers eroded, allowing water to escape and connect with what is now the Amargosa River. This event permanently drained Lake Tecopa, leaving a dry basin filled with clay and sediment. Today, the remains of the ancient lake tell a story of changing climates, shifting landscapes, and the forces that shaped the Mojave Desert. Scientists continue to study the lakebed’s layers, using fossils, ash deposits, and sediment patterns to understand better the past and how this once-thriving lake disappeared into history.

The telegraph revolutionized communication in the 19th century, allowing messages to travel almost instantly over long distances. Before its invention, news and correspondence had to be carried by horseback, stagecoach, or mail wagons, often taking days or weeks. Using Samuel Morse and Alfred Vail’s Morse code system, the telegraph changed that by transmitting electrical signals through wires.

Samuel Morse and Alfred Vail developed the first working telegraph in 1837. By 1844, telegraph wire carried the first long-distance message sent between Washington, D.C., and Baltimore. This success led to rapid expansion, with telegraph lines stretching across the United States. The first transcontinental telegraph line was completed on October 24, 1861, linking California with the rest of the country and making the Pony Express obsolete.

In the Mojave Desert, the telegraph was crucial for military operations, railroads, and mining communities. After Fort Mojave was established in 1859, the U.S. Army relied on telegraph lines to coordinate across remote desert outposts, particularly along the Mojave Road. The Southern Pacific and Santa Fe railroads extended telegraph lines along their tracks in the late 1800s, improving train dispatching and reducing accidents. Mining towns such as Calico (founded 1881) and Rhyolite (1904) depended on the telegraph for communication with investors and supply networks.

By the early 1900s, the telephone began replacing the telegraph, offering direct voice communication. However, railroads continued using the telegraph for dispatching into the mid-20th century. Today, while the telegraph has long been obsolete, remnants of old telegraph poles and wires can still be found in the Mojave Desert, marking the path of a once-revolutionary technology.

Calico

Rhyolite

Southern Pacific

Santa Fe

Tex Rickard and Wyatt Earp were both larger-than-life figures of the Old West, though they came from different backgrounds and made their marks in different ways.

Wyatt Earp is best known as a lawman, gambler, and gunslinger, with his most famous moment being the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral in 1881 in Tombstone, Arizona. Over his long life, Earp moved from town to town, working as a marshal, running saloons, and getting involved in mining and real estate.

Tex Rickard, on the other hand, was a cowboy-turned-promoter who became one of the most influential figures in early boxing. He built Madison Square Garden and promoted some of the biggest fights of the early 20th century, including Jack Dempsey’s title bouts.

Their connection? Rickard worked in mining towns early in his career and operated gambling halls, much like Earp. It’s believed that the two crossed paths in Nome, Alaska, around 1900, when Rickard was running a saloon and gambling house during the Klondike Gold Rush, and Earp was similarly involved in gambling and saloon keeping. Though they weren’t close associates, they were part of the same world of frontier towns, gambling, and larger-than-life hustling.

Earp’s legend was shaped by dime novels and Hollywood, while Rickard became a giant in sports promotion. Both, in their own ways, embodied the rough-and-tumble, opportunistic spirit of the American West.

Tex Rickard – Promoter

Tex Rickard (1870–1929) was an American boxing promoter, entrepreneur, and gambler who played a major role in popularizing prizefighting in the early 20th century. Born George Lewis Rickard in Kansas, he earned the nickname “Tex” due to his time in Texas as a cowboy and lawman.

Rickard made a fortune in gold mining in Alaska during the Klondike Gold Rush before turning to gambling and sports promotion. He gained fame by organizing high-profile boxing matches, including several heavyweight championship bouts featuring Jack Dempsey, which helped transform boxing into a mainstream sport.

Beyond boxing, Rickard was also a key figure in the development of Madison Square Garden, overseeing its construction in 1925. He also played a role in early professional hockey, founding the New York Rangers in 1926. His influence on sports promotion and venue management set the stage for modern sports entertainment.