Category: Articles

Timeline

Prehistoric

• Indigenous Mojave and desert tribes lived in the region for thousands of years, traveling along the Mojave River and ancient trade routes.

1840s–1860s

• Travelers along the Old Spanish Trail and Mormon Road camped at spots near Barstow such as Grapevines and Fish Ponds.
• 1860–1871: Camp Cady, east of Barstow, served as a U.S. Army post protecting travelers along the Mojave Road.

1860s–1880s

• Silver mining boomed in nearby Calico and Daggett.
• Settlement first appeared under names Fishpond and Waterman Junction (named for Robert Waterman, a silver mine owner).

1880s

• 1882–1884: Southern Pacific Railroad built to Daggett, later taken over by the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railway.
• 1886: Town officially named Barstow after William Barstow Strong, ATSF president. Became a major railway division point.

Early 1900s

• 1911: Casa del Desierto (Harvey House) opened, providing elegant lodging and meals to rail passengers.
• 1925: On July 4, the business district was moved about a quarter mile to align better with the highway and railroad.

Route 66 and World War II

• 1920s–1940s: Barstow thrived as a stop on Route 66.
• 1942: Marine Corps Logistics Base established, supporting military logistics during World War II.

Postwar era

• 1958: Goldstone Deep Space Communications Complex established nearby as part of NASA’s Deep Space Network.
• 1960: Barstow Community College founded.

Preservation and modern history

• 1975: Casa del Desierto listed on the National Register of Historic Places.
• 1976: Designated as a California Historical Landmark.
• 1990s: Harvey House restored after earthquake damage, repurposed to house the Route 66 Mother Road Museum, Western America Railroad Museum, and serve as an Amtrak station. (2025)

Andrew Jackson “Jack” Longstreet (circa 1834–1928) earned renown as “the Last of the Desert Frontiersmen” — a man of fierce independence and rugged frontier grit, whose life still echoes across Nevada’s wild backcountry.

Jack Longstreet was one of those desert characters who seemed pulled straight from a dime novel, only he was real — and larger than life. Born around 1834, probably in Tennessee, he carried a shadowy past that folks whispered about. Some said he’d been mixed up in rustling back east, and when his gang was caught, the others swung from a rope while Longstreet got off with the loss of an ear. He grew his hair long to hide it, and the scar just added to the air of danger around him.

By the 1880s, he had drifted into Nevada, a land of raw opportunity and rough justice. He was everything the frontier demanded: a prospector, gambler, rancher, stagecoach shotgun rider, saloonkeeper, and, by some accounts, even a Pony Express rider. He married a Southern Paiute woman named Fannie, learned her language, and earned a reputation as a man who stood up for Native rights. He could be tough, but he was fair — a quality that made him respected by some and feared by others.

In 1895, Longstreet built a stone cabin beside a spring in the lonely Ash Meadows of the Amargosa Valley. The place was remote enough to suit him, with water for his livestock and a wide view of anyone coming his way. That cabin, now restored in the Ash Meadows National Wildlife Refuge, still stands as a quiet witness to his life on the edge of civilization.

He later moved north into the Monitor Range, setting up the Red Rock Ranch near Belmont. His final years were quieter, but not without drama. In 1928, an accidental gunshot led to a stroke that ended his life at the age of about 94. He was buried in Belmont Cemetery, with Fannie joining him four years later.

Longstreet lived by his own rules in a Nevada that was still wild. His life was part outlaw tale, part survival story — the kind of man who could gamble in a saloon one night, dig a waterhole the next, and disappear into the hills without a trace. Even today, his name carries the weight of desert legend.

Timeline

1834 – Born, likely in Tennessee.
Mid-1800s – Rumored involvement in rustling; loses an ear as punishment.
1880 – Arrives in Nevada Territory; works as prospector, gambler, rancher, saloonkeeper, stagecoach shotgun rider.
1882 – Operates a saloon and drug store in Sylvania, Nevada.
Late 1880s – Homesteads near Moapa Indian Reservation; involved in a fatal shooting, later acquitted as self-defense.
1890s – Marries Southern Paiute woman, Fannie; becomes known for supporting Native rights.
1895 – Builds stone cabin at Ash Meadows, Amargosa Valley; ranches and develops spring site.
Early 1900s – Leaves Ash Meadows for Monitor Range; establishes Red Rock Ranch near Belmont.
1928 – Accidentally shoots himself; suffers stroke and dies in Tonopah at about 94 years old.
1932 – Fannie Longstreet dies; buried beside Jack in Belmont Cemetery.

Ash Meadows

Back in late 1998, Jerry Freeman, an amateur historian with a passion for Death Valley’s old 49er trails, came out of the Panamint Mountains claiming he had found something straight out of a gold rush daydream. Hidden deep inside a cave, he said, was a wooden trunk left behind by the lost ’49ers who famously struggled across Death Valley in 1849.

The box was a curiosity in itself — weathered wood, iron hinges, smelling of dust and old paper. Inside was a jumble of “treasures”: gold and silver coins (most tarnished, some shiny), a hymnal, a flintlock pistol, a pair of baby shoes worn soft with age, ceramic bowls, and even a letter dated January 2, 1850, supposedly written by a pioneer named William Robinson. The letter told a story of hardship and faith as the writer prepared to leave the desert behind. To Freeman, it was the smoking gun of history — proof that the Jayhawker survivors had stashed some of their belongings before moving on.

When he brought the chest to Death Valley National Park headquarters in early 1999, there was real excitement. Newspapers ran breathless headlines about a half-million-dollar find. Historians daydreamed about finally holding personal effects from the very people who gave Death Valley its name.

But almost as quickly, the doubts started trickling in. Some of the coins didn’t match the time period. The word “grubstake” appeared in the letter — a term that historians said wasn’t common until years later. And some items looked suspiciously… fresh. One ceramic bowl still had a price sticker.

Park officials brought in experts from the Smithsonian and the Western Archaeological and Conservation Center. That’s when the story unraveled fast. They found modern polymer glue holding parts together. The tintype photos used a process that wasn’t invented until after 1856. A “Made in Germany” stamp on one bowl could only have existed after World War I. Even the leather on the baby shoes was still soft, which shouldn’t have been possible after 150 years in Death Valley heat.

By the end of January 1999, the Park Service went public: it was a hoax. Not one item in the chest could be proven authentic to the Gold Rush era.

Freeman stood his ground, saying he’d always believe the chest was genuine, maybe “salted” with a few newer items by someone else. But for most historians, the romance was gone. What had looked like a once-in-a-lifetime discovery turned out to be another desert tall tale — one that fooled people just long enough to make them want to believe it.

A Detailed Historical Account

Origins and Early Life
Moe is a chimpanzee with an extraordinary life story that began in Africa and soon intertwined with a California family. In 1967, St. James Davis – then a merchant seaman – encountered an infant chimp in Tanzania whose mother had been killed by poachers. Davis rescued the baby chimp and brought him to the United States with the help of missionaries. He and his wife LaDonna, who were unable to have children of their own due to LaDonna’s health, decided to adopt the chimpanzee and name him Moe. The Davises raised Moe in their West Covina, California home just as one might raise a human child. He wore clothes, was toilet-trained, took showers, and even slept in a bed. Family life for Moe included simple pleasures like enjoying chocolate milk and watching television with his adoptive parents. From his infancy, Moe bonded strongly with the Davises, becoming the center of their family life for decades.

Relationship with His Owners
St. James and LaDonna Davis considered Moe their son in every sense. They referred to themselves as “Moe’s dad and mom,” and treated the chimpanzee as a pampered, if unconventional, member of the family. “That was the word they used to describe him, and that was how they treated him,” a story noted, portraying Moe as a “hairy, rambunctious child” in the Davis household. They taught Moe how to wear clothing, use utensils at the dinner table, and even communicate through simple sign language. In an oft-cited anecdote, Moe participated in the Davises’ wedding ceremony – LaDonna described him as a combination of flower girl and best man – emphasizing just how integrated he was in their personal lives. Over the years, countless family photos showed Moe snuggling with the couple or even lounging in bed with them. The deep emotional bond was mutual: the Davises doted on Moe, and he in turn was docile and affectionate with them, knowing them as his family. LaDonna once tearfully explained that Moe was “like the son she never had,” underscoring the profound connection between the chimp and his human caregivers.

Media Presence and Fame Prior to 2008
The City of West Covina awarded Moe an “Honorary Citizen” certificate in 1971, reflecting his local celebrity status. From the 1970s onward, Moe became something of a local celebrity in Southern California. In fact, a 1971 legal battle over Moe’s residency in West Covina turned into a public spectacle that Moe ultimately “won” – a judge ruled the city could not evict him, remarking in court that “he doesn’t have the traits of a wild animal, and is, in fact, somewhat better behaved than some people.” Following this victory, West Covina presented Moe with an official Honorary Citizen certificate, symbolically recognizing him as one of their own. Moe went on to make numerous public appearances that endeared him to the community. In the 1970s, he was often seen in parades and at civic events – at one point even ceremonially receiving the “keys to the city” of West Covina. Friends wrote a biographical book, Moe, documenting these years, including photographs of the chimpanzee engaging in human-like pastimes. Moe was pictured driving a speedboat and even sitting behind the wheel of a sports car, grinning as if he were out for a joyride. He reportedly “sold” Girl Scout cookies to help local troops and delighted crowds by performing ribbon-cuttings at events. Thanks to such exploits, Moe became a media darling. Local newspapers and TV stations featured stories on “Moe the chimp” over the years – sometimes portraying the charming, well-behaved ape as a model primate, and other times covering the more troublesome incidents that came later. By the early 2000s, Moe’s name was familiar to many in the Los Angeles area, as his saga of domestic life, celebrity cameos, and subsequent controversies played out in headlines.

Housing and Care Arrangements (Jungle Exotics in Devore)
Moe’s living arrangements changed several times over his life, especially after authorities determined he could no longer reside in a suburban home. In 1999, following two incidents in which Moe bit a police officer’s hand and later a visitor’s fingertip (after she reached into his enclosure with red-painted nails), West Covina authorities forcibly removed Moe from the Davis home for violating the city’s wild animal ordinance. This marked the end of Moe’s idyllic life in the house and the beginning of his life in sanctioned facilities. His first stop was the Wildlife WayStation, a noted animal sanctuary in the Angeles National Forest, where he stayed for a few years. In 2003, when that sanctuary ran into licensing problems, Moe was transferred to a nonprofit facility called Animal Haven Ranch near Bakersfield, California. It was at Animal Haven Ranch that a notorious incident occurred in 2005: as St. James and LaDonna visited Moe to celebrate his 39th birthday with a cake and treats, two other younger chimpanzees escaped their cage and brutally attacked the Davises. (Moe himself did not partake in the attack and remained in his enclosure, reportedly looking on in shock.) This horrific event left St. James gravely injured and LaDonna also hurt, and it underscored the potential dangers of captive primates. Animal Haven Ranch closed to the public after the attack, and Moe’s presence there became a legal liability. In the aftermath, Moe had to be moved yet again for his own safety and care. By 2007, Moe found a new home at Jungle Exotics, a private compound in Devore, California. Jungle Exotics is a licensed facility that provides animals – from tigers and lions to reptiles and dogs – for film and television productions. Unlike a sanctuary, it’s essentially a training and boarding compound for working animals. Moe was not used in any show business work; he was kept as a permanent boarder, and the owners built him a large, comfortable enclosure complete with toys, blankets, and even a “lookout tower” platform where he could watch trains go by in the distance. By all accounts, Moe adjusted well and was “a happy camper” at Jungle Exotics, enjoying the fresh air and roomy cage after years in smaller quarters. However, this arrangement would later prove controversial. The co-owner of Jungle Exotics, a trainer named Sid Yost (operating under the business name “Amazing Animal Productions”), had been sued in 2005 for animal cruelty amid accusations that he beat and abused chimpanzees used in Hollywood shows. Yost settled that lawsuit in 2006 by agreeing to send all his chimps to accredited sanctuaries and to bar himself from working with great apes ever again. Yet here was Moe – a chimpanzee – living on Yost’s property in 2007–2008. The Animal Legal Defense Fund later pointed out that Moe’s very presence at Jungle Exotics violated the 2006 legal settlement and raised alarms about the adequacy of Moe’s care. (In fact, ALDF representatives said they had no idea Moe was at Jungle Exotics until news broke of his escape.) Despite these red flags, for a time Moe appeared to thrive in the Devore facility under the day-to-day care of trainers there. Jungle Exotics was Moe’s fourth home since leaving West Covina, and tragically, it would also be the last place he was seen.

The 2008 Escape
Moe’s tranquil stay at Jungle Exotics came to an abrupt end in late June 2008. On Friday, June 27, 2008, the 42-year-old chimpanzee somehow escaped from his enclosure at the facility. The exact circumstances of Moe’s breakout remain a bit mysterious. The owners of Jungle Exotics were baffled as to how Moe managed to defeat his cage’s security – one co-owner noted that the steel enclosure “should have been able to hold a gorilla,” yet Moe had the strength or smarts to pry it open or break the welds. One theory was that Moe, who had always been clever with his hands, unlatched or bent a portion of the cage and simply walked out. Another suggestion was that a recent wildfire in the area might have agitated or frightened Moe, prompting him to make a bold escape into the unfamiliar wilderness. What is known is that on that Friday afternoon, after getting free, Moe wandered calmly from the Jungle Exotics compound onto a neighboring property. He ambled into a house that was undergoing remodeling, startling a group of construction workers inside. Reports indicate Moe may have approached the workers in a non-aggressive manner – one witness thought the chimp held out his hand as if expecting a treat or handshake, and there was even a rumor that a worker offered Moe a sandwich. Before anyone could contain him, however, Moe slipped away again. He hopped a fence and headed off into the vast brushy expanse of the San Bernardino National Forest, which borders the Devore area to the north. By the time animal caretakers arrived on scene, Moe had vanished into the wild. The initial escape occurred in a mountainous, heavily wooded zone, making it immediately difficult to track the chimp’s movements. Moe, who had lived his entire life in human care, was suddenly loose in an environment full of real dangers (rattlesnakes, mountain lions, and other wildlife) and devoid of the easy food sources he was used to. It was a race against time to find him.

Search Efforts After the Escape
The search for Moe in the summer of 2008 was intense and emotionally charged. As soon as his disappearance was discovered, the Davises and their friends mobilized a private search party to comb the foothills where Moe was last seen. St. James Davis, still partially recovering from the 2005 mauling, even ventured out (in a wheelchair) to direct search efforts, demonstrating the couple’s devotion to their chimp despite the physical hardship. They quickly hired a helicopter to fly low over the forest, hoping the noise of the chopper might flush Moe out of hiding or spur him to reveal himself. Searchers on foot used four-wheel-drive vehicles to navigate the rugged terrain and broadcasted recorded chimp calls through loudspeakers in an attempt to lure or communicate with Moe. They also brought in bloodhounds to sniff for any trace of the chimpanzee’s trail. The San Bernardino County Animal Control authorities were on standby with tranquilizer dart guns, but they treated Moe’s escape as a mostly private matter – since Moe was not deemed an immediate public threat, officials did not mount a massive manhunt, instead offering support and a hotline for sightings. Despite these efforts, finding a single chimp in 240 square miles of forest proved exceedingly difficult. No confirmed sightings of Moe came in the first days or even weeks after his escape. The Davises pleaded with the public to help if they spotted Moe – asking anyone who saw the chimp to call authorities but not to approach him, for fear that Moe could be frightened or harmed by strangers. Numerous tips did trickle in: search teams followed up on reports of “big, hairy” creatures in the woods, only to determine those tracks belonged to bears, stray dogs, or even a mule. In one bizarre incident, someone reported seeing “a man in a monkey suit” running in traffic near a mountain road, which sent deputies scrambling, but that too turned out to be a false alarm or prank. A few tantalizing clues suggested Moe might still be roaming nearby – locals noted a couple of outdoor water faucets mysteriously left turned on, and a few chickens went missing from a rural property, raising hopes that Moe was stealthily raiding yards for water and food. However, none of these clues could be definitively linked to the chimp. After several exhaustive weeks, the search gradually wound down with no sign of Moe. Sadly, as of 2008, Moe had not been found and remains missing to this day. His disappearance became an unsolved mystery, leaving the Davises heartbroken and the public wondering whether Moe could possibly survive long-term in the wild.

Public and Legal Responses and Controversies
Moe’s saga over the decades sparked significant public debate and several legal battles, highlighting controversies over exotic animal ownership. Early on, many in the community regarded Moe with affection – as evidenced by West Covina’s granting of honorary citizenship to the chimp – but city officials also grappled with the risks of keeping a chimpanzee in a residential neighborhood. In 1971, when West Covina first tried to enforce its ban on wild animals by removing Moe, the Davises fought back in court and won an unusual reprieve. The judge’s conclusion that Moe did not behave like a wild beast effectively gave the family legal cover to keep him at that time. This case, with Gloria Allred as the Davises’ attorney, received media attention and set a precedent (at least temporarily) that a well-behaved chimp could be treated akin to a household pet. However, as Moe grew older and larger, and after incidents in the late 1990s demonstrated the potential danger (two people were bitten, albeit in provoked situations), public sentiment shifted toward caution. In 1999 West Covina authorities invoked a zero-tolerance stance on the city’s wild animal ordinance, removing Moe for public safety reasons despite the Davises’ objections. The couple’s subsequent legal efforts – including a civil rights lawsuit – led to a 2002 settlement: West Covina agreed to pay them $100,000 and assist in purchasing a house in Baldwin Park (a neighboring city with looser animal regulations) so the family might reunite with Moe legally. In principle, this suggested a compromise to allow Moe back into a home setting outside West Covina. Yet bureaucratic delays and the aftermath of the 2005 mauling incident derailed that plan. By 2005, even some former supporters of Moe’s homecoming questioned the wisdom of keeping a strong adult chimp in a domestic environment, no matter how gentle he seemed. After the 2005 attack (in which Moe himself was blameless but humans were grievously hurt), the controversy over exotic pet primates intensified. The incident became a cautionary tale in news reports about the unpredictability of chimpanzees and the dangers they can pose as they reach maturity. St. James and LaDonna Davis, despite their trauma, remained steadfast in their love for Moe – in 2006 they even put up a sign on their lawn reading “Free Moe,” signaling their continued desire to bring him home. They pressed West Covina to honor the earlier agreement. A judge eventually ruled in 2007 that the city had breached its obligations and ordered West Covina to pay the Davises a further $32,000 and contribute $300 per month toward Moe’s care, since the promised Baldwin Park arrangement never materialized. This legal victory was bittersweet; by then Moe was living at Jungle Exotics under the Davises’ frequent supervision, and the couple’s priority was simply his well-being. Moe’s 2008 escape brought another wave of public response. There was both sympathy for the Davises – a sense of empathy for “parents” desperate to find their missing family member – and renewed criticism of the practice of keeping chimpanzees in captivity outside accredited zoos or sanctuaries. Animal welfare organizations seized on Moe’s disappearance as evidence that stricter oversight was needed. Notably, the Animal Legal Defense Fund called attention to the circumstances of Moe’s care at Jungle Exotics, arguing that Sid Yost should never have had a chimp in his custody at all due to his prior legal ban. ALDF suggested that Moe’s escape (and possible grim fate in the wild) was a tragic result of substandard caretaking and regulatory slip-ups. The case fueled discussion about tightening laws on exotic animal trainers and private ownership. Indeed, California law already prohibits keeping primates like chimpanzees without special permits, and Moe’s story became an example cited in support of these regulations. Ultimately, Moe the chimpanzee’s life reflects the complexities of human relationships with exotic animals. He was at once a beloved member of a human family and a wild creature subject to instincts and strength that humans sometimes underestimated. Public and legal responses to Moe’s situation evolved from indulgence and fascination in the early years to concern and strict oversight in later years. The controversies surrounding Moe – from city council meetings and courtroom showdowns to animal-rights investigations – have had a lasting impact. They have raised awareness about the responsibilities and risks of keeping great apes in captivity, and have prompted ongoing conversations about how we balance compassion for animals with public safety. Moe’s disappearance in 2008 left unanswered questions, but his legacy endures in the legal precedents and cautionary lessons that arose from his remarkable journey.

—it’s Tamarix aphylla (athel tamarisk), which only reproduces by cloning, not seed. While it isn’t spreading like Tamarix ramosissima or chinensis, which have taken over waterways in the West, all types of tamarisk share one thing: they use proportionately large amounts of water. So even the non-invasive ones have an impact, especially in desert regions where water is life.

Here’s a list of the most common tamarisk (or saltcedar/athel) species found in the American Southwest, especially the Mojave Desert, with notes on whether they are considered invasive and whether they are heavy water users:

1. Tamarix ramosissima (Saltcedar)
   • Invasive: Yes
   • Water-sucking: Yes
   • Notes: One of the most aggressive species, spreads by seed and root. Known for choking out native vegetation and monopolizing riparian zones.
2. Tamarix chinensis (Chinese tamarisk)
   • Invasive: Yes
   • Water-sucking: Yes
   • Notes: Often hybridizes with T. ramosissima. Together, they dominate many desert waterways and floodplains.
3. Tamarix parviflora (Smallflower tamarisk)
   • Invasive: Yes
   • Water-sucking: Yes
   • Notes: Less common but still invasive, particularly in California. Can handle salty soils and crowds out native plants.
4. Tamarix gallica (French tamarisk)
   • Invasive: Occasionally
   • Water-sucking: Yes
   • Notes: Less aggressive in arid environments than others but still considered problematic in some regions.
5. Tamarix aphylla (Athel tamarisk or Athel tree)
   • Invasive: No (not generally considered invasive in the U.S.)
   • Water-sucking: Yes
   • Notes: Grows as a large tree, does not spread by seed in North America, but it still consumes a lot of water. Introduced intentionally as a shade and windbreak tree.

Summary:

• Invasiveness: Most tamarisk species are invasive, especially T. ramosissima, chinensis, and their hybrids.
• Water Use: All tamarisks are thirsty. Even T. aphylla, though not invasive, draws significant water—making them ecologically impactful in arid regions like the Mojave.

Feature	Tamarix aphylla (Athel)	Invasive Tamarisk (ramosissima/chinensis)
Growth Form	Large tree	Shrub or small tree
Height	30–50 feet	6–20 feet
Trunk	Single main trunk	Multiple stems
Leaves	Scale-like, dull grey-green	Fine, feathery, bright green
Leaf Spacing	Widely spaced	Dense along twigs
Flowers	Sparse, rarely seen	Showy pink/white spikes
Blooming Season	Rarely blooms in U.S.	Late spring to summer
Seed Production	None (no viable seed in U.S.)	Profuse—spreads aggressively
Branch Color	Brown to grey	Reddish to purplish, especially new growth
Water Use	High	High
Spread Potential	Low (clonal only)	Very high (seed and roots)
Typical Location	Homesteads, roadsides, farms	Riverbanks, washes, natural springs

How House Finches ended up in New York is yet another quirky little chapter in bird history—and it all starts with a bit of rule-bending in the pet trade.

In the 1930s and early 1940s, House Finches were native only to the western United States and parts of Mexico. At that time, they were not present on the East Coast. But their pretty colors and sweet songs made them attractive to bird lovers. So, pet shop owners began capturing them in the Southwest and shipping them to pet stores in the East, especially around New York City.

Here’s the catch: under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, it was illegal to sell native wild birds as pets. But sellers didn’t want to stop, so they tried to work around the law by giving the birds a fancy new name—“Hollywood Finches”—to make them sound exotic and non-native.

That didn’t fool everyone. Enforcement started tightening up when the government caught wind of the illegal trade. In 1940, pet shop owners in New York panicked and did something unexpected—they released their captive finches into the wild to avoid getting caught.

And that’s when things got interesting.

The released birds survived, adapted, and started breeding. They found New York’s parks, gardens, and backyards suitable places to raise families. Within a few years, they had spread throughout the Northeast and expanded rapidly across the eastern half of North America.

So now, thanks to an accidental release tied to illegal pet sales, House Finches are one of the most widespread songbirds in North America. It’s a classic case of unintended consequences—but one that ended with a success story (for the birds, anyway).

House Finch

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.