While
exploring the ghost towns up the Swan River, I came across
an old time miner, named Harold Horn, who had lived and
mined the same high country as Carl Fulton. He was hard of
hearing, but it didn't stop him from telling me about his
unique life.
"I
tell ya, the mother lode has not been found yet! It's up
here (in Summit County) somewhere. The millions of dollars
in gold already mined have not even scratched the surface
of what is left." Harold Horn's eyes widen as he
explains the potential of his mining operation at the old
Cashier Mine up Brown Gulch. As he pulls a vial from his
pocket and displays some wire gold taken from his placer
operations, a grin slips across Harold's previously blank
poker face. "There's more where this came from,"
he boasts.
A
sluice box lies in the stream bed within a short walk of
Harold's cabin. Tons of dirt are shoveled into the sluice
box and then water washes the "fines" from the
coarse material. Hours of work climax with the panning of
these "fines." Harold works a gold pan as one
would expect a fine tradesman to handle his tools. Care is
taken not to lose any gold dust, since each pan might be
the one which would provide that week's wages. Harold has
not made an instant strike. Rather his efforts result from
a lifetime's knowledge and work.
Harold
was born to the mining life in Leadville in 1909 to the
mining life. Because of his prospecting, he has spent the
majority of his life in the high country in old log cabins
without modern conveniences. His rustic log home is heated
by wood, and perishables are cooled during the summer with
running water in the sink. Cold water is brought into the
house from a stream via a long plastic hose which flows
continuously to prevent freezing. Hot water has to be
heated on the stove. There is no electricity, but there
are the comforts associated with a really fine outdoor
privy. Early each morning, the iron cooking stove is
stoked up to take the chill out of the air and to prepare
breakfast, usually hotcakes. At the age of 72, Harold
lingers with a cup of coffee a little longer than he used
to before heading out to the diggings.
In
winter, operations come to a near standstill, but Harold
stays all winter to keep an eye on things. This means a
one-mile trek carrying supplies. It is not unusual in this
area for snow depth to exceed six feet and temperatures to
dip lower than 30 degrees below freezing. Harold's life
has been mining, and he sums it up well: "I guess
I've spent a lot of time up here mining in the mountains
because I kind of like it here. I can't think of any other
place I would rather live."
Harold
Horn in his cabin.
#
# #
Eleven
years after last seeing Harold, I located him living in an
apartment near City Market in Silverthorne. He had retired
two years earlier and is presently eighty-three years old.
Joni Bodart and I came over to talk to Harold. As we
entered his apartment, it appeared relatively uncluttered
and clean. We sat down for what proves to be a very
interesting chat.
"I
was born on 6th street in Leadville, 1909, July 12. We was
raised on Georgia Pass in Summit County. We just played
around and skied. There's no fishing up there. Dad mined
in a mine up there. He had the Pride of the Georgia Mine.
He made his living but he did other work too, other than
driving tunnels and stuff. Of course I was pretty young
when I left there.
"I
left Georgia Pass in 1912 and went to Montana, and had a
ranch. In 1935, Dad still had the mines out here. I came
back to see if we could get them open and working, and I
did get the Minnie Pea working on little French Gulch on
Mt. Guyot. I was there, oh let's see, about six years or
seven. I chipped some good ore out of there, silver and
gold ore. It was shipped to the smelter in Leadville at
that time. I was developing the mine too, you know. And
that cost a quite a bit of money, but I made it out of the
mine. It paid its way, and of course a living too.
"I
was mining when I was fifteen, seventeen years old. That
was in 1927. I worked for the bigger mining companies when
I was eighteen when I could go underground. I went to
school of course and worked my way through school. So my
mother died when I was coming four years old and my father
went when I was thirteen. And I made my living ever since.
After
Dad died, I just went to with an uncle to Nebraska and of
course we have a little falling out. They thought I was
lying to them. My aunt kept saying that I was lying and I
was telling the truth. And I got out and moved and went to
work for a farmer. He was real good to me. I worked for
him for...off and on for him in other places around during
the summer and went to school.
"Finally,
when I was seventeen, I left there and went to the oil
fields in Wyoming. Worked in the oil fields at
seventeen-eighteen, and Yellowstone Park. I drove tunnels
in Yellowstone Park for blasting the road out. We call it
'dog holes.' We drive tunnels across them and then fill
them with powder and blast the mountainside off. It was
hard work, but it was fun.
"Well,
dad had the mines here and I wanted to learn mining. I
mined in Montana, Idaho, Nevada, Utah, Arizona and
Colorado. You got to know how to study the ground in order
to figure where the ore veins are and I did that on my
own. The cracks with ore are usually vertical or on an
incline you know. They don't always come up straight, and
they used to come up on a degree of angle you know. You
follow these, for sometimes a mile or two miles, and they
have ore all the way. Well, you can figure about five foot
a day. The tunnel would usually be five foot across and
seven foot high, and that's with air drills. We drilled
and then blasted. You always blasted out.
"The
most dangerous thing that we do in the mine is 'catching
up caves.' When the rock would break loose and cave in,
then you go in and timber up the top of the tunnel, it's
called catching up caves or to shore it up with timber.
When I was twenty, I was in one when the tunnel caved in,
but the night shift came on and opened the tunnel up.
There was several of us then, and I wasn't afraid. Nothing
to get scared of, we had compressed air. I knew that the
night shift would get the tunnel open.
"Well,
finally I went into the Wellington mine and operated there
close to ten years. I had some close calls in the
Wellington. I was mining seventy feet up and my staging
got knocked out from under me. The staging was timbers
wedged across with planks on top. I had the plank knocked
out from underneath me. I fell and just kept grabbing
timbers, you know, breaking my fall. I finally caught
myself about thirty feet down. That was kind of scary. My
partner was up in the stoke with me, but he hollered down
at me if I was hurt. And I told him no, so stay up there,
and I would be back up.
"I
had three partners in the mine. We made a good living out
of that and saved some money. We chipped about a thousand
tons of ore a day for close to ten years....We shipped
about two million dollars-worth of ore out, gross. Finally
the price on lead zinc dropped so that we couldn't afford
to operate. The rent was just too expensive.
"Then
we set up down at the Good Apache and opened up the Good
Apache Mine for a couple of years. It's on the Arkansas
River between Salida and Canyon City. Well, finally we run
out of money. (Harold laughs) We were putting more into it
than we were getting out.
Harold
Horn coming into his cabin.
"Then
I went on up Brown Gulch to the Cashier Mine up in Summit
County. That's where the cabin was when you met me. It
really didn't ever pay out because it never got into full
operation. We were mining for Gold! Placer mining. I don't
have it any more and gave that up.
"We
did a little prospecting up French Creek...took out a
little gold, about a mile from Breckenridge just below the
dredge. I prospected up there. Placer mined a little...and
took out a little gold. I used a sluice box...and I had a
pump....and washed it out of side of the hill. Took out a
little gold, not much. But I never worked too hard at it.
"Of
course, I collected rent for the company for a few years.
I really had the one cabin there. I didn't rent it very
much. There were six cabins I collected rent for, but it's
for my son and the mining company. I don't look to get
much out of that.
"A
fellow broke in and was going to kill me. That was the
cabin I lived in up there. I don't know why, he was drunk
and on dope. I shot three times over his head...and he
still came in...fighting over a gun. Well, finally he
shot. He had a gun too. He was fighting with his wife for
a gun. And I don't know whether I just creased him or
whether she shot him. I don't know. The attorney figured
she shot him, used my gun as I left after he passed out. I
left to call in... and ah... left my gun there, see. I was
acquitted, you know?...Self-defense.
