The southwestward six-mile drive into Darwin leads past a smattering of dilapidated but picturesque mining structures spread across the eastern slope. This is the old Anaconda Mine. Tailing mounds feature the characteristic pastel hues of other extraction enterprises common to this region. Directly west of the mine is a large, playful arrangement of rocks forming the much-parodied Christian ichthys symbol, complete with legs but sans the name Darwin. The stone marker seems to signal to the traveler that the place they are about to encounter will likely be unusual.
Just beyond the mine is a ramshackle collection of old buildings, misfit shacks, wind-ravaged double-wides, abandoned cars, homes featuring clever travel trailer additions, junk piles of rusted tin cans, obsolete mining machinery and, curious enough, modern art.
At the end of the road is central Darwin. A first-time visitor surveying their surroundings is immediately drawn to the luminously white, minimalist, cast-marble sculpture of a couple sensuously embracing. Placed in front of its creator’s rustic retreat, this striking artwork was created by the renowned California sculptor Jim Hunolt. Directly across the street is Hunolt’s vertically mounted pairing of two very impressive raw dolomite monoliths.
Other architectural details, such as the adjacent geodesic dome with the door placard identifying the structure as the INSTITUTE OF GEOPHYSICS AND PLANETARY PHYSICS SYSTEMWIDE OFFICES suggest that Darwin is not your typical living desert ghost town. Understandably, the stratum of human occupation displayed here is truly fascinating.
Darwin began its life as a mining camp during the 1870s. The Shoshone and Paiute people of the region had occupied this area long before the camp came into existence. White settlers named the encampment after Dr. Eramus Darwin French, a rancher from Fort Tejon, who was led near the spot in 1850 by an Indian guide while searching for the legendary Lost Gunsight Lode—which French and his expedition party failed to locate even after a second exploratory trip was conducted ten years later.
Prospecting had occurred in the Darwin area for many years prior to autumn of 1874 when a rich silver-lead ore called galena had been discovered and led to the town’s founding shortly thereafter. Darwin’s most productive mine—The Defiance (named after questionable legal maneuvers landed an original Mexican American mining claim into the hands of white investors)[1]—and other area mines are said to have produced up to $1,500,000 in revenue by the late 1870s, when nearly sixty mines were operational with five smelters processing ore around the clock.
Although the Defiance closed its doors during the late 1880s, the mine has been operated intermittently under various ownership over the last 100 years, first as Darwin Silver, then as Darwin Lead, Consolidated, American Metals, Signal Oil and, in 1945, as the Anaconda Mine.
This extraction of mineral wealth resulted in an explosive boom in development, first as a canvas tent city, and then, by the end of 1875, a permanent town with structures including a hotel, three restaurants, seven saloons, two butcher shops, a livery stable plus several stores.[2] Notably, Darwin has never had a church. At its highest count, the town’s population was believed to be at least 3,500 and likely higher if one takes into account that census recorders often overlooked transient miners and many non-whites living within the surrounding area.
Not surprisingly, Darwin’s rampant growth brought with it more than an occasional act of violence, earning the town a reputation as being rough and tumble. The Panamint News reported in March 1875 that robberies were occurring every few days on roads leading to and from the encampment. Darwin had its share of lethal shootings, gun and knife fights, along with outright murders—at least thirty known and confirmed incidents occurred between 1875-79. Petty crimes including public drunkenness were the norm. Armed bandits robbed the Wells Fargo express numerous times between 1876 and 1880. During one of these stagecoach robberies, passenger Jack Lloyd was shot and killed, perhaps by accident, in 1877.
The most famous Darwin murder was that of Nancy Williams, 45, on September 13, 1877. Williams was a well-liked former madam running a boarding house at the time of her death. “Feather Legs” (Williams’ sobriquet) was found bludgeoned to death by unknown assailants who were never brought to justice—although a substantial reward had been posted on her behalf. As a testament to her popularity, which the Coso Mining News attributed to Williams being “one of the kindest, most liberal of women,” a prominently placed obelisk stands in the center of Darwin’s cemetery commemorating her.
Darwin resident Oliver Roberts, author of The Great Understander, who was charged with and acquitted of an unrelated shooting in 1877, later stated in his memoir published in 1931, “At one time there were more bad men and desperados in that town [Darwin] than in any of its size in the world.”[3] In comparison, Deadwood, South Dakota, had only four killings, including Wild Bill Hickok’s murder in 1876, considered to be the infamous town’s most violent year.[4]
By 1878, mining profits and productivity had declined significantly, causing labor strife and associated violence including the shooting deaths of two striking miners that same year. New mineral strikes in Bodie and Mammoth caused miners and businesses catering to them to migrate northward. The first of three devastating fires occurred in 1879, destroying most of Darwin’s original business district. By the summer of 1880, only eighty-five residents remained.
Still, prospecting and mining activity continued, albeit sporadically, during the twentieth century and occasionally at a larger scale. During the 1940s, Darwin was California’s largest lead supplier, producing two-thirds of the state’s supply.[5] In addition to silver and lead, Darwin’s mines have produced zinc, copper, talc and tungsten.
Darwin’s fast-paced growth during the 1870s could only be sustained if a reliable source of water was located and made available for household, business and industrial purposes. As in the past, Darwin residents continue to rely solely on water pumped from a pristine spring located about eight miles southwest of town within China Lake Naval Air Weapon Station’s protected borders.
Victor Beaudry was the entrepreneur who originally secured Darwin’s water rights, laying pipes in 1875 to convey the spring flow into the town. Beaudry had previously set up a for-profit water distribution system at the nearby Cerro Gordo silver mine. Notably, he and his brother Prudent acquired rights to the City of Los Angeles water system around the time Prudent became L.A.’s mayor in 1874. By the late 1880s, Darwin’s water conveyance system was controlled by “water mogul” Frank Carthery, who kept water barrels filled for $3 a month.
Years later, in 1962, a localized “water war” broke out when a group of Darwinites attempted to co-opt the singular water source for a proposed swimming pool near the old Anaconda Mine. The contested move created opposing alliances within the community that were finally settled after gunshots had been fired. No recreational pool was to be constructed.
Another contentious water disagreement occurred during the late 1970s when lines were drawn for or against a proposed community effort to modernize the water delivery system. One group believed that by enhancing the spring’s water flow and storage, future development would follow. The other group opposed the idea, in part due to the cost, but mostly because they were outwardly anti-growth. The pro-growth group ended up getting new and improved infrastructure (with a hefty price tag) but no additional water was made available.
Today, Darwin’s water distribution is limited to no more than thirty-five full-time residents. The community’s water board must obtain permission to enter China Lake’s boundaries to manage the pipeline and clear the spring from excess willows and tules growing at its source. The quality of the water is considered to be excellent and is actively protected by the water board from any further exploitation.
A second unintended boom (this time for land and not silver) erupted during the summer of 1967 when an unknown person posted a flyer on a public bulletin board in Lone Pine stating that “free” lots were available in Darwin. Not soon after the notice was posted, people began to inquire at the Inyo County seat in Independence about how to acquire one of these lots measuring 100 by 45 feet. The posting turned out to be credible, as it was soon determined that publicly held land in Darwin had been platted for land sales many years earlier. For a modest filing fee of $5 per parcel, a prospector could purchase a very affordable allotment for nearly nothing.
After looking into the matter, Inyo County Superior Judge McMurray deemed that the purchase fee was indeed valid, although he limited parcel purchases to three per buyer. When the lots finally became available, scores of people mobbed the Inyo County Clerk’s office and filed on the remaining 254 allotments. Speculators purchased the majority of the properties and many of these parcels remain empty today.
Around this time Hal Newell and his wife, Shelly, made their way out to Death Valley from their home base in Big Sur. Hal had been encouraged to do so by his father, Gordon Newell, the celebrated Monterey Peninsula sculptor noted for his striking mid-century stone forms. He is responsible for the twin granite Haupt Fountains that are strategically positioned to frame the White House from the Ellipse Circle off Constitution Avenue in Washington DC.[6] Gordon had explored the remoter areas of Death Valley previously, including a side excursion with the famed photographer Brett Weston to Saline Valley Warm Springs, while en route to Baja California in the early 1960s.
Hal and Shelly ended up moving out to the old Ballarat ghost town, in Panamint Valley, on January 1, 1970, staying for few years while Hal did a variety of heavy labor jobs including some stints at local area mines. Gordon came out to visit the couple and during one of their exploratory excursions together they “discovered” Darwin. Everyone was enamored with the town. By the mid-1970s, Hal and Shelly had decided to move to Darwin permanently. They immediately commenced building their partially buried passive-solar home from local fieldstone, salvaged wood beams, concrete (when they could afford it) plus any scavenged materials they could get their hands on. Far more sophisticated than the older local “troglodyte” mining dwellings, this unique home reflects some characteristics of the primitive earthen dugouts located in washes west of town.
A few years later Gordon, too, moved his studio to Darwin, because, as Hal commented, “He couldn’t get any work done at his Monterey Sculpture Center on Cannery Row because it became so popular with the tourists.” (The Cannery Row studio building was eventually destroyed in order to make way for another ubiquitous waterfront restaurant). Gordon and his wife lived and worked primarily in Darwin, but continued to visit their home on the Central Coast until his death in 1998 at age ninety-three. Hal later conceived and constructed a monumental forty-foot diameter covered public memorial for his father, utilizing twelve massive dolomite slabs varying in height from six to eight feet, similar to the ones that Hunolt used for his sculpture pairing on Main Street. Each slab was purchased for $35 apiece from a local quarry.
Monty Brannigan, born and raised in Los Angeles, is a sixty-two-year resident of Darwin. Monty first arrived in late 1953 via Gabbs, Nevada, where he had been employed at Basic Magnesium, Inc. Brannigan, 88, lives with his wife, Nancy, in their home attended by two giant golden Buddha statues stationed at the entry that serve as a silent reminder of Darwin’s large, but overlooked Chinese population, which according to the 1880 census made up a quarter of the town’s residents. Their house is a modified manufactured home. Nancy proudly showed me an old butcher knife she used to cut the holes in the interior to deconstruct it along with several room additions that house her very extensive collection of eclectic brass knick-knacks and other fascinating objects.Also featured are Monty’s celebrity portraits of Western film personalities, American Indian chiefs, Elvis and various country singer/songwriters. Scattered around the room are his strange sculptural figures including a marble egg that he is most proud of because it resulted from a dare of sorts. Local sculptor Jim Hunolt, who taught Monty stone-sculpting techniques, commented that an oval form was the hardest shape to coax out of stone so Monty stood up to the challenge. From the looks of it, he seems to have succeeded in doing just that.
Brannigan began painting in 1957, shortly after his sister passed away. During my visit, he reflected on how she had won several art scholarships and was destined for a successful career in commercial art when she died unexpectedly. Heartbroken and unemployed, with too much time on his hands, Monty decided to pick up where she left off. He taught himself how to paint using common house paint dulled with flour because he “didn’t know any better and had no money to buy them anyhow.”
While honing his artistic skills Brannigan continued to labor at a variety of jobs throughout the area to support his family. He spent four years at the local Anaconda Mine before he was hired by Inyo County, where he worked as a park ranger for eighteen years. He then retired with a pension.>Besides his artwork, Monty has a passion for vintage automobiles and has customized several over the years. One serves as Darwin’s paddy wagon and its only fire truck. When asked about the Buddhas, Monty candidly responded, “If I was going to be anything I would be a Buddhist—I’m not a religious man. Religion don’t turn the right way for me. I got nothing against any other man’s religion or his way of life, but if he don’t like me being a Buddhist, that is tough.”[7]
Over the years, a number of artists have gravitated to Darwin, such as Kathy Goss, 74, a writer/musician and owner of the earlier mentioned geodesic dome (a unique design by a protégé of Buckminster Fuller). Goss moved here from San Francisco over two decades ago. She and other locals were responsible for creating Darwin’s “ichthys” stone formation. Painter John Hamilton, 85, made his way to Darwin from the Bay area about fifteen years ago to work as a caretaker at the old Anaconda Mine, and is now permanently settled here. The subject of his paintings spans contemplative vivid landscapes representing the surrounding desert, mountains and ocean plus a series of mostly larger-scale graphic geometric abstracts. Another full-time resident artist is a gentleman who carves Native American-inspired petroglyphs onto locally sourced stones. He sells them from his front yard and at stores in Lone Pine and Furnace Creek.
Other Bay Area expats include British semi-retired advertising executive turned visual artist Judyth Greenburgh, 51, and her French husband, Pierre Valeille, 62, a retired San Francisco Bay ferry captain. The couple moved out of their houseboat in Sausalito to build a partially buried home in Darwin out of shipping containers. By doing so, the interior temperature remains a comfortably stable mid-70° Fahrenheit regardless of exterior temperature. The structure is a colorful funky artist assemblage, with several travel trailers outfitted as guest quarters among a communal outdoor cookout area. Judyth’s studio is set above the buried containers. Like the others, they live an affordable, unstructured lifestyle against a beautifully remote desert backdrop. Time will tell if a new generation of miners or artists decides to occupy and breathe life into this unconventional community outpost.
Visitors are welcome in Darwin, but please respect the privacy and property of the residents. There is NO gas, food or lodging. The old Anaconda Mine owned by Project Darwin is currently inactive and off-limits so heed warning signs and do not trespass. The author graciously thanks the residents of Darwin for sharing their stories and also Jon Klusmire of the Eastern California Museum in Independence for providing early photographs of Darwin from their collection. This article is co-published with KCET Artbound. Visit Artbound’s Mojave Project page here.
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FOOTNOTES (click to open/close)
[1] For further reading see: Robert P. Palazzo, Darwin, California (Portland, OR: Western Places, 1996).
[2] Palazzo, Darwin, California, 15. Note that three devastating fires swept through Darwin in 1879, 1917 and 1918. The old schoolhouse located across from the post office is the only original structure from the 1870s known to have survived the fires.
[3] Palazzo, Darwin, California, 36.
[4] Palazzo, Darwin, California, 36.
[5] Palazzo, Darwin, California, 45.
[6] The Haupt Fountains are identical sculptural pools constructed from two 18-square-foot by 1-foot-deep blocks of 3.5-million-year-old granite sourced from Minnesota. They were created as a collaboration between Gordon Newell and his then-apprentice James Hunolt. The fountains were placed at their current location in 1967 as a gift from Mrs. Enid Haupt.
[7] Monty Brannigan passed during fall of 2016 after his battle with cancer.