Thursday, June 15, 2017

Muleshoes, by Jude Gassaway


Interesting spell check fact:  the correct spellings are horseshoe and mule shoe; I am talking about shoes for a mule, not pumps for a drag queen.

MULESHOES

Knowing the difference between horseshoes and muleshoes might be esoteric knowledge, yet it might occasionally come in handy.  A horse’s hoof is circular in shape and a mule’s hoof is a long oval.  A blacksmith-forged, custom-made iron shoe reflects the shape of each hoof.

In June 1974, as a newly minted field geologist, I got a summer job in Death Valley. The Tenneco Company had recently purchased borax mining and mineral interests from the Kern County Land and Cattle Company. This included an operating borate mine in Death Valley National Monument, a borate processing plant in nearby Nevada, and numerous mining claims and prospects in the region.  We were hired to relocate and reassess the mineral properties, and to search for new mineral prospects.  Field geologists are always looking for things, and some discoveries are real surprises.

The dozen summer hires found lodging in the Amargosa Hotel, Death Valley Junction, at a cooler elevation than the valley floor. The hotel was a formerly exclusive establishment.

I have never seen a bathroom with such elegant tile work.  We had full access to the unused hotel kitchen, especially the refrigerators.  Outdoors, the tiled swimming pool was filled to the brim with wind-blown sand.

The hotel’s phone number was Death Valley #3.  Another unexpected find, this was the last twelve party telephone system in the USA.  To use the phone, you held the receiver to your ear and wound the crank.  When the Operator answered, you told her the phone number you wished to be connected to.  As you continued your call, you'd occasionally turn the crank in order to keep the central battery charged.  Also, you got used to hearing clicks on the line as the other party-line members listened in.

There was no radio or TV reception in the area, and the party-line was a way for far-flung neighbors to keep in touch and to be entertained.  And we, the summer geologists, were the newest game in town.  We learned to use the more private dial-up phone at the Tenneco plant in Nevada, some nine miles away.

Another discovery was Stateline, the bar en route to the plant.  It was run by Sandy, formerly the head hooker at Ash Meadows Brothel, now closed.  The menu was cocktails, beer, coffee, top ramen, and hard-boiled eggs.  The naked lady painting behind the bar, rescued from the whorehouse, had been painted by Marta Becket, the ballerina at the Amargosa Opera House.  But that’s another story.

Tenneco sent me and another geologist on reconnaissance to the southern Mojave Desert for July and August.  At 2000 feet, Barstow was much cooler than Death Valley Junction.  At night, it cooled off to below 100 degrees.   I had to borrow a sleeping bag!

In the Calico Mountains, we followed Mule Canyon Road to the abandoned town of Borate (1894-1907).  Mule Canyon is a narrow canyon in soft shale, cut by iron-shod mules pulling iron-clad wheeled freight wagons.  Borate’s open pit borax mine yielded 900 thousand tons of ore.  One principle use for borates then, as now, is for laundry and cleaning products (Boraxo).

The site of the town dump, now piles of rusty cans and wire, is called “Tin Can Alley”.  All that was left of the town were several dirt streets and a few pieces of concrete foundation. There were many broken bottles and bits of iron, suggesting that bottle hunters had already explored the site. I found many waist-high cone-shaped piles of loose dirt with bits of broken glass scattered about the townsite.  The whole danged town had been sifted by the bottle hunters.  Sifted!  Dang!

We moved on to look for rock outcrops with promise of borax. That’s why we were there.  A short incline led to a flat railroad bed.  Rails and ties had been removed many years ago.  The narrow bench was all that was left of the Borate & Daggett Railroad.  Soon we found a pile of rusty artifacts: the dump for the blacksmith’s shop.  Lying in the twisted metal scrap were a dozen used muleshoes. Wow! TWENTY MULE TEAM muleshoes.

Relics that had been missed by the relic hunters.  A bonanza!

© May 2017

About the Author 


Retired USGS Field Geologist.

Founding member, Denver Womens Chorus 


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