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Story and Photography by Lesley S. King
Today I’m panning for gold. It’s not the traditional kind that’s solid to the touch, but the more ephemeral kind—a traveler’s riches of history, colorful characters, and adventure. My search has brought me to a town whose very existence owes itself to gold: Pinos Altos.
Back in the 1860s, three prospectors stopped for a drink in Bear Creek and found gold in this area, which sits off N.M. 15, six miles north of Silver City and 244 miles southwest of Albuquerque. Over the next 50 years the strike eventually yielded some $8 million worth of gold, silver, copper, lead, and zinc, and turned these forested hills into the town of Pinos Altos, with saloons, hotels, and an opera house. Today I cruise the dusty lanes in search of remnants of those days and find many. The village, with a population of some 300 people, is full of historic buildings—most dilapidated, but a few still operating as homes and businesses.
IF YOU GO For info: What to do The Hearst Methodist Church Melodrama Theater at the
Where to shop
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Most evident among them is the Log Cabin Curio Shop and Pinos Altos Historical Museum, built in the 1860s. Once the village schoolhouse, it’s now a funky little treasure tended by George Schafer, whose grandfather built it. George shows me memorabilia ranging from an old sewing machine to gold pans to a cross said to have helped calm differences between settlers and Apaches. Many of the collectibles come from his family. “It’s nice to carry on my family’s history here,” he says. Next door, in a shop selling gems, books, and artful crosses, George offers shoppers a chance to take home memories of the region.
Digging deeper into this little town, I find riches that especially please the palate. Pinos Altos Orchards & Gift Shop sits on a side street, in a little oasis of apple, apricot, and cherry trees, some more than 100 years old. Owner Jan Weisling puts up preserves ranging from peach-raspberry jam to zucchini relish. “I most like to experiment with the different chiles and fruits,” she says. Some of her favorite creations include a jam made of prickly-pear fruit and habanero chiles, and one of habaneros and spiced peaches. I scoop up a jar of each and head on my way.
Farther into the village, I find, remarkably, fine art. In the Hearst Methodist Church, built in 1898 by the Hearst family of newspaper fame, the Grant County Arts Guild shows paintings and photographs by 35 of its members—a vibrant display of still lifes and landscapes from the area. As well, a historic horse-drawn hearse with glass sides sits at the back of the atmospheric old church. The wagon carried the body of Pat Garrett, the sheriff who tracked down and killed Billy the Kid, to the cemetery in Las Cruces.
Heading back to the center of town, I’m ready for some refreshment. I’m not alone, I find, as I take a seat at the Pinos Altos Ice Cream Parlor. Set in the 1870 Norton Store, it’s full of whimsical decorations and little blue tables. This is the kind of place where I could hang out all day, sampling green-chile chicken soup and fudge brownies. I visit with locals and find out that the turreted adobe fortress at the center of town was built by the town’s benefactors, the Tatsch family. It’s a nostalgic replica of the Santa Rita del Cobre Fort, built in 1804, which once stood about 10 miles southeast of here.
By the time I step outside, dusk has fallen and cars have lined up next door in front of the Buckhorn Saloon. This is what “P.A.” is most renowned for: an 1860 saloon that has been classed by publications ranging from the New York Daily News to the San Francisco Examiner as one of the “Best in the West.” Inside, a sleek wooden floor stretches toward a massive brick fireplace. I make my way to the back, where period photos tell a rich history of the area. The Buckhorn is a museum in its own right.
The night is just warming up. Who could imagine that this “ghost town”—a remote island of activity amid the 3.3-million-acre Gila National Forest—would have not only shopping but nightlife as well? On weekends, the Buckhorn routinely hosts live bluegrass, country, and folk music. I order a beer and settle in next to the notorious mannequin “Indian Joe” to listen to a bluesy tune, then head into the dining room to feast on a juicy filet mignon.
Later, sated, I step next door, into the Pinos Altos Opera House, a replica of an Old West Victorian theater, for still more entertainment. The audience is just settling in for the night’s melodrama, with popcorn ready to throw at the villains, and voices lubricated to cheer for the heroes. Under elaborate chandeliers and antique box seats, the actors tell a tale of gunslingers and bordello ladies of the Old West, a story full of love, hate, puns, slapstick antics, and clichés—just what you’d expect. I boo and throw popcorn along with the rest, alight with the knowledge that the true gold of life is wherever I am right now.
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"King of the Road" columnist Lesley S. King visits another little-known community in New Mexico each month.