Ghost Town Lamentations

For almost 122 years Bland, N. M. withstood the test of time and man. Situated as it was along  the bottom of a narrow stretch of Bland Canyon, its isolation spared it from the destructive effects that commonly plague ghost towns (vandals, looters, hunters) The town's true saving grace was that since the 1940's, it was privately owned and behind a locked gate.

Bland has always been at the top of my list of New Mexico ghost towns I needed to visit. That will never happen, the huge Las Conchas fire that roared through the Jemez Wilderness, reduced the remnants of that former boom town to a pile of ashes. The Holy Grail of New Mexico's abandoned places (though it was never totally abandoned) is no more, gone with the wind and smoke.

Whenever a major fire would break out in the Jemez, I would think of Bland and although other burns had come close, none had caused any damage to the dozen or so structures that remained. Now, everything including the historic Exchange Hotel has vanished along with their long historical legacy. Only a solitary chicken coop and a couple of picnic tables survived the inferno.

I was once obsessed with Bland, the fact that it was on private property didn't deter me. The more I read about the town and its unique location the more determined I became.  In the spring of 1996, following a trip to the Dixon apple orchard, I took the road into Bland Canyon. Upon reaching the locked gate, I scribbled a quick note with my phone number, requesting permission to enter, I never received a response. *(In all fairness  it was a long distance call, back when those could be expensive)

A few weeks passed, I returned to Bland Canyon, this time I parked near the locked gate and decided to hike along the peripheral. Having heard stories of trespassers being met by a large Native American man armed with a shotgun, I took care to stay out of sight. I poked around, but never found a suitable spot that would afford me a view of the townsite. As my search continued, I found a few prospect pits, some rusted tin cans, but nothing of any significance. 

I sensed that I was close to the dwellings, at one point I  saw smoke curling up into the sky and smelled burning cedar. I also heard dogs barking, and they barked louder as I got closer to the canyon bottom. Knowing that the dogs would alert the caretakers to my presence, I hiked back to my truck. I left a note with my phone number and once again received no response. 

The following month, I went back, this time I took a different route and after some strenuous hiking and climbing I was rewarded with my first glimpse of The Exchange Hotel, or at least the roof. I worked my way towards a higher vantage point and took several photos with a cheap disposable camera. I could make out two vehicles parked in front of one building, but I didn't hear any dogs this time. As I started back to my vehicle, I had to fight off a strong urge to move in even closer.

It would be almost a year before I was back in the area, this time I was determined to find Bland's neighboring mining camp, Albemarle.  The notorious road leading to Bland's neighbor was rough even with four-wheel drive. Reluctant to horsewhip my Toyota pick-up, I hiked in from about two miles out. The remnants of Albemarle did not disappoint as I found several mine portals, a couple of dugout cabins, a scattering of timbers, trash piles and an old wooden trestle bridge. 

On the return trip I stopped at the Bland gate, then on the spur of the moment, I hiked back to my lookout post.  The place was quiet, there were no signs of life, no vehicles, no smoke, no dogs. I sat there debating whether I should go down and look around. However, I couldn't bring myself to do it... bad enough that I was trespassing. For several minutes I allowed the image of Bland to load onto my memory bank, then I shouldered my pack and left.

                                           Bland

I've been to many a ghost town, but I've yet to see a ghost.

That's not to say they don't dwell in those threadbare abodes

or that I doubt their existence. The shadowy apparitions

do linger about... at times announcing their presence 

by causing a tingling sensation ...a static electrical charge, 

this is often followed by a harvest of goosebumps, 

fleeting thoughts of panic and a reassuring sigh of relief.

Most abandoned places have an aura, an invisible emanation

of supernatural energy, that seems to arise and surround me

as I break through the continuum of solitude and silence

that became the norm with the departure of commerce.

How drastic the transformation, once a beehive of activity,  

alive with the action of drilling, blasting, ripping and sawing 

now bird calls and foot steps echo off the canyon walls.

May they rest in peace the ghostly legions of Bland, 

for they've patiently waited for this day to arrive,

now with their earthly home no longer anchoring them down

they're free to move about the ethereal regions unbound.