America’s Coolest Ghost Towns
For years, visitors to this ghost town have learned that bad luck will befall anyone who makes off with an artifact—a curse that is lifted only when the piece of contraband is returned. Sure enough, park ranger Mark Langner says that a couple times a month, he gets something in the mail—“an old nail or a piece of glass, with an anonymous letter apologizing—they know they’ve done something wrong.” Curse or no curse, he says, “karma is karma.”
And yet, people still can’t resist slipping off with a piece of history. It’s understandable. Abandoned towns exist all over the world, but there’s something uniquely American, even romantic, about ghost towns. Perhaps it’s because so many sprang up in the 19th-century Old West, when a rush to find gold and other minerals created an old-style economic bubble. When the money or luck ran out, so did the residents, often leaving behind empty houses, saloons, and brothels.
Of course, gold (or lack thereof) isn’t the only reason towns have failed. “There are as many reasons for towns dying as there are towns,” says Gary Speck, a ghost town expert and author of books including Ghost Towns: Yesterday and Today. “Some towns were bypassed when highways were built or, in one-economy towns, when production decreased, like in logging camps. If the need for the town was gone, the town went bye-bye—unless it could adapt.”
He adds that while plenty of failed towns just got paved over by modern suburbs, finding the physical remains of little cities long gone makes for fascinating travel.
When we looked for the most interesting ghost towns around the U.S., we found various states of preservation and decay. In Virginia City, MT, remaining buildings have been rehabbed to create festive tourist towns. Bodie, meanwhile, is kept in a state of “arrested decay”—basically, the same condition it was in when it became a historic landmark in 1962. “We’ll do repairs as needed—replace a roof or fix a window—using the right materials from the time,” says Langner. “If you do too much, it looks fake, but if you do too little, it become[s] a pile of sticks.”
Some ghost towns have found unique second lives. Terlingua, TX, got its start as a thriving mercury-mining town during the early 1900s, but today, it’s the lightly populated home of a famed chili cook-off.
Such an event might seem all the more poignant in a place where prosperity never took hold—and may be one reason people romanticize these long-gone towns.
Or perhaps they just like looking at old stuff. Bodie still has some stocked stores, and visitors remark on seeing products their parents or grandparents used to have. “People yearn for simpler times,” says Langner. “And sometimes they’re just blown away that they’re somewhere that doesn’t get cell service.”
Named for the local silica-rich volcanic rock, this town near Death Valley National Park sprang up in 1905 with the promise of gold—so much promise that a guy named Charles M. Schwab sank a lot of money into the town. Rhyolite had a school, a hospital, and a stock exchange by 1907—as well as a bustling society that included a symphony, Sunday school, and, ahem, lots of prostitutes. Things didn’t pan out so well, literally, and people left within just a few years. Rhyolite became an old-West movie set in the 1920s and is still home to several cool photo-op buildings, including one called the Bottle House, covered with liquor and beer bottles.
Closest Civilization: Death Valley National Park and Beatty, NV.
This former gold town in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, along the California-Nevada border, had nearly 10,000 residents in the late 1870s, as well as saloons, a red-light district, and possibly even opium dens. The town is named for Waterman S. Body, who had discovered small amounts of gold in the hills north of Mono Lake. Its slow decline lasted well into the 20th century, with its post office finally closing in 1942. Today, Bodie is in “arrested decay” but still has stocked stores. Just be sure not to shoplift: bad luck supposedly befalls anyone who makes off with anything from the site.
Closest Civilization: Lake Tahoe, about 75 miles away.
During the early 20th century this town was a hotbed for mercury, but production dwindled and the town basically died out by the 1940s. In the 1970s, the lightly populated town found a new kind of heat: it became the home of a now famous chili cook-off. The favorite sightseeing activity is still “to come sit on the porch of the Terlingua Trading Company, have a cold refreshment, visit with people, and watch the sunset.” If you're inspired to spend the night, the Big Bend Hotel is the only game in town.
Closest Civilization: Big Bend National Park.
Thurmond, West Virginia
This coal town from the late 1800s went from several hundred residents to 7 by the year 2000. Once a big stop on the Chesapeake & Ohio Railway, its depot has been turned into a museum, and the town is now part of the New River Gorge National River. In 2005, 6 of its 7 residents reportedly ran for public office. You can check out the restored train depot and museum, but most folks come here for river rafting.
Closest Civilization: New River Gorge National River.
Santa Claus, Arizona
Some would say this little desert town was never more than a marketing gimmick, launched in the 1930s to draw tourists and sell real estate: inns and restaurants had a Christmas theme, and tourists could meet the man in red pants himself, any time of year. In later years it became popular just for its post office and postmark, for kids who wanted a bona fide letter from St. Nick. The four-acre site has been for sale since 1983. But even if you’re not on the market for your own town, it makes a good detour on the way to Kingman or the Hoover Dam. You can see some vandalized buildings, an old wishing well, and the remnants of “Old 1225”—a derailed, pink children’s train.
Closest Civilization: Kingman, AZ.
Lake Flagstaff got its name from an interesting historical tidbit: Benedict Arnold’s troops once planted a flag here. But back then, Flagstaff was also above water. In 1950, plans for a hydroelectric dam meant the whole town would be submerged. While most buildings were moved or destroyed, some sites—the occasional chimney, for instance—can still be visible from the water’s surface, if you know where to look. You can get a map of the site from the Northern Forest Canoe Trail, or take a tour in a pontoon boat. You can also see artifacts and more about the lost town at the nearby Dead River Area Historical Society.
Closest Civilization: Eustis and Rangeley, ME.
This former silver-mining town in Southern California peaked in the 1880s, but started declining when the price of silver dropped in the 1890s. It was a ghost town by 1907. The town’s restoration began in the 1950s, under the direction of Walter Knott, of Knott’s Berry Farm fame. Today, Calico is a San Bernardino County Park, but you can still see one-third of Calico’s original buildings, as well as Knott’s kitschier additions such as the gold-panning attraction and a “mystery shack.” To get a glimpse of the old days you can tour one mine, or wander the old post office and schoolhouse.
Closest Civilization: Barstow, CA.
Virginia City, Montana
Founded on gold mining in 1863, this town once had about 10,000 residents—including Calamity Jane—and was even briefly the capital of the Montana Territory. Maybe it was bad karma having your capital share the name of another state, or just the fact that gold ran out, but the city has been frozen in time since the late 19 th century. Virginia City is now owned mostly by the state, though there are some shops, live music, and period-style theater.
Closest Civilization: 90 miles from Yellowstone National Park.
This antebellum river town was the capital of Alabama from 1820 to 1826, though by 1825 the bad choice of geography was clear: the place was a flood magnet. Even so, it was later the home of a Civil War prison for Union soldiers and then, during Reconstruction, a meeting place for freed slaves. The floods largely won out, and now the ruins left in Cahawba—a few streets, cemeteries, and some buildings—are managed by the Alabama Historical Commission.
Closest Civilization: Selma, AL.
The last building was torn down in 1845, but the stories of this hardscrabble town—supposedly named either because the poor residents lived like dogs, or because the local war widows kept canines for protection—has given it legendary appeal. Thoreau wrote of visiting here in 1858, and during the Great Depression, Roger Babson—an entrepreneur who foretold the stock market crash and later ran for President—erected about two dozen boulders within Dogtown’s mostly forested ruins. When hiking through now, you can see the boulders, with messages such as “Prosperity Follows Service,” “Get a Job,” and “Help Mother.”
Closest Civilization: Gloucester, MA; Boston is about 40 miles away.
Glenrio, Texas and New Mexico
This little town straddling the Texas–New Mexico border was a busy road stop during the heyday of Route 66—offering gas, restaurants, motels—with a few newer buildings, such as a Texaco, reflecting the Art Moderne style. The movie crew for The Grapes of Wrath even spent some time filming here in 1939. But in the 1970s business came to a halt when I-40 was built and literally passed by Glenrio. There are supposedly a few people who live in Glenrio now, but otherwise the empty, largely intact little town is part of the National Register of Historic Places.
Closest Civilization: Tucumcari, NM, and Amarillo, TX.
This gold town thrived in the 1890s, then died and was reborn a number of times between 1910 and 1926. In the 1960s, it was reconstructed as a tourist stop. Goldfield offers perhaps more kitschy fun than historical preservation: you can visit the Superstition Reptile Exhibit, ride a narrow gauge railroad, or see folks in period costumes stir up a reenacted gunfight in the street.
Closest Civilization: Apache Junction, AZ.
Gleeson, Courtland, and Pearce, Arizona
This trio of towns just west of Tombstone had ups and downs and intertwined fates: Gleeson used to be called Turquoise when the stone was its main draw, but everyone left when gold was found in Pearce; Pancho Villa is said to have fought in Courtland. Much of these three towns are now on private land, but you can wander the cemeteries or visit the Gleeson Jail, where, on the first weekend of each month, you can take a tour. Up the road you can also see the “jail tree,” where they used to tie up unsavory types before the jail was built.
Closest Civilization: Tombstone, AZ.
After producing $200 million worth of copper ore between 1911 and 1938, this mill town was tapped out and too remote to survive. You’ll find it at the end of a 60-mile dirt road in the middle of Wrangell–St. Elias National Park, the biggest national park in the U.S.—and even bigger than Switzerland. During its heyday, the company town had its own hospital and school as well as a skating rink and a tennis court. The original mill buildings are still here, but you’ll get the best access if you go with a guide from the NPS or a tour operator.
Closest Civilization: Chitina, about 60 miles away.
St. Elmo, Colorado
The few folks left near St. Elmo, a onetime mining village and railroad stop, joke that the original residents left on the last train out—and never came back. After developing in the 1870s with hotels, dance halls, a school, and a telegraph office, the town faded by the 1930s, after the railroad closed. (One longtime resident named Annabelle, however, hung around until the late 1950s and has become the town’s patron saint.) You can still shop in the seasonal, antiques-filled General Store, rent four-wheelers, and stay in a rustic cabin in town.
Closest Civilization: Buena Vista, 20 miles away.
Swan Island, Maine
Ironically, the original version of this island’s name—Sowangan, given by the Native Americans who lived here—translates to “bald eagle” (since, at that time, a lot of bald eagles lived there, too). Settlers came in and developed a village in the early 1700s, and Benedict Arnold passed through in 1775 on his way to attack Quebec. Otherwise, it was a pretty sleepy place—good for fishing and ice-cutting—that only got sleepier over the next century or so, until the state of Maine started acquiring the land in the 1940s. You can get to Swan Island only by boat, but once here you can camp and hike or visit old homesteads, stone walls, and a cemetery.
Closest Civilization: Richmond, ME, a ferry ride across the Kennebec River.
This place on the plains may have died from its own identity crisis. The farming town was born in about 1901, sitting near both Route 66 and the 100th Meridian. But surveyors kept not being able to decide if the town belonged in the Texas panhandle or Oklahoma. (It also had, at times, the names of Texokla and Texoma.) Such indecision, perhaps, combined with the Dust Bowl and the arrival of the more distant I-40, spelled the end of Texola. Census figures indicate that 36 people still live here, but most of what you can see is an old cemetery and an abandoned bar, Watering Hole #2.
Closest Civilization: Erick, OK, seven miles away.
South Pass City, Wyoming
The infrastructure of the former gold mine still exists in South Pass City, which launched in the 1868 but could no longer produce by the time of the Depression. The state of Wyoming bought the land in the 1960s, and now you can tour cabins, restaurants, dance halls, and a jail. The Miner’s Delight B&B, in nearby Atlantic City, even does an occasional “night-shift” tour of the old gold mine, complete with scotch tastings.
Closest Civilization: Lander, WY, 32 miles away.
Now on Bureau of Land Management property, this little gold-rush town turned up more red gemstones than gold, but both treasures dwindled over time, and a fire in 1912 leveled much of the town. Visitors can still see 30 historic buildings—including cabins, a saloon, and part of an old hotel—and camp within a half mile of the ghost town. Lost treasures aside, the area is rich with hiking and mountain biking trails, as well as chances to catch rainbow trout.
Closest Civilization: Missoula, about 35 miles away.
North Brother Island, New York
New York City is the last place you’d expect to find a ghost town, but this 20-acre island on the East River was developed precisely because of its isolation. In 1885, Riverside Hospital was built here as a quarantine facility for smallpox patients and then for others with infectious diseases—including the infamous Typhoid Mary (the unfortunate woman who spread typhoid fever without having any symptoms herself). The hospital eventually shifted into a housing center for veterans and a rehab facility for heroin addicts. By the 1960s it had deteriorated into abandoned buildings set in a tangle of trees.Don’t make plans to visit here soon, though: for safety and environmental reasons, the local Department of Parks and Recreation is restricting access until at least 2016.
Closest Civilization: The Bronx, a short boat ride away.
Animas Forks, Colorado
This little silver and gold mining town at 11,200 feet in the San Juan Mountains once boasted of being the biggest city in the world…at that altitude. Today, the former town of 500 is maintained by the Bureau of Land Management, and you can still see several old cabin-style buildings, including the small jail. This is off-roading country, so your best bet is to rent a four-wheeler and soak up the mountain scenery—wildflowers in the summer, aspens in the fall—along the Alpine Loop National Back Country Byway.
Closest Civilization: Silverton, 12 miles away, or Durango, 60 miles away.