By Darla Anderson

Darla Anderson moved to Yarnell in the early 1960s with her parents. As a young lady, the old mining tales fascinated her, and living so close to one of Arizona’s premium mines was just too much to just sit by and look at it from afar. Rich Hill was a short distance from their home and, one sunny afternoon, she and her mother decided to take a closer look.

One lovely sunny day, my father parked the car near the foot of the hill and my mother and I undertook the trek on foot. Rocks and more rocks of course, but young and spry we were. We were climbing the pages of history! The steps and the time went fast. I remember no hard parts of this climb. It was only fun! We did have to take hold of some of the larger rocks as we neared the actual mine, and the slope became steeper. But eventually there we were, halfway up the glorious Rich Hill and face-to-face with the mine.

Two old wooden ladders were still upright, used to climb an otherwise insurmountable steep little hill that had a ledge above it. We ventured on and succeeded climbing one of the rickety ladders and found ourselves directly facing the open mine. What a thrill!

We walked to the opening of the mine and were surprised to find water, the coolest looking water imaginable on that rocky desert mountain. And even more, the cool air that flowed from that shaft in the side of the hill was beyond description. We just stood there, entranced. But the crowning glory was the lone ore car on a track in the water. We were looking history right in the face; we were transported to the long ago. We would have explored more but my father was waiting below and we had been gone a long time. We had succeeded in hiking halfway up Rich Hill and saw with our own eyes the opening to the Rich Hill Mine. We didn’t even take back a souvenir, not even a sliver of wood from the ladder or a photograph. Back then things like that weren’t important; it was the memory that counted.

Going back down the mountain was, of course, faster and seemingly easier than climbing up, but in a day or so our legs were so sore we could barely walk, much less go down stairs. I’ll never forget the sore legs, but it was worth every inch of the way.

(Darla Anderson is a long time resident of Arizona and currently lives in the Prescott area.)

From: www.arizona-leisure.com/stanton-ghost-town.html Stanton: The Ghost Town Today. Many of Stanton’s buildings are in terrific condition due to the fact that the town was closed to the public for decades. Today, Stanton is owned by the Lost Dutchman’s Mining Association (LDMA) and has been transformed into a campground for RVs. Many recreational prospectors visit the site to try their luck. The town’s original structures are in use for campers. The camp’s office was once the stage stop. A recreation hall now occupies the building that was once home to the town saloon. The former Hotel Stanton is the present residence of a small library, a kitchenette, and a game room. Visiting Stanton provides travelers with a great view into Arizona’s wild west past. This modern-day ghost town has a ghostly aura that attracts thousands of visitors particularly during the winter season.