What is it about ghost towns that fascinate us? Is it the notion that people, just like ourselves, took incredible risks for the chance of a better life? We compare our lives to theirs - similar dreams, the same basic needs, and consider that the same odds stacked against us would seem insurmountable. Something as simple as the ability to keep warm is basic for us; back then it was a life threatening challenge.

Each of us probably have our own unique curiosities about the past, but for me I believe it's the thought of a people being so determined to prosper that they would face unimaginable odds - just for that chance to taste wealth. This would probably be the epitaph of most everyone that emigrated to Bodie, California. This high desert community came into existence for the sole purpose of obtaining wealth: gold!

Founded in 1859 by W.S. Bodey and his partner "Little Black" Taylor, in search for gold - Bodey would never see the $400,000,000 in gold that was mined from the land. Just three months after finding the first traces of gold in August of '59 Bodey died in a severe snowstorm. This should have served as a warning to those that uprooted their families and made the move. Even by today's standards Bodie is literally in the middle of nowhere, so to imagine a family leaving what was probably a comfortable home to establish a new life in what can be described as hell on earth during the extreme seasons - is unfathomable. Ironically, for the fortunate few that achieved financial success - many more failed, and amongst those many paid the ultimate price. No place gives more evidence to this than the cemetery at Bodie.

I have visited Bodie many times over the years. As a photographer and an explorer of the past, Bodie holds a unique fascination in that it is a time warp of sorts; a lost community of ghostly past lives that yearn to tell you their story. One trip to Bodie in particular stands out among the many others. It was late November, 2005. Being a photographer I typically visit such places during as much of the off-season as I can to avoid the crowds of tourists. Not that I dislike the company of people - but trying to capture the essence of a particular scene can be rather frustrating with the hundreds of other curious on-lookers. So visiting in the winter and early spring seasons is the answer, and unfortunately usually means dealing with inclement weather. Sometimes quite severe.

As I slowly drove my jeep through the winding 13 mile road (the last 3 being dirt and gravel) I frequently glanced at the thermometer. When I turned off highway 395 it had read 30 degrees. Within that 13 mile drive and climbing to 8,000' the temperature had dropped to 20 degrees, with storm clouds in the south. I reminded myself I would need to keep a close watch on weather conditions as Bodie is not a place you want to be stranded!

Coming to the end of the bumpy, dusty drive, is an incredible experience for as you pass over the last hill you come into full view of Bodie, and the vast rolling valley that surrounds it. Even in late fall the high-desert grass and brush was still vibrant with bright amber and autumn-like colors. The 50 or so remaining structures in Bodie look as if they probably appeared over a hundred years ago. It's hard to imagine that at it's boomtown peak Bodie was once home to as many as 10,000 citizens! While today it is labeled as the biggest ghost town in the US, it is small in comparison to what was there during it's hay-day.

As I came closer to the old town I realized an amazing thing: I was alone! With the exception of a park ranger's vehicle off to the far north - it appeared there was no one else there! Granted, it was still early - 7:00am, but even at that time it was very unusual to not find other visitors. As it turns out I had the unique experience of having Bodie to myself the entire day!

A Storm Approaches

Great photographs require all the elements every landscape photographer dreams of having in such a location. Perfect light - intense, warm, angled low; dramatic clouds - rich with tone and contrast; as little wind as possible, and most important - a fascinating subject. This cold day in November was my day, as all these elements were lined up perfectly.

As I kept tabs on the approaching storm I estimated I had about 5 - 6 hours of shooting time; longer, if I didn't mind needing a dog sled team to get out! With such pristine shooting conditions I had to make decisions quickly as to where to start and where to end. If I waited until as late as possible the sun would be down towards the horizon, providing long, deep shadows - perfect for the cemetery - if the sun was even still visible. So I decided to spend the first few hours moving about the town.

One of the first shots of the day was of the Dechambeau Hotel, with the adjacent IOOF building. Had this been the only shot of the day I would have left a very pleased photographer. Out of the many photographs I have made over the years, very few have provoked as much conversation as this one. From an artistic standpoint it keeps your eyes busy, and taunts the imagination. From a technical perspective - as I said, all the elements were there; I was very lucky!

One of the most amazing aspects of Bodie is how well it has been preserved. While the historic town has never gone through any restoration, it has been maintained in a state of arrested decay. Much of what you see is how it was left behind. As I wandered through the desolate roads the increasing wind howled lightly through the wood slats in the weathered structures. I struggled to keep my hands from going numb due to the intense cold. Even with modern heavy winter clothing, it was a gnawing reminder of what the struggle must have been like so many years ago to survive the severe winters. It should not come as a surprise that many of the dates of death on the tombstones are during the winter months...particulary infants.

One of the most well preserved structures at Bodie is the Methodist Church. Rather ironic, considering the hell-raising reputation of the town. Murders were not uncommon - usually over gambling disputes and drunken saloon brawls. Legendary stories of Bodie include one of a young girl, who upon learning her family was moving to Bodie, wrote a short simple note: "Goodbye God, I am going to Bodie."

The storm from the south seemed to be moving in at a quicker pace than I had anticipated. If I was going to be able to get some quality shooting time in the cemetery I was going to need to pick up the pace! Working my way down Green St., the wind picked up in strength, each gust piercing deep with it's frigid bite. As the howling from the wind intensified, half of the town was covered by heavy, dark storm clouds - while the other half was shrouded with a vibrant, deep blue open sky. Very unusual, to say the least.

Green St. is a long, descending, dirt and rock covered road, peppered with weeds and sagebrush. Cinching up my parka hood to guard my face from the painful cold, I wondered if perhaps 100 years before children were playing on this same street. Simple games perhaps, such as kick-the-can. Or maybe not a soul could be seen as the killer weather kept them inside, near some form of heat source. I stopped for a moment, turning an ear to imagine the sound of laughing children. The moment was brief, as the shrill of the wind enveloped me with a strange, eerie feeling....as if I was not alone.

One cannot get a realistic feeling of how difficult life truly was without spending some time in the Bodie cemetery. I cannot recall exactly how many times I've visited Bodie, but every visit has always ended in the cemetery. Reading the grave stones, giving thought to how they must have struggled to survive long enough to hopefully appease the gold fever that constantly swept through the town like a pandemic. Each tombstone tells a story. Finding grave markers that denote a life lasting only a few months, weeks, or even days, is not unusual in the Bodie cemetery.

As I quietly moved through the cemetery, setting up my tripod, measuring light, framing up for various shots - darkness was quickly descending on the town, and most especially the cemetery. Snow flurries began dusting the deep grey sky...the wind changing it's pitch to a sound that I could only liken to being beckoned.

But nothing could have prepared me for what happened within a few moments of first noticing the strange tone in the wind. Perhaps it was due to fatigue after an exhausting day, the bone-chilling cold, the ominous atmosphere. Whatever it was, I suddenly felt as though I was being watched. A little girl. Shy, lonely, from behind a tombstone. I shook it off to finish my shot of a tombstone I had photographed several times on previous trips - but never during these conditions. As I peered through the viewfinder I saw something that, for whatever reason, I had never seen before, which sent a chill through to my soul. On the tombstone I was photographing was the name Arthor - died November 11, 1899.

My legal name is Arthur. My birth-date - Nov. 11.

An odd coincidence, to say the least.

Snow was beginning to fall harder, the visibility disappearing with each moment I spent wondering if I should call it the day.

As I steered my jeep up the dirt road that led me away from Bodie, I stopped and took a moment to look back at the desolate town. With the snow falling hard, and the taunting wind driving it literally sideways, the ghostly town was little more than a faint, dark, distant image within a white blur. A surreal, eternal home for past lives. I briefly considered making a photograph of the vanishing scene...but declined.

This image I kept to myself.