Bigfoot Hunter and Nevada Ghost Towns

I came around a two-story ruin of a bank in Candelaria, NV, a mining ghost town, and was startled to find Ted in conversation with a man who had his hands full of treasures.
“I’ve been to other ghost towns,” he said, “but I’ve never seen so much trash.”
He showed us fragments of dishes, nails, and glass left behind by miners and their families. “I’ve been a collector ever since I was a child,” he said. “I still have all my toys from childhood.”
He was wearing a long black coat and black vest over a black shirt. His pants were also black, and he wore knee-high black leather boots with a knife handle sticking out of the right one. He sported a black cowboy hat over his waist-long, blond-gray hair.
“I figure we’ll keep everything until I die, and then my wife can sell it.” He gestured at his wife, who was exploring across the road. She wore a black dress over black leggings with black ankle-high boots.
He introduced himself as David from Tennessee. I don’t remember what led up to the next revelation, maybe Ted telling him we have a grandson living in Tennessee. “I’ve done most of my Bigfoot tracking in the Tennessee woods. In fact, I’ve written a book called The Pagoda about 150 acres in Tennessee where I’ve found three of their dwellings.”
“Dwellings?” I studied his lined face. With his long mustache and short beard, he looked like an Old West sheriff or outlaw.
“Yep. Pagodas. Trees pulled over almost in an igloo shape.”
He shifted his treasures in his hands. “I’ve been a Bigfoot investigator for over 30 years. The strangest experience I’ve ever had happened when I was leaving a glade late at night, and one screamed at me.”
With his soft southern drawl, he added, “Then, another one screamed behind me. They sounded like women being killed.”
“That must’ve been terrifying,” I murmured since Ted remained silent.
“I don’t have much of a fear gene, but I literally thought I was done for. Later, I figured they were probably hunting deer, and I got in the middle of the chase.”
“It must take a lot of courage to go out in the woods at night,” I said.
He nodded. “My friends say I’m either the most courageous person they know or the stupidest. I used to believe the creatures were North American apes, but after all my experiences, now I think they’re spirit beings that pass back and forth through reality. That’s why we only find footprints here and there, and we don’t have any in our zoos.”
We weren’t sure why David was sharing his experiences with two strangers in the middle of the Nevada desert, where I’m confident no Bigfoot ever roamed. Finally, we said it had been nice to meet him and meandered away.
We were on our spring road trip, and our first ghost town of the day had been Columbus, NV, settled in 1865 because it had enough water for a quartz mill to process the ore from the surrounding mines.
In 1871, when borax was discovered, four companies mined it from the nearby salt marsh with the population peaking at 1,000. The borax mines closed around 1881. Not much remains of the once thriving community except some collapsed buildings, holes in the ground, and a cemetery.
The cemetery seems stark in that desert environment with simple wooden crosses marking the graves of Chinese laborers who worked in the mines and mills.
Our second ghost town is Candelaria, where we encountered the man in black. In 1880, the town had six stores, two hotels, ten saloons, one school, a newspaper, doctors, and lawyers. It also boasted a railroad, the Carson and Colorado Narrow Gage Railway.
Over the years, the Northern Belle mine produced $7 million worth of silver, with all of the mines combined producing $21 million.
By 1950, the community was deserted. However, as we explored the site with its crumbling stone buildings and cemetery, we could hear drilling in the cliffs behind town and learned that exploration and development is ongoing today.
As we drove away, we could see David and his wife still poking through the debris, and I had the feeling they were looking for more than just “trash.”
Our last stop of the day was Belleville, about six miles away, named after the primary mine in Candelaria.
Belleville was founded in 1873, after the Northern Belle Company built a 400-ton capacity mill to process ore from Candelaria. They soon built another mill above town, and the Carson Colorado Railroad extended to the community in 1882, becoming its terminus and workcamp.
At its peak, Belleville boasted about 500 people, and according to historian, Stanley Paher, it became a playground for the Candelaria miners with, among other things, a magician’s club, horse racing, and seven saloons. Its historic sign stated, “Belleville was famous for murders, drunken brawls, ‘sporting,’ and practical jokes.”
When the Northern Belle Company built a water pipeline from the White Mountains so it could process ore closer to home, the town declined. By 1894 the post office closed.
When we were there, not much of the Wild West milling camp survived except the imposing foundations of the mills, weathered lumber, rusted metal, and hollowed places in the earth where buildings once stood.
After we returned to our SUV, we headed toward the California border. As much as I was fascinated with the history and the material remnants of the mining towns, I was grateful we hadn’t encountered any murdered miners or screaming Sasquatches. The man and wife dressed in black seemed eerie enough.