Kellogg provides recreation, insight into mining history
Gondolas cast moving shadows on us as we stood in the hotel parking lot in Kellogg. On this late summer day, bikers and hikers used the three-mile lift to access the trails of Silver Mountain, a year-round resort that hosts skiers in winter.
Recreation has become a major part of Kellogg’s economy in the past couple of decades. The closure of the Bunker Hill Mine following a dive in silver prices in the early 1980s devastated the little town, as 2,000 people in the region lost their jobs.
The transition to tourism started in earnest then. And over the years, the local ski hill went from being referred to as Jack Ass to Silverhorn to, finally, Silver Mountain.
Yet mining runs deep in the town’s roots. Museums, trailside markers, a memorial and a gold mine are reminders of Kellogg’s mining past. While the city welcomes skiers and bikers with play-and-stay packages, and growing choices in food and stores, some of its identity still lies in silver and gold.
Outside our hotel, husband John and I walked our dog Kah-less on the popular biking path, Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes. Beside the trail, we paused at a marker honoring three local residents: gold prospector and town namesake Noah Kellogg, mine executive Stanley A. Easton, and Frank Reasoner, posthumously awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for his gallant service in Vietnam as a Marine 1st Lieutenant.
Kellogg, a wanderer who reportedly failed at most ventures he had undertaken, began gold prospecting in the 1880s. In exchange for a meal, a hungry Kellogg agreed to prospect for two Murray, Idaho, merchants.
The legend says that Kellogg’s borrowed burro (or jackass) got away from his camp during that night in 1885. The next morning, he spotted the animal high on a shiny rock outcrop that turned out to be lead-silver ore.
Kellogg tried to make new arrangements with the Murray merchants, with no success. He kept $300,000 of his mineral find, but died a pauper 20 years later.
The ore body Kellogg discovered eventually became part of the Bunker Hill Mine, which operated in the Silver Valley until the early 1980s. It was the largest mining and smelting firm in Idaho and the state’s second-biggest employer when it shut down.
From the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes, a large, bright-white house sat on a hill above us. A sign in big, bold letters read: “Museum.” The previous home of Stanley Easton and later a dorm for single Bunker Hill Mine staff, the structure is now known as the Staff House Museum, with mining tools, photos and memorabilia inside and on the grounds.
From Kellogg’s center, we drove over Interstate 90 to the east side of town to reach the Crystal Gold Mine. We passed The Miner’s Hat, a former restaurant with a portion of it shaped like a miner’s hat – another remnant of days gone by.
The hat building is now the location of a real estate office, another area of recent economic boom for the region.
We left Kah-less in the shade of the RV park, adjacent to the Crystal Gold Mine entrance. Inside a small gift shop, we browsed cases and walls of gems, minerals and silver jewelry as we listened to an audio introduction to the mine.
In 1879, Tom Irwin discovered a gold-bearing vein at this spot in Shoshone County. Due to the amount of work done, it’s believed four other men helped him.
In 1881, Irwin left the area and blasted the hillside to hide the mine’s entrance. With picks, hammers, a mining cart and even a candle left sealed inside, he and his men most likely had plans on returning for another withdrawal. But Irwin didn’t return; he just disappeared.
People continue to speculate as to what happened to him and his partners. Our tour guide, retired miner George Cornwell, figures someone murdered the miners for the gold they had in their possession.
Irwin never made a formal claim so there was no existing documentation of the mine. As a result, it was hidden until the 1960s, when a road crew drilling rock for I-90 found mine workings. As a safety precaution, the highway crew moved their drilling operation.
About 30 years later, the property owner at that time uncovered the mine’s portal when digging for a spring. He covered the entrance with plywood. In 1996, the mine’s current owners, retired miner Bill Lane and his wife, Judy, bought, cleaned up and opened the once-lost gold mine for public tours.
Before entering the mine, Cornwell fitted me and John with hard hats and gave us each a flashlight. We followed him up the slow incline into the cool air of the mine.
A string of lights lit the main path where a mining cart used to roll its rich cargo out to be processed. Cart, tools, picks and hammers left by Irwin and his partners leaned against the damp underground walls.
Cornwell demonstrated some of the hand tools of mining as he drilled into a narrow hole in the rock along the quartz vein that Irwin tracked into the hillside.
All gold originates in quartz, Cornwell told us. He described the use of dynamite to blast new areas in the mine that would be worked the next day. With a fast-burning fuse, the guy setting the explosives had to have an equally fast getaway. With a strong push off, he rode the mining cart out.
Water dripped from overhead as we moved farther into the mine, which stretches 500 feet into the hillside. Purple, teal, white, blue and clear ribbons of smithsonite trickled down the tunnel walls. Several signs requested that we not touch them.
After the tour, we turned in our hard hats and flashlight to try gold panning – or, in our case, amethyst panning.
Panning is harder than it looks. There’s a real skill to getting what you want to stay in the pan, while getting rid of the excess water and sand. With a tilt and swirl of his pan, Bill Lane made it look easy.
Kah-less rested at our feet while we tried to score a big garnet, my birthstone. A few tiny garnets showed up in my pan. We probably shouldn’t consider quitting our day jobs, Lane joked.
Our stomachs started to growl and we guessed we’d give up on panning for the moment. We bagged our purple rocks and our one genuine piece of iron pyrite – also called “fool’s gold” – and headed back into the heart of Kellogg.
At the Veranda Restaurant, we chose a table on the veranda where a refreshing wind blew the tablecloth skirts. Inside this Victorian house, long, glossy tables, as well as intimate settings, are available. Upstairs, private dining areas, including one they call the “Engagement Room,” provide quieter spaces.
A simple garden salad and a generous portion of shrimp linguine with cream sauce made for a filling lunch. Unfortunately, we had to pass on dessert.
Sipping the last of my wine, I lingered in the breeze of the porch and enjoyed the sight of the lush lawn and encircling bushes holding the last of their summer blooms.
With our stomachs satisfied, we drove westward home across the scenic Silver Valley, our minds pondering what might have become of ol’ Tom Irwin and when we’ll be able to return for a ski package.