Perched high atop a 600-foot cliff above the Eagle River on the flank of Battle Mountain southeast of Minturn, is the barren silver boomtown of Gilman, Colorado. The town was founded in 1886 by prospector John Clinton as a settlement for Eagle Mine down below, which was at one time a prosperous mining operation for silver, lead, and zinc. What was once a quaint thriving community was forsaken in 1984 by order of the Environmental Protection Agency due to “high levels of arsenic, cadmium, copper, lead and zinc in soil and in surface and ground water.” Yikes! But now you can explore this long-abandoned ghost town near Denver and feel all the creepy feels.

Photo Courtesy of Battle Mountain Resort Clinging to the ridgetop below the summit of Battle Mountain Pass at 8,950’ are remnants of a lively community, which by 1899 had a population of roughly 300.

Flickr/The Shared Experience Gilman became a blossoming, booming, flourishing town with a school house, boarding houses, an infirmary, a post office, a church, a grocery store, and even a small bowling alley. Everything you need for an honest, simple life on a hillside.

Flickr/el-toro Down below at the base of the cliff, Eagle Mine was in full swing, and the Denver & Rio Grande Western Railroad began chugging into the mining camp via the Tennessee Pass in 1882.

Flickr/el-toro In 1912, the New Jersey Zinc Company took over the mines and townsite, and zinc became the lifeblood of the operation until the 1930s.

Flickr/el-toro Eagle Mine was also the state’s leading producer of silver at that time, but zinc remained at the forefront until the mine’s closure in 1984.

Flickr/David Casteel Rusty streaks of mine tailings can be seen streaming down the hillside, carrying toxic pollutants to the valley floor.

Flickr/el-toro In 1984, the EPA declared the area a Superfund site containing significant amounts of hazardous waste. 8 million tons to be exact! Egads!

Flickr/The Shared Experience And just like that, Gilman became a ghost town overnight.

Flickr/The Shared Experience

Smugmug/kcphoto Trucks and cars long-forsaken in their garages.

Smugmug/kcphoto Antiquated machines that were once useful were left to rust.

Flickr/Jonathan Haeber Neatly organized files left to be ransacked by vandals.

Smugmug/kcphoto Residents would no longer lovingly gaze southwest toward the Holy Cross Wilderness.

Smugmug/kcphoto Nevermore would the children frolic and play atop their 600-foot high hillside.

Smugmug/kcphoto All that remains are rows of boarded up shacks that were once homes and vandalized buildings that once served as community hubs.

Flickr/Shelby Bell Eerily abandoned yet somehow perfectly peaceful.

Flickr/Will Currier Visitors traveling along US 24 (aka Top of the Rockies Scenic Byway) stop and marvel at the bones of Gilman’s ghost, clinging desperately to the ridgetop awaiting restitution and perhaps a revival.

Photo Courtesy of Battle Mountain Resort

Clinging to the ridgetop below the summit of Battle Mountain Pass at 8,950’ are remnants of a lively community, which by 1899 had a population of roughly 300.

Flickr/The Shared Experience

Gilman became a blossoming, booming, flourishing town with a school house, boarding houses, an infirmary, a post office, a church, a grocery store, and even a small bowling alley. Everything you need for an honest, simple life on a hillside.

Flickr/el-toro

Down below at the base of the cliff, Eagle Mine was in full swing, and the Denver & Rio Grande Western Railroad began chugging into the mining camp via the Tennessee Pass in 1882.

In 1912, the New Jersey Zinc Company took over the mines and townsite, and zinc became the lifeblood of the operation until the 1930s.

Eagle Mine was also the state’s leading producer of silver at that time, but zinc remained at the forefront until the mine’s closure in 1984.

Flickr/David Casteel

Rusty streaks of mine tailings can be seen streaming down the hillside, carrying toxic pollutants to the valley floor.

In 1984, the EPA declared the area a Superfund site containing significant amounts of hazardous waste. 8 million tons to be exact! Egads!

And just like that, Gilman became a ghost town overnight.

Smugmug/kcphoto

Trucks and cars long-forsaken in their garages.

Antiquated machines that were once useful were left to rust.

Flickr/Jonathan Haeber

Neatly organized files left to be ransacked by vandals.

Residents would no longer lovingly gaze southwest toward the Holy Cross Wilderness.

Nevermore would the children frolic and play atop their 600-foot high hillside.

All that remains are rows of boarded up shacks that were once homes and vandalized buildings that once served as community hubs.

Flickr/Shelby Bell

Eerily abandoned yet somehow perfectly peaceful.

Flickr/Will Currier

Visitors traveling along US 24 (aka Top of the Rockies Scenic Byway) stop and marvel at the bones of Gilman’s ghost, clinging desperately to the ridgetop awaiting restitution and perhaps a revival.

The Town of Gilman from ArthurWessel.Com on Vimeo.

Interested in an even more harrowing tale of our cluttered mining past? The Argo Gold Mine and Mill in Idaho Springs has a deep, dark history that will give you goosebumps.

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