The wild road to Crystal Mill
Something’s strange about this picture.
The former mining camp looks like the ghost town it was labelled early last century. The remote meadow under these mountains in western Colorado grows tall grass that chokes the withered wood of the cabins, some of which with their cracked tin roofs appear abandoned.
But they’re not. People are here, and people keep coming.
“It’s a paradise,” Rob Anderson says as to why he’s made Crystal his seasonal home since1977, along with other residents he counts on two hands. (No one stays for winter.)
The surrounding aspens are glowing on this recent weekday, bringing in the post-summer rush: Jeep tours join the four-wheel drives, ATVs, dirt bikers, hikers and mountain bikers. Motors rumble and cameras flash in a place that seemingly should be left to fade away.
But the dirt road that runs through Crystal is very popular, however wicked. However steep and thin, however many warnings for people with unsuitable vehicles for the rocky terrain or unfit hearts for the drop-offs, Gunnison County Road 3 is the way to an irresistible sight.
Probably you’ve seen the old Crystal Mill in brochures or magazines, postcards or calendars. Along with the Maroon Bells, it’s said to be Colorado’s most photographed scene: Deep into the forest, the log building emerges atop a granite slab where water gushes from the rock below, tumbling into an emerald pool.
“It’s just a really magical place. It never gets old,” says Carolyn Ansell as she pulls out her Nikon to take the picture she’s taken countless times. “Every time I look at this, I think someday it’s gonna go.”
While it might attract tourists for its fairy tale appearance, it’s really the remains of a gritty mining operation that ended 100 years ago.
“This historic building has withstood the elements since 1892,” reads the plank posted to a nearby tree, reminding crowds how amazing that is as they stare at the structure’s bending legs.
The sign also invites donations ahead in Crystal. Those are given to historical groups protecting the building, in recent years replacing roof shingles, coating walls with fire-resistant preservative and installing support structures.
The donations are collected at Neal’s cabin, the first one up the hill. His father in the 1950s rallied support for the mill because history was important to him, as it is for his son today. That’s why Neal’s written books on Crystal, filling pages with old newspaper clippings and tales told through time, poems passed down by people who have come and gone. “Well, Crystal’s got a magic that I’m sure God gave,” one goes. “A magic that only God could have made . . .”
The contrast of old and new was striking at the mill on this day, accentuated by the hip-looking 20-somethings from Denver who fly a drone. The buzzing, picture-taking aircraft are another change for Crystal’s residents.
Change is all part of living by Colorado’s most photographic site.
“But what’s remarkable,” Anderson says, “is how it hasn’t changed.”