15 Abandoned Places In Nevada That Nature Is Slowly Taking Back
Nevada offers more than just slot machines and neon lights. Scattered across its high desert, ghost towns and forgotten structures stand as testaments to boom-and-bust cycles that swept through mining camps, railroad stops, and farming experiments.
Wind carves at old walls, sagebrush pushes through floorboards, and sand drifts over doorways that once welcomed thousands. Each ruin tells a different story of ambition, hardship, and retreat. Nature is patient, persistent, and relentless in reclaiming what humans leave behind.
These sites offer a haunting look at how quickly the desert can erase our footprints.
1. St. Thomas, Lake Mead NRA
A drowned town that keeps reappearing with the lake’s moods. Old foundations rise from saltcedar and cracked mud flats, footsteps tracing former streets where water once lapped at doorways.
Founded by Mormon settlers in 1865, St. Thomas thrived on farming until the federal government bought out residents to make way for Lake Mead. The last family moved in 1938, and water swallowed the town.
Drought cycles drop the reservoir, exposing concrete slabs, sidewalks, and even an ice cream parlor’s remains. Walking through feels like stepping into a time capsule that floods and drains with the seasons.
2. Rhyolite, near Beatty
Sun-baked walls of the bank, a lonely train depot, and Tom Kelly’s Bottle House sit in the desert while wind and grit work the edges thinner each year. Daylight pours through empty windows, and the sand keeps drifting back in, like it always does.
Rhyolite sprang up in 1904 after prospectors struck rich gold veins. Within four years, the population swelled to nearly 5,000, complete with electric lights, a stock exchange, and an opera house.
By 1916, the mines played out and everyone left. Today, you can wander freely among the ruins, watching shadows shift across walls that once echoed with laughter and deals.
3. Berlin, Berlin-Ichthyosaur State Park
Weathered clapboard buildings and mine works rest in arrested decay, their timbers creaking above high desert sage. Down the hill, boards silver with age lean into the wind while lizards claim sunny stoops.
Berlin was a small but bustling mining camp in the 1890s, processing ore from the nearby Diana Mine. When the ore ran out around 1911, residents packed up and left the buildings standing.
The state park now maintains the site in a state of arrested decay, preserving structures without restoring them. Nearby, massive ichthyosaur fossils rest in a shelter, adding prehistoric wonder to human history.
4. Metropolis, north of Wells
A grand arch from the Lincoln School still frames the sky, and a hotel’s concrete bones anchor the wheat town that withered after water rights slipped away. Sagebrush has the final say between scattered cellar holes.
Promoters dreamed big in 1910, marketing Metropolis as an agricultural paradise for families seeking homesteads. Hundreds arrived, built homes, and planted crops, trusting promises of reliable irrigation.
Water rights disputes and dry soil crushed those dreams within a decade. The school arch stands as a monument to optimism, while rabbits hop through what was meant to be a thriving farming community.
5. Delamar, Lincoln County
The Widowmaker left handsome stone ruins scattered across gold-streaked hills. Harsh stories ride the dust, and thick rock walls now keep company with rabbitbrush and whispering grass.
Delamar earned its grim nickname because miners inhaling silica dust from dry ore processing often developed fatal lung disease. Despite the danger, the camp produced millions in gold between 1895 and the early 1900s.
Stone structures still stand remarkably intact, their walls testimony to builders who worked with permanence in mind. The site requires a rugged vehicle and careful navigation, but rewards explorers with haunting beauty.
6. Candelaria, south of Hawthorne
A once-roaring silver camp now reads in rubble and stacked stone, easy to reach from the highway, easier still for sage and sun to finish what time began.
Silver strikes in 1864 brought miners rushing to Candelaria, and the town grew into a lively hub with saloons, stores, and even a newspaper. Production peaked in the 1880s before declining ore grades sent residents elsewhere.
Stone walls still outline where buildings stood, and rusted mining equipment dots the hillsides. The site sits close enough to the road for a quick exploration, making it perfect for casual ghost town enthusiasts.
7. Hamilton, White Pine Range
At about 8,000 feet, frost and wind tug at masonry that outlived fires and a furious boom. Empty doorways look across the big country while chipmunks dart through the courthouse stones.
Hamilton exploded into existence in 1868 after prospectors discovered rich silver deposits. Within months, it became the county seat, boasting brick buildings, hotels, and thousands of residents chasing fortune.
Fires swept through twice, and when the silver played out, so did the population. The courthouse walls remain, standing sentinel over a valley where summer wildflowers now bloom, where merchants once hawked their wares.
8. Wonder, Churchill County
Mill foundations and scattered tailings mark a quicksilver rush of hopes that burned bright, then faded. Today, rust and lichen paint the concrete while storms stitch grasses back across the flats.
Wonder was a silver camp founded in 1906, part of Nevada’s “second silver rush.” The camp grew quickly with mills and businesses serving several thousand people.
When tungsten prices dropped after World War I, the economic engine stopped. Concrete pads and rusting machinery mark where the mill once thundered, now silent except for wind whistling through twisted metal.
9. Tunnel Camp & the Seven Troughs District, Pershing County
An audacious drainage tunnel never paid off, leaving concrete pads, collapsed works, and a story of big ideas. Prickly pear and greasewood creep over tool scatters and track beds.
Engineers planned an ambitious tunnel in the early 1900s to drain water from deep mines, hoping to access richer ore below the water table. The project consumed enormous resources but never achieved its goal.
Scattered across the district, remnants of camps and mine works tell of hard labor and dashed expectations. The tunnel entrance still gapes in the hillside, a monument to engineering ambition that outpaced economic reality.
10. Fort Churchill, along the Carson River
Adobe barracks slump into soft corners, river cottonwoods throwing shade where soldiers once drilled. Sun, rain, and time share the slow work of returning mud-brick to earth.
Established in 1860 to protect Pony Express and Overland Route travelers, Fort Churchill housed troops who patrolled the region during tense conflicts. The fort operated until 1869, when the Army deemed it no longer necessary.
Adobe walls melt a little more each year, their curves softening as rain washes clay back toward the riverbanks. The state park preserves the site, letting visitors walk among the barracks and imagine military life.
11. Sand Springs Pony Express Station, Sand Mountain area
Low stone walls, half-buried, sit within a sea of moving dunes. Riders changed horses here; now the wind does all the running, piling sand against every course of rock.
Sand Springs served as a critical relay station along the Pony Express route in 1860 and 1861, providing fresh mounts and brief rest for riders racing mail across the continent. The service lasted only 18 months before telegraph lines rendered it obsolete.
Sand constantly shifts around the station ruins, sometimes burying walls completely, other times exposing them to sunlight. The site sits near popular off-road recreation areas, blending history with adventure.
12. Bonnie Claire, near Scotty’s Junction
A bunkhouse shell and mine relics watch over a dry lake bed. Boards warp, nails redden, and the desert quietly folds the camp back into its own wide silence.
Bonnie Claire emerged around 1906 as a small mining camp and later gained brief importance as a rail stop. The population never grew large, and when mining activity ceased, residents drifted away to more promising prospects.
Today, only a few weathered structures remain, their wood bleached gray by relentless sun. The dry lake bed stretches to the horizon, a vast expanse where nothing moves except dust devils and tumbleweeds.
13. Unionville, Buena Vista Canyon
Narrow canyon walls frame a handful of leaning cabins and a schoolhouse that still wears its bell tower. Willows crowd the creek, and wildflowers push through broken fences each spring.
Founded in 1861 after silver discoveries, Unionville briefly hosted Mark Twain, who tried his hand at mining before turning to writing. The town peaked in the 1870s, then slowly emptied as ore dwindled.
A few residents still live here, maintaining some structures, but most buildings tilt and sag. The canyon setting makes Unionville one of Nevada’s most picturesque ghost towns, blending human history with natural beauty.
14. Gold Point, south of Goldfield
Weathered storefronts line a dusty street where a handful of caretakers keep watch over relics and memories. Rusted trucks, old signs, and tilting shacks give the place a frozen-in-time feel.
Gold Point boomed in the early 1900s as miners extracted gold and silver from nearby claims. The town faded by the 1940s, but a small group of enthusiasts moved in decades later to preserve what remained.
You can wander freely, peek into buildings, and even stay overnight in restored cabins. The caretakers welcome visitors, sharing stories while the desert wind hums through gaps in the walls.
15. Belmont, Toquima Range
Brick courthouse walls rise above juniper and sage, anchoring a townsite where wooden homes sag and lean. The Cosmopolitan Saloon still wears its false front, though the roof has long since opened to the sky.
Belmont served as the Nye County seat from 1867 to 1905, thriving on silver mining that drew thousands. Fires and economic decline eventually emptied the town, leaving behind impressive masonry and scattered cabins.
A few residents remain, adding an eerie mix of habitation and abandonment. The courthouse is one of Nevada’s most photographed ruins, its red brick glowing warm in afternoon light.