The stars shine bright over Delamar, Nevada. There isn’t a lot of light pollution there yet. During the daytime there is a shine to the rocks too. The graveyard nearby tells part of the story. All the deaths are from around the turn of the 19th century. A young mother, a middle aged man. Everyone came looking for gold. They found it deposited in a layer of quartzite. For the miners that quartzite was the sparkle that killed you. It got stuck in your lungs and gave the town it’s nickname, The Widow Maker. Everyone left this town a hundred years ago. The only improvements since have been a couple of updated headstones and a little barbed wire. I pitched my tent in one of the few buildings with all four walls still standing. No roof anymore, but the rusted metal stove pipe running up the wall made it feel just a little bit warmer. Rachel, Nevada is down the road. You won’t find any gas there but you can get a room, a bite, a beer or a souvenir off the Extraterrestrial Highway at the The Little A'Le'Inn. Area 51 is to the south. It was busy at the inn for a Monday afternoon in late winter. There were several groups of people, half of them wearing tinfoil hats. The guys at the bar, no tinfoil, were visiting Las Vegas for a pizza convention and had to make the trip. Because aliens? Well after dark, as I photographed the ghost town, military jets flew in formation overhead. I am often annoyed by lights from aircraft messing up my astro-photography. But this night it only seemed appropriate. Because, aliens!
