When Esla asked if I would be interested in contributing a story for her Narrow-Gauge Designs Blog, I agreed. It did not take long to remember that in 1997, I wrote a paper, for my college English class, about my time working in a Colorado Mine from 1975-1977. What started as just a job has become one of my most cherished memories, and I am happy to share my story. I have amended it slightly, as it relates to storytelling, by dropping some of the academic rigor. I hope you enjoy a brief look into this vanishing world.
Even the tranquil beauty of Colorado’s San Juan Mountains could not calm my anxiety during the 7-mile drive from Silverton to the Sunnyside Mine, operated by Standard Metals Corporation. If I intended to live in Silverton and survive the harsh Colorado winter, I needed a job – a good job. Isolated at an elevation of over 9300’ above sea level and with a population of only about 800 year-round residents, Silverton had limited employment options. This was a mining town – a company town. There were few women who worked outside the home during the winter months, and those who did were employed in predominantly traditional female positions.
Standard Metals Corporation offered a practical, and financially attractive, solution for a single woman. The Company paid higher than average wages and provided health insurance, paid holidays and job security. Furthermore, I was intensely fascinated with the idea of working underground and could hardly conceal my enthusiasm as I arrived at the Mine office to “apply” for a job. I had been coached in the fine art of Rustling as it was called, and knew there would be no application, no interview, and that no experience was necessary. I needed to be bold, have a strong desire to work, and persevere in my bid for attention. On this my third attempt, the Mine Superintendent, Dale Thompson, seemed in high spirits, chatting with a small group of men in his office. I peered around the open doorway and caught his eye. With a quick question and a nod, I was hired, and he resumed his conversation without skipping a beat. Now that the question of financially surviving the Colorado winter had been answered, my thoughts turned to surviving as a woman in a man’s world.
Superstitions abounded in that environment, and one particularly relevant was that a woman underground was bad luck, and that White Boots, the ghost of miners killed in mining accidents would surely make an appearance, as it was storied they had been seen when two women were hired before me. One had been a geologist, and the other, my trainer operating the mine’s main hoist. Stories ranging from hilarious to perilous were as free flowing as beer in the local taverns. Fortunately, the next two years brought not only survival but also growth, and an experience that continues to influence my views on women’s rights – and wrongs. I believed then, as I do now, that pre-existing gender bias amongst many of the Miners was altered during that time by earning mutual respect, recognition, and humor, and by neither giving nor receiving special treatment. Mining was not just a job; it was a fraternity. Although language, standards of behavior, and friendships were grounded in the outside world, as we traveled the two miles into the mine by tram, surrounded by darkness, a transformation took place, a metamorphosis of sorts.
The year was 1975 and another shift began much the same as it might have begun 100 years earlier. Once inside the mine, 35 workers at a time, packed like stick matches into a tall narrow box, rode the main hoist to their work sites. Lifted by a cable operated from ground level, and directed by a series of bells, the hoist ascended to a height of 1500 feet, stopping to drop miners and supplies at one of 4 levels along the way. It would take at least three more trips to transport the 100-plus workers to their respective level. As the hoist clambered upwards, the monotonous drone of the main level compressors could no longer be heard. Small talk filtered among the riders marked by sporadic horseplay. Finding a burning cigarette butt dropped into the bib of my neoprene overalls, or having my headlamp cord (connecting my headlamp to my belted battery pack) attached to the hoist cage with an electrical tie was a common occurrence. Equally common antics included nailing my pie-can (lunch box) to a wooden bench or directing me to each level in search of a non-existent Track Jack or Sky Hook: just part of a newcomer’s initiation. I viewed these pranks as a sign of acceptance and met each one with laughter and good humor. As a former class clown, I was delighted to reciprocate. Turnabout was fair play! I wanted to be treated as an equal - and I was. But, believe me, I earned it!
In 1975, there was no affirmative action, as we understand it today. No law required that I be treated equally, and I likely would not have utilized it had there been one. I was hired as part of an unspoken experiment. My first entry level position was called Nipper. This was mine terminology for a grunt, or gopher. Each new hire was assigned a partner, and remained a Nipper, hauling dynamite, (called a Powder Puss), and/or operating a smaller 1-2 person hoist on an upper level, until he/she was able to navigate the mine. I learned required safety regulations, and became familiar with the workings and many hazards. If I planned to collect my first paycheck, it was important to know the location of each Ore Pass - where the raw rock was dumped from high above, to be removed from the mine at ground level.
Not everyone advanced to the next level or enjoyed working underground. However, I loved the work and was anxious to experience every facet and work at every task physically possible. After learning to operate the main hoist, I fulfilled that duty for about 6 months. When the opportunity presented itself, I quickly volunteered to assist a specific 3-man crew on G-level and was remanded to the operation of a one-man hoist, called a coffin skip, or to retrieve needed supplies. I sat in a rock cut-out with a light-bulb and small metal pipe-heater to keep me company, waiting for a bell signal to move the skip up or down at lunch time or the end of shift. As the needs of my crew fluctuated, so did my duties. As I proved myself, I was given tasks of increasing importance. I started the job of Slushing. Alone in a Scram, I drug boulders to the ore pass using a large iron bucket attached to a cable-drum and blasted those too big for the opening. Later I worked as a trammer, and eventually learned to load dynamite and attach electronic blasting caps into the pattern of holes drilled into the rock by my crew of miners. This was all done in total darkness lit only by the streaming light of my headlamp. I loved being trusted to perform these tasks.
I believed then, as I do now, that my crew, and the Old-Timers were slowly, maybe reluctantly, impressed with my sincere enthusiasm and affection for the work. I was not looking to change their ways or infiltrate their brotherhood. I never perceived any hostile resistance because of my gender, only fleeting moments of surprise and even protectionism, with an occasional chuckle or raised eyebrow when I attempted something that was, for me, physically impossible. Doing my job, caring about my co-workers, and respecting individual and collective space was not about gender. Recognizing that the amount of muck covering a miner’s hard hat denoted seniority and distinction was respecting a cultural maxim. Climbing a 16” wide wooden ladder straight up a 150’ hole in the rock, or returning to check on someone who had not returned at the end of shift was concern for the welfare of others - which was expected by all. I learned to appreciate the art and what it took for a miner to master this profession. The more rock they broke, and the more gold in that rock, the more money they made! Ultimately, I was undaunted by the prospect of proving myself and earning respect the old-fashioned way.
By unobtrusively joining the ranks, I feel I had a subtle yet significant impact; an impact that helped pave the way for the additional women who followed in contributing to the history of the Sunnyside Mine, and women’s history in mining the San Juans.The mutual friendships, respect, and newly-found regard for women’s determination, coupled with the abandonment of myths surrounding women in the mine, encouraged Standard Metals Corporation to hire four additional women within a year’s time. A shift boss once told me “You do your race proud.” I know he meant gender, however, that was not a common word at that time or in that environment. But, I knew what he meant, and it was a huge compliment coming from a man of his age and position.
As only the third woman to work underground for Standard Metals Corporation in Silverton, and the first woman to take on some of the tasks I described, it saddens me to know that the days and the ways of hardrock mining are all but lost. It was another time. It was a time when I had no realization of how significantly it would impact the rest of my life, or that I would be part of the history of hardrock mining in Colorado. In 1978, the Standard Metals Sunnyside Mine closed temporarily due to a massive flood from Lake Emma. Reopening after a heroic clean-up effort, production increased to an all-time high, however the mine closed permanently in 1991, followed by reclamation. The annual Silverton Hardrockers Holiday celebration continues each August.
05/2025: Sweat Equity Revised: Thiessen, Pamela
No part of this story can be reproduced or reprinted without permission from the author. 05/2025