Ghost Towns in Nevada – Exploring Abandoned History

Ghost towns in Nevada outnumber living, breathing towns by more than double. Over 600 of them sit in varying degrees of sun-bleached disrepair, proof that silver dreams don’t always pan out. Nevada, once the Wild West’s unofficial jackpot machine, saw fortunes rise and fizzle faster than a soap bubble on a skillet.

Why so many deserted relics? Blame it on boom-and-bust fever. Miners rushed in, silver ran out, and suddenly, everyone remembered they had “urgent business” somewhere else.

What’s left behind? Weathered shacks, bullet-riddled saloons, and ghost stories that’d make your grandma clutch her pearls. Many such cases of scatered ghost towns around the state.

Let us take a look at the best-known ghost towns the state of Nevada has to offer.

Rhyolite

Rhyolite went from dust to boomtown practically overnight in 1905. Miners poured in, banks opened, and the town thought it was set for life. Spoiler: it wasn’t. By 1920, dreams had dried up, and Rhyolite was left in a skeletal state of grandeur.

Today it’s a hot ticket for photographers and filmmakers—because who doesn’t want to snap a photo of a decaying bank with zero customers? Must-sees include the Tom Kelly Bottle House, made entirely out of glass bottles (recycling before it was trendy), and the Goldwell Open Air Museum, where art installations try to out-weird the ghost town vibe.

Positioned near Death Valley, Rhyolite gives off serious end-of-the-world energy—but in a fun, artistic way. You won’t find snacks or cell service, so bring both or face your own mini collapse.

Berlin

Berlin, Nevada—where silver dreams collided with prehistoric sea monsters. No, it’s not a fever dream.

It’s just Berlin-Ichthyosaur State Park, where fossilized ichthyosaurs share the stage with crumbling mining remnants. Because why settle for one type of historical collapse when you can have two?

Wandering through town feels like stepping into a mining cosplay gone slightly off-script. Preserved buildings offer a solid peek into how little personal space miners actually had. Diana Mine? Stabilized now, so you can gawk at old tools without getting crushed by a ceiling.

Fossil House is where things really take a turn. Inside waits a group of ancient marine reptiles who clearly took a wrong turn and ended up in desert dirt. Somehow, it works. Prehistoric meets post-industrial in a weird mashup that makes no sense—and yet makes all the sense.

It’s the perfect place to question your life choices while staring at fossilized proof that some things are just meant to be buried.

Virginia City

Virginia City refuses to go quietly into that dusty night. Sure, it’s technically a ghost town, but don’t let that fool you. It’s alive with tourists, saloons, and enough Victorian architecture to make a history buff weep.

Home of the Comstock Lode, the largest silver strike ever found, Virginia City once minted millionaires faster than you could say “boom.”

The town now clings to its Wild West roots with historic tours, haunted hotels, and bartenders who claim their saloon is haunted by someone’s great-great-grand-cowboy.

You can sip whiskey in a bar where Mark Twain probably insulted someone, and then hop on a ghost tour where your EMF reader might light up—assuming you believe in that sort of thing.

Ghost town? Kind of. More like ghost-adjacent with a tourist twist.

Techatticup (Eldorado Canyon)

Want me to adjust the tone or add more ghost town weirdness? Just say the word. Tucked away near Las Vegas like a forgotten prop from a Western that ran out of budget, Techatticup Mine was once the pride of southern Nevada’s gold and silver output.

Back in its glory days, it was crawling with miners, lawlessness, and just the right amount of shootouts to keep things interesting.

Nowadays? It’s mostly peaceful, unless you count the film crews and influencers angling for desert grunge aesthetics. Underground mine tours let you shuffle through tight shafts while pretending you’re brave. Outside, rusted trucks, vintage gas pumps, and bullet-ridden signs add to the ambiance—no effort required.

If you’re the kind of person who likes their history with a splash of cinematic flair, this one hits the spot. And yes, that random airplane wedged in the rocks? Totally part of the scenery. Or a fever dream. Hard to say.

Goodsprings

Goodsprings hit its stride during World War I, back when zinc and lead were hot commodities and Instagram hadn’t yet ruined everything.

The star of the town? The Pioneer Saloon—a dusty bar that still pours drinks and proudly shows off bullet holes like they’re family heirlooms.

Inside, you’ll find celebrity memorabilia, ghost legends, and barstools that look like they gave up decades ago but still do the job. The saloon is so old it’s practically a fossil, but somehow it works—like your great-uncle who still wears bolo ties unironically.

Goodsprings isn’t about big ruins or abandoned mines—it’s about vibes. Old-timey, slightly spooky, wild west vibes with cold beer and ghost stories that may or may not be true (but definitely should be).

Belmont

Belmont lasted more than five minutes, which already makes it a success in Nevada terms. For two whole decades, the town thrived. Then silver lost its sparkle, and everyone packed up, probably without even saying goodbye.

Ruins here aren’t your typical collection of sad boards and mystery rubble. You get actual structures—the Belmont Courthouse still stands like it’s waiting for someone to hold court again. Brick kilns and crumbling mills dot the desert like accidental sculptures made by gravity and time.

Belmont’s isolation adds to the experience. You don’t just stumble upon it—you commit to the drive, the dust, and the absolute absence of Wi-Fi. And in return, you get silence, integrity, and maybe some really judgmental lizards.

Metropolis

Metropolis had dreams of grandeur. Big ones. Someone thought, “Let’s build a farming utopia in the desert!” Nature said, “LOL.”

Turns out, jackrabbits, crickets, typhoid, drought, and fire are bad for real estate. Metropolis crashed harder than a dial-up modem in a thunderstorm.

All that’s left are skeletal hotel ruins, a lone schoolhouse arch, and a few concrete reminders of what happens when optimism forgets to check the forecast.

It’s weird, wonderful, and totally worth a visit—just don’t expect anything to make sense. A ghost town brought down by rodents and disease feels absurdly on brand for Nevada.

Unionville

Unionville, another prominent member of the list of ghost towns, once flexed as the county seat. Now it’s more like a desert rest stop with better stories.

There are still a few folks living there, probably wondering why you’re poking around their backyard.

Samuel Clemens, aka Mark Twain, passed through once. He tried mining. He hated it. That alone makes Unionville worth the stop—proof that even geniuses make terrible life choices.

Check out the old general store, maybe the cabin where Twain slept, and the ruins that scream, “We tried, OK?” It’s part ghost town, part quiet retreat, and entirely too photogenic for something that barely exists.

Denio Camp

Head north of Gerlach and you’ll land in Denio Camp, where the Wild West went out with one last bang. Site of Nevada’s so-called “Last Indian War,” the Battle of Kelly Creek happened here—though calling it a “war” might be generous. More like a messy ending to an already tragic era.

What remains? A meadow. Peaceful. Quiet. Deceptively lovely considering its past. Hidden stories linger, whispered through the breeze and cactus spines. It’s one of those places where you feel like you shouldn’t speak above a whisper—not out of respect, but because the place might be listening.

Don’t expect signs, fences, or food trucks. Just drive, look, remember—and maybe feel a little weird about it afterward.

Sheepshead

Sheepshead is a name you probably wouldn’t associate with murder, but here we are. Welcome to the site of cattle rustling gone wrong, multiple poisonings, and Ed Laird’s very lonely grave. It’s in the Smoke Creek Desert, because of course it is.

No big ruins here—just vibes. Dark, dusty, definitely cursed vibes. People say Ed was murdered by his business partner, then buried where nobody would find him—except they did, and now it’s a stop on the “Ghost Towns with a Body Count” circuit.

Not for the faint of heart or low on gas. You go to Sheepshead when you’re in the mood for something truly unsettling. Or just really into murder history and desolate terrain. Either way, don’t wander too far. You never know what—or who—might still be out there. It is just one of those ghost towns man.

The Bottom Line

Ghost towns across Nevada aren’t just backdrops for moody photo shoots or forgotten Wikipedia pages. They’re bits of history that didn’t quite get the memo to move on.

They whisper stories of miners, misfits, and mistakes—some tragic, others just hilariously ill-planned.

When visiting, leave the relics where they are. Nothing says “bad karma” like stealing a rusty nail someone else abandoned a century ago. Bring water, watch for snakes, and keep your GPS charged. Or don’t—and make your own ghost story.