This Old Alaska Mining Town Has Everything To Gain From The Donlin Gold Mine

Rebecca Wilmarth and her daughter wait for a plane to arrive on the Red Devil runway on August 17, 2019. Maintaining the runway and working as an agent for local airlines are two of the only jobs in Red Devil, and Wilmarth’s family manages both of those contracts.
Credit Katie Basile / KYUK

This is a three-part series reported from a village of 20 people on the Upper Kuskokwim River that stands to gain the most from the proposed Donlin Mine. Many villages in the region are conflicted over the mine. Red Devil was built by mining almost 100 years ago and now carries a toxic legacy of mine pollution, but to most of its residents, the Donlin Gold mine represents hope. Like so many communities in Alaska, resource extraction is both a lifeline and a risk. 

Red Devil Part 1

Outside Rebecca Wilmarth’s kitchen window in Red Devil, there’s a big, green well-manicured lawn. It’s an unusual sight in one of the most remote places in Alaska. Wilmarth says that there’s a history of big gardens and meticulously kept lawns in Red Devil. The gardens grow some of the only fresh produce that residents will eat or save for the winter.

“You know that sounds kind of cliche, but we really do, you know, think about that,” Wilmarth said.

While talking, Wilmarth's phone pings occasionally with emails. She has to string together multiple part-time jobs to make a living here. She’s the agent for Ravn, maintains the airstrip, sells fuel, and occasionally puts up travelers in a small, one-room cabin next to her house. Wilmarth sends her seven-year-old daughter to Palmer for school because Red Devil doesn’t have one.

Red Devil used to be home to Alaska’s biggest mercury mine. Before the mine started in 1933, there was no permanent village. At its height, after the mine came, the village had a bar called the Mercury Inn, a school, a clinic, and a store. Miners came from nearby communities, but the mine shut down in 1971 and people slowly left to find other jobs. Now, there isn’t much here. The population? Roughly 20.

So we're just kind of in this stagnant position, and the people who are here just don't want to turn their back on this lifestyle and make a lot of sacrifices to stay here. Because they think and feel like it still beats city life,” said Wilmarth. "I love everything about it. Just the isolation, I guess, from the rest of the busyness of the rest of society."

Wilmarth's father is Dick Wilmarth, the very first Iditarod Champion. He also loved Red Devil and passed that on to Rebecca. “Gold Miner’s Daughter” is tattooed on her right arm. Wilmarth and other residents think that the proposed Donlin Gold mine could help revive Red Devil. The mine would be built just 50 miles down the Kuskokwim River, and would employ 800 people after being constructed.

Rebecca Wilmarth’s tattoo reads "Gold Miner’s Daughter" and honors her late father, Richard Wilmarth, a gold miner and the champion of the first Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race. Wilmarth supports opening the proposed Donlin Gold mine, which could create local jobs and revitalize the community of Red Devil. August 17, 2019.
Credit Katie Basile / KYUK

The Donlin mine could be one of the biggest gold mines in the world, and the project is well on its way. Donlin secured two vital federal permits and a handful of state permits last year. This year, it expects to receive several more. It's also completing its safety certification for the seven dams it plans to build. That can take up to two years, but it’s unclear when the company will actually start mining.

The proposed mine requires a lot of infrastructure: a port, an airstrip, a power plant, a proposed 315-mile pipeline to bring gas for the power plant from Cook Inlet, a road, and fiber optic cable. Donlin says that it expects to mine 1.3 million ounces of gold over a 27 year-period. And that period could be even longer. As part of its lease agreement with the two Native corporations that own the land and surface rights, Donlin promised to prioritize hiring local shareholders, like people who live in Red Devil.

“I think that's what this area needs right now, is the development of some kind,” Wilmarth said. 

Joe Morgan stands in the village of Red Devil, where he grew up and his dad worked in the nearby cinnabar mine. The population and infrastructure of Red Devil fell after the mine closed in 1971, and now Morgan and fellow community members are working to revitalize the community. August 17, 2019.
Credit Katie Basile / KYUK

Glen Morgan and his brother Joe were raised in Red Devil, but left with their family once the mine closed. Glen lived in Anchorage from 1997 on, but returned to Red Devil in 2015 with his wife, Theresa, after they retired. Glen’s parents are buried there, and he wants to bring back basic services, like a health clinic, for the people that still live there. They would love the community to grow to a population of 200, the same size it was when the Red Devil Mine was in full swing just three miles away.

The old mine is now covered in trees and brush with a trail leading back toward where the buildings once stood. At the beginning of the trail leading to the mine site is a sign overgrown with fireweed. On a recent trip to the site, Joe Morgan hacked the fireweed out of the way. The sign reads: "Red Devil Mine, U.S. Department of Interior, Bureau of Land Management. DANGER. Material at mine site may present human health risks."

The Red Devil Mine left behind more than just the memory of good jobs, though. It left behind pollution. In part two of our series, we’ll look at how Red Devil residents weigh the risks of that mercury pollution against staying in Red Devil with the promise of Donlin's jobs.