Inside the “Last Free Place in America” With No Water, Electricity or Government Interference

Slab City, California

You’ve heard of weird towns, but trust us, Slab City takes the cake. This patch of desert sits on old concrete slabs from a torn-down army base, where folks live with no rules, no bills, and tons of wild art.

Pack your open mind and come see why they call it “The Last Free Place” – just don’t pet the dogs, touch the art without asking, or show up in July unless you like your eggs sunny side up… on the hood of your car.

The Slabs of Slab City

Slab City got its name from the concrete slabs left when Camp Dunlap was torn down after WWII. The base had 30 buildings and 8 miles of paved streets before the military pulled out in 1956, leaving just the concrete pads. Vets who worked at the base were first to settle here, then came drifters and RV folks.

The land spans 640 acres of sun-baked desert and was given to the state with no strings in 1961. The state owns the land but lets the squats be, with a rule that any cash made goes to the State Teachers’ Fund.

The Community Has Its Own Currency System

Trade circles are a big part of life here, where folks swap gems, tools, art and skills. One old-timer named Tomahawk gives out gems she traded at these meets.

Some camps charge cash ($125/month at Ponderosa gets you two meals a day), but most folks live by trade, swap, and gift. You’ll see signs for “Free Store” where you can take what you need and leave what you don’t.

Solar panels are hot trade items, while drugs, rides, and fix-it skills are big trade goods too. Cash is used less here than in most towns, with some folks not using it at all for months.

There’s A Functioning Pirate Radio Station

A pirate radio runs in the Slabs, with no FCC license but lots of local news. It plays weird tunes, shares camp news, and tells when fresh water trucks are due. The DJ booth sits in an old school bus with home-rigged gear while slabbies tune in on old hand-crank sets.

Shows run when there’s sun for the panels. The sound range is just a few miles, but that’s all they need to reach each camp. The main host goes by “DJ Dust” and has run the desk for ten years now.

You’re A “Normies” Unless You Meet One Rule

Folks who live here call themselves “Slabbies” while they dub day-trip guests “Normies.” To earn true Slabbie cred, you must stay through at least one hot summer when temps hit 120°F. Many have cool Slab names that they’ve earned, not picked.

Signs at the edge of camps warn “No Normies After Dark” to keep gawkers out when night falls and the real Slab life starts. They hold a Slab City Prom each year, a wild bash for those who missed their school prom, with crowns for Prom King and Queen.

Full-time folks call themselves “Year-Rounders” and have more clout than those who just pass through.

It Has A Desert Golf Course (Without Grass)

A no-grass golf spot called “Gopher Flats” sits in the dust, with weird clubs and holes made from junk. Cans and old tires mark the holes. The rough is just more dust and rocks, but that’s half the fun. Rules shift based on who’s there that day.

This course was built by a guy who missed his club back home but had no cash for greens fees, and each hole has a theme like “Moon Shot” or “Hell’s Half Acre.”

They host a wild year-end golf match on New Year’s Day, with the prize being a spray-paint crown.

The Range Is Slab City’s Weekly Cultural Center

Each Saturday at dusk, an open-air club called “The Range” hosts shows for all. Old couches and lawn chairs face a stage with spot lights run on car amps. You’ll see folk songs, punk bands, fire shows, and wild tales.

The Range stays up all night when the moon is full. Some pro bands make pit stops here on tours, and no one pays to play and all are free to join in. The place has a full setup with a stage, lights and sound gear, all run off-grid with no fees to see the show.

It Has Two Libraries With Surprisingly Organized Collections

Two well-kept book spots serve the camp, with one rebooted five years back. The stacks stay neat, sorted by type and split by fact and made-up tales.

Both run on the trust plan – take a book, bring one back, and the main one has net link-up when the sun’s strong.One has rare zines from the 60s and 70s that draw book scouts from LA. Book clubs meet twice a month to talk literature at these libraries.

The Community Center Is A Blue Trailer

A bright blue van acts as the town hub, where trucks bring fresh water from Niland. The blue spot is where you can post news, find rides, and ask for help.

Camp rules are fixed to the side wall, and all must read them if they plan to stay long. The town church gives food to those in need from what folks drop off each week. Most new plans start here, like the push to paint roofs white to block the harsh sun.

Its Population Changes Dramatically With The Seasons

The year-round count stays low (150 tough souls), but swells past 2,000 from fall to spring. Most who stay all year get by on aid checks or odd jobs, while the cold months bring loads of van life folks and snowbirds. The heat thins the ranks fast come June.

Some clans have lived here for three gens, and full-year folks get more say in how things run and hold the best spots. Slabbers find ways to beat the heat like white paint on roofs and shade walls to block the harsh sun.

Visiting Slab City, CA

Slab City is tucked away in Imperial County, California, about 4 miles east of the small town of Niland. From San Diego, you’ll drive about 100 miles northeast, or from Los Angeles, about 169 miles southeast.

The entrance is marked by the colorful Salvation Mountain, which you can’t miss.