In Rotation 16 | Art of the State 17 | Foodfinds 18 | Fi¬m 20 IT BOGGLES THE MIND TO CONSIDER HOW 19TH CENTURY MAN, WITH HIS MULE TRAINS AND STEAM ENGINES, EVER SUSTAINED HIMSELF IN A LAND SO BARREN.
OUR REPORTER TRAVELS OUT TO THE DESERT, AND INTO THE PAST, AT A TRIO OF NEVADA GHOST TOWNS
W
ith all the casinos defining Reno’s skyline, and the gambling halls studding the main drag of almost any small town in Nevada, it’s easy to forget how our state began—mines. More specifically, Nevada began as a source of financing for the Union during the Civil War. Like Liberia with its conflict diamonds, our silver helped Lincoln kill South Carolinians, free the slaves and light Georgia on fire. The Comstock Lode, in and around Virginia City, was the biggest early boom, but it was hardly the only one. In Pershing County alone, towns like Dun Glen, Humboldt City, Mill City, Rye Patch, Star City and Unionville all poured millions of dollars into the Union’s wartime economy. They tended to come and go quickly, usually no more than 10 years. The cycle of boom and bust hardly slowed with the end of the war and Nevada’s official recognition as a
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JULY 12, 2012
state. Dozens more followed, popping up in a flurry of disposable buildings, hasty construction and very expensive equipment—getting that metal out of the ground meant building dozens of boomtowns all across the state, often in the harshest, most inhospitable locales.
HANGIN’ Hangin’ Trough TROUGH This cycle of rise and fall, hyperaccelerated extraction and abandonment brings us to the closely related boom towns of Seven Troughs, Tunnel and Mazuma. They huddle around the mountains near Lovelock. From Reno, this means driving east on I-80 well past Fernley and into the lush green farmland near Lovelock. From there, travelers need to head off into the barren hill country on NV State Route 399. Finally, Seven Troughs Road, a dirt thoroughfare, shoots off into the foothills and mining camps.
Don’t worry about the road if you don’t have a four-wheel drive or a truck. My friend and I made it with no trouble in a hippied-out Kia. Seven Troughs Road runs through a desiccated valley of stunted sagebrush and bristling grasses. Red stones and white, powdery silt line the road and provide perches for fence lizards, skinks and bees. Hawks circle above, and ravens cry in the distance. The nude geology shows best in the mountains, where the cut lines of ancient Lake Lahontan’s shore still show against the basalt cliffs. It boggles the mind to consider how 19th century man, with his mule trains and steam engines, ever sustained himself in a landscape so barren. The twin towns of Seven Troughs and Mazuma came first, in 1907. Mazuma, which is almost completely gone, sat at the mouth of an extensive canyon system, in the middle of a dry river bed. Supposedly a few foundations and mine pilings remain, but we were unable to find them. Seven Troughs clings to the side of a moun-
tain a few miles up that same canyon system. A series of brick and concrete foundations dig deep into the far side of the canyon. Mine shafts and tailing piles dot the hills. July 18, 1912, in the afternoon, black thunderclouds began dropping rain over Mazuma and Seven Troughs. Sometime later that night, a two-story wall of water rushed down the canyon and destroyed Seven Troughs, killing five children and seven adults. Further down the mountain, the postmistress of Mazuma decided to save her postal receipts and perished as well. Looking at the ruins now, it’s easy to imagine huge rock crushing machines and cyanide pools shaking against those foundations, breaking loose and spilling down the canyon. All that remained of Mazuma lies scattered across the desert floor, but Seven Troughs continued on until 1918 when the gold finally ran dry. Above the Seven Troughs Ruins is an incredibly steep mine. The tower that served it, raising and lowering men and materials into the depths, has recently collapsed, but the shaft itself
