As a child, I wrote a short story, “Prince Petera and the Valley of Bad Things,” as a school assignment. While I cannot remember the grade I received, I can recall Mark Twain’s book, “Roughing It,” and chapter 26, where he details a petrified forest, inspired my tale.
“Lately evidences of bituminous coal have been detected,” Twain wrote. “My theory has ever been that coal is a ligneous formation. I told Col. Whitman, in times past, that the neighborhood of Dayton (Nevada) betrayed no present or previous manifestations of a ligneous foundation, and that hence I had no confidence in his lauded coal mines.”
He continues, “I repeated the same doctrine to the exultant coal discoverers of Humboldt. I talked with my friend Captain Burch on the subject. My pyrhanism vanished upon his statement that in the very region referred to he had seen petrified trees of the length of two hundred feet. Then is the fact established that huge forests once cast their grim shadows over this remote section. I am firm in the coal faith.”
While it wasn’t coal that sparked me, it was that discoveries were being made every day, and so why not a strange valley? If I were to write a story about that valley today, I’d start with the opening line: “In the quiet town of Dayton, Nevada, nestled along the winding Carson River, the echoes of an ancient secret lingered beneath the surface.”
In 1843, John C. Fremont ventured through Nevada, leaving behind notes and maps about his remarkable discoveries. Among them is the mysterious petrified forest, where time has turned trees to stone.
The myth of the petrified forest, hidden deep within the rugged landscape, was whispered about over the years. But it is Twain’s book that brought it to life.
Twain himself had been captivated by the enigma of the petrified wood, recounting his conversations with a certain Captain Burch, who had witnessed the magnificent logs stretching upwards of 200 feet. Inspired, he went to see this place himself, not because of the forest, but because of the “black rocks,” he related to coal, something he believed did not exist in Nevada. The black rocks changed his mind about the possibility of Nevada coal, as the same conditions make coal and petrified wood.
Having some time on my hands and being curious, I explored a trail just outside town that led to a canyon and remnants of the legendary forest, where I was possibly trespassing on someone’s private property. I found what I was looking for — petrified wood and lengthy, sagebrush-filled trenches.
Not much is left. But though the ancient giants are gone, and the area encased by chain-link fencing, there are hints of their existence — vibrant colored bits of petrified wood and black rocks mixed within and scattered like hidden gems.
The Old Blog in the Desert 