The Territorial

Some days, I really miss writing for the local paper back in Storey and Lyon Counties. You know the kind of assignments I mean–little stories about the folks who live next door, or the grand old buildings that have somehow survived both the dust and the gossip.

But every once in a while, the news comes calling in a way that makes me sit back and just grin, like when Hollywood came knocking on Virginia City’s doorstep—well, the doorstep being a 90-ton steam engine. You see, Paramount had a little show called ‘1923’ and they wanted to shoot a prequel to that Yellowstone series everybody keeps talking about.

And somehow, someone decided that the only way to make it look right was to ship Nevada’s very own Virginia Truckee Railroad vintage steam engine #18 and three classic Pullman passenger cars all the way to Butte, Montana. That’s right—five massive flatbed trucks, five tons of old-timey grandeur, and a journey of over 900 miles.

I can’t imagine what the logistics meeting sounded like. “So, uh…we’ll just put a 90-ton locomotive on a truck, drive it over mountains, and hope for the best.”

But somehow, they did. And let me tell you, the photos alone made me feel like a kid who just saw Santa Claus hitch a ride on a Harley.

Before the cameras started rolling, movie crews came to Virginia City to deck out the Pullman cars. They wanted them just so—little touches for Spencer Dutton to ride in while trying to save the Yellowstone Ranch from whatever mischief was afoot.

My friend, Tom Gray, the owner of the railroad, called it “sending our train off to appear in a Hollywood movie.”

He said it felt like a full-circle moment. And I could tell you right now, that’s the kind of thing that makes a man feel proud, whether he’s watching a locomotive leave or a kid cross the finish line at the county fair.

The journey itself was cinematic—winding mountain passes, rugged terrain, and the kind of scenery that makes you wonder if the West was always this dramatic, or if the camera knows how to see better than the rest of us.

Crews drove slowly, escorted the train like it was royalty, and probably sweated more than the steam pouring out of Engine 18. But they made it. And once those wheels finally stopped rolling in Montana, they’d brought a piece of Nevada history to life for millions of viewers.

It’s not like this was Engine 18’s first brush with fame. The ol’gal’s a regular movie star, having worked on Killers of the Flower Moon in Oklahoma, Water for Elephants in California, and even Dead Man back in 1995, a film shot partly in Klamath, where I grew up.

You start to think maybe the locomotive has an agent of its own—someone making sure she never misses a red carpet.

Tom said it best, “Our trains bring history to life, and if your script calls for authentic rail equipment, we’ve got it.”

And I can’t argue. There’s something about a train that’s been telling stories for over a century. They haul people, sure—but they also carry time, memory, and just enough magic to make a grown man feel like a kid all over again.

So next time I’m feeling nostalgic for those old paper deadlines and local columns, I’ll remember Engine 18, her Pullman sisters, and the road to Montana. Because sometimes, the stories aren’t just in the words—they’re in the iron, the steam, and the long, patient journey that reminds us all that history isn’t just something we read about.

Sometimes, it’s something that rolls slowly down the highway on five flatbed trucks, ready for its close-up. And that, my friends, is a story worth telling.