Digging the Ghost-osaurus

BERLIN, Nev. —  What treasures you find if you delve beneath the surface of Nevada’s deceptive desert. It’s not simply vast and empty. Hidden beneath the purple sagebrush are riches more interesting than silver or gold: marine fossils millions of years old.

It’s hard to believe, when you ascend the mountain ranges that wrinkle the middle of the state, that all this was once covered by ocean. When the water receded, it left its inhabitants buried in mud. There they slept for millions of years until 1954, when scientists began unearthing fossils of at least 40 giant prehistoric fish-reptiles, called ichthyosaurs.

Astonishing as this desert treasure is, it’s not what brought my husband, Lee, and me to Berlin-Ichthyosaur State Park. We simply enjoy roaming our home state in our little RV, and an old brochure about the park gave us a destination for a long weekend away from our home in Lake Tahoe last May.

A four-hour drive from Reno brought us to the tiny town of Gabbs. This is the last chance to stock up on provisions before entering the park, 23 miles away (although I recommend bringing everything you need from home--including water for all your needs because the park’s supply is iffy).

The day had been sunny, but as we climbed the steep, switchback hills east of Gabbs, we saw a black cloud position itself over our destination. The immense, empty plateau stretching to the foothills of the ragged Shoshone range opened up before us--and promptly disappeared in a welt of misty rain.

The ghost town of Berlin huddles 7,000 feet up the Shoshone slope, and the altitude turned a hot day into light sweater weather. (Spring and fall are the best times to visit. Even in summer, nights are cool.)

As we pulled up to the park ranger’s office, he called out: “You brought the rain! It’s been dry for days till now.”

Within its 1,100 acres, the park embraces the derelict town’s buildings and the silver mines that put Berlin on the map, the remains of a miners’ camp called Union, the building that shelters the fossil collection, a picnic area and a campground.

The ranger, Mike Dinauer, told us we’d have our pick of campsites among the 14 set on a hill among stubby pinyon pines and juniper trees. There was only one other occupant, and he was parked in what would have been our first choice.

We settled on site No. 13, and I went off to pay the fees--$3 day use and $7 per day to camp. The prices are reasonable, perhaps because there are no amenities--no flush toilets or showers or electricity hookups.

Lee tried lighting our gas fridge, which had been working like a dream till then. It wouldn’t light. Off came the front control panel, which didn’t help, and then we couldn’t get the panel back on. I straightened a wire coat hanger, and with imaginative words and brute strength, we got it back in place.

We looked at the chicken marinating for the evening’s barbecue. Then we looked at the rain and at each other, and we agreed as we lit the stove in the RV, “It’s time for a glass of wine, preferably large.”

The next morning the sun was back. This improved our mood, especially when, for no explicable reason, the gas fridge lit on the first try.

Our view unfolded the magical mystery of Nevada for mile after empty mile. Enjoying our coffee and muffins, we listened to the silence. A crow flew overhead, and we could hear its wings moving in a rhythmic swish.

It was time to go exploring. While Lee was putting air in his bicycle tire, the pump malfunctioned and made the tire go flat. We collapsed in a fit of hysterical giggles. Luckily, we carry an electric pump in the RV, and the day was saved.

Berlin had a short but rich life. Silver was discovered near here in 1863, and commercial mining boomed in 1895. The mine shut down in 1909, and the tailings were processed until 1914. The works were dismantled in the early 1940s to provide metal for the war effort.

The town never got much above a population of 250. The several wood-frame buildings that remain are maintained in a state of “arrested decay”--they’re kept basically sound but not restored. Several vintage privies seemed to be in the best shape of all.

A couple of the cottages still have furniture and knickknacks visible inside. Next to the ruins of a boardinghouse are the rusting remains of an old stove, a few cans and, rather poignantly, some shattered china with a flower pattern.

We had signed on for the 11 a.m. tour of the Diana mine. (Visitors are warned not to explore the mines on their own; they are extremely hazardous places. And rattlesnakes are in residence in the park.)

Three other visitors were in our tour, and we all set off behind the ranger wearing our hard hats with lights attached. The atmosphere below was eerie. Tools, ladders, an ore cart and old lamps lay abandoned. “It’s as if the miners have just put their tools down and gone to lunch,” said one of our tour group. It was so real, I kept looking back, half-expecting the work force to return and start digging.

Later that afternoon we walked the short trail from the campground to the fossil house. This is one of the main reasons, and to my mind the most intriguing one, for coming here. Anyone interested in dinosaurs in any way would be enthralled.

Although about 40 ichthyosaurs have been uncovered in the park, the fossil house contains the remains of possibly nine, left where they were found, huddled together. The bones of another lie alongside the driveway. A sculpted mural showing the size of the creature adorns an outside wall.

The ichthyosaur was not glamorous. At 50 feet long, with flippers for feet and a long, beak-like snout, it looks rather like a porpoise on steroids.

No one knows why these creatures died in a group or why the species became extinct. Part of the fun is trying to think of a reason. The people we’d joined on the tour of the fossil house were fairly inventive. “Do you think they were, maybe, like, having a war?” “Nah, probably a bunch of males fighting over a particularly pretty female.” “I think they might have caught a virus of some sort,” ventured one woman with a bad cold.

We all stared at the fossils’ enormous vertebrae, the massive ribs measuring 9 feet, the flipper bones that could reach 6 feet in length, and decided it would take more than a little virus to do this lot in.

Lee and I had our barbecue that night. We’d come well prepared with fixings for all of our meals. Gabbs is 23 miles away, so it’s not easy to pop out and pick up something. We relaxed over a glass of red wine, watching the occasional hare bound past or deer wander by, and toasted our good fortune to be there.

Sunday dawned magnificent, and we set off on our bikes with great ambition. We aimed to pedal the nine miles from the campsite to Ione, a semi-ghost town to the north. About four miles into this epic journey, we realized it was probably a foolish thing to do.

Lee peered over his shoulder at the steep gravel road we’d just descended and said thoughtfully, “You do realize we have to go back up that thing.”

After a long winter we were just a tad out of shape, but that wasn’t why he adopted such a discouraging tone. It had something to do with the ominous black cloud creeping over the mountain. “You don’t think . . .” I said dolefully. “Yes,” he answered, “I think this is crazy. Nine miles there and nine miles back, in the rain, is not my idea of fun.”

We pedaled in silence for a couple of hundred yards before saying, as one: “That’s it. Let’s go back.”

Huffing and puffing, we staggered back up that steep hill, pushing the bikes. We fell to the ground and gulped down a cold beer. I doubt we’ll make the Tour de France this year.

Once we got our breath back, we went off to investigate Union, the miners’ town. It was only a quarter-mile from the campground. We got to be pretty honest about our limitations.

Not much remains of Union other than one wooden house and some adobe ruins. An old-timer appeared out of the dust and started telling us stories of the people who used to live there. I could get lost in the history of it all for hours, trying to conjure up what the Unionites’ lives must have been like.

The next morning we drove over to Ione, so much easier than taking the bikes.

Ione is a neat little hamlet on its way to ghost-town status. According to a pamphlet in the park office, it has a population of 20, or maybe 45, none of whom were out and about.

Some historical buildings were dotted around, including rough houses built into the ground, plus a wide main street I fully expected Wyatt Earp to wander down. Be warned, though: Do not enter any houses without permission. Ione is still a living village, and the properties are private.

Ione’s Ore House Saloon is straight out of the movies--pictures of buxom beauties gazing down on the huge wooden bar and pool table. Unfortunately it is closed Mondays through Wednesdays, and of course we were there on a Monday.

I plan to go back, but not just for a cold beer. In the tiny park gift shop I bought a T-shirt that proclaims “Ichy Bin Ein Berliner.” To keep the peace at home, I need another one.

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GUIDEBOOK

Ichthy Feet

Getting there: From Southern California, drive north on U.S. 395 to Bishop, east on U.S. 6/95 (toward Tonopah) to Coaldale (75 miles from Bishop). Turn north on U.S. 95; at Luning (40 miles), turn right on state Highway 361 to Gabbs (32 miles), then right on Route 844 into Berlin-Ichthyosaur State Park. Driving time: about nine hours.

In the park: Camping fee is $7 per day; park entry fee, $3. No reservations. Bring all the water you will need for all purposes. Telephone (775) 964-2440.

Fossil tours ($2) are daily at 10 a.m. and 2 p.m. March 18 to Nov. 13, also 4 p.m. Memorial Day through Labor Day. Mine tours ($2) are 11 a.m. Saturdays and Sundays April 15 to Oct. 15.

Where else to stay: In Tonopah, the historic Mizpah Hotel, tel. (775) 482-6200, has double rooms for $28 to $59. The Station House Casino Hotel, tel. (775) 482-9777, charges about $40 per room.

For more information: Nevada State Parks, tel. (775) 687-4384, fax (775) 687-4117, Internet https://www.state.nv.us./stparks.

Nevada Commission on Tourism, 401 N. Carson St., Carson City, NV 89701; tel. (800) 237-0774 or (775) 687-4322, fax (775) 687-6779, Internet https:// www.travelnevada.com.