The Golden Days of Rail
In a world that moves faster and faster each year, it seems that it’s the things that go slowly that are most likely to capture our attention.
On Sundays, on an old rail line that was originally part of the first transcontinental railroad, a group of volunteer rail enthusiasts runs train rides through a scenic canyon. I’ve always been a fan of the Niles Canyon Railway for the enthusiasm of the volunteers and the beauty of the scenic ride.
Today was the day that the regularly operating antique diesel was replaced with an antique steam engine. I’m not personally knowledgeable about the ins and outs of railroads, but I was raised as the granddaughter of a serious rail enthusiast, and so I have a certain level of appreciation for what these guys are doing out there. I decided to head out, take some pictures and for the first time in my life, see what an operational steam engine actually sounded like.
I’m not sure why, but I had naively assumed that most of the interested parties would be on the train. Instead, as I drove through the canyon looking for a place to pull over, I was startled by how many photographers had set up tripods along the line, and how many grandfathers, fathers and little boys were just waiting and watching, as excited as little kids on Christmas morning.
I'm starting to understand why my grandfather was so fascinated with trains.
My little point-and-click camera hardly did the experience justice. The first thing that you can hear is the faraway but distinctively rhythmic “choo-choo-choo-choo” of the steam engine, echoing through the narrow canyon. Then it appears around the bend, steam plume rising above the trees. The wigwag swings at the crossing, warning drivers in the absence of modern gates. And then, as the train approaches the crossing, the loud howl of the whistle. A bronze bell clangs on the top of the locomotive, so drowned out by the noise of the steam engine and the whistle that the entire train needs to be practically on top of you before it’s even audible. And then, it passes, wheels rumbling with the ordinary familiarity of any train, from an antique to a modern Acela.
As soon as the wigwag stopped flashing, most of these watchers ran for their cars to try to catch up to the train at the next crossing. At points where the canyon road paralleled the tracks, traffic slowed to a crawl. Even people who admitted that they weren’t anything close to train enthusiasts seemed to find the experience to be a pleasant diversion.
Next year, I’m going to buy myself a ticket and enjoy the experience from the passenger’s perspective.
