Railroads and Trains

I fell in love with the real West—the land of wide open spaces, and a culture that encouraged freedom and expansion—early in life in the person of a railroad only 36 inches in track gauge but with a vista that encompassed 90-plus years of Rocky Mountain railroading history (I think I was five when I heard my first Slim Gauge steam whistle).

After that, nothing else ever mattered. I was drawn to the narrow gauge—the smoking, clanking, whistling, shuddering antiquity of this anachronistic little mode of transportation. I couldn't help myself. From that time on, I've read every word I could find, taken hundreds of photos, and ridden whenever opportunity allowed.

My parents were at first thrilled when I expressed that I had interest in one thing, then disturbed that trains might become an obsession. It bothered them that I saw smoke through the trees and wished it to be a train—and was sometimes disappointed when it wasn't. They pointed me at other hobbies and avocations (and some of them stuck) but even my wife has given up competing. She knows how much I love the Rio Grande's diminutive locomotives. She understands that nothing so moving as the mere sight of rails gets my heart palpitating in anticipation; that my attention will forever be on the rails.

My whole family—the kids often roll their eyes and laugh behind my back—knows that I'm excited by a good book about the Slim Gauge (indeed, about any railroad, narrow or standard), or a string of cars, a train in motion, a photo, painting, or drawing, a museum, a lighted approach signal, even just a stretch of abandoned right-of-way. They sigh when we discuss vacation, knowing I've had my maps out, plotting our route by the rails we'll parallel … or cross.

Fear of flames did me in

I grew up with narrow gauge steam railroading—I lived for seven years (1955-1962) in Farmington, N. Mex., the southern and westernmost end of the D&RGW narrow gauge. I remember wandering past the Farmington depot when I was five or six, seeing a K-37 steaming on the ready track, and being invited up on the footplate by the kindly engineer.

I wanted to, I really did. His encouragement was almost powerful enough. But in the end, my fear of fire triumphed—the flames licking out of the firebox door won.

Now, of course, it's too late. The Farmington line is irrevocably abandoned and dismantled (the depot blew up in a natural gas explosion), the K-36s and K-37s are scattered widely, and the "Narrow Gauge Circle" has been hewn into two short, discontiguous segments. There will be no more freights climbing Florida Hill—U.S. 550 has reclaimed the roadbed south of Durango, Colo.

Yes, I have stood on the footplate of a dead K-37 (as an adult, in Chama), and looked with curiosity into the cold, dark firebox, but it's not the same. In my memory, that locomotive at the Farmington depot was huge—and alive—with clanks and moans from deep inside. I also remember it had a lovely whistle, when late that day I heard it start the northbound run to Durango.

Had some wonderful experiences

In my writing career, I've ridden in the cab of UPRR's famous Northern (4-8-4) #844. I've been the Southern Pacific's guest riding behind Northern #4449 (the 1981 California Rail Museum Special). I've written scores of articles in my career; even been published in TRAINS Magazine. I'm considering converting this part of my web site into a genuine book because I've amassed several hundred pages of facts, data, and impressions (click any of the Related Links at left) and there are more still yet undrafted.

But the sight of three numbers stamped in metal or displayed behind smokey glass—a 4, a 7, & a 6—raises my blood pressure higher than anything in the world. And the locomotive to which those numbers were affixed at birth (D&SNGRR ex-D&RGW ALCO/Schenectady K-28 Mikado #476) is my favorite. I dearly love the big Northerns but I'd rather see a well-turned three-quarter action shot of "my little kettle" than, say, the Super Chief in a thundering run by at Sullivan's Curve (well … ummm … actually, I'd excitedly take both).

What's in the drawing

The image above shows #476 with its original "shotgun"—or tall straight—smokestack, so I surmise it was drawn before Hollywood came to town in the mid-50s and the railroad added those dreadful fake balloon stacks to the K-28s. They must have deprived the locomotives of considerable power, diverting much of the blast pipe's force into stack eddies.

The "doghouse" on the tender is accurate. It's one of those uniquely narrow gauge necessities, a tiny shed to keep the head brakeman dry when not occupied with his duties.

The K-28s lost their doghouses around 1964 when the Rio Grande put intensive corporate resources into making the Silverton line a big time tourist attraction, but most of the larger Mikes slipped into retirement with them. They were gone from Durango by the time the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad incorporated. Editor's correction: I've learned that D&SNG's 480-class (K-36) locomotives still have their doghouses. The Cumbres & Toltec Scenic Railroad webcam of the Chama, N.Mex., yard also shows the occasional 480 and 490 shuffling around with doghouses.

A common avocation

In college, I majored in the combined disciplines of journalism and communications because I love to write and tell stories. I also earned a second major in history—because I love trains.

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My history advisor and I shared the common bond of reciprocating steam locomotion in the Western United States. He enjoyed steam boats.

He gave me a great grade on an essay I wrote about the Colorado narrow gauge. I've updated and rearranged it, added photos, and tossed in some narrow gauge trivia from my multimedia presentation (soon to be displayed on this web site) so you'll appreciate 36-inch slim gauge railroading in the Colorado Rockies as much as I do.

My advisor and I agreed that settlement of the American West (and with it, fulfillment of the American Dream—Frederick Turner's Manifest Destiny) was made possible by … well … by steam.

Historian and railfan Lucius Beebe called it "the power of the coefficient of boiling water," and nothing else in our nation's headlong pursuit of industrialization has ever matched it. Steam railroads are such an inbred part of our national character that even young children recognize a steam locomotive's inherent strength and beauty—whether they've seen one before or not.

I believe that's a major reason U.S. railroads have suffered economic ravages since the advent of the diesel locomotive. When steam locomotives stopped thundering through our neighborhoods every day, we turned our eyes to other sources of power and grace. Our preoccupation shifted to jet aircraft and long haul trucks and so did our loyalties.