tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-144563802024-03-17T20:04:01.508-07:00Lost RailThe Cold Wind of What Was Left BehindLinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.comBlogger237125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-36299491775851609372023-10-26T02:48:00.003-07:002023-10-26T02:48:17.588-07:00The Place Where She Only Sleeps<p> Location: MP 1566.8</p><p>Grant-Kohrs Ranch <br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZiQM-Esl02Vya3DJwCOSsaW83m09wgDPNbTjRuAFn1iZ4AyghMVnJeSJpzJvl3TB9o-gphVoQr2wGaz2-dQTGVOCaRyWDP_mrX5m0t_4ouOUbnZx3OiRNYyvoG5ko3BUaSHw4iJFlASE3wpqBPHrrAxp2Rk-yJC6l68eFxrU31Jr_UoFAyZo3qw/s1824/IMGP7408_sm.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1216" data-original-width="1824" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZiQM-Esl02Vya3DJwCOSsaW83m09wgDPNbTjRuAFn1iZ4AyghMVnJeSJpzJvl3TB9o-gphVoQr2wGaz2-dQTGVOCaRyWDP_mrX5m0t_4ouOUbnZx3OiRNYyvoG5ko3BUaSHw4iJFlASE3wpqBPHrrAxp2Rk-yJC6l68eFxrU31Jr_UoFAyZo3qw/w640-h426/IMGP7408_sm.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Not far from Deer Lodge, headed west on the transcon we arrive here, at Grant-Kohrs Ranch where the Resourceful Railroad only sleeps. Instead of empty right of way and scattered gravel, steel rail still binds the land in this place that is unlike the many other hundreds of miles along Lines West. Across the Grant-Kohrs Ranch, on federal Park lands, the railroad only seems to rest and slumber while waiting for a new time to come. <br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_9MlkwDOdQPOC96d7Ii6f076VTg17sXkvSwGcDiymlek-nHc-SqiQLc2gRutfDdZ4Kmw3G5Av973WQDtGMYnpPcCmHnBON4WnFmWnEPfa06iUNOoWD8ErfcshvAkGTPoe4f6nrzFoa6DvgP-gqFmoLDiSqksfvFesVZISo-XAUkKdc071TNrIPA/s1440/IMGP7394_sm.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1440" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_9MlkwDOdQPOC96d7Ii6f076VTg17sXkvSwGcDiymlek-nHc-SqiQLc2gRutfDdZ4Kmw3G5Av973WQDtGMYnpPcCmHnBON4WnFmWnEPfa06iUNOoWD8ErfcshvAkGTPoe4f6nrzFoa6DvgP-gqFmoLDiSqksfvFesVZISo-XAUkKdc071TNrIPA/w640-h426/IMGP7394_sm.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Against the backdrop of Montana clouds that hold no rain, the catenary poles can still be found here standing against the endless skies. The lineside poles that mark an era of railroading now gone still hold to the right of way. It is not hard to imagine them whipping by outside the windows of an Olympian under the electrified power of a Quill or Joe. Perhaps an XL Special could easily whisk across the scene above as though decades had never passed.<br /></p><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Things don't seem so forgotten or beyond hope in a place like this. Where the scrappers dared not tread across these National Park Service lands, this little bit of remnant holds for those who seek it. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4jRuQwTq6mjm3_ZFS9CBNycm6NOoye1RRLJIH_YA1YCCiUdpOqnFmL0PpG-zEf7xVBNdFEFCdziKoLKIN7Yb6BbH2h66Y2YSkmIStJWmLea6JzSzI6h8DpHpa7-QZZkNwctVs9v3ynX51MoeFU63Twp2EjVp_4ZoypCtaBnTEOywDkCtipTkoWw/s1824/IMGP7422_sm.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1216" data-original-width="1824" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4jRuQwTq6mjm3_ZFS9CBNycm6NOoye1RRLJIH_YA1YCCiUdpOqnFmL0PpG-zEf7xVBNdFEFCdziKoLKIN7Yb6BbH2h66Y2YSkmIStJWmLea6JzSzI6h8DpHpa7-QZZkNwctVs9v3ynX51MoeFU63Twp2EjVp_4ZoypCtaBnTEOywDkCtipTkoWw/w640-h426/IMGP7422_sm.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">This escape from reality does not last. Too soon the trip of a fanciful imagination that considers what was or what could be comes to an abrupt end along with the rails. Only empty roadbed extends beyond as the catenary memory comes to a halt and the gray skies loom large ahead. Mountains mark the horizon line to greet the wanderer who looks out beyond the preserved relic, and from sleep to buried it returns.<br /></p>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-74856587527342898002023-07-20T09:14:00.001-07:002023-07-20T09:14:27.017-07:00Buried <div> Location: Near Bear Mouth, MT<br />1603 miles west of Chicago</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRe9p1GqcZJq-GT902IihhbIll0uyjjUSDCo_8OfLfGO54opLH4w-dA1Q90FU4JDhYPicBeu5Pu5OlDpExC8EO5pUwk4hhhcDpETqGsmLzi_xrpoD_3jWiHzhfRYfj2A2KqJuTjD14lYglVTM3R-pcHXtRgfOpxeX_gTSsSiMj4-bXuluKohHeeg/s2000/1603_W_Bearmouth_adj-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1336" data-original-width="2000" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRe9p1GqcZJq-GT902IihhbIll0uyjjUSDCo_8OfLfGO54opLH4w-dA1Q90FU4JDhYPicBeu5Pu5OlDpExC8EO5pUwk4hhhcDpETqGsmLzi_xrpoD_3jWiHzhfRYfj2A2KqJuTjD14lYglVTM3R-pcHXtRgfOpxeX_gTSsSiMj4-bXuluKohHeeg/w640-h428/1603_W_Bearmouth_adj-sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The daylight is fading away in the photo above - in the space that has been cut by the Clark Fork River. Here one finds the Milwaukee heading to Bearmouth, MT, making its way steadily west. Still marking the path is the former NP (Montana Rail Link at the time this photo was taken) and not far away, empty tunnels that lie in unchanging darkness. The searchlight signal of the old NP shows a high green along the steel rails still present, a lonely sentinel in a sad and lonely place.</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The signatures of Milwaukee were fading even during the time of this photo, now itself 20 years old. The gravel road preserves what was the right-of-way but telegraphy and other markers were quickly falling even then. Traveling along I90 is now a trip through forgotten history and gravesites. Where bridges once crossed the old transcontinental, fill has taken their place. No more insulator panels that guard the roads above from the electrical lines beneath. Now travelers roll across a slight rise in the ground without much notice. It's an increasingly sad end, and adds an inescapable formality to the end of things, even now, 40+ years later. It is as though the Resourceful Railroad has actually been buried by time and progress.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It is harder and harder for me to travel this mainline in the years that have passed, even since this photo was taken. I can not help but think of time and its continual tear at life. I'm desperate to try and stop it, but grasp at nothing but air and hold only memories.</div>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-56154404130121186252022-07-10T14:26:00.004-07:002022-07-10T14:26:20.326-07:00Summer Skies and Fading Paint<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBp20EQJ3GpMcj4S0SFdWuvtf5nKrPI5Xe2cnwrzD2lmHD2qU3i0f59NcvZBUenDVmgNclTcucY9BkO6-QPGkRxT94rG_fwpqFCy7qvS4djbsGjnGPoGiORPcYSgavuwACYXrW8KONvmrU8PV9POyZN2n4U-C8JC391QhVfZDhOpsf0XsMeLw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="1336" data-original-width="2000" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgBp20EQJ3GpMcj4S0SFdWuvtf5nKrPI5Xe2cnwrzD2lmHD2qU3i0f59NcvZBUenDVmgNclTcucY9BkO6-QPGkRxT94rG_fwpqFCy7qvS4djbsGjnGPoGiORPcYSgavuwACYXrW8KONvmrU8PV9POyZN2n4U-C8JC391QhVfZDhOpsf0XsMeLw=w640-h428" width="640" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">On the way out of Deer Lodge, the Milwaukee Road rolled west by a fuel rack and two depots that bounded it north and south. To the south of the rails was the freight depot, shown above and below. Note the telegraphy pole that rises through the roof at the west end. One can scroll back through the <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/37908073@N04/3911184638/">decades</a> online and find it, always present, rising right through the eve of the old freight house. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Those decades weren't kind to the old house either. The white paint has washed and faded away, the wooden shingles are increasingly missing. When these pictures were taken in the early 2000s, the end was very near. To the north of the former main, the passenger depot has taken on a new life as a church, but no such rebirth has come to the old freight house. Under the hot Montana sun, the remaining paint continues to fade away and soon the house, the loading dock, and the telegraphy pole that always seemed to rise through the roof will vanish from under these blue skies.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizsJ3xLKf5t040j12AWOCue5IKoPsxVr-VPTliN_F2IT0U2pqI3YfeN1wTUCNHKJU9VFPHEk1-WcdhTgpEt_kPmG_oKVudh16GhEI_SF3EQYGkYtuJei5rkdYSBzdjiMvnH4gBuXn-ljg6rZpuzpz70Qdi291uqQOohy9rAhKlz2wQepYZRzY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img data-original-height="1338" data-original-width="2000" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizsJ3xLKf5t040j12AWOCue5IKoPsxVr-VPTliN_F2IT0U2pqI3YfeN1wTUCNHKJU9VFPHEk1-WcdhTgpEt_kPmG_oKVudh16GhEI_SF3EQYGkYtuJei5rkdYSBzdjiMvnH4gBuXn-ljg6rZpuzpz70Qdi291uqQOohy9rAhKlz2wQepYZRzY=w640-h428" width="640" /></a></p><p style="text-align: justify;">To the north, the passenger station has faired better. In the photo below, the well kept and well painted efforts to maintain it are obvious. Unlike decades earlier, no baggage carts are seen and no streamliners are scheduled, instead, it's the bright colors of Little Tikes picnic tables that find space under the eves. By the time these pictures were taken in the late 2000s, the freight house had departed and it was a different hot summer sky that greeted the wanders of the day.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9ca5VM4qaxUXlZe-W5-uRj1s_UE7ISU3qNYTpwU9EJqDf-LDB0i4plfAbJHpqTDKXz2iWpQdJFQWEzY_J0TLLSpry2Z7k1ArpYeWjC1Fi7LKGbmswA4bYkiZ9YdNjJVLBDvsKwb7sBXwQtQeo8TywK_yeejsoHDIXc2HM6FKiR4b0IJ6njao" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1440" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9ca5VM4qaxUXlZe-W5-uRj1s_UE7ISU3qNYTpwU9EJqDf-LDB0i4plfAbJHpqTDKXz2iWpQdJFQWEzY_J0TLLSpry2Z7k1ArpYeWjC1Fi7LKGbmswA4bYkiZ9YdNjJVLBDvsKwb7sBXwQtQeo8TywK_yeejsoHDIXc2HM6FKiR4b0IJ6njao=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></p><div style="text-align: justify;">Looking west, travelers of the transcontinental are reminded that the mountains are never far away from the Resourceful Railroad's run to the coast. Large piles of aggregate now take up space and a modern 'do not enter' sign reminds those who seek these old memories that the path is often guarded, hidden, and not of this era.</div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFrOtsgHf_xjYdpiM1aQkpAtYDs9hRewS-ia0k1wEDGvmB9PxazV6FI9Imia8r6dyEvWhfN4KYzarsViXKYV4u1R50a3Ir4CTdkOwhKh3Vz_NAC8CszrBGJqu-uSDAH9MGZ0a5WCBzIVqIhtpnOle4xeD2k5_gJ3CCh253wvilXRg1CAVLUfM" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1440" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFrOtsgHf_xjYdpiM1aQkpAtYDs9hRewS-ia0k1wEDGvmB9PxazV6FI9Imia8r6dyEvWhfN4KYzarsViXKYV4u1R50a3Ir4CTdkOwhKh3Vz_NAC8CszrBGJqu-uSDAH9MGZ0a5WCBzIVqIhtpnOle4xeD2k5_gJ3CCh253wvilXRg1CAVLUfM=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Beyond the guarded right of way to the west, however, just a little hope is offered. Peeking through the break in the trees that marks the way of hot shots and dead freights, catenary poles are <i>just</i> visible. At their feet, a small piece of mainline remains in place and to that we journey next. But here, leaving Deer Lodge behind us, there is a clash of things missing, and things preserved. A Little Joe is always displayed and a e-unit now keeps it company with a ribside caboose. Each is a historical marker to what was. Beyond these relics, the passenger station remains, and the old grain elevator that stood aside the main as well. But gone are the massive yards and roundhouse. Gone the shop switcher that pushed electrics in and out of stalls, gone the freight house and fueling rack and the rails that connected them all to the continent. </div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: justify;">What stories could be told of those who worked in places like these? A crew change point and major shops on Lines West, full of tall tales and local legends under the summer skies.</div><br /> <p></p><p><br /><br /></p></div>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-50060954829571727152022-06-01T15:09:00.004-07:002022-06-01T15:09:46.944-07:00Something Borrowed<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5LL-Q2vG4MgrHj9CJ2mF1XOz0eyOWjahtO3CyU24lfYZskZCQJ7-VJnxKLnMq7lq-piJxc1cfN8h0eQBmTxd6n-THnn3iUfBVw7KPlivWgZkgEcoauQ9BCAjWKE_Q8CahTxZvsUgL19guq17bmgfKx7Pkq78Ex9o0EsPsYZJAte71AUGyRt4" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="1339" data-original-width="2000" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg5LL-Q2vG4MgrHj9CJ2mF1XOz0eyOWjahtO3CyU24lfYZskZCQJ7-VJnxKLnMq7lq-piJxc1cfN8h0eQBmTxd6n-THnn3iUfBVw7KPlivWgZkgEcoauQ9BCAjWKE_Q8CahTxZvsUgL19guq17bmgfKx7Pkq78Ex9o0EsPsYZJAte71AUGyRt4=w640-h432" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">The year is 2007 and the location is Victoria, BC. Via Rail is running a daily Budd RDC set as the <i>Malahat</i> service on Vancouver Island. It departs in the mornings from Victoria and heads up the island along the E&N (Esquimalt & Nanaimo Railway) to Courtnay, a distance of about 140 miles. To see Budd cars in operation as part of a daily passenger service is rare anytime in the 21st century. By the time these two were captured, BC Rail's Budd cars had been gone for 5 years. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6r1qPFA9atI9Pb3ULnkhtRKxOYaBCTnT1mUYUx7bhszkG-4J1Jcgszvpc0bbtYabsqJjf4FOmhoM0uSXLl6SaH_ghz7Wgs0CUebQJCVQonlPs2vZ4uWsMgytUgmteBA16Tn9q0UZ1L2QhFYYzY3ziLzRcHUqKs7-Q52EEhImbbs5U28us4sw" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="964" data-original-width="1440" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6r1qPFA9atI9Pb3ULnkhtRKxOYaBCTnT1mUYUx7bhszkG-4J1Jcgszvpc0bbtYabsqJjf4FOmhoM0uSXLl6SaH_ghz7Wgs0CUebQJCVQonlPs2vZ4uWsMgytUgmteBA16Tn9q0UZ1L2QhFYYzY3ziLzRcHUqKs7-Q52EEhImbbs5U28us4sw=w640-h432" width="640" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Captured here in 2007, the <i>Malahat</i> would cease operating as track deteriorated in the years that followed. There has been talk of restoring the service, however, it seems that little progress has been made and these were on borrowed time. The combined rail / path bridge that rolled the passenger train the last few hundred yards to the depot has also been redone, without the rails. In 2011, the service was ended - reminding me of the axiom that once it's gone, it's hard to get back.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">But 2011 is still a few years distant in these photos of an early morning departure beneath the high blue skies of a beautiful May 2007 day. The yellow ends glisten and the stainless steel still shines, resplendent in the Art Deco styling of the day. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRKwqYyAN701wyxnvGsl-im3Fh0JmjykGhvR7lSZ_91fzGhB1aA_BaOyIo-g186anNNvpbRpFQjW2rfJyg8WJ94Rv571JlXVehfy_dztGVd8Od4I_3DU_Kpl0jKmedG-R11VQSWhj6eRgjDLzT1htCdNs5TtdyXQcDKKEH5ah3NUk_PnbXuao" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="964" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhRKwqYyAN701wyxnvGsl-im3Fh0JmjykGhvR7lSZ_91fzGhB1aA_BaOyIo-g186anNNvpbRpFQjW2rfJyg8WJ94Rv571JlXVehfy_dztGVd8Od4I_3DU_Kpl0jKmedG-R11VQSWhj6eRgjDLzT1htCdNs5TtdyXQcDKKEH5ah3NUk_PnbXuao=w268-h400" width="268" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Not all was in good repair even then as the photos below suggest. Coolant leaks from the engine compartment housed above the passenger cabin (below). </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEioeHZoYEnvBekaCGoBlilUAvjgY8fZBf9o1EkFo0K4ANVNwEGAu8EYF6fg8oXzJQfbXSTi-tGU7MBJQqsp5Cz_LO9w5ESfgy-_QFdDLMYWQgU16Zy3QHoX-pfIM935qDht9OSRjXPhM6guCDoNR2aQbV5DShAbV-XlaBUF5ThjEkZh11yz6q0" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="964" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEioeHZoYEnvBekaCGoBlilUAvjgY8fZBf9o1EkFo0K4ANVNwEGAu8EYF6fg8oXzJQfbXSTi-tGU7MBJQqsp5Cz_LO9w5ESfgy-_QFdDLMYWQgU16Zy3QHoX-pfIM935qDht9OSRjXPhM6guCDoNR2aQbV5DShAbV-XlaBUF5ThjEkZh11yz6q0=w268-h400" width="268" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Via 6148 is paired with the 6133 on today's train and is pointed to head out on the high-ball that will soon come. Via hung on to several Budd cars for many years, 6148 being eventually retired. 6133 has an interesting history and future, however. It was one of the last RDCs on Vancouver Island, and closed out the last service on the Quebec Central Railway in 1967 as well [1]. Today, it has been rescued from scrap and is in the process of a restoration. You can read more about it <a href="https://rapidotrains.com/saving-rdc-1-via-6133">here</a>, and even donate to the cause. </div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6Pol-1yl4-XRHt-rdMQll9eydDPV8hjt_pfsKg888CcAJs_ZvkYflCq4z0Hlud5SPsEm3N3Nc1t_URvU07Ijr-4ULtZb2yW5Y7WOKIZ70BhGeteVwjkxvInuvQu2vAy7PztE5gli99kGeADEdlvKB442GwG66OKGqtdBVn-koWbuUhUb5nag" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1339" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh6Pol-1yl4-XRHt-rdMQll9eydDPV8hjt_pfsKg888CcAJs_ZvkYflCq4z0Hlud5SPsEm3N3Nc1t_URvU07Ijr-4ULtZb2yW5Y7WOKIZ70BhGeteVwjkxvInuvQu2vAy7PztE5gli99kGeADEdlvKB442GwG66OKGqtdBVn-koWbuUhUb5nag=w429-h640" width="429" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">References</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">1) https://rapidotrains.com/saving-rdc-1-via-6133</div><br /><br /><p></p></div>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-13912784736779893782022-04-09T03:58:00.002-07:002022-04-09T03:58:34.701-07:00Four-axles and boosters<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqwf3OE_IN0ZnKj9MIvIetG6VyA1zasKrwtM4OeNX7w0UfYWo2or9BJ4mEsDOqDrE0S1W-oNOzT4NKcjeYpftH5Tpgpnjl6uIKeUFpr0vpReaLX_goBdotvCRy7DCLeSOH7rsUdGjNlD8SoFIjSMuIY5PsfVQSKPJBd4E0W1UTOyAJEPBA_88" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="1343" data-original-width="2000" height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqwf3OE_IN0ZnKj9MIvIetG6VyA1zasKrwtM4OeNX7w0UfYWo2or9BJ4mEsDOqDrE0S1W-oNOzT4NKcjeYpftH5Tpgpnjl6uIKeUFpr0vpReaLX_goBdotvCRy7DCLeSOH7rsUdGjNlD8SoFIjSMuIY5PsfVQSKPJBd4E0W1UTOyAJEPBA_88=w640-h430" width="640" /></a></div><br /> The ATSF (former) mainline from Chicago races south and then turns west to meet the southwesterly running former CBQ at Galesburg, IL. Not far west of its crossing of the Illinois River, the 'transcon' attacks Edelstein Hill, a continuous ~1% rise of about five miles in an otherwise flat Illinois countryside. Up on top of the plains again, an afternoon hotshot from the early 2000s races west out of Chicago showing the era's mix of power and paint. <p></p><p>These were interesting days to watch the afternoon parade of containers and piggy-backs rolling west from Chicago. Power varied from unpatched BN Cascade Green units to newer BN 'Executive Paint' MACs and these unique Santa Fe GP60s. In this set, even a b-unit is helping to pull the tonnage west. One of the early 'war pumpkins' is present on the point, showing the earlier green, orange and silver resplendent(?) with Santa Fe cigar band striping in Heritage II paint. Many of these quickly faded to a bleak shade of pinkish-sand.</p><p>Today, the GP60s have found homes with other four axle units handling local jobs around the BNSF system and those GEs have soldiered on. Some have found new life with a variety of rebuilds or even new homes for a few that have headed to CN. But on this day 20 years ago, spring is just pushing winter off the Illinois plains again and super cabs are still a relatively new thing. One can even find a booster or two if you're lucky.</p>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-88896345930439923992022-03-23T10:54:00.000-07:002022-03-23T10:54:09.074-07:00Strength and Endurance<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj42db1afrcJDS41Usgf98EfGG81vfXmm8UQV7fGJ3pH-ukMeso6YEFCQlkNZH_ut4wT5IbrcxJ_Y35qSXDKs9m2pvuPC3BAmyZ_OkKHyEEUf6Tu2yIUY-E6VX8cVKRLIaBp5wKcFwPiG3fA3IhU4fTLVumomZu0WGKmyGCVjYT8wZPhe98uzI=s1864" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1864" data-original-width="1416" height="731" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj42db1afrcJDS41Usgf98EfGG81vfXmm8UQV7fGJ3pH-ukMeso6YEFCQlkNZH_ut4wT5IbrcxJ_Y35qSXDKs9m2pvuPC3BAmyZ_OkKHyEEUf6Tu2yIUY-E6VX8cVKRLIaBp5wKcFwPiG3fA3IhU4fTLVumomZu0WGKmyGCVjYT8wZPhe98uzI=w558-h731" width="558" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">When I first traveled to Deer Lodge, decades ago, I knew 'the Joe' was there. That was in the early 2000s when only 20 years had passed since the transcon had been active and perhaps less than 30 years separated the venerable Joe from the point of an XL-special and a hustle across the Rocky Mountain Division. Even that seems like a long time, until the passage of another 20 years goes by.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Now still there, the enduring presence and unforgettable face of the Rocky Mountain Division still gazes with an unseeing 'quad.' A static display if there ever was, it has received new paint over the years and even replica trolley lines overhead. The years have given it company as well - a "Cities" painted Milwaukee Road E-8 rests nearby and a bay window caboose now resides with these fellow Milwaukee Road memories. But the face of the Joe is unique and haunting. Decades have passed between the photos, lifetimes even, but she endures. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjxOEnW5DgceY-SMtHcV-im5mysQBcqsj0t1BdhR00m07nc5o6sHgWofzblL2gKIhfT-PIsb50IDfmB9dBU2-6aOgMjYZCpspAwqHE0pWgzt0YHryIZCIwx6aBy8ftJtXaNWuwp4ug3WmlrqQ7cs4OYeQNZVrNciVgR5erJib4zvpYff95bRRo=s2464" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1922" data-original-width="2464" height="502" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjxOEnW5DgceY-SMtHcV-im5mysQBcqsj0t1BdhR00m07nc5o6sHgWofzblL2gKIhfT-PIsb50IDfmB9dBU2-6aOgMjYZCpspAwqHE0pWgzt0YHryIZCIwx6aBy8ftJtXaNWuwp4ug3WmlrqQ7cs4OYeQNZVrNciVgR5erJib4zvpYff95bRRo=w640-h502" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-49692240737205490242021-12-04T04:05:00.003-08:002021-12-04T04:06:40.977-08:00Deer Lodge and the Arrow of Time<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I8n6SYuS10E/YatUHyzJEnI/AAAAAAAABds/t_Lwnrc6OvUXV960RkSswbUyEeNAAnmEACNcBGAsYHQ/s2000/1561_8-DeerLodge_east-sm.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1335" data-original-width="2000" height="430" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I8n6SYuS10E/YatUHyzJEnI/AAAAAAAABds/t_Lwnrc6OvUXV960RkSswbUyEeNAAnmEACNcBGAsYHQ/w640-h430/1561_8-DeerLodge_east-sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">With the run through Racetrack and Morel behind it, the mainline arrives in Deer Lodge, above looking railroad-east. The street names of Railroad and Milwaukee still belie the old transcon's presence even decades after its departure and fade. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">In the harsh mid-afternoon sun, looking east, we would find ourselves looking toward the start of the Deer Lodge yard throat just beyond the elevator complex in the photo above. The <a href="https://picryl.com/media/chicago-milwaukee-st-paul-and-pacific-railroad-roundhouse-kentucky-avenue-deer-22" target="_blank">arial view</a> shows the same elevator at the top of the photo, this time looking roughly railroad-west. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">These difference of decades of photos always capture me. They speak to something eternal that objects to the decay and change presented. The passing of generations and memories seems unmistakably foreign to that piece in each of us that remains timeless. It changes over the years, it becomes more than it was, but it never seems to age like everything around it. Fighting against the futility, this eternal piece that lives within us all is both fascinated and appalled by the one way arrow of time.</p>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-22904703318662980942021-11-06T04:03:00.001-07:002021-11-06T04:06:14.415-07:00Chasing Hiawatha<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-LdM4PByU0C4/YYZYQLyX0uI/AAAAAAAABc0/pXKfbr37FkUCmim6vcNOkOSsbxBoQbMVACLcBGAsYHQ/1544_8-nearMorel7_sm.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="1025" data-original-width="1512" height="434" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-LdM4PByU0C4/YYZYQLyX0uI/AAAAAAAABc0/pXKfbr37FkUCmim6vcNOkOSsbxBoQbMVACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h434/1544_8-nearMorel7_sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">In the run from Butte west, the path turns north. The NP and I-90 are ever close at hand and the Route of the Hiawathas splits bluffs and ranges to the east and west in its northbound trek. Deer Lodge is near, and with it the larger yard and engine facilities that are the first since leaving Harlowton back at milepost 1335. Here, between Butte's station at MP 1522 and Deer Lodge at 1562 the range lands look green in the early summer that promises cool rain later in the day. </div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Though it is not difficult to find photos of the Olympian Hi from the western reaches of the Milwaukee's empire, its time with the Road was brief. 1961 would be the last year for the train to operate fully from Chicago to Seattle / Tacoma. The train that remained in its place would terminate at Deer Lodge and go no further, and in 1964 would go no further west than South Dakota [1]. Western passenger trains, even of the Amtrak era, have a special feel because the great expanses through which they travel. There is an ever constant, background roar of a train at speed as well - quiet, but persistent - while the land keeps slipping by outside the windows in a movie that seems unending. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Scenes like this (above) make me wonder at the long-departed Olympian Hi and the 'stub' train that crossed these same lands until 1964. 60 years is a long time for a human to consider, but gazing out at the lands it's not hard to imagine the landscape falling back and away from a westbound train pushing its way forward with that quiet roar of speed. Somehow, it doesn't seem right that these things are gone and that Hiawatha can only be chased from a vantage point decades too late.</p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">1] thanks wikipedia for helping me with the dates. </span></p>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-90237823075998459772021-10-03T04:02:00.003-07:002021-10-03T04:02:36.252-07:00Shelter<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-28zOM-n5Vn0/YVmE_T8WerI/AAAAAAAABcc/c8zAJC_VrP03uWmMXgydFmouSpcEAcmaQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1512/1544_8-nearMorel_sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1007" data-original-width="1512" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-28zOM-n5Vn0/YVmE_T8WerI/AAAAAAAABcc/c8zAJC_VrP03uWmMXgydFmouSpcEAcmaQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h426/1544_8-nearMorel_sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Rolling through the Deer Lodge Valley in Powell County, MT, the transcon gets ever closer to the major roundhouses and yard at Deer Lodge itself. Near Morel it continues its westbound, straight as an arrow shot through the big skies that lie between Montana's western mountain ranges. The Rockies behind, the Bitterroots ahead and nothing but endless skies above. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">These skies bring the hope of a warm spring day, the sunshine that accompanies a Chinook wind, and the storms that blow snow and rains horizontal. They are skies of hope and skies of dread, skies of light and skies of darkness all played out on a canvas that can never be well described. Decades have passed since the orange and black rolled beneath these very skies. Though different with every passing moment, they yet appear timeless as the world of men changes beneath them. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Near the old transcon a single room building rests in a valley field. Surrounded by rusted barbwire fencing with whitewash fading and windows boarded, it is weatherbeaten and drifting through different ages alongside the old railroad nearby. An inscription above the boarded up door reads "The Lord's House." Built for generations passed, pointing back instead of forward, the invitation to come and know Him feels ever humbling and without pretense as time and weather take its toll on the small building. The mountains and skies overwatch the scene and leave the travelers like me, those who have come this way, with little excuse [1]. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">1) Romans 1:20. <span style="text-align: left;"><i>For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities, His eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly seen, being understood from His workmanship, so that men are without excuse.</i></span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-1568212896037210302021-09-04T03:55:00.002-07:002021-09-04T03:55:30.661-07:00Stranger at the Gate<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ELlJ5DrCtmg/YTNHnsn79iI/AAAAAAAABcQ/wR8GctPTRw45QNXUjtQnPbVRIdY2-pfUgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1855/1544_8-nearMore4-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1855" data-original-width="1445" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ELlJ5DrCtmg/YTNHnsn79iI/AAAAAAAABcQ/wR8GctPTRw45QNXUjtQnPbVRIdY2-pfUgCLcBGAsYHQ/w498-h640/1544_8-nearMore4-sm.jpg" width="498" /></a></div>MP 1544.8 - near Morel, MT<p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">As the last transcon built in the United States bisected its way across the mountainous state of Montana, not far from Deer Lodge, it arrived here near Morel. Just about 1545 miles from the imposing granite of Chicago's Union Station it is found littered with the decaying evidence of something gone wrong. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">How frustrating to wander the halls of great and massive railroad stations or sit in the small waiting rooms of others and know without doubt that there used to be 'a way.' There used to be a ticket to be purchased, a train to catch, and a place to go. It wasn't hard to head to places with names like Harlowton, Miles City, Three Forks, Butte, Deer Lodge, Spokane, Othello, Seattle, Tacoma and all of those intermediate stops. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">But here near Morel, in this run of mainline miles between mountain ranges where speeds could be high and great open expanse of Montana and its huge skies surround the Resourceful Road the ever present reality hits hard. The grading still lifts itself above the surrounding grasses, but piles of ties that were not worth salvage litter the miles of graveside here. Fencing that could have never withstood the pressure of a Thunderhawk or Hiawatha now stands uncontested. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The is a cold wind along these miles even in the heat of summer. It whispers of things we've had but lost and reminds all who wonder that something has gone wrong. This is an uncomfortable reality, waiting like a stranger at the gate.</p>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-16524663821342700042021-08-21T04:05:00.000-07:002021-08-21T04:05:17.544-07:00Before the Cord is Snapped<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lOt6T6miWtk/YReaxNl76JI/AAAAAAAABbw/3rtw9yeWVVIPhsPqxd6XOXE-cyS_oAYSwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/1535_7-Finlin3%252Badj_sm.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1376" data-original-width="2048" height="430" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lOt6T6miWtk/YReaxNl76JI/AAAAAAAABbw/3rtw9yeWVVIPhsPqxd6XOXE-cyS_oAYSwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h430/1535_7-Finlin3%252Badj_sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div style="text-align: justify;">The date was Friday, November 7, 1919 and at the GE plant in Erie, PA a new electric locomotive was undergoing demonstration in front of railroad reps assembled by GE [1]. The viewers included representatives from multiple US Railroads, two Canadian lines and a variety of others. The locomotive in question was one of the first Milwaukee Bi-Polar types, 10251. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The EP-2 Bi-Polars were monsters, with a total weight of 530,000 lbs and up to 86% of that weight atop the drivers. That compared very favorably to steam locomotives of the time. A Mohawk of the same vintage achieved only 68% of total weight on drivers. 10251 effectively bested one of these famous 4-8-2s plus another 4-6-2 coupled together that day. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Most of their lives were spent on the electrified Coast Division of the Milwaukee Road, running the line between Othello and Tacoma across the State of Washington. In their charge were the passenger trains that ran across the Cascades, utilizing electrical power to advance against the grades and weather associated with that section of Lines West. They finished their years running the Rocky Mountain Division pulling the last electrified passenger trains there. West of Butte, on the way to Deer Lodge we see the old mainline above near Finlin. Though they never achieved the fame or success of the Joes or Boxcabs here, it is interesting to think of them painted in their Union Pacific colors hauling the Olympian Hiawatha across this scene.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Reportedly their final rebuilding made few on the Rocky Mountain Division happy and 1958 was their last year of operation. 10251, which had become E2, was donated to the National Transportation Museum at St. Louis where it remains today. The photos below are from 2015, just shy of 100 years after the demonstrations and dignitaries of Erie, PA. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UBBaWohvoyI/YSDWMQ75-kI/AAAAAAAABcI/rIOJVW2Sphg4Xh-E1ytRzmTJjX91ywLjgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1500/e2_STL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="997" data-original-width="1500" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UBBaWohvoyI/YSDWMQ75-kI/AAAAAAAABcI/rIOJVW2Sphg4Xh-E1ytRzmTJjX91ywLjgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h426/e2_STL.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Note the <a href="http://r67northern.blogspot.com/2010/03/those-magnificent-quads.html" target="_blank">magnificent quad.</a><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-81G5VajkBU8/YSDWMdh3kLI/AAAAAAAABcE/aAvKFq2vecw3xSsbUeeLU65CeWx7NLcJwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1504/e2_quad_STL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1504" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-81G5VajkBU8/YSDWMdh3kLI/AAAAAAAABcE/aAvKFq2vecw3xSsbUeeLU65CeWx7NLcJwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h426/e2_quad_STL.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">There is a caution in these tales from times past - that the cord can be quickly snapped. From pulling the varnish, to a quiet existence on a rusty museum spur, 10251 sits in the company of other forgotten machines. Few of these could match her style, size and power, however. Her orange paint is fading in the summer sun, the few people around her are museum visitors from a different generation and it highlights the breathtaking brevity of descent: from the highs of progress and achievement to the quiet that has come over Lines West, a thousand miles west of here. As the writer of Ecclesiastes opines, "Remember Him before the silver cord is snapped [2]."</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">1). “C.M.&St.P. Electric Locomotives Tested at Erie,” <i>Railway Electric Engineer</i>, pp. 449–453, Dec 1919. http://milwaukeeroadarchives.com/Electrification/Electrical%20Review/1919%2012%20CMStP%20Locomotives%20Tested%20at%20Erie,%20Railway_Electrical_Engineer-1.pdf</span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">2) "Ecclesiastes 12:6," Holy Bible, Berean Study Bible, BSB, Copyright 2016, 2020 by Bible Hub.</span></div><p class="indent2"><a name="8"></a></p>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-17336804546789036402021-07-25T03:46:00.000-07:002021-07-25T03:46:04.859-07:00Sweeping Curves and Great Expanse<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MaszkWaDlkE/YPlMq6IotTI/AAAAAAAABbc/gmJgZGLZm_o2e0e1PXH5ptfShZ_4aCNwgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1701/1535_7-Finlin1_adj_sm.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1148" data-original-width="1701" height="432" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MaszkWaDlkE/YPlMq6IotTI/AAAAAAAABbc/gmJgZGLZm_o2e0e1PXH5ptfShZ_4aCNwgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h432/1535_7-Finlin1_adj_sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div> Milepost: 1535.7 Finlin, MT<p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">Heading west from Butte we parallel the Butte Anaconda and Pacific and then keep pushing further west as it drops away behind us. Looking back, the Rockies are seen as a compilation of layers forming the horizon line. The varying shades of darkness give depth and great expanse to the scene from the old right of way near Finlin, MT. We are nearly 1540 miles form Chicago's Union Station, have crossed multiple mountain ranges and found ourselves in the shadows of old stations and substations both large and small. In these fields near Finlin, the old telegraphy and AC power lines seemingly fortify the old transcon on either side. Look carefully in the distance of these two photos and you can see them sweep slowly away in broad curves as they fade in the distance. The photo above looks south on this small stretch of north-south running, the photo below looks north.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SrriiH-pukA/YPlLZeoRITI/AAAAAAAABbQ/QrO14E_4EEARN9RQIZ6T6Bd6g4DCaDIHQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1893/1535_7-Finlin-lookW_adj-sm.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1262" data-original-width="1893" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SrriiH-pukA/YPlLZeoRITI/AAAAAAAABbQ/QrO14E_4EEARN9RQIZ6T6Bd6g4DCaDIHQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h426/1535_7-Finlin-lookW_adj-sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">It is only a small stretch of north-south mainline that ends in sweeping curves at either end, a carefully plotted and executed 'S' surveyed a century before these photos were taken. And despite the fact that rails are gone and grasses have reclaimed what was theirs, telegraphy wires remain in place. It is a little bit of history locked in time, resting here between great mountains and expanse. What the scrappers left behind still holds on and feigns a readiness to serve once again.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">This is the Milwaukee's west: a haunting and lonely sweep of expanse showing both the great design and promise of what was and the future of what will inevitably be. They crash together in a single moment where you can feel time with its manifold sorrows and hopes. Where electrics roamed grasses flow in western winds. Where Superdomes graced elevated curves that sweep us in and out of this panorama, the line-side poles and AC lines just fade into distance. Where people have been, they no longer wish to go and names like Finlin drift away. </p>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-33364770494271525062021-07-10T03:24:00.000-07:002021-07-10T03:24:03.666-07:00Right Place, Wrong Time<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ctM-xu_TPhA/YOLh_mjWsWI/AAAAAAAABa8/onjqFZqnaEwLqVZKQOBmZM9PXqaLdlruwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1516/IMGP5038-sm.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="1516" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ctM-xu_TPhA/YOLh_mjWsWI/AAAAAAAABa8/onjqFZqnaEwLqVZKQOBmZM9PXqaLdlruwCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h426/IMGP5038-sm.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">Sometimes it's not hard to imagine the way things were as we stand in the presence of what remains. It's an uneasy feeling: to know that <i>everything</i> is set and right - but for the timing. The location is right: the corn grows in the fields as it seemingly always has, warm summer days roll across the lands and in the distance, the Erie Railroad RX Round Lake Interlocking stands against the sky. The only thing wrong is the year on the calendar. Right place, wrong time.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">Standing above these cornfields of a late summer in Indiana, near the town of Laketon, rise these remains of the RX Round Lake Interlocking. It's the haunt of old passenger trains like the Lake Cities and Phoebe Snow, the place where 20 cylinder SD45s hauled piggybacks with supporting E8s that were kicked down from passenger service when that ended. Instead of an east-west mainline beneath the great signals there are only weeds, trees, and a familiar empty feeling.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">It's not just the tracks and trains that are gone here. Gone too, a UPS preferred New York - Chicago connection, small daily things like friendly waves of a crew and the "always there" presence of another train rumbling by somewhere in the night. The crew changes, the passengers - all of it just gone. This forgotten NY-CHI connection recedes daily into the Indiana farmlands. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">Perhaps that is what makes things like RX Round Lake so especially disturbing. Standing as it has for decades it still throws its shadow across a world that has moved on without it. Looking out across the corn field, one can't tell the right of way is consumed by trees and neglect. It seems ready, as it always has been, to see something special roll quickly across the scene, making a run to Chicago like a shot across these flat lands. Right place, wrong time.</p>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-51143270287925020622021-07-03T04:04:00.002-07:002021-07-03T04:04:08.248-07:00Of Semaphores and Streets<div style="text-align: justify;">Decades ago, it was a time when a large and powerful few were still a small and local many. These would consolidate, merge, and slip away until what is found today are huge and encompassing. In communication they are the AT&T and Verizons. In retail they are the Amazons and Walmarts, the Lowes and the Home Depots. In railroads, the Norfolk Southern and CSXT in the east, Union Pacific and BNSF in the west. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">A few others exist in and around these behemoths as well, like Kansas City Southern, Iowa Interstate and numerous short lines, although KCS has grown aggressively in and out of country. Even now it looks to a merger with CN and has already assimilated the Meridian Speedway and works closely with Norfolk Southern moving containers across the I20 corridor between Shreveport and Atlanta. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The bigness of what we see about us today hide the stories of the smaller and unique things that came before them. Indiana was known for an impressive network of interurban lines and was a vast collection of railroad's biggest names from the 20th century. The Big Four (NYC), Pennsy, Erie, Wabash, and Nickel Plate to name a few. It was also home to unique smaller roads like the Monon that connected Chicago to Louisville and Indianapolis.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xHzaWvdZJ7w/YNhWCVqFF7I/AAAAAAAABa0/SckB7E32MFcCiOSJLpyPJWMPu2PonnfcwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Monon_Linden.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1362" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xHzaWvdZJ7w/YNhWCVqFF7I/AAAAAAAABa0/SckB7E32MFcCiOSJLpyPJWMPu2PonnfcwCLcBGAsYHQ/w426-h640/Monon_Linden.JPG" width="426" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have written of the Monon before, and remarked on their upper quadrant semaphore signals that stood so tall along the right of way. Even through the end of the 20th century and beginning of the 21st, one could find them in use where CSX yet used the tracks. They stood outside swift moving Cardinals of the day, flipping by the windows in the early morning darkness as little pools of light unlike any of the more modern signals that we've come to know. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The story of the Monon matches many other things. At one time, unique and small, known for its own selection of passenger trains and unique street running through different Indiana towns. In 1971 it was purchased by the Louisville and Nashville, giving the L&N access to Chicago. From there it became "Family Lines" and then part of CSXT. It has been paired down relentlessly with only a few sections remaining in place and in use. Semaphores that remained active into the 2000s have been removed, but can still be found if you visit the museum in Linden, IN (above).</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-REP3SY99mBM/YNhWCVU42kI/AAAAAAAABaw/JdYFbanSRroWjN5IRkZKOAJh0LHRrBBIgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1875/MononGreencastle_sm.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1247" data-original-width="1875" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-REP3SY99mBM/YNhWCVU42kI/AAAAAAAABaw/JdYFbanSRroWjN5IRkZKOAJh0LHRrBBIgCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h426/MononGreencastle_sm.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">In Greencastle (above) the rails are in place, but stop not far south. The evidence of an important rail corridor, however, can not be hidden. Bits and pieces of continuous weld mark the right of way, and the old sentries put in place more than 100 years before still watch the path. The glistening silver paint is gone, the blades themselves removed and yet there is no mistaking these for what they are. No more <i>Thoroughbreds</i> pass this way on their sprint to Louisville, but it is not hard to imagine them in a scene with relics like this. </div>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-47516266142273589232021-06-26T04:06:00.001-07:002021-06-26T04:06:50.663-07:00Fade Away<div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cA7dqhmf_34/YNcDZofwK7I/AAAAAAAABac/XxZXhAgFlm8iVGgjoG6hzSBzUsbUS1ahQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1500/152x_Butte_21_sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1008" data-original-width="1500" height="430" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cA7dqhmf_34/YNcDZofwK7I/AAAAAAAABac/XxZXhAgFlm8iVGgjoG6hzSBzUsbUS1ahQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h430/152x_Butte_21_sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">With the Rockies as backdrop, Butte begins its fade from view as the transcon heads west. The tower of the station is framed by the lone railroad structure that still marks the way out of town. Another perspective below shows the tracks of the Butte Anaconda and Pacific still marking the path. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hvhq_61Ub9o/YNcDZzxGgII/AAAAAAAABag/e9-7X0sfnUkpENozB313ZF1tf9szpQXrQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/152x_Butte_18_sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1370" data-original-width="2048" height="428" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hvhq_61Ub9o/YNcDZzxGgII/AAAAAAAABag/e9-7X0sfnUkpENozB313ZF1tf9szpQXrQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h428/152x_Butte_18_sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In the dry heat of a 2003 summer day, when this set of photos was taken, the fade of America's last transcon doesn't seem all that irreparable. Surely it wouldn't be hard to get some steel relaid? Two decades on, 20 more years of fade, and the cruelty of life is setting in with increasing finality: once we've lost something, it's not coming back.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r7MQ9ulBakc/YNcDVfyfzmI/AAAAAAAABaY/HhllwRVkaTs1ov6oiphLcTcH8OS9UOkWQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1617/152x_Butte_16-crop-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="889" data-original-width="1617" height="352" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r7MQ9ulBakc/YNcDVfyfzmI/AAAAAAAABaY/HhllwRVkaTs1ov6oiphLcTcH8OS9UOkWQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h352/152x_Butte_16-crop-sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When the Milwaukee started its grand enterprise west, it was the Chicago Milwaukee St. Paul and Pacific. Following one of its several bankruptcies, it emerged as the Milwaukee Road. The tilted rectangle was always the symbol, but the graphics and lettering would change through the years. Hidden in plain view, and fading on its own accord, the lilting signature of the CMSP still adorns an old Milwaukee mainline girder bridge nearby. I-90 is never far away in these lands, the roar of steelbelts and trucks snaps the wanderer back to the reality that it has been 100 years since the CMSP hung that sign and 40 since its successor retrenched itself somewhere back east of these lands. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>To our west lies a run out through Silver Bow, and then across dry expanse with the Northern Pacific and I-90 in full view as we push through Morel. Race Track and Deer Lodge await.<br /><br />LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-7539202359599972922021-06-06T03:39:00.004-07:002021-06-06T03:39:52.453-07:00Timeless and Timed<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5fh9MFHo6ZQ/YKeLw0O_ILI/AAAAAAAABZQ/Rvw-QsRrSv4N-ZRobk6puWCq78taqdm6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1266/152x_Butte_12_sm.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1266" data-original-width="906" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5fh9MFHo6ZQ/YKeLw0O_ILI/AAAAAAAABZQ/Rvw-QsRrSv4N-ZRobk6puWCq78taqdm6gCLcBGAsYHQ/w458-h640/152x_Butte_12_sm.jpg" width="458" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">What can weeds and platforms tell us? In the weeds are relics of an old empire of electric power. The stubs of catenary poles peak out just above the wild flowers and brush. On the ground, a path of concrete still defies the ages and arcs out and away from the old Butte station whose tower rises against the Rockies. Adventures and journeys started and ended here, the fears of men and women and the courage in their face played out daily in the lives that intersected those old days. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Though we spend much of our day acting as our own gods, signs like these remind us that the world has kept spinning forward. We are not gods at all, but mortals who spend but a few days beneath the sun. Though we think very highly of ourselves, we forget our weaknesses. The relics here remind us of those fears and weaknesses, while the mountains look on in a timeless pose that is always present. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Unlike the mountains, the named passenger trains have come and gone from this place, electric locomotives with them, and then finally the railroad itself. There are no more stairs to climb into a Superdome, and no more windows that show a city slip away as the Olympian Hiawatha makes its pull. These were daily occurrences but all are now lifetimes away, vanished.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WLAYL2Mefpk/YKeLwuN7O3I/AAAAAAAABZM/n-ON8S8kYHQSiPEhbSA-UFz8daAJW5-zQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1500/152x_Butte_15_sm.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1005" data-original-width="1500" height="429" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WLAYL2Mefpk/YKeLwuN7O3I/AAAAAAAABZM/n-ON8S8kYHQSiPEhbSA-UFz8daAJW5-zQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h429/152x_Butte_15_sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;">How much courage does it take to build something like a transcontinental to the west? And what fears cause its demise? But, perhaps, the real fear is that if something like the Milwaukee Road can be removed and forgotten then there is nothing sacred nor safe in our few days under the sun. What is meant to last forever and the things we take for granted are not timeless but timed. Only the mountains look down in an unchanging pose.</p>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com0Butte, MT, USA46.0038232 -112.534777517.693589363821154 -147.69102750000002 74.314057036178838 -77.3785275tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-45116109514432470132021-05-11T03:27:00.002-07:002021-05-11T03:27:11.720-07:00Heart of Wisdom<p style="text-align: left;">Location: Butte, MT</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div style="text-align: justify;">As the years pass there are fewer marks of the Resourceful Railroad left across the American West. The long stretches of right of way between mountain passes seem ever disappearing; the relentless work of nature and men slowly reclaiming the spaces. Despite this ongoing loss, there are still a few lasting monuments that point backwards. The most famous of Butte's two Milwaukee Road passenger stations still stands as one of these lasting gifts.</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MdFsx0PSUdE/YJe6QPlkraI/AAAAAAAABY4/-3fsDOe6_7o9pI1V3Pb3imC9IpvNd8z7QCLcBGAsYHQ/s1575/152x_Butte_1-sm.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1064" data-original-width="1575" height="432" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MdFsx0PSUdE/YJe6QPlkraI/AAAAAAAABY4/-3fsDOe6_7o9pI1V3Pb3imC9IpvNd8z7QCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h432/152x_Butte_1-sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Shown here in photos that are themselves twenty years old, it is the home of KXLF and, reportedly, still ordained with the marble floors that were all part of the Milwaukee Road's grand entrance to the city. In addition to KXLF, the names that adorn the station in the early 2000s include another name that has lost ground to history: Rainier. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1fSXyhvaIR8/YJe6QDhONsI/AAAAAAAABY8/pq7TcPh05noGTFtkIwEkQBnBBe6VKe8vgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1350/152x_Butte_4-sm.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1fSXyhvaIR8/YJe6QDhONsI/AAAAAAAABY8/pq7TcPh05noGTFtkIwEkQBnBBe6VKe8vgCLcBGAsYHQ/w267-h400/152x_Butte_4-sm.jpg" width="267" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;">One can never walk through these old places or gaze upon the old photos without remembering the vast depth of history that has unfolded before us. People, in our smallness, always consider the present the only thing that has ever really been known. The things that we do now are the most important simply because we live through them. But there are these old markers that exist as monuments to a different era and different generations that knew different times and saw troubles and triumphs that are easily forgotten. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The sun rises, the sun sets. A springtime pushes out a winter, and summer quickly follows. In a flurry a year has vanished and taken with it things that never return. Yet, in great ignorance or great mercy we walk about and assume that one day will be like the one that came before it: because yesterday was fine, today also, will be fine. But in our hearts, and surrounded by evidences like those here in these old photographs we know this is not the case. The psalmist writes, </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>'Teach me to number my days Lord, that I might gain a heart of Wisdom' -- </i><i>Psalm 90:12.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Here, along the platforms of the old station, generations walked to stately orange passenger cars propelled by the miracle of electrical power across the Rocky Mountains. Built to last, the platform covers yet stand, waiting for the next Columbian to back its way into the station and give travelers their grand entrance to Butte. While much seems to come and then go so swiftly, there are yet a few gifts that endure and remind us that one day is not like another. May we gain a heart of Wisdom.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G-rzafuggPQ/YJe6GeACD2I/AAAAAAAABY0/WikmfKAkpIwpcWf8ejIBi_q6x2NGmD3CwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1423/152x_Butte_6-sm.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1423" data-original-width="956" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G-rzafuggPQ/YJe6GeACD2I/AAAAAAAABY0/WikmfKAkpIwpcWf8ejIBi_q6x2NGmD3CwCLcBGAsYHQ/w430-h640/152x_Butte_6-sm.jpg" width="430" /></a></div>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-25958425962545284812020-12-24T08:16:00.000-08:002020-12-24T08:16:24.269-08:00Christmas Eve on Ancient Paths<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-SOq67TJERZo/X-SpeJ0lyVI/AAAAAAAABXI/2GYbGNxrMMgy6dIp18_M7M5eSqP2TDM8QCLcBGAsYHQ/Pullman_elev_snow-sm.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1198" data-original-width="1050" height="640" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-SOq67TJERZo/X-SpeJ0lyVI/AAAAAAAABXI/2GYbGNxrMMgy6dIp18_M7M5eSqP2TDM8QCLcBGAsYHQ/w560-h640/Pullman_elev_snow-sm.jpg" width="560" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">Perhaps you have noticed, dear Reader, that while much of the world seems to gear itself up for the 25th of December, the 24th has a special feel of its own? Christmas Eve, December the 24th, the day before. </div><p></p><p style="text-align: justify;">But in the year 2020, how the warm Christmas lights and the push for normalcy seems a paradox. The deaths mount in numbers that are hard to comprehend and they carry with them the sorrows of families intertwined with the suffering of those they love. While some push to do life as normal, others real from loss and still others seek shelter from a raging pandemic storm that threatens from all sides. The country stands divided after a bitter election, and the pains of social injustice seem never soothed. The economy suffers, people are out of work. In other years, the 24th has felt a special and still sort of Peace compared to the rush of the day the follows. This year, it is a surreal feeling Eve that is upon us.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>I heard the cannons in the south ... and with the sound the Carols drowned.</i> - Longfellow</p><p style="text-align: justify;">I remember a wintery day long ago from the old Inland Empire. The rolling hills of the Palouse were barren and covered with a course and gritty snow, and the winds howled as only a treeless landscape enables them. It is along a piece of the former Northern Pacific, near Pullman, WA where the track sweeps away to the north east and an old elevator that has weathered many storms endures beneath its galvanized exterior. Many lives have passed by it and passed within it. Trains of grain and goods, Budd RDC cars that connected the people here, and the ever passing string of cars on the nearby old highway have come and gone in their appointed times. </p><p style="text-align: justify;">The old paths here seem ancient compared to the far newer social media networks. While chaos seems to reign across those new ways we've built, there is quiet in places like this. It is both detached and silent in its way. It is disconcerting to put oneself here, and oh how our own brief moment on this Earth seems all the more temporary. On a Christmas Eve in a bitter and divided year perhaps the detachment represented by these old paths could bring some relief? We are not as big as we think we are, and we are not as good as we think we are. I certainly am not, and along these old ways, it is far easier to understand that.</p><p style="text-align: justify;">There - beyond the last of the hills that rises in the background - is it a horizon line of hope that beckons? I pray for Peace in these times and a Christmas Eve that considers the ancient paths that show a way forward and out of our darkness.</p><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); color: #001320;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>This is what the LORD says: "Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls. But you said, 'We will not walk in it.'</i></span></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Jeremiah 6:16</i></div></span></div><p style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-19762846541329688182020-11-18T14:23:00.001-08:002020-11-18T14:26:48.541-08:00Waning Light at Galva<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3j0zdqNPo7E/X7WWiW2eu8I/AAAAAAAABWg/-Nr1fbT7X8Yty3570Lg5_eUPbSVL0uDzwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1440/zeph_galvafoliage.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1135" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3j0zdqNPo7E/X7WWiW2eu8I/AAAAAAAABWg/-Nr1fbT7X8Yty3570Lg5_eUPbSVL0uDzwCLcBGAsYHQ/w504-h640/zeph_galvafoliage.jpg" width="504" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">In the not so distant past there lives a different place, somewhere buried in memory. It's a place where a warm fall sun slowly drops toward the horizon line and an eastbound California Zephyr makes a late-running dash into the Windy City. It's not far from a little place called Galva, IL where an old timber bridge crosses the former CB+Q mainline in the heart of the Prairie State. It's a warm and quiet late afternoon there, and the years do nothing to change it. The human soul, it seems, was never meant to age in years.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">In those days, it seemed only 'yesterday' that railroads like the Rock Island and Milwaukee plied their rails and struggled their last remaining days in cold winters and hellish conditions. Stations had personnel and baggage handlers, and passenger trains were daily. Dear reader, stand with me here on this bridge for just a little while and gaze at the great play that is being unrolled before our eyes under a Prairie State sky.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">It is merely a breach of time that stands between that place and the present, but so wide the breach. My eyes have seen more now than just that evening sky and I lament a missing state of compassion and hope. It seems we are driven ever apart, laid low in the dust, a widening gap of division matched only by the years and the sorrows. Perhaps it is time to cry and mourn, fight no more, and work for something better again. I will lay aside what I want, and look to do what is Good instead.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">And I will be thankful that there is a timeless place where memories can live.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>Psalm 86:11 "Teach me your way, LORD, that I may rely on your faithfulness; give me an undivided heart, that I may fear your name"</i></div></div><p></p>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-55223987814840323702020-09-30T14:46:00.000-07:002020-09-30T14:46:27.153-07:00But a Handbreadth<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UJYvFEyt6fw/XxIdNNob2YI/AAAAAAAABVM/FZkgB2vdI5kiFpEMYaslxNxHSX_8ql11gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1500/mp114-5_HorebCemetary.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="997" data-original-width="1500" height="426" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UJYvFEyt6fw/XxIdNNob2YI/AAAAAAAABVM/FZkgB2vdI5kiFpEMYaslxNxHSX_8ql11gCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h426/mp114-5_HorebCemetary.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Psalm 90:12 </i></div><div><br /></div><div>It wasn't so long ago that one could stand here near Uniondale, Indiana and watch SD45s, Alcos and early GEs stream across the background of the small cemetery above. It wasn't so long ago, but then again, perhaps it was.</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://live.staticflickr.com/747/32011727493_143d54ca8b_k.jpg">EL, Uniondale, Indiana, 1975</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Out across the flat prairie of Indiana the piggybacks streamed, cutting a path from Chicago to the East in the days before Conrail. To me, the Erie-Lackawanna has always been fascinating like some of the other fallen flags from the same era. I'm aware of no other railroad that opted to buy passenger diesels, not for the sake of hauling passenger trains, but for the lengthened frame and added fuel tank capacity that they could achieve. There is also something beautiful about a set of Alco PAs in gray and crimson pulling piggybacks. </div><div><br /></div><div>But the truth is that time passes quickly as a day comes and a day goes, the sun rises and then sets again. The days build upon each other and suddenly the years drift by. The Alcos and E8s have long vanished just like the semaphore signals that guarded the double track here. Instead, the early morning mist of a cool summer day shroud the old right of way above, like a veil that separates what is from what was. It's a reminder that even the secure are but a handbreadth.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-60424799983648860322020-06-19T15:28:00.000-07:002020-06-19T15:28:17.298-07:00Don't let it end like this<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c7EDmZ2XNjs/Xu02TqfBfVI/AAAAAAAABTo/2JlXq87VNwMIcolM66muSQiIsIGPD3NqACK4BGAsYHg/s1575/zephyr_emtp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1053" data-original-width="1575" height="428" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c7EDmZ2XNjs/Xu02TqfBfVI/AAAAAAAABTo/2JlXq87VNwMIcolM66muSQiIsIGPD3NqACK4BGAsYHg/w640-h428/zephyr_emtp.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Location: Mount Pleasant, Iowa</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was just a cold winter day in the early 2000s. The ceiling above was unlimited and the blues were showing vivid on yesteryear's slide film. Running east like a wind itself, the California Zephyr is seen streaking across the flat eastern Iowa landscape with its sights set on the Mississippi River crossing. Once safely through the winding and narrow passages of Burlington, the small towns of Illinois will flit by the large windows, just for an instant, as the cars gently rock along the double-tracked transcon. Then, a final run into Chicago on the Race Track. All along the way, the stainless steel will glisten in the low winter sun. Maybe - just maybe - I see a little of that old panache of America's famous trains showing through. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So much has changed so quickly in the pandemic era. The Zephyr and its long distance stablemates will retreat like many of us to a different way I wonder, will we ever have these daily runs again? Will dining cars ever offer the aroma of cooking breakfast during a station stop early in the morning? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These missing trains are just another painful reflection of the times themselves - too much hurt across the society in too many ways. The nation quakes and convulses and reveals its hurt and brokenness. My prayer: Lord, don't let it end like this. Please, I know we can do better and I'm sorry.</div>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-73952079483586935452020-05-17T11:41:00.001-07:002020-05-17T11:42:43.487-07:00Kingdom of Idols II<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GOYvYcHMPHY/XsFmYXl0OYI/AAAAAAAABQs/aV67njReThsaxQwn0MhEvWJUZMW1XN3LgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/1519_8_2nd_Depot_sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GOYvYcHMPHY/XsFmYXl0OYI/AAAAAAAABQs/aV67njReThsaxQwn0MhEvWJUZMW1XN3LgCK4BGAYYCw/s640/1519_8_2nd_Depot_sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Milepost: 1519.8 Butte, MT<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In 2009, I first wrote an entry titled "<a href="http://r67northern.blogspot.com/2009/10/kingdom-of-idols.html?m=0" target="_blank">Kingdom of Idols</a>" and wondered at the passing of eras. Of the era of 2009, I wrote:</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>... We rest in .. [an era].. of entitlement and gratification, one that quickly moves beyond past accomplishments for which we have no personal use. Our current idols have plotted an interesting course that is just now coming into clearer focus. The destination does not always seem appetizing, but the howl of radials along the Clark Fork remind us of its coming.</i></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And so we continued in that era until something changed. Indeed, since I last wrote on these pages, the entire world has changed. All around us institutions that marked western civilization and the world at large remain shaking. Dear reader, consider that in a matter of days education systems, government systems, healthcare systems, economic systems, transportation systems, and many personal freedoms that we lay claim to in the West lay closed all about us. In the US we hear threats of meat supply problems while around the world there is news of increasing hunger. Are we seeing the hints of a new era between eras? An era when perhaps even the light is darkness? </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CUf8piSvTRU/XsFoXfXayVI/AAAAAAAABQ8/5tAoxFTSbqINs3cIevZbXFHous58rfBcwCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/1519_8_Butte_2nd_Depot_sm2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="418" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CUf8piSvTRU/XsFoXfXayVI/AAAAAAAABQ8/5tAoxFTSbqINs3cIevZbXFHous58rfBcwCK4BGAYYCw/s640/1519_8_Butte_2nd_Depot_sm2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The photos here mark the Milwaukee Road's entry to Butte, and the second depot that was constructed in the 1950s to avoid the stub-end arrangement of the original. This was a different era, when two transcons called at Butte and the high tension AC lines shown in the picture above helped Little Joes and Boxcabs across the Rockies that now lie looming to the East. Ahead, a westbound run along the Clark Fork River beckons, as do the Bitterroots that will be the barrier to Palouse Country in Washington State. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Perhaps our missing transcon really was 'one too many' as some have suggested. Or perhaps our current era between eras suggests something different? As the economic problems of the 1970s came to a close and America lost its Resouceful Railroad, it was a sign of things to come. Decisions driven by short range planning and immediate profit stole it from the country that could have used it. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Our arrival in Butte has witnessed miles and miles of abandoned towns, depots, and an America that has been lost. It has been driven away by the drivers of efficiency, immediate profit, and streamlining. Towns have seen jobs depart for decades, and their struggles are well documented. They've been replaced with massive, efficient systems with no real redundancy and no fail-safe. Our prior era and our old idols now seem to have failed us and I wonder, dear reader, if perhaps some "inefficiency" and a little redundancy isn't such a bad thing? </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So as the systems we built tremble and shake, I will be hopeful that from this era between eras good will yet arise. For this I will bring to mind and therefore have hope - as Jeremiah (Lamentations 3) said - <i>because of the Lord's great love we are not totally consumed for his compassions never fail. ... I will say to myself the Lord is my portion therefore I will wait for him, he is good to those whose hope is in him and to the one who seeks him. It is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.</i></div>
LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-17317514633527962392019-12-30T11:25:00.002-08:002019-12-30T11:25:58.622-08:00Morning is coming, but also the night<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6ql9zOhyMkI/XXwKJszIBBI/AAAAAAAABPU/RPhYj2PffK405GbknIag5iyu7987GCdlACEwYBhgL/s1600/1510_Blacktail_piling_sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1010" data-original-width="1500" height="430" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6ql9zOhyMkI/XXwKJszIBBI/AAAAAAAABPU/RPhYj2PffK405GbknIag5iyu7987GCdlACEwYBhgL/s640/1510_Blacktail_piling_sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo Above: Blacktail Viaduct</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On March 3, 1970 the Burlington Northern merger became reality, and shortly after, access to Western "Gateways" for the Milwaukee Road. These would prove to have great effect on the railroad, and perhaps, more than just a bit of hope for the transcon. Though it was surrounded on all sides by a larger BN, there was evidence to suggest that a new day was actually at hand.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
By year, the results in operating health were obvious (numbers from Annual Reports):</div>
<ul>
<li>1969 - Net earnings: -$5.6M (loss) </li>
<li>1970 - Net earnings: -$8.9M (loss)</li>
<li>1971 - Net earnings: $2.9M</li>
<li>1972 - Net earnings: -$.4M (loss)</li>
<li>1973 - Net earnings: $3.7M</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Some of the details from these annual reports show the effect more directly: </div>
<ul style="text-align: justify;">
<li>1973 Report: </li>
<ul>
<li>Motor vehicles, carload increase of 5% in 1973 ... long haul movement of motor vehicles to the railroad's automobile marshaling yard at Kent, WA increased 12%. </li>
<li>Carloadings increased in general by 5.9% over 1972 and revenue ton miles that reflected additional carloads, heaver loadings and longer hauls reached a new high, up 11.7% from 1972.</li>
<li>Import and export traffic reflected a 31% gain, and 49% increase in revenue with a new daily transcontinental freight added between St. Paul and Seattle, and new connecting service added between Tacoma and Portland to handle more traffic moving via the Portland gateway.</li>
</ul>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<ul>
<li>1974 - Net earnings: +$11.3M</li>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But in 1975, things would change. A recession would impact the company, and the year itself brought a different style of looking ahead to the annual reports. </div>
<br />
<i>"The time has come -- is long past in fact -- that a comprehensive restructuring of the railroad inustry in the West be undertaken... the Milwaukee Road continues its activities designed to seek its inclusion within the Burlington Northern or another carrier. And until such an event occurs, the Milwaukee Road will be operated as efficiently, as productively, and as competitively as possible." </i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i> -</i>William Quinn, Chairman. <span style="font-size: x-small;">1975 Annual Report. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>The 1975 net earnings: -$19.5M (loss)</u></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It is interesting to note that one of the increased costs associated with 1975, contributing to about $4M of the posted loss, was assessed to "transportation." Though the numbers are not reported directly, the termination of electrical operations in 1974 and unfortunate timing of the recession and fuel crises certainly contributed. Diesel fuel costs dramatically increased, and there was no electric Little Joe to help. A prior writing in this blog series investigates this a bit more: <a href="https://r67northern.blogspot.com/2013/07/the-milwaukee-roads-goodnight.html" target="_blank">"The Milwaukee Road's Goodnight" </a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was Quinn himself who declined the full electrification of the Milwaukee as proposed by GE (which included an offer to finance it as well). Perhaps, however, this is not surprising given the long term operating plan offered in the 1975 report, "<i>... seek inclusion</i>" in some carrier, BN or other. Quinn was gone when the petition to merge with BN was declined by the ICC. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(Other on-goings that contributed to the 1975 year are nicely detailed by Mr. Todd Jones, "What really Happened?" with the link at the bottom of this writing)</span>. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1977 marked the Milwaukee's final declaration of bankruptcy, and 1979 the operating trustee's petition to abandon nearly 2500 miles of track west of Miles City. In 1970 it appeared as morning was dawning for the Resourceful Railroad and indeed morning was coming, but also the night. </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Tell me Watchman, what is left of the night?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The watchman replies, “Morning is coming but also the night. If you would ask, then ask; and come back yet again.”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Isaiah 21:12</i></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Milwaukee Road in the 70's: What really happened?</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Author: Todd Jones</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.trainweb.org/milwaukee/article.html</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Annual Report Data from: https://milwaukeeroadarchives.com/</span>LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-50319741245913644742019-09-13T14:54:00.002-07:002019-09-13T14:54:24.725-07:00The Long Shadow<div style="text-align: center;">
It could be said that misery lives in the moment, but lingers in the moment's long shadow. </div>
<br />
Blacktail Viaduct, MP 1510<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EzdS7o2UvvA/XXwKJhuaMtI/AAAAAAAABPU/_49eLAD2kz0Bwgtm7GTrVeplIkz1xVuvACEwYBhgL/s1600/1510_Blacktail_2sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="992" data-original-width="1500" height="422" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EzdS7o2UvvA/XXwKJhuaMtI/AAAAAAAABPU/_49eLAD2kz0Bwgtm7GTrVeplIkz1xVuvACEwYBhgL/s640/1510_Blacktail_2sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's not hard to look at the stately symmetry of the Milwaukee's trestle at Blacktail and wait, expectantly, for Boxcabs to grind across it on their way up the hill to Pipestone. Or perhaps sets of SD40s working hard to handle increased traffic from the BN Merger's opened gateways. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HpCorEPD4NQ/XXwKTo4nCDI/AAAAAAAABPU/WbF-kvtqq6Qk2WS1j2IiS-GV459qqYPUwCEwYBhgL/s1600/1510_Blacktail_3_sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="895" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HpCorEPD4NQ/XXwKTo4nCDI/AAAAAAAABPU/WbF-kvtqq6Qk2WS1j2IiS-GV459qqYPUwCEwYBhgL/s640/1510_Blacktail_3_sm.jpg" width="424" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The opened gateways of 1970 provided a reason to hope, hence the misery is not just the collapse and removal of America's final transcon, but the failed promise that seemed ever so close. C.S. Lewis penned that "part of misery is .. the miser's shadow or reflection. [1]" Blacktail casts a long shadow.</div>
<br />
Reference:<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">1) CS Lewis, “A Grief Observed”</span><br />
<br />LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14456380.post-7272913493820548342019-07-17T15:03:00.000-07:002019-07-17T15:03:03.346-07:00Love and Hate<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e7FJUCLoNrc/XS96uqxXGYI/AAAAAAAABOQ/a4-xpWWBKHUnvDNaSj_Wnxizh0J-9-6LACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/1509_5_WofPennfield_sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="434" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e7FJUCLoNrc/XS96uqxXGYI/AAAAAAAABOQ/a4-xpWWBKHUnvDNaSj_Wnxizh0J-9-6LACK4BGAYYCw/s640/1509_5_WofPennfield_sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Trains of thought can haunt the mind. These are thoughts and memories of places gone and people known. They carry with them acute awareness of time's endless assault upon the works of men, the lands, and perhaps especially ones own self - all captured in haunting trains of thought.<br />
<br />
What sets these trains to rolling? Sometimes it is a glimpse of a red sunset that starts their parade, or an accidental look to the West, or a seemingly inexhaustible heat on a long summer day with unlimited ceiling. Whatever the cause, they come ... and with them love and hate.<br />
<br />
Cresting the Rockies and the Great Divide the transcon starts the grade down to Butte. With the grade come the trestles, and what is today, bike trail. Along the way houses and driveways encroach and use the old mainline in ways that surveyors and track gangs never foresaw. Manifests and passenger trains, electrics and orange bay windows are now simply relics of different eras. Below, Butte herself offers a vista to those who would come this way and ponder some of these things - should they tempt the passing trains of thought.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s_lyUoYN0tU/XS96zUQDjcI/AAAAAAAABOY/UyaZDAibnEwAoI8NSFWyfPr5yXXyHrn4gCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/1509_5_ButteView_sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="430" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s_lyUoYN0tU/XS96zUQDjcI/AAAAAAAABOY/UyaZDAibnEwAoI8NSFWyfPr5yXXyHrn4gCK4BGAYYCw/s640/1509_5_ButteView_sm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
But dear reader, be careful for there is love and hate in these trains of thought. To consider these things and the stories of life they tell drives one to it.<br />
<br />LinesWesthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05256267359329575594noreply@blogger.com2