Before automobiles took over transportation throughout the United States, railroads reigned supreme. Before trucks used interstates, highways, and county roads to transport goods cross-country, there were trains.
This was just as true in Oregon as anywhere else. In fact there were railroads in Oregon in the 1850’s. These mule-powered tramways were often used in the logging industry to move timber.
In 1861, steam-powered trains arrived in Oregon. The first was a five mile stretch of the Oregon Portage Railroad, from Tanner Creek to the Cascade Rapids. The first locomotive was called the Oregon Pony.
Gradually, the southern Pacific Railroad took over operations of most of the rails in Oregon. For a time, Southern Pacific was well known for through service linking California and Washington State. The SP also had many side branches to smaller communities and was very important for the timber industry along the Oregon coast.
Nowadays, scenic trains for tourists run along sections of the Oregon coast. One such is the Rockaway Beach to Garibaldi round trip route. The outbound leg of the trip is about 30 minutes and offers magnificent views of the Pacific Ocean, sandy beaches, and rocky cliffs along the way. At the Garibaldi station there are several vintage trains cars and engines to view, and time to catch a great fish and chips lunch at a nearby food truck before the return trip.
Southern Pacific Railroad Depot, built in 1936. It is one of the last one room depots in the US.
Train travel has lost some of its importance over the years and is no longer the most important way to move goods or people. However, the lure of the steam engine, the clacking of wheels on rails, the conductors’ call of ‘all aboard, still bring a sense of adventure. Whenever I hear a distant train whistle, I want to climb on board and see where the journey will take me.
A recent trip to Glacier National Park brought into focus an unexpected insight into the symbiotic relationship between national parks and trains, along with a sobering note regarding Western expansion.
Over a hundred years ago in 1893, the Great Northern Railway finished laying tracks for the northernmost rail route in the United States westward from St. Paul to Seattle. The developers chose the route over the Rockies carefully, using one of the flattest and most accessible passes. Then, in a concentrated effort to promote rail business for tourists as well as farmers, the Great Northern Railway pushed hard to establish a national park in Montana, well aware that such a designation would encourage folks from all over the United States to visit. Thus financial reasons more than environmental concerns played a major factor in the park’s development.
Glacier Park was established as a national park in 1910, the tenth such park in the United States. The railway made much of the scenic alpine vistas, and further enticed visitors by building chalets and lodges throughout the area.
East Glacier Park Lodge, where we stayed, opened in 1913. The posts are made of huge trees brought in from the west, cedars for the exterior and Douglas fir for the interior of the lobby. In a misplaced tribute to the native Blackfeet, the developers also erected a few totem poles. (The totem poles are very nice art, but have nothing to do with the indigenous Blackfeet of this area.)
The lodge is only a stone’s throw from the railway station, but they offer a free shuttle between the two, an old style red checker limo (replacing the horse and buggy transport of a hundred years ago.)
Though the lodge looks much the same as it did in 1913, much has changed in visiting it. Train travel now offers far more comforts than the slow, chugging steam engines of the past. We stayed in a private roomette in the sleeper car for the twenty hour trip, with excursions on board to the observation car and the diner, where we enjoyed three meals a day.
Top left: Steam Engine in Havre, MT. Next 3: views of Amtrak today
Instead of traveling into the park by horseback, we took a shuttle bus to enjoy a cruise on Two Medicine Lake
Hiking Toward Aster FallsA view from Two Medicine Lake
The next day, a bus tour of part of Going to the Sun Road. (We couldn’t traverse the entire 50 miles, because Logan Pass, the highest point in the park and on the road, was not yet open in early July.) This road is the only one that crosses the entire park. Opening in 1933, the road has been registered as a National Historic Place, a National Historic Landmark, and a Historic Engineering Landmark.
Many have called the Going to the Sun Road an engineering marvel, designed to preserve the natural habitat. But others have seen it as a scar upon the sacred land that is the backbone of the world. In other words, this road is a poignant reminder that there are at least two sides to every story. On the one hand, the establishment of the railroads and various national parks have preserved and protected for the whole nation this beautiful and remote wilderness. The land provides needed habitat for many species of plants and animals, and tourism provides jobs for area residents, notably members of the Blackfeet tribe, whose reservation abuts the entire eastern side of Glacier National Park.
Native Sculpture marking one entrance to Blackfeet Reservation
On the other hand, many of the Blackfeet people believe the park land was taken from them illegally. Historically, the whole area was the homeland of all three bands of Blackfeet. In 1895, the tribe faced starvation, caused by many factors including the demise of the buffalo. In desperation, some of the leaders sold the land that would become the park for 1.5 million dollars, but in the agreement, they retained the right to hunt, fish, log, and forage on the land. When the ceded land became a park in 1910, the United States government reneged on the agreement, claiming the area as federal property, no longer belonging to the Blackfeet in any way.
Aster Falls
This is a sad and disturbing story, though unfortunately it is not an unusual or surprising one, because it has happened so many times in what is now the United States. But the story serves as a stark reminder of the debt we owe to the indigenous people of this land, and the responsibility we all have to provide good stewardship for this very special place. Like the tenacious bear grass that blooms once in seven years, let the land and the people endure.
In past posts, I wrote of train wrecks and disasters, but in most cases, I really do find train travel relaxing. Lest anyone think badly of Scottish trains after my New Year’s day experience years ago, I can share a much better train ride. A few years ago, I returned to Scotland and rode the Jacobite steam train from Glenfinnan to Mallaig. Although Harry Potter and his friends faced the dementors on this train, I had no problems with the ride.
The Jacobite runs 41 miles from Fort William to Mallaig on the West Highland Railway line, using a steam locomotive. Originally known as the Mallaig Extension, the service began in 1901 to transport fish, especially herring, from the Mallaig seaport. Steam service on the line ended in 1967, with the British Modernization Plan, replacing steam engines with diesel.
Then, in 1984 British rail lines returned steam power to the line, with the goal of improving tourism in the area. The train is called the Jacobite in reference to the last Scottish uprising (in the Eighteenth Century) when the Highland clans, tried (and failed) to restore the Stuart family to the Scottish throne (specifically, Bonnie Prince Charlie). Nowadays, the train is so popular with tourists, it’s best to book in advance as it usually sells out.
To fully experience this train, we wanted to see it cross the iconic Glenfinnan Viaduct, as seen in the Harry Potter movies, as well as ride the train. So the day before our booking, after a lovely hike in the rain through the Glenfinnan valley to a bothy, we stopped at the Glenfinnan Station, where we had tea. Above the station, there is a marvelous view of the famous viaduct.
We were running a bit late, and expected the train to come into view at any moment. After hurrying along the steep, rocky path, with a raw wind in my face and rain spattering the ground, we arrived at the peak just as the train came into view, barreling along at a great rate and spewing huge clouds of steam in its wake. Like a dragon roaring through the valley, it filled the air, and then was gone. Breathtaking!
The Glenfinnan Viaduct was completed in 1898, and the rail line opened in 1901. The viaduct is fifty feet long with 21 soaring arches. Built of mass concrete, it is the longest concrete viaduct in Scotland. The viaduct is about 18 feet wide, single track, and crosses the valley 100 feet above the River Finnan. One legend says a horse fell into one of the piers and perished during construction. However, later investigations have failed to find any evidence of such an accident.
The next day we boarded the train in the morning and took our first class seats in the ‘Harry Potter’ car. The west coast of Scotland is still cold, even in June, but the train was a real delight. Stepping onto the Jacobite steam train is not only a step back into history, but immersion into fantasy world of Harry Potter. A narrow aisle runs along one side of the car, with compartments seating six each along the other side. Each compartment has a sliding door made of rich wood, polished to a brilliant shine. Tea was laid out for us in the compartment before we arrived, including a pot of tea and biscuits. We settled in and soon the train lurched forward, the wheels clacking on the rails. The engine chugged along, belching steam that rolled past the windows as the train rounded a bend or the wind shifted.
Rain splattered the windows most of the trip, obscuring the views at times, but adding to the total sensation of being in another time and place. We passed through a landscape of munros and burns, lochs and forests, and caught brief glimpses of the Caledonian canal and Neptune’s Staircase (a series of locs). At times the train roared through a dark tunnel, then burst out into the cloudy gloom of the soft Scottish day.
After a bit, a trolly made its way down the aisle, and stopping at each compartment to offer sweets or souvenirs. Near Glenfinnan, there’s a lovely view of Loch Shiel, one of three lakes used for filming Hogwarts Lake. I almost expected to see the great castle of Hogwarts at the end of the line, instead of the thoroughly mundane fishing village of Mallaig.
Though quite part of the ordinary world, Mallaig offers a couple of choices for a simple, delicious lunch. We popped into Jaffy’s for Fish and Chips, then wandered about town to view the harbor. Since it was raining and cold (45 degrees) we spent more time in the shops than outside.
The train ride back was equally lovely, and I was sorry to disembark when we finally returned to Glenfinnan at the end of the day. Whether you are a history fan or a Harry Potter fan, the Jacobite steam train is an experience you won’t want to miss.
Remember Pollyanna? The girl who saw the good in every bad situation? I have been accused of being too much like her. I see adventure even in adverse situations more than I see the trouble. Take for instance, my luck with train travel. I’ve had three journeys that while memorable, were not ones I would ever want to repeat.
My first bad experience with a train was in Scotland. My at-that -time fiance and I were stranded in Loch Ness on New Year’s Day, 1976. (Why we were stranded is a story for another day). The train station was closed most of the day, and we had no place to stay except the sitting room of a B & B where we had spent part of the night. (We had to check out by 10 am and there were no other rooms available.) When the train station finally opened in the late afternoon, we took the first train to Edinburgh. The train was not crowded and the compartments would have been comfortable, except there was no heat on the train. January in Scotland is cold. Very cold. Ice on the inside of the windows cold. Luckily, we traveled with a sleeping bag, under which we shivered all the way to Edinburgh.
Worse than a frigid ride are the wrecks. I’ve been in two, whIch I think far more than my lifetime allotment. (If bad things come in threes, than I’m safe, right?)
The most recent took place in 2014 in Tiffany Bottoms Wildlife Area, along the Chippewa River near Durand. This stretch of track was built in 1882 to haul lumber to the Mississippi River. For 14 miles, the rails run through a lush green corridor of marsh, wetlands, meadow, and bottomland forest. A winter derailment in 1977 caused the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul and Pacific Railroad to abandoned the line. In June of 1979, NSP (now X-cel Energy) bought the track for possible future use, but didn’t actually use it. The tracks fell into disrepair, and some bridge sections collapsed. In 1995, a local group of rail enthusiasts founded the Chippewa Valley Motor Car Association to maintain and use the tracks for private interests. In an ingenuous use of resources, cars that had been used by maintenance workers were put to work hauling tourists, bird-watchers and nature lovers on 20 mile (out and back) trip through the Tiffany Bottoms, which is part of the Chippewa River Delta, the largest river delta in the Midwest.
The day Mike and I took the trip was a crisp, fall day with the sumac turning. Puffy clouds drifted across a deep blue sky. The train itself had a little gas-powered engine at each end, and open cars with back to back benches in between. We chugged along slowly on the way out, stopping frequently to take pictures and listen to the naturalist explain the history of the area. The excitement came on our return when the train hit a tree that had fallen on the tracks after our passing. Seated near the front of the second car, I saw the tree about the same time the engineer did. I also saw that we weren’t going to stop. Hand brakes, metal wheels on metal tracks, and stopping distance all combined to mean the crash was inevitable. At first I thought the train would break the fallen tree. Instead, when the engine hit, the tree bent. In a flash, I knew it would snap back with tremendous force. Instinctively I ducked. Half a second later a four inch log hit my head, skittered across Mike’s back and slammed into the people in the next car. At least two people tumbled off the train into the brush. Amid the screams of the passengers, the train screeched to a halt. Shaking, we disembarked to help the injured and assess the damage.
The conclusion? It could have been far, far worse. No one was seriously injured, though one man probably needed a few stitches in his cut lip. I had a mild headache, but no concussion, just a new story to tell.
Far worse than this mild catastrophe, was the wreck of the California Zephyr in 1982. My family (husband, and two toddlers) boarded the train in Iowa, heading toward California for my brother’s wedding. We had a sleeper berth on the upper floor and bedded down right after boarding with my husband and our 3 year old son on the top bunk, and me and our 1 year old daughter on the bottom.
Several hours later I was wakened by a tremendous crashing, a terrible lurching, and the thump of something hitting my back. As the train tilted over, I was desperately afraid I would crush my daughter. Fortunately for all of us, that didn’t happen.
We soon determined that our car was half submerged and all exits blocked, but everyone on the floor below was safely brought upstairs. For three hours we sat in semi-darkness, waiting for dawn and rescue, which eventually came in the form of a boat. We learned there had been a flash flood that washed out the bridge, causing the the derailment. As dawn broke, we saw the water swirling below our window on the tilting train car and a helicopter with a net hovering downstream, presumably to rescue anyone swept away in the flood.
So what’s good in all this? Well, I believe that any experience a writer survives is good in the long run because it provides new dimensions and new perspectives. I can write more realistically about a train crash in a flood because I’ve been in one. Less specifically, but just as important I can write about the confusion of waiting for rescue, the fear of not knowing what is going on, and the heart-warming gratitude toward strangers who remembered to bring diapers to the Red Cross shelter.
Pollyanna? Maybe, but I prefer to think of it as using the lemons to make lemonade.
One of my earliest memories is riding the upper deck of a passenger train from San Bruno, California to San Francisco. I must have been about 6 or 7. Mom put me on train in San Bruno and my Aunt Betty picked me up at the end of the line in San Francisco. I don’t remember for sure, but I think one or two of my little sisters came along. I mostly remember how grown up I felt sitting in the fancy seat, and watching the hills fly by.
I still like train travel. It’s more comfortable than flying, more elegant than a bus, and more relaxing than driving. Over the years since that first experience with trains I’ve had a many memorable train trips. I have taken the bullet train in Japan, and the Train de Gran Vitesse in France, a Jacobite steam train in Scotland, and Amtrak in the United States.
It’s a good thing I like trains, because the tracks in Winona run through my backyard. When my kids were little, we made a game of watching the trains (from a safe distance). To this day, freight trains clank and screech as they park just beyond bedroom window. They shake the house and rattle the windows as they rumble past.
Trains are a part of life in Winona, a town divided by train tracks. Getting from one place to another almost always involves crossing the tracks. That makes for a good excuse for being late, but a lot of people (myself included) get annoyed when they have to wait for a train.
The one train no one minds waiting for is the Canadian-Pacific Holiday Train. For the past nineteen years, this fabulous train has criss-crossed the US and Canada bringing holiday cheer as they raise support for local food banks. Over the years, they have raised C$13 million and four million pounds of food for food banks across North America. It’s a tradition in Winona I’ve grown to love.
This year, the train was due at 4:00 on December 8. Since the weather was so nice, I decided to walk to the station, only about a mile from my house. Families lined the tracks watching for the train. Children craned their necks and (mostly) minded their parents to stay off the tracks.
At last the train, ablaze with holiday lights, roared into the station, where hundreds of Winonans had gathered, munching cookies and sipping hot chocolate. The doors of the freight car rolled open and the band began to play. The audience clapped mittened hands and stomped boots on frozen ground as we sang along to Jingle Bells, Up on a House Top and other Christmas favorites. Fog rolled from the train car-turned stage and red and green laser lights flashed. Some years the fog comes from the singers’ breath and the musicians have had to play with frozen fingers, but this year we enjoyed a balmy 34 degrees. For 15 minutes we rocked-and-rolled Minnesota style. Then the band waved goodbye, the freight doors shut and the train chugged out of town.
Volunteers gathered up the food and money donations and cleared away the hot chocolate and cookies. Slowly the crowd dispersed, the streets emptied and the dark, quiet of a December night returned.
In past posts, I wrote of train wrecks and disasters, but in most cases, I really do find train travel relaxing. Lest anyone think badly of Scottish trains after my New Year’s day experience years ago, I can share a much better train ride. A few years ago, I returned to Scotland and rode the Jacobite steam train from Glenfinnan to Mallaig. Although Harry Potter and his friends faced the dementors on this train, I had no problems with the ride.
Part 2: Train wrecks
The Holiday Train
BRIC-A-BRAC 