Convergence in Santa Cruz

It goes without saying take we all unique personal journeys to become the photographers and railfans that we are today. For most of us, it’s the cumulation of seemingly random events and experiences that came together and define who we are. My path has definitely been circuitous, but with hindsight, I can now see how a few events converged to draw me into railroad photography. These memories were re-kindled when I went deep into my digital photo library and found my first railroad photography project folder. These images were made during a business trip to Santa Cruz in March of 2008. With a decade of perspective, I can now see how events leading up to this trip all coalesced and came together at the right time to ignite the passion I have for railroad photography.

The first event was the purchase of a new digital camera by my work office; a Canon Rebel SLR with zoom lens. I used this camera in my design profession for about 6 months and quickly came to appreciate the new digital workflow and creative opportunities it opened up to me. While I’ve had film cameras most of my adult life, I just never shot enough to be technically proficient and because of that, never achieved the creative potential that I knew the medium had. Reviewing my images right after taking them, allowed me to make immediate adjustments while still in the field and quickly become technically proficient. Without having to worry about getting a good exposure, I could concentrate on the creative aspects of photography. For me, that changed everything.

About this same time, I met Bryan Bechtold, who would not only become a great friend, but was also a great railroad photographer. Just two months prior to my San Francisco trip, he showed me some images that he had taken on Union Pacific’s Potash Branch and on Soldier Summit that Winter. Trains had fascinated me since I was a kid, but I had spent the past decades modeling them, not photographing them. My false assumption was that contemporary railroading was boring and monotonous and that there was nothing interesting trackside. Bryan’s images dispelled that assumption for me and I found his photography beautiful and evocative. He didn’t know it, but he planted a seed in my mind about railroads and photography that would linger.

The third element was serendipity.

After landing in San Francisco early in the day, I drove my rental car down to Santa Cruz, aiming for the Roaring Camp & Big Trees Narrow Gauge Railroad facility just out of town. I have a weakness for logging railroads and seeing the Shays at Roaring Camp had been on my bucket list for years. The railroad wouldn’t be running, as it was the off-season, but I hoped that there would be a way of getting into the shop and seeing the Shays. When I arrived, the engine house doors were wide open and there was a lone employee performing some maintenance work on one of the shays. I introduced myself and he extended an invitation for me to come inside and look around. The narrow-gauge Shays the railroad rostered were well kept and infused with logging history. I took a few photos, but mostly absorbed the scene and walked around observing each of their idiosyncrasies. After about an hour, I saw what I needed and didn’t want to overstay my welcome. I said thank you and decided to head into downtown Santa Cruz.

 

With Shay #1 watching on, Shay #7 gets some off-season maintenance. Shay 7’s served on the storied West Side Lumber Company.

Tracks run through the center of Santa Cruz and street running has always been a source of fascination for me. It was something I wanted to emulate on my model railroad and wanted to see if I could glean some interesting details there. Trains and cars share the main road through the center of Santa Cruz and to my delight, this narrow corridor also separates the beach from the businesses on the inland side of the street. I parked my car next to the beach, went for a walk down the street and found a nice beachside bench to sit on. Soaking up the sun, I recalled that the Southern Pacific Railroad used to run their Suntan Specials from San Francisco to here. With the tracks about 30 feet from the sand, I surmised that the train must have stopped right here to unload.

Lost in thoughts of the past, my pondering came to an end when a sound cut through the racket and brought me back into the present…a train horn. I tuned out my surroundings to listen intently and after a five-minute period of attentiveness, again heard the distinctive sound of a train blowing for a grade crossing. The sound was low and north of me, but it was definitely a train. Not knowing the territory nor how the railroad operated through here, I decided to seek it out, instead of waiting here for a train that might not come my way.

The rail line was easy to follow, and it didn’t take long for the townscape to give way to country farmland. The highway and the railroad right of way paralleled each other as they skirted the coastline of the Pacific Ocean. The scenery was stunning and not something that I had expected to see. This was a grand place for a railroad line and after a few miles of following the tracks, railroad cars could be seen in the distance ahead of me. I quickly caught the short train and pulled even with the two locomotives. Both were former Rio Grande units that seemed so out of place. Locomotives from a railroad whose slogan is “Thru the Rockies – Not Around Them”, just didn’t seem to fit with the sea-level route that I was witnessing.

Mile High it Ain’t

After pacing the train, a bit, I wanted to capture the moment and get a photo with the ocean behind the train. As I drove on, every place looked good, yet nothing did. While the scenery was stunning, it was difficult to decide where to stop and I kept driving. The road went up and down on the rolling seaside hills and on one of the crests, I finally pulled over to get my first ‘chase’ photo. Even though I was a mile ahead of the train, it was on me within a few minutes – way before I had time to evaluate the scene and compose a good shot. In my excitement, I would make this mistake for most of the day. Not only did I not give myself enough time, but I didn’t know this terrain and where the shots might be. After stopping at a mediocre location, I would constantly see a better shot a short drive further, but see the train be too close in my rear-view mirror to attempt a stop. This was turning into my first chase and I was making a lot of mistakes, but the experience was exhilarating and unforgettable!

The train skirted the coast all the way up to Davenport, where a large cement plant was located. I immediately recognized this facility from images that are ingrained in my mind from one of my favorite books, Richard Steinheimer’s Backwoods Railroads of the West. The plant had its own electric narrow-gauge railroad that brought limestone from a quarry to the plant that Steinheimer has made some lasting images of. Other than the railroad siding that brought rail cars into the plant, public access seemed restricted. While it would have been nice to look around and see if this railroad still operated or if there were any remnants, this would have to await another day. The crew finished switching the plant and I followed the train back towards Santa Cruz. Retracing my route, I could now clearly see many locations that would have made a good photo as the train came north. I cursed myself that I missed them and hoped that I could return someday for another attempt. I took a few shots of the train along the coast and then recalled the street running section in Santa Cruz. That was my original draw into town and wanted to capture the train there.

Switching the CEMEX plant in Davenport

En route back to Santa Cruz

In Santa Cruz, another rookie mistake was made. Arriving ahead of the train, but unsure of how much time I had, pulled over at the beginning of the street running section to wait. Anxious that the train would appear at any moment, I stayed there and didn’t take the time to wander and look for a better shot. What I didn’t know was that the crew was on the outskirts of town adding a bunch of empty center-beam cars to the train. While waiting, I could have positioned myself on the other end of town to capture the train coming down the street, towards me. When the train finally showed up, I realized my error in judgement, but it was too late.

On the ‘wrong’ end of the street running, but maybe a more unique perspective on Santa Cruz

The train passed, and I decided to continue the chase even though I had no idea where it would lead and how long it would take. Having the entire day free was a gift, and for once time was on my side. The chase eventually led into Watsonville where I found a nice section of street running and was able to get the shot that I had envisioned in Santa Cruz. The train came down the street, immediately crossed a river and was in the yard. My first chase was over.

Crossing Soqueal Creek in Capitola

Watsonville

Back into the yard at Watsonville Junction

On the drive up to San Francisco that evening, I reflected back on the experience, both the joys and the mistakes. It was a personal awakening that I could again be excited by contemporary railroading. Having avoided the trackside scene since the mid ‘70s when I was a teenager, my false assumption was that nothing ‘good’ remained to be seen nor discovered. I had not come to Santa Crus with the expectation of chasing a train, but the combination of scenery, train, luck, new digital camera and available time drew me into a new experience. It was exhilarating to chase this train and I did get some shots that have survived the test of time. There were also plenty of photographs that I missed…I saw that during the chase and can see even more now, but that’s the benefit of training my vision for a decade.

Since then, I have chased too many trains to remember, but that trip to Santa Cruz will always be special to me as the time it all came together and started a passion for railroad photography.

I’m sure we all have similar stories…. what is yours?

 

Within a year of my March 2008 visit, the recession that started later that same year would bring about significant changes to the operation and ownership of the line. Union Pacific had inherited the line when it took over the Southern Pacific and operated the line as its Santa Cruz branch, a 32-mile line from Watsonville Junction to Davenport. Its largest customer was at the end of the line, the CEMEX plant, which warranted UP running a daily train to service it. The recession hit the plant hard and it temporarily closed during March of 2009. The UP immediately cut back its local to a once a week job and the next year CEMEX announced that the closing would be permanent.

With a significant reduction in car volume, the UP announced its desire to sell the branch. Santa Cruz County purchased the entire line in 2011 with the intent of keeping it open for rail served business as well as future recreational use. They awarded Iowa Pacific the operating agreement, which soon started up a new railroad; the Santa Cruz & Monterey Bay Railway. It continues to operate today with a few freight customers and a decent tourist train business.

The narrow-gauge electric railroad at CEMEX was long gone by time of my visit as it closed in 1970. In addition to Steinheimer’s photographs, Ted Benson covered the operation in a double-page spread in his book, One Track Mind.

Jack’s Mountain – The Rest of the Story

Inspired by what I had experienced and seen on Jack’s Mountain, I came home needing to put the pieces together.

From this vantage behind the engine house, one can see some of the railroad grades that were carved into Jacks’ Mountain to reach the ganister stone. Behind the ridge lies Mount Union on the valley floor. Photo from the Historic American Engineering Record, C. (1968) Harbison-Walker Refractories Company, Engine Repair House, 1968.

It starts with the quarry and what was extracted there….ganister. It is the prime ingredient for silica bricks that are used to build industrial furnaces. With the rapid expansion of the manufacturing economy from the late 1880’s onwards, these bricks were in high demand, especially by the iron and steel industries.

It starts with the quarry and what was extracted there….ganister. It is the prime ingredient for silica bricks that are used to build industrial furnaces. With the rapid expansion of the manufacturing economy from the late 1880’s onwards, these bricks were in high demand, especially by the iron and steel industries.

Long ago, the waters of the Juniata River cut right through Jack’s Mountain near present day Mount Union and exposed ganister deposits on both sides of the river. While there are plenty of other sources of ganister, none had the benefits of this location. The river, which exposed the ganister became an artery of commerce, first by barge and then as a natural water level course for the Pennsylvania Railroad. The railroad followed the river as it built a mainline across the state with the goal of linking Philadelphia to Pittsburgh…where the steel industry would become the biggest market for silica brick. In addition, the immediate region has abundant coal resources to power the ovens needed to bake the brick. This coal was already brought into Mount Union by the narrow-gauge East Broad Top railroad for interchange with the PRR.

With two railroads in Mount Union and a supply of ganister within close proximity, the W. H. Hawes Fire Brick Company built the first plant in here in 1899.  The plant was sold to the Harbison-Walker Refractories Company the following year and they opened a second plant in 1903. Combined, they created the largest refractory brick plant in the world.

The twin Harrison-Walker plants in the early 1950’s. In the lower left hand corner, one can see the dual-gauge rail spurs into the plant to bring in EBT coal and load standard gauge PRR boxcars. In the upper right, the industrial railroad heads towards the Juniata River and to Jack’s Mountain. Photo from the Bryan Donaldson collection

To reach the stone, Harbison-Walker built a 36” wide narrow-gauge railroad around 1912 that crossed the Juniata River on a long spindly bridge and climbed Jack’s Mountain. Small 0-4-0 dinkey steam locomotives went directly from the plant to the loading sites with 4-wheel wood and steel dump cars to be loaded by the quarry men. Each car could hold about three tones of stone, which was enough to make about 1000 bricks. With the two plants making approximately 300,000 bricks a day, the railroad must have been a very busy operation. The quarrymen initially rode the dump-cars to and from their jobs sites each day, where they would be responsible for filling their cars and when it was full, would place an individualized marker on it. This marker was removed at the unloader and the load would be credited to the worker…. piece work, that couldn’t be tougher.

This photo shows the Harrison-Walker engine house and two trains. On the hill is an inbound loaded train with at least ten 4-wheel dump cars in tow. Near the engine house, a train of empties waits to leave for the quarry. Photo from the Mount Union Historical Society collection

As the deposits near the river were played out, the railroad reached higher and soon needed to build an incline to climb the steep sides of Jack’s Mountain. The railroad delivered the cars to the base of the Big Incline, which moved empties up as loads came down. Within a few years, the Small Incline was built, located off the top of the first with a short landing between them. The Small Incline reached the mountain top and allowed relatively flat grades for new railroad construction and the use of adhesion locomotive power. While steam was used, internal combustion came relatively early to the railroad with the purchase of Brookville gas locomotives. These were the mainstay on the top while steam was used in the valley. The Brookville locomotives would have needed less servicing than steam and their lower weight would have eased getting them up the inclines.

A Brookville locomotive preparing to leave the quarry with about 12 loaded cars. Photo from the Rich Wickette collection

While the dump cars moved on the inclines, the quarrymen had to walk due to safety concerns. The walk up and down the 800-foot change in elevation in all weather conditions must have been tiresome and treacherous. Around 1937, the quarrymen decided to change their pedestrian commute and used their skills to cut and lay a stone path on the mountain. This stone path, now referred to as the 1000 Steps, continued in use until the late 1950’s when the quarry was moved, making it un-necessary.

Two competitors of Harbison-Walker built plants in Mount Union within the following decade and together they produced a half a million bricks a day, allowed the town to tout itself as the “Largest Manufacturer of Silica Brick in the World”. All three of the plants required a great deal of fuel to keep their power plants and ovens hot. This fuel, coal, was conveniently brought in directly from the mines by the East Broad Top, which extended its rails to serve each company. Most extensions into the plants were 3-rail, for while the EBT brought in coal, the finished bricks were transported to market by the Pennsylvania Railroad in boxcars.

Suppling the brick works with coal was a steady and reliable source of revenue for the EBT for years, but in the early 1950’s each plant eventually converted to natural gas as it became a cheaper fuel source.  With the final conversion of the North American Refractories Company (NARCO) plant in 1954 to natural gas, the last nail in the coffin for EBT revenue was in place. Not able to find another steady buyer of its coal, the EBT was forced to abandon its operations within 2 years.

The Harbison-Walker railroad labored on until the mid-1950’s, but was shut down for a different reason. With the quarry on Jack’s Mountain becoming less profitable, the company opened up a new quarry on the south side of the Juniata River and used trucks to bring in the stone. This operation and the plant did not change significantly for the next several decades. However, In the 1970’s new methods of producing refractory bricks became available and the industry gradually changed. Harbison-Walker held on into the late 1980’s, but it’s competitor NARCO, produced bricks until 1990. The shuttered plants were not immediately torn down, but over time, any trace of all three companies have been obviated.

It’s ironic that the EBT was an early casualty of the changing silica brick based economy in Mount Union, but is the only related business to leave evidence of its existence. While I’ve been an admirer of the EBT for decades, I never fully grasped the role it played in the economy until I understood the silica brick industry.

It’s funny to think that the steps built by the ganister quarrymen led me to discover and complete this knowledge journey.

Map by Stephen Titchenel prepared for Tracks Around Mount Union by Frank Kyper

While I did find multiple historical sources on the web, the best source of information is a new book by Frank Kyper entitled Tracks Around Mount Union. He makes a compelling case that Mount Union is an under-recognized railroad town that hosted not only the PRR and EBT, but the Harbison-Walker industrial railroad as well as a 2-foot railroad that ran within the PRR’s main tie treatment plant. Not only does it cover the “narrow gauge capital of the east”, but by extension, the silica brick industry that was so important to Mount Union’s economy.

The Harbison-Walker Engine House on Jack’s Mountain that ignited my quest can be found here.

Jack’s Mountain – Up the 1000 Steps

I love the aha moment…. that spark in your brain that ignites when you make a connection between what seemed to be unrelated bits of information. They’re impossible to foresee and you never know when serendipity will pull them all together. What started as a hike to check out a view, ultimately led me to deeper understanding of the East Broad Top Railroad.

After visiting the East Broad Top Railroad in Orbisonia, I usually also spend some time in Altoona, about an hour away. My travel route normally takes me north out of Orbisonia to Mount Union and then west from there. On each drive, I’ve noted a parking lot full of hikers directly west of Mount Union and after the third time, decided to look into what was going on there. A quick web search determined that the hike is called 1000 Steps and climbs to the top of Jack’s Mountain. Always on the lookout for a beautiful view, there seemed to be a few scenic vantages that offered possibilities and to my surprise, there had been a narrow-gauge railroad that worked a quarry on top. My initial and brief web search didn’t turn up much information about the railroad, but I did learn that the quarry’s workers had built the original steps as a way to get from the valley to their worksite.

Six months went by before I could make the hike and it came on the heels of a visit to the East Broad Top. Having spent a good part of the day in Orbisonia, I didn’t arrive at the 1000 Steps parking lot until 4:30 that afternoon. A quick check on my sun calculator showed that sunset would be soon…in less than 2 hours. Normally, I would hesitate to go somewhere new with so little light remaining, but I was feeling adventurous and thought I would play my luck. I packed some snacks, two flashlights, my camera gear and started up.

The dirt path out of the parking lot quickly brought me to the first stone step. Stopping to survey the hike ahead, a long path of stone steps leads the eye up the mountain. The steps are quite uniform, both in height and depth and solidly placed into the mountain side…. obviously done with considerable skill. Into the hike at about the 100th step, it struck me that this hiking trail is quite unlike any that I had experienced before. With each step, it enters my conscious that these stones have felt the presence of the quarrymen that walked up and down these steps on a daily basis. The steps came alive as I was walking back in history, to the 1950’s and beyond. Climbing higher, I came across a side trail that was cut into the mountain and filled a few small gullies. This was obviously a former railroad grade, the first of many more that can be seen. The mountainside is quite steep and it intrigued me that a railroad had crisscrossed it in so many places to reach stone that was obviously of value. There is plenty of stone visible on the surface with exposed gashes everywhere, but I had no idea of what I was looking at and what it all meant.

Someone had marked each 100th step with a permanent marker or paint. Not sure if this was meant to spur one on or be a cruel reminder on how many steps remained to be climbed, but by the time I reached step 600, my legs and cardio were really feeling the strain. To think that the quarrymen did this day-in and day-out before they even started their long and back-breaking work day was an eye-opener. Finally reached the last stone step, I looked down and it was marked 1037.

An earthen path, which was obviously another railroad grade went perpendicular to the steps. To the left, it extended slightly uphill and choose that direction as I was going to the top. A short walk on the grade led to a beautiful cut-stone building that is in remarkable shape. With a pit on the inside and cuts into the stone entrance measuring three feet apart, this had to be an engine house for the quarry railroad. I would have liked to study thus building better, but the sun was going down and wanted to be on the top for sunset, so moved on.

This former engine house is located about 700 feet up from the valley floor.

Inside the engine house built for narrow gauge locomotives.

The path hugged the hillside and offered several clear views into the valley below…one allowed me to watch a Norfolk Southern intermodal train pass through. A bit further on the trail stood a sign proclaiming “Mountaintop Quarry”. Seemingly at the top, based upon the great vantage, but later research would reveal that another quarry was a few more miles up the trail on the former roadbed. Nearby, was a piece of rail. It was light by railroad standards, maybe 40 lbs. per yard, presumably missed by the scrappers, but another piece of the puzzle.

While intrigued by what I had seen so far, I came to shoot the view and it was spectacular. Looking down at the Juniata River and Mapleton 800 feet below, the right of way of the former Pennsylvania Railroad mainline, now owned by the Norfolk Southern was the subject of my composition. The light was great and I just needed a train within the next 20 minutes or so before the light would give way to darkness. Luck was with me that day, as I didn’t have to wait more than five minutes before the sounds of a train working its way through the valley could be heard. The hills play tricks with one’s ears and I anxiously waited 7 to 8 minutes before the train appeared and entered Mapleton below.

A Norfolk Southern intermodal train passes eastbound through Mapleton, PA.

 

Several more trains came through after I shot the lead image.

I got my shot, but the view and light were so inspired that I stuck around to watch the last light leave the day. After photographing two more westbound trains, I packed up, took out my flashlight and retraced my steps back down. On the way, the stone engine house beckoned me to look around a bit more. Even in total darkness, this structure felt comforting and has the makings of a good place to spend an overnight on a winter hike. Making my way down the steps, several trains came through the valley and each one caused me to stop, turn off my flashlight, and absorb the familiar and comforting sounds before I continued.

The top step by flashlight.

With the historic former Pennsylvania Railroad mainline in the valley and an industrial narrow-gauge railroad on Jack’s Mountain, I got into my car determined to find out more about what was seen here.

To be continued…

Return To The East Broad Top

They say you can’t go back. But, who ever said that wasn’t thinking as a photographer.

Going back to a place or subject that you have previously visited is the best way to look differently and add depth to your project.

In the initial visit, you see and interpret your subject in broad strokes, to borrow a painting term. More often than we realize, what we see is based upon our preconceived notions of what we think is there. In our mind, we have already composed and taken these shots. These pre-conceived images can be thought of as the compulsories; the obvious ones. We all take them, and probably need to in order to get them out of our system. Once we get past these obvious ones, then we can really explore the subject deeper on our own terms.

So, when Matthew Malkiewicz asked me if I would be interested in going back to the East Broad Top shop complex as part of a small photo event he was organizing, I didn’t hesitate to say yes! While I’ve been there a handful of times within the past few years, each visit allows me to see something that I previously didn’t.

Keeping the Water On at Horseshoe Curve

Back in the days of steam power, hard working boilers needed a constant and ready supply of water. Water tanks were located along the right of way where the railroad determined they would be needed and convenient. One such water tank was actually located on Horseshoe Curve, adjacent to the long-gone Kittanning Point station on the east end of the curve. That tank is just one component of a large system that fed water to thirsty locomotives climbing the East Slope. However, the tank itself needed a steady supply of water and it was delivered from a holding reservoir that I recently visited.

Gravity is the most efficient way to move water and the Pennsylvania Railroad built a dam and reservoir system on the east slope of the Alleghany Ridge to supply tanks on that side of the mountain. A dam was constructed near the Portage Railroad Historical site which diverted water to a holding reservoir near where the present MG Tower stands, a distance of about 5 miles. This reservoir is located about 150 yards off the roadbed and was built around 1906. From it, water flowed down grade about 2 miles into the tank at Kittanning Point.

On the east end of Horseshoe Curve stood a coaling and water station for servicing locomotives heading both directions on the mountain. The water spouts split both sets of tracks and can be turned to serve either. The overhead structure with what appears to be water spouts are actually coal chutes. In the distance is the Kittanning Point Station built to allow tourists to visit Horseshoe Curve. Photo from the collection of William “Bill” E. Burket

PRR Kittanning Point Holding Reservoir Drawing (1906)

A Look Back at the Curve

Atop Kittanning Point, one can take in the beauty of the Alleghany Mountains and envision the physical challenges this land presented to early travel and commerce across Pennsylvania.

From my vantage, I can see Logan Valley in the distance, the last relatively flat geographical feature the Pennsylvania Railroad could follow on its journey west from Harrisburg. With the easy terrain behind, the railroad now faced the Alleghany Front, rising 1000 vertical feet above the valley. These steep mountains had been a barrier for centuries as there are no natural water gaps through them, forcing the Indians to find a path that climbed over the mountains. Before me, there is an opening into the Front with a gradual climb that the Indians had established as a trail, which started in the Logan valley and passed through here. The railroad surveyors liked it as well and decided that this is where the railroad would begin its ascent of the Alleghenies. Before starting on what would be the most difficult construction of the line, the railroad established a base of operations at the foot of the hill. That would be the company town of Altoona, which now fills a good part of the far valley before me.

A diesel exhaust plume rises over Wikes Curve, a tell-tale sign that a train is making the assault on ‘the mountain’, the name giving this division by the railroaders that operate it. The train is three miles away and the foliage is thick, but I can easily follow its journey up the valley as the white diesel smoke reaches way above the treetops. The train disappears for a few minutes behind a hill and then reappears at a Millers Curve, about a mile closer to me. Headlights are now clearly visible and the exhaust plume seems to rise even higher from the protesting locomotives. A long line of freight cars follows and a second set of blueish white plumes round the curve indicating that rear pushers are straining against the weight of the train. Hidden once again by foliage, the train is not seen, but the intensifying rumble tells me it’s position as it grinds uphill. One last major curve, Scotch Run, changes the train’s direction and it is now making a final run towards Kittanning Point. It will travel another mile and a half before it gets close enough for me to make out the locomotive and car features, and by that time will fill the valley with thunder.

A Timeless Passion

As I get older and grow wise to the world, the human side of railroading has become more evident and important to me. While at one time I solely focused on the equipment and infrastructure when I was trackside, I now try to include people in my photographs as much as I can.

In this day and age, it’s a real challenge, as much of railroading has been cut off from the public. This has been happening for quite a while now, with railroads downsizing their facilities and infrastructure, resulting in fewer places to encounter people on the railroad. The events of 9/11 have only accelerated the pace of restricting access, as well as altered corporate and governmental attitudes towards visitors with a camera. In fairness to the railroads, this is happening everywhere, driven by security and liability fears.

So, what is one to do? With access non-existent or restricted to the employees that run the railroads, how do we include people in our railroad photography? I have had to change my perspective and found several ways to do so. Tourist and museum railroads operate under the same rules and procedures as commercial railroads, but are deliberately much more accessible. Secondly, I have turned the camera around onto my own group; the train enthusiast.

A group of fans take in the sight, sounds and smell of a locomotive awaiting a spin on the turntable at Steamtown.

Crest of the Alleghenies

On leaving Altoona the traveler will observe, by the steady movement of the train, that it is feeling the power of the locomotive; and he need be scarcely be told that the strength of the iron-horse is drawing it up a grade of over ninety feet to the mile. The valley besides him appears to be sinking, and the prospective widens, while to the front new mountains spring, as if by magic, into view.

 

Kittanning Point is so named from the great Indian path or trail, between Kittanning and the valley of the Delaware, which crossed the mountain through this gorge.

The Lingering Image

I’ve learned over the years not to pass up a potential image. That ‘thing’ that caught your eye will reside in your imagination like an unsolved mystery for a long time. Your eye saw something and the mind needs to resolve any doubt about whether you missed a great image. More often than not, that seen image doesn’t pan out, but if you don’t go back, you won’t know. Going back in the moment is ideal, but sometimes it takes longer.

The lead image above lingered in my mind a long time after I ‘saw’ it.

This story starts in the exploration of the Coles Station Water Tank that I wrote about here. When I finished photographing the tank, I packed up and set off on my journey home. Cruising east on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, my mind wandered through the day’s exploration and photography. Then it hit me…that image that I saw, but didn’t make! It was getting dark, I was tired, and knew that going back was not going to work out that evening. But the image lingered and I vowed to return.

The Railroad and the Art of Place, David Kahler’s New Book

My initial exposure to David’s project, The Railroad and the Art of Place, was his presentation at the Center for Railroad Photography & Art (CRPA) conference in 2015. The ideas he presented took me a few months to absorb, but once I made a connection to them, was moved to write a post on my initial impressions. During David’s presentation, he showed about a dozen images and I was left wanting more, always a good sign that the work resonates with me. So when the center announced that they were publishing a book on this project, I knew that I had to get it.

As I usually do when I first receive a photo-book, I sat down with it and went through the pages one at a time to absorb the content of the material and also to appreciate the book as a physical object. I love books and always pay attention to how they are laid out, structured and printed. On my first pass, I usually don’t read any of the intros or essays and generally skip the captions as well, as my first impression is visual based.

For those not familiar with David’s project, he photographed the Norfolk Southern Pocahontas Division in West Virginia over a series of week long visits in the mid ‘90s. Instead of being trackside and capturing the railroad from the typical railfan point of view, he photographed the context of the railroad including the many little hamlets and valleys that the line traversed. His viewpoint was of the railroad being one aspect of the environment … not isolated from it. By doing so, he included much that most railfans would frame out, but more interestingly, he captured a sense of place.