The chill of winter always brings a flurry of memories of days spent trackside back home in Maine, specifically along the Bangor & Aroostook. Serving the northern half of Maine, the B&A* operated through harsh country and the drama of man versus nature almost always revealed itself on an epic scale come winter. The most dramatic display of that battle came when the managers at Northern Maine Jct. called for a plow extra.
Even today, the phrase “B&A plow extra” brings a sense of excitement to me. As a kid, I remember sitting on the floor of my parent’s living room as my Dad and his friends looked at slides of past adventures to Madawaska, Millinocket and Oakfield in search of the plows. As the images of a red plow screaming across landscape were illuminated on the screen before me, I daydreamed of someday seeing that show for myself.
That chance finally came in 1998. My Dad had gotten word that the B&A had dispatched a plow extra to clear the main line south to Northern Maine Jct. With little time to spare, we loaded up the truck and headed north, hoping we’d make it to NMJ before the plow. An hour or so later, we were positioned along the tracks just north of the junction, confident that the plow hadn’t been through yet. After waiting for what seemed like forever, the cold winter afternoon was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a single-chime horn off a B&A plow. Moments later, two GP7s rounded the curve pushing an old Russell plow. Unfortunately, they weren’t pushing much snow. Apparently, the deep stuff that had necessitated the plow extra further north was nonexistent on the south end of the railroad. However, I had gotten a taste of the drama of a B&A plow extra and I wanted more.
Two years later, during the winter of 2000, I finally got a taste of that excitement. In fact, I got more than a taste. Word had spread among our circle of friends that the B&A would be running a plow extra on a Saturday morning out of Oakfield. By the time the crew arrived at the yard early that morning, the storm had been replaced by a clear blue sky. After hooking up the power, firing up the wood stove in the plow and fixing the headlight (remember, these plows weren’t used that often), the train headed south, busting every drift it found along the way. I was finally getting the chance to see a B&A plow extra in all its glory, throwing a wave of white stuff 40, 50 or 60 feet into the woods. It was exhilarating.
South of Millinocket, the snow from the previous day had been followed by freezing rain, creating a top layer of ice. As B&A X-52 South roared around the curve near South Twin Lake it was obvious that they were pushing more than snow – as evidenced by the loud scraping noise. I suddenly remembered a little piece of advice my Dad had given me earlier in the day: “Shoot, duck and run.” Dad always likened chasing a plow extra to a sport – almost like a railfan version of an obstacle course race where you have to run, duck and jump to get your shots. I was now about to experience that sport first hand.
After I grabbed my shot – a rare, well-composed image by 12-year-old Justin – I quickly turned around for the going-away shot. As I framed it up, a tsunami of snow and ice grew behind me. Before I knew it, I was knocked down into the snow bank and buried under a pile of snow. My Dad, who had heeded his own advice, picked me up and dusted me off. Seconds later we were back in the car and heading toward the next location.
A few weeks later, a yellow box of Kodachome slides had come back in the mail. Among the dozens of photos from that day was a tilted shot of trees and snow: apparently I had taken a photo at the exact moment I was pelted with snow. The train is of course nowhere to be seen, but I still keep the shot as a reminder of the excitement and insanity of chasing a B&A plow extra.
As I type this on a Thursday night next to the fire, one of the tabs open on my computer is the weather forecast for Saturday. We’re supposed to get dumped on here in Montana on Friday night and while the sane thing might be to stay inside, part of me wants to pack up the cameras and head trackside. In search of the same adventure and excitement I sought 16 years ago at South Twin Lake with my Dad.
*I realize the Bangor & Aroostook’s official AAR reporting marks are “BAR” and that “B&A” has long been associated with the Boston & Albany. However, to those of us who were born and raised in the Pine Tree State, the “B&A” will always stand for the Bangor & Aroostook.
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