New Year’s eve on the rails 2015

The headlight swings around the curve and catches the distant shape of the yard limit sign in the darkness. Snow swirls around us, and I glance across the cab at my fireman, who is looking ahead and being “ever vigilant” as he is supposed to be. Soot stains his overalls and face, and grease has found its way onto his long-cuff White Mule gloves. Steam pressure is still near the peg and that the water glass is half full. Behind us our train snakes through the darkness, the lights from the coaches illuminating the woods. I stick my head out the window into the cold: Not much further to go.

Soon, we arrive at the station, and our passengers disembark. They are blurry outlines in the darkness, the platform lights notwithstanding. We see a few embraces, and a few folks struggling with heavy luggage, but quickly enough the scene is empty, devoid of humans except for the crew and the stationmaster, who bids us a good night.

We yard the consist, tie down the hand brakes on the coaches, and cut away, the sudden burst of air from the separating trainline putting an exclamation point on the end of our long journey. The brakeman lines the switches and waves a go ahead with his lantern.

The fireman is more relaxed now. His poise is now of that of a man who has performed a great task, and is in need of a rest. I can sense his exhaustion, and I make sure that our charge moves carefully but expeditiously across the yard and into the servicing area.

We roll to a stop, dump the ashes, and toss the chain around the main driver. I offer to put a bank in, and my weary fireman readily accepts. My shoulders carry the bulk of my tension, and a little shoveling won’t hurt at all to loosen them up. At least I will get more exercise than when I am on the right hand seatbox, pulling a throttle, tugging the whistle cord, and swiveling the brake valve.

With the clinking sound of black diamonds rubbing against each other, I shove the coal scoop deep into the pile spilling from the tender. A few errant pieces fall as I hit the foot pedal that opens the firedoors. The scent of coal dust fills the air. Again and again, I reach for coal, pivot, and dump another scoop to the abyss. My body is into the work, but my mind wanders.

We’ve come many miles, and our crew has done a magnificent job of keeping up the fine tradition our line has set over the years. They’re among the best railroaders, and I cannot help but feel a great sense of pride of teamwork and accomplishment. Along the way, we’ve delivered the goods that people need and the people who make life good when they’re around. We’ve met new friends along the way, and we’ve invited many of them to join us on our trips. Old friends have joined us, too. Some, sadly, have left us forever for the great roundhouse in the sky. Our locomotive, the fine product of another century, is still full of life, capable of many more miles. When she is in motion there’s a show with smoke flying, whistle blaring, bell ringing, and rods clanking, a rolling parade of machinery, the genius of man on display for all who stop and stare.

But tonight, as I hang up the scoop, turn off the injector, and carefully close the valve at the top of the turret, all is quiet. The dynamo whines to a stop. Silence. I toss my grip on the ground, and descend the ladder. I walk to the front of the locomotive and put the stack cap on, leaving a slight lip to allow the gasses to vent. I climb down, pickup my grip, and begin to walk away.

After a few paces, I stop, turn, and enjoy the scene of a locomotive bedded down for the night. A tiny wisp of smoke at the lip is all there is that says the engine is alive and at rest. Sleep well, old girl. Sleep well. Tomorrow, we’ll be back to do it all again. And with that notion tucked into my mind, I can go home.
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Today is the last day of 2015, and tomorrow begins a new year. On behalf of everyone at Trains, here is wishing you all a wonderful, exciting 2016! Let it be filled with health, happiness, and, of course, great railroading adventures.