Where were you the day Chernobyl blew 30 years ago? I'll tell you where I was

We all remember where we were on certain dates of great national and international tragedy. 9/11, space shuttle Columbia’s loss, President Kennedy’s assassination. Because of an excursion 30 years ago, I always remember the anniversary of the biggest environmental disaster of our lifetimes, the nuclear power plant explosion at Chernobyl.

 The date was April 26, 1986 — 30 years ago. A long-anticipated excursion on Seaboard System’s former Louisville & Nashville line from Etowah, Tenn., to Copper Hill, Tenn., was scheduled. The power was irresistible, former Clinchfield Railroad F-units, decked out in Seaboard System paint. In matching gray, it was an ABBA set that was simply gorgeous. The landmark on the trip was the Hiawassee Loop, a full loop – yes, over and under — near Farner, Tenn., in the middle of the woods and smack dab on the Tennessee/North Carolina border near Appalachian Dam. The problem was that it was a hike from the nearest road to the loop, and given the lack of traffic on the line, I’d not yet tried walking in before. If I were ever going to do this, here was the opportunity to do it and make it big.

 I was living in Eastern North Carolina, took a day off to drive to my parents’ home in Western North Carolina, spent the night with them, got up ultra-early the next morning and drove 2 hours to the last point where Appalachian Dam Road and the tracks were within sight of each other. I ditched my Pontiac on the side of the road, grabbed my cameras, and started hoofing it down the tracks. I wanted to give myself plenty of time to get to the spot and not be surprised. I noticed another vehicle at the same location, so I figured I would have company.

 I don’t really know how far it is to the loop, but I’m guessing a mile and a half or two miles. When I arrived, I was startled by what I found. An industrial pushcart with flanged wheels obviously set to standard gauge was lying in a drainage gully beside the tracks. At first I was afraid the cart by thrown off the tracks by collision with a train, but just as I was figuring it out, the owner greeted me. He was relaxed and sitting in a camp chair enjoying his breakfast. Camera gear and other amenities around him made for an almost living room like scene. He explained that he figured the train on the loop would be the ultimate and possibly only photo for the day, he wanted to make a morning out of it, and used the cart to wheel in everything he needed. I had two reactions, one that the guy was lucky he didn’t get arrested for trespassing or meet up with a hi-rail, and two, that he would probably get busted when the train went by.

 Having never been to the loop before, I figured I had better size up the shot and do a little hiking just in case I never got back here again. Before the loop, there had been switchbacks to get across this obstacle, and I searched for evidence of those. The loop itself was beautiful, and the train could be lit in any direction thanks to its 360-degree trip around the mountain. The one angle that would be bad was the one I wanted the most with the train coming at me under the wooden loop bridge. But that was the shot, so that’s what I set up for, and that image was published in the August 1986 issue of Trains.

But that’s not the end of the story.

 As the train went by, I walked back to the bridge, scrambled up the hill, and shot the train a second time — in good sunlight — crossing the upper level. I had no idea whether the train would arrive before I made it to the top of the hill or not, but with seconds to spare and little breath left in me, I made it and focused the camera on the scene. A few others had made the trek into the woods for this shot, but as far as I can recall, I was the only one to shoot from the lower level. As I began to hike out, the guy with the pushcart set the contraption back on the tracks and began to load up his gear. He’d apparently made it undetected, or maybe the railroaders on board were just feeling generous that day. Around the first curve, though, was Dante Stephenson’s private car, Survivor, on the back of the train, sitting still. Stuck brakes on at least one New Georgia Railroad coach in the train were causing problems. The train would have to limp at 10 mph the rest of the way to Copper Hill, a disaster for riders, but a bonanza for those of us following along to photograph.

As I reached the car, the train began to move again. I spent the day following the F-units with friends before driving back to my parents’ house. Two days later, Swedish monitoring stations noted huge increases in radiation, and soon Soviet officials admitted to the accident that took place the same day as a landmark excursion. Today, of course, you can ride the loop often on excursions operated by Tennessee Valley Railroad Museum. Details are here: http://www.tvrail.com/events-exhibits/rides/hiwassee-loop and here http://www.tvrail.com/events-exhibits/rides/copperhill-special