Richard Malo - The soot of Rome

Nero never fiddled here, but the sage and the aspen have known the soot of Rome burning for over 140 years, coal cinders blasting forth from short smokeboxes and diamond stacks, raining down upon chariots clad in Russian Iron and Lake Brown and polished brass---

Pistons churning---

Rods flailing---

Sanders on full---

Wheels set in tight against a narrow frame, digging into light iron at the hogger’s insistence, hand fast on the throttle as they rolled legions of tonnage across the great plateau and up the grade, the mechanical crusade against gravity becoming as valiant as any, and in the process testing the tensile strength of links and pins as the slack ran out of primitive draft gear.

There was something near heroic about railroading and railroaders, perhaps a twist of romanticism thrown in for good measure to make a tough and gritty profession seem less so, at least to the uninitiated.

But when one views the works of Fred Jukes, tiny Grant and Baldwin Consolidations double and triple-headed, smoking up out of Chama, firemen standing on a swaying deckplate and heaving coal into a hot boiler, whistle signals calling the shots as maximum tonnage is boosted up past Cresco and Coxo in an age innocent of man-made satellites and Samsung---

Heroic doesn’t seem so much of a stretch.

It is for us to seek out the last vestige, to stand as witness where countless others have stood, knee-deep in sage and rabbitbrush, the jet contrails that crisscross the Columbine sky perhaps punctuating the term ‘anachronism’ with their near-stratospheric regularity and soulless pressurized cabinetry. The miracle that miniature Baldwin Mikados still exist and still operate in an age heavy with Boeing products and Morton Thiokol boosters is not lost on us.

And the fact that people are still willing to come here and learn the old ways; to shovel coal and build steam and make sure that the crown sheet is sufficiently covered with water---

To trim classification lamps and polish bells and clean firebox grates and toilets after customers are less than sanitary---

Is not lost on us either.

Their dreams are the same as those who came here back in the still-wild West and spiked down 30-pound iron to hand hewn ties and forged a rail line through all the beautiful and harsh that Nature has to offer.

Their enthusiasm is palpable.

Their smile affable.

And their dedication unflappable.

From the time the first footfall crunches upon the cinders that cover the whole of Chama and Antonito and everything in the 64 miles between, it is expected to hear that monotone, chain-smoked voice of Rod Serling proclaim in monochrome tones that another dimension has been entered.

Because it has.

A time machine blinked through a wormhole and deposited us in Yesteryear.

All around, little vignettes unfold that belie the true date and time, and imagination makes it easy for one to step across the decades and find themselves steeped within the last great boom that the narrow gauge would see:

The air is crisp in Chama on a 1950-something fall afternoon and there’s plenty of sheep to bring down from the high country, and a long caboose and a string of slat-sided double-deck cars stand ready for the annual stock rush as K-36 489 rolls in from the west with pipe empties from Farmington late on a perfect New Mexico day.

It is three-rail switches at Antonito, and a morning Mudhen awaiting departure with the San Juan, tender flanks inscribed with Scenic Line herald and pre-Flying font, veteran engineer oiling around while the travelers mill about.

Here is a world where arch bars and truss rods can still be found underneath swaybacked wooden frames, and the paint on long reefers and 30’ boxcars looks glorious and nothing like the worn out Rio Grande of the 1960s.

When one climbs aboard, the door to a linear museum is opened and the realm of ‘today’ cedes to ‘yesterday’ as the cars creak and rock slowly past Miles-from-Denver posts and ancient telegraph poles still standing-to along rails that weave in and out of two states as if cotton on a lazy loom, each curve unveiling a grandeur that has little rival---

Anywhere.

We are here, some perhaps for the first time, to drink in all the black & white images from our youth: The Otto Perrys, the Bob Richardsons, the Dick Kindigs, and the William Henry Jacksons unfold before our very eyes in living color and with a splendor that intensifies with every click and clack of the jointed rail. We roll past all the storied names such as Lava and Big Horn and Sublette, and the hoodoos that still stand guard at Phantom Curve, the jolts and sways of the open gondola under our feet as cinders rain down from above provide a faint glimpse into life on the narrow gauge in its heyday when an entire region depended on its comings and goings.

In a world where nothing lasts forever, the fact that it lasted as a steam-powered common carrier as long as it did and survives today in truncated form may not quite reach the holy level of Guadalupe, but in a land of peoples immersed well within the mysteries of faith, there was, perhaps, an order of intervention.

Beliefs and old ways die hard.

Alas, long gone are the stock extras and the pipe trains with their idler flats and end-less high-side gons, and the strings of Gramps tank cars freighting out crude oil to Alamosa have joined the San Juan and the Colorado & New Mexico Express as just faint whispers in the willows down along the Chama River.

But cool mountain water still flows out of the standpipe atop Cumbres Pass and into the tender tanks of narrow gauge locomotives, engineer dutifully oiling around his charge while trainmen set the retainers for the 12 miles of 4% grade down to Chama, and the brake shoe smoke is as pungent as ever as the Tuscan Red Tourist Pullmans roll down over the great trestle at Lobato, hogger expertly working the train brake and holding gravity in check as they protect the most valuable lading of all---

People.

Trackside aspens that perhaps were mere saplings when the last revenue freight passed by and inked itself on the Rio Grande company ledger, now shade the right-of-way and quake as K-class Mikes thunder past on the run up to Mud Tunnel, the lonely moan of their steam whistle laying bare the soul of a railroad, a call to prayer for the faithful echoing through Toltec Gorge and up the Los Pinos valley, conjuring up the ghosts of all those who swung a spike maul for Weitbrec and McMurtrie and Palmer, and those that answered the Alamosa call boy just to rise from a warm bed and go fight snow drifts all the way up to Cumbres.

They left a legacy, big boots that others have slid their feet into and carried on with, and a pair of well-worn gloves that heft coal scoops and polish grab irons and throttles with their grasp.

Without them, there would be no place where one can mill around a cinder-covered rail yard and watch a double-headed steam train being assembled, and then go stand on a scenic overlook and awe as a brace of Baldwin’s Finest soot the New Mexican sky with coal smoke as they charge up the most storied 4% grade in American railroad history, counterbalances walking the walk and stacks talking the talk, still doing exactly what they were built for almost a hundred years ago.

There is simply nothing like it in the world.

Pity that Nero missed it.

K-36 No. 488 charges out of Antonito, Colorado on the morning of October 9th, 2022.

Jet Age Hogger.

As two commercial airliners streak high across the skies above New Mexico, engineer Harry Haas sits at the controls of No. 488 in Chama.

484 and 488 charge up Cumbres Pass near Coxo in October 2022.

In the Jet Age.

K-27 No. 463 heads back to Antonito late on the afternoon of October 7th, 2022.

Fireman Dylan Hutson tends to the old kerosene classification lamps on No. 488. October 6th, 2022. Chama, NM.

Conductor James Garcia enjoys the view from the open gondola as the train heads out onto the San Luis Valley late on the afternoon of October 7th, 2022.

Fireman Dylan Hutson oils the bell on No. 488.

Engineer Harry Haas with his oil cans and No. 488.

Engineers Jeff Stebbins and Carlos Llamas at Osier, Colorado. August 2022.

Engineer Jeremy Garcia strikes the classic pose in the gangway of No. 488 in Chama, NM.

Lady Brakeman Laney Zook.

Engineer Max Casias cleans the ashpan.

Dylan Hutson tops off the sand dome on No. 489 on the evening of October 5th, 2022.

The Last Boom.

A Mudhen with the San Juan at Antonito, Colorado.

Stepping across the decades at Chama.

With Mount San Antonio in the background, K-27 No. 463 rolls the morning train west into New Mexico.

A mix of eras rest at Antonito, Colorado.

Ten-Wheeler T-12 No. 168, built by Baldwin in 1883 as Denver & Rio Grande Class 47.

Mikado No. 484 built by Baldwin in 1925 as Denver & Rio Grande Western class K-36.

K-27 No. 463, built by Baldwin in 1903 as D&RG Class 125, rolls across the San Luis Valley on a cloudy August 2022 afternoon.

A young railfan watches as Carlos Llamas fills the tender tank of No. 463 at Sublette, Colorado. August 2022.

Saturday, October 8th, 2022 is double-header day, and railfans gather in the yard at Chama, New Mexico to watch the action.

With the aspen in full color on a gorgeous High Country Saturday morning, the double-header charges up the grade towards Cumbres Pass.

Fireman Dylan Hutson

Conductor James Garcia

Fireman Dylan Hutson

Engineer Harry Haas

Engineer Jeff Stebbins & Engineer/fireman Carlos Llamas

Engineer Jeremy Garcia

Lady brakeman Laney Zook

Engineer Max Casias

Fireman Dylan Hutson

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