The Overland Tales
Chapter 4: Rolling the Bones in the Rush Valley
The check-box version of yesterday sounds pretty sweet. After the Western Pacific chase, I wandered up the canyon of Spanish Fork along the former Denver & Rio Grande and then explored the old Los Angeles & Salt Lake mainline across the desert and through the hills on the twisting Sharp Subdivision. Saw trains on all of them. Got decent pictures. Had an animal style everything lunch at In-N-Out. A dream day in my book.
With 14 hours and 558 miles of train chasing behind me, I made it back to the Salt Lake City airport in time to pick up Mike and Jimmy, two of my oldest friends from back in New Jersey. Rested and refreshed the next morning, an afternoon in Ogden with the Big Boy awaits. But first, a little train chasing around Salt Lake City.
As is often the case, one good day of wandering just makes we want to roam more the next. I drive around the south shore of the lake to show Mike and Jimmy a few industrial sites I discovered yesterday morning, hoping that we would happen upon a train. Rolling down I-80 near Tooele, we spot the unmistakeable mass of a double-stack train headed west on the Los Angeles & Salt Lake route. The grade coming up from lake-level into the Tooele Valley is steep enough to slow the train to a walking pace. We have time to get ahead of it.
Pulling up to the tracks near a grain unloading facility, we see a dozen or so buffs are already set up: an odd site for a weekday morning, especially one where most of the railfan world is gathered on the other side of the lake to celebrate the driving of the Golden Spike. At first glance, it’s not a great spot for a picture but we don’t have much time to look for alternatives. The three of us spread out to pick different angles and lighting.
Almost all Union Pacific diesels are painted in DuPont 88-1743, a rich canary color the railroad calls Armour Yellow. As the train noses into the “s” curve ahead of us, the morning sun reflects off a much brighter of shade of yellow on the lead locomotive. And it seems to be surrounded by green. OMG. It’s a heritage unit. #1995 the Chicago & North Western heritage unit.
Depending upon how severe your case of “the trains” is, seeing a heritage unit is kinda neat or it’s a utog-inducing moment of a lifetime. As machinery goes, there’s nothing special about them; they are just run of the mill locomotives. The difference — the only difference — is that heritage units are painted in the colors of railroads that are long gone. Almost all the major US railroads have them wandering their systems in regular service. Websites, chat boards and social media accounts track their whereabouts. Railfans around North America call- out sick from work and flock along the right-of-way bent on capturing images worthy of instant social media sharing.
Seeing a heritage unit, even if it is trailing a 5 locomotive consist, is a win. One on the lead of the train? That’s a jackpot. One on the lead on a sunny day? Nirvana. One on the lead on a sunny day rolling down the rails once owned by the railroad it is painted for? A blessing from the choo-choo gods. Today, we have to settle for nirvana as we are a long way from Chicago & North Western territory.
As the train approaches, I click off a series of “OK” pictures and stand back to watch it pass. The time intervals between the banging of each truck on the grade crossing lengthen as the train slows. The grade through Tooele has brought the locomotives to their knees, traveling slightly slower than walking rate. I hope that it doesn’t stall, as my car and one of my friends are over on the other side of tracks. Just when I am sure a full stop is upon us, the last car creeps by. A going away shot? Sure.
Through the viewfinder, I see the last car trundling off into the mountains. Ahead, the tracks make a left hand turn and disappear. I am spell bound. But wait? Now there’s a train to the right as well? No, that’s not another train, it is the front of our train curving back around. Cool.
We now have a dilemma. Our goal is to be up north in Ogden this afternoon, but the heritage unit is leading its train south. What to do? There are many things that will prompt a man to change plans, or at least follow a flight of fancy. As a child, it may be the distraction of a butterfly in a field. Later in life, the slightest chance of sex. As a railfan? Heritage unit. Ogden can wait.
We are well ahead of the train by the time we enter the beautiful Rush Valley.
There are so many alluring spots, one could be forgiven for hop-scotching along, shooting the train at every opportunity under the cloud-free sky. But we all know that finding a unique location will be more satisfying than any series of roadside shoot and runs. Since there are other folks chasing, a key strategy is to go far enough off the beaten path that a hoard of chasers won’t show up 30 seconds before the train to park pick-up trucks, tripods and plumber-crack asses in our shot.
And that’s how we wind up along Dog Hollow Creek, down a few miles of dirt road past a bullet-riddled car at a place the railroad calls “Lofgreen.” Settled 130 years ago by a man named Löfgren, his Nordic surname lost an umlaut and gained an extra “e” when the Los Angeles & Salt Lake railroad appropriated it to describe this bit of God’s beauty 5700 feet above sea level. A park service fire road provides an easy path up a trackside hill revealing a perch overlooking the southern rim of Rush Valley. We pick our spots. Mine is already inhabited by hundreds of fire ants frantically running around doing fire ant things. They don’t seem interested in my boots. That’s a positive. Needless to say, I’ve chosen to stand as we wait.
Before us lays a 270 degree vista of snow-capped peaks and high desert hills. The tracks swing in from the left, straightening a bit down the grade through Lofgreen before settling into a lazy horseshoe and a series of shallow “s” curves dodging scrub-speckled foothills. The only thing that could spoil our view would be those latecomers pulling up next to the tracks in a veil of dust while we stand above with no recourse.
I share this nugget of anxiety with Mike and Jimmy, barely finishing the sentence as a puff of dirt rises in the distance down Lofgreen Lane. The cloud moves towards us. I imagine an SUV armada full of safety vest clad railfans hell bent on beating the train in pursuit of a perfectly-lit soulless 3/4 wedge shot taken mere inches from the rails. I’ve always been an oracle of awfulized thoughts. It’s what I do. As the dust cloud approaches. I have visions of every way my fellow hobbyists could disrupt the tranquil scene before me.
The source of the sandy veil appears as a pair of off-road buggies bounce into view. Whew! They zip by us, cross the tracks and continue up into the hills. Just as the dust settles, our train pops around the curve ahead, pixel after pixel record the scene and everyone gets exactly what they want.
The temptation to keep chasing tugs at us, but we need to get up to Ogden, a destination now 100 miles further away than when we started this morning. We take our time wandering back to the highway, stopping to take pictures of the archetypical western scenes of cattle guards and large caliber riddled metal.
Read the entire ebook version with many additional photographs
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