The Five Remaining C&S locomotives

This post has been updated with more current information here.

And Then There Were Five:

 The Stories of the Remaining Five C&S Locomotives 

By Kurt Maechner  

          On a cold winter morning in 1975 C&S 71 was hauled up onto a flatbed truck in Central City. The destination was the newly reconstructed portion of the Georgetown Loop route. The engine got away, but much to their surprise, when they tried to move the tender, they were met by a string of Central City residents barring its passage out of town. They gathered in protest like Greenpeace stopping a whaling ship. What is it about these little engines that pulled people out of bed to protect it? Why do we still haggle on internet groups about the fates of these relics of a bygone railroad? Perhaps they each say something about life, even about us. Maybe we can even learn from their stories.
         Five engines remain of the C&S from its roster of 69. Each has an intriguing story of how it outwitted the grim scrapper. These are their stories…and a little about what each says about life.

The Other 64 

    A vast majority of the C&S engines met the scrapper one way or another. 35 of the 69 were scrapped by the C&S itself. 29, though eventually scrapped, were sold or traded to various companies and lumber railroads including Morse Brothers, Hallack & Howard Lumber Company, Manistee & Luther R.R., Clarkson Saw Mill Company, B.G. Peters Salt & Lumber Company, Oak Grove & Georgetown R.R. Co., J.J. White Company, Ed Hines Lumber Company, and the Montrose Lumber Company. A few notable exchanges include C&S 55 that was sold to the Milwaukee Road and operated on their Bellevue & Cascade narrow gauge line. Number 64 was moved to Mexico to run for the Sosa & Garcia Company. Two engines (no. 69 & 70) went to the White Pass & Yukon Route in Alaska. Finally, two of the C&S’ last and largest engines, no. 75 and 76 were eventually purchased by the Central Railway of Peru to be used for the Cerro de Pasco Copper Corp. There are several hearsay reports that one of the engines tumbled to the bottom of a canyon due to an unrecorded derailment. Other sources claim to have found a photo from the ‘60s of one of the battered remains in a long-forgotten scrapyard in Peru.
     And then there were five.

71: All Roads Lead to Home  

       Do all roads really lead to Rome? In real life, all roads lead to home. In all its small positive and negative nuances, our home affects us more than any other influence in life. Whether we love it or have run from it, it must be reckoned with. One C&S loco was adopted by a town, and despite unsuccessful efforts to remove it, and successful efforts to abuse it, it remains affectionately at its adopted home.
       When the railroad finally received permission to abandon the entire narrow gauge route through Clear Creek they made an offer to any town along its line: A free narrow gauge locomotive to stuff and mount. Despite the number of people who protested the abandonment of the line, not a single town along its remaining rails took them up on the offer. However, one town, Central City, who had lost its railroad connection 10 years earlier, said yes. Engine 71, that had the unfortunate privilege of being used on many scrapping operations on the line, was chosen. Along with gondola 4319 and combination car 20, it was taken to the end of track at Black Hawk in April of 1941. It was then hauled by truck and found a home on exhibit near the site of the Central City depot.
     There it would remain for a little over 45 years.
       Puffs of steam would return to the air in Central City, however, in 1968 as the Colorado Central Narrow Gauge tourist railroad laid track to Packard Gulch. They ran trains with two Central American locomotives. This group, along with the locos and rolling stock, eventually moved to take over operation of trains on the Georgetown Loop project in 1973. The Colorado Historical Society (CHS), who owned the track, had the idea of also taking 71 to Silver Plume to restore it and run it on the Loop. The engine was indeed taken to Silver Plume which lead to much consternation in Central City. A town newspaper referred to the situation as the “Great Train Robbery.” When the CHS then tried to move the tender, this is when some city residents came out to stop it. Their town had requested the locomotive and they wanted to keep it. Following this incident, the engine was promptly returned home.
     Steam rose again from the bear trap stack of 71 from 1987 to 1990. Another organization stepped in to run the Central City line, this time named The Blackhawk and Central City Narrow Gauge Railroad. They had their eye on 71. There is a lot of discussion on the efficacy of the running of the locomotive in these years. That being said, she did live again, if even for a brief moment of relived
history. The group certainly had big goals. A tourist guide from 1988 states the railroad as planning “to reach Blackhawk in the next five years.” This, unfortunately, was not to happen. The railroad folded and 71 sat again, still, with her gondola and combine until she was moved once again. Casinos came to the City of Central in 1991 and she was eventually placed high up with the combine on a display track by Harvey’s Wagon Wheel Casino. The gondola sits in a park near Eureka Street. There’s much consternation over her most recent appointment, but, let’s face it, she’s at least at home.

74: Being left behind may be a part of the plan 

     We are all prone to asking, “What might have happened if…” Regret and longing make us wonder if we had not been left behind by some person, job, or opportunity, would we have found what we really wanted? Then again, maybe being left behind was part of the plan, a far greater plan than our own. 74 may have wondered this as it sat lonely at Morse Bros. Machinery in 1948.
     World War II either saved or destroyed many an engine. Many of the unemployed locos were scrapped for the war effort. Others were used where needed. C&S 74 had the privilege of working with two sister engines on the last remaining narrow gauge portion of the railroad between Leadville and Climax. Molybdenum was a hot commodity in the war effort and Climax had a lot. So much, in fact, that they needed to standard gauge the line, which they did in 1943. Numbers 74, 75, and 76 were then placed on flatcars and shipped to Denver. They were sold to Morse Bros. Machinery and sat on their property for three years. That’s when a Peruvian railroad came looking for some narrow gauge motive power. They took 75 and 76. 74 was left behind to wallow away alone. Left behind.
     Two years later, though, another life awaited 74. In 1948, the Rio Grande Southern was wheezing out its last breaths. The Galloping Geese had bought it a few more years, but the light was fading. The Rocky Mountain Railroad Club knew their chance to see and ride the line was dwindling. They wanted to plan as many excursions as possible. When the club approached the RGS receiver about this, he remarked that it was too costly to lease a D&RGW engine to haul their trains. The Club countered by suggesting that they buy a locomotive. For whatever reason, they took the bait and purchased 74.
     One member of that railroad club was a man named Dr. John B. Schoolland. He was very interested in the Colorado & Northwestern Railroad which ran through his resident town of Boulder and discovered that 74 had started its career on that very railroad. Recognizing that the RGS was near its terminus, he set out to save the engine so it could be displayed in Boulder. The city’s community started various fundraisers that eventually ‘bought’ 74 and had her shipped via rail. 74 returned home in August of 1952 and was placed in Central Park along with a D&RGW coach and RGS caboose.

  The years were not kind as neglect and vandalism set in. Various community members and students worked to touch up the engine off and on. Unfortunately, the RGS caboose was destroyed via a student prank using dynamite and was replaced with a Rio Grande caboose. In 1979 the Boulder Model Railroad Club committed to taking care of the site. 74 and her train were eventually moved a bit to a new curved track and have been maintained beautifully since. It wears its original no. 30 from its C&NW days. The most recent chapter in this engine’s life is that the CHS shipped it to a company to see if it could be restored for use on the Georgetown Loop Railroad. This was decided against, but 74 was cosmetically restored and returned to Boulder. Who could have guessed that being left behind in 1948 would have saved her for our enjoyment today?

9: Sometimes reinventing yourself opens new doors.  

     Most of us like to stay on the rails marked out for us. With change comes friction and we like to avoid it at all costs. But complacency can also destroy us. Some of us learn that to find life anew we must reinvent ourselves in some way: physically, occupationally, or spiritually. Sometimes that reinvention comes whether we like it or not. This is the story of little number 9, a mogul that has lived more lives than any other C&S engine.
     If ever there was controversy surrounding a C&S locomotive, number 9 takes the cake. Built by Cooke in 1884, the loco started out on the South Park Line. She had the honor of pulling the last scheduled passenger train from Denver to Leadville in 1937. She spent two more years on the Clear Creek line and South Platte branch, but an opportunity in 1939 put the engine out of scrapper’s hand. From 1939 to 1940 New York hosted the World’s Fair. Many railroads sent representative trains. The Chicago, Burlington, & Quincy, which now owned the C&S, decided to send number 9 as a narrow gauge representative along with a C&S coach and RPO car. CB&Q then kept the little train in storage at their Aurora, Illinois shops until 1948 when Chicago held its railroad fair. The engine and her coaches were leased to the fair to be run as a quaint old time western train. Painted for the defunct Deadwood Central, labeled “Chief Crazy Horse”, and sporting a hack false balloon stack, the engine chugged around a small track pulling visitors.

     She was again stored until leased in 1957 by the tourist hauler Black Hills Central in South Dakota. The line simply put the engine on display. I have read in a few spots that some believe the engine was pulled

behind another engine and made to look operational by burning tires in the boiler.
     Twenty-four years later, in 1981, the Colorado & Southern was finally absorbed into the Burlington Northern and the controversy began. By 1986 BN and the Black Hills Central entered a legal fight over the ownership of the mogul. The end result was that BN decided to send it home by giving it to the Colorado Historical Society. They had it stored on Morningstar siding near Silver Plume on the Georgetown Loop RR. It was relettered on one side in alignment with C&S days, though it still retained a red cab for some time. Its greatest surprise was yet to come.
     When the CHS, who owned the GLRR trackage, and the folks who owned and operated the railroad

reached an impasse in negotiations, a major debacle resulted. The end result was that the operator took all of the rolling stock and locos off the property and moved or donated them elsewhere. Still wanting to operate the railroad, the CHS, hunted for a new operator. However, they had no locomotives…except number 9. Both 74 and 9 were shipped away to check the feasibility of restoring one of them to operation. It was determined that number 9, using 74’s tender would be the best bet. In 2006 Ulrich Locomotive Works completed work on number 9 and sent her back to the Loop. It was an exciting day, yet, retained a bitter end.
     There was already an uproar over the changing of GLRR operators, but the furor was somewhat tempered by the excitement of seeing a real C&S loco run again. When number 9 was pulled out of service due to mechanical problems before the end of the season in 2006, many people’s anger erupted. Regardless of opinions on all sides of the issue, number 9 was traded to the town of Breckenridge. They had an old Sundown and Southern locomotive at their Rotary Snowplow Park. This engine seems to have more promise to have the power to pull trains on the Loop and is being refurbished.

     The trade originally required that number 9 had to be operated. There were plans to build a short section of track in Breckenridge and run the loco off of compressed air. This has all changed and, after an impressive cosmetic makeover at Mammoth Locomotive Works, the engine was put on display in December 2010 between a rotary and a C&S boxcar at what is called Rotary Snowplow Park. Reinvented once again.

31: Age Matters 

     Popular culture (read: those trying to make money) bombard us with a belief that whatever is young and new is better. It wasn’t that long ago, however, when age was venerated, when being older made your opinion and insight valuable to others. Today, it seems, all it takes is being young, trendy, and having the ability make a hit song. C&S 31 comes from the former era and it holds a title: the oldest locomotive in Colorado; and that counts for something.
     While this consolidation doesn’t seem to have quite as storied of a process as the others, it bears learning

nonetheless. C&S 31, built in 1880, began its career as number 191 on the South Park Line. It later joined the Denver, Leadville, & Gunnison and finally the C&S as number 31. It served for 22 years on those lines until it was sold in April 1899, a year after the creation of the C&S, to the Edward Hines Lumber Company in Illinois and run as Washburn & Northwestern #7. In 1905 it was sold to the Thunder Lake Lumber Company in Wisconsin and run as Robbins Railroad #7. As a side note, one source said that the cautious owner of the line thought it was too heavy to be used unless the ground was frozen. In 1932 it was retired and placed on display at the Rhinelander Log Museum in Wisconsin. It remained there for a little over four decades.
     Finally, in 1973, through the efforts of the Colorado Railroad Museum, the engine was moved back
home. She was restored to her appearance as DL&G 191 and is believed to be the oldest surviving locomotive in the state at 130 years old. Within the past few years 191 received an entire cosmetic make-over and has been proudly displayed on numerous publicity materials related to the museum. For at least a few of us, yes, age matters.

 60: It’s better to die on the job. Please see this link for a correction on this story

     For those who relish the goal to eat, drink, and be merry, life’s twilight years hold little promise. But for those who believe their lives hold a greater purpose, one that outshines occupation, we want to, as the saying goes, “die on the job.” One of the five C&S survivors did just that.
     C&S 60 began her life on the Utah & Northern in 1886. She eventually joined the DL&G and ultimately the Colorado & Southern. The engine was being used to scrap the remainder of the Clear Creek line in 1941 when, well, she just broke down in the town of Idaho Springs. In classic gospel form, her death brought life. The loco was subsequently donated to the city for display. A C&S coach was also

given to the town to put with the engine. Early on it was painted with a red plow and bore the Burlington Route insignia on its tender. A gift shop was constructed next to the little train. The owner simulated steam by burning tires in the boiler to garner customers. Later she was repainted in the classic Colorado & Southern scheme. Number 60 and her coach now reside in Harold A. Anderson Park.
     In recent years number 60 also was taken into consideration for operation on the Georgetown Loop. This was decided against, of course, but the consolidation still sits proudly not far from where she died doing the work she was created to do.

     History has led these five locomotives down a trail as serpentine as the grades they once climbed. Where will history take us? It might, like 71, take us back where we came from. We might find ourselves left behind like 74, but it could turn out better than we expect. Maybe we’ll find ourselves in a situation that requires us to reinvent ourselves like number 9. For those of us who’ve earned our keep, we may need to remember that age matters like C&S 31. Yet, no matter what life brings our way, no matter when we might finally stall like number 60, there’s a calling to keep doing the work we were created to do until we change trains at that great Union Depot that awaits us all.

Alpine Tunnel East Portal 1992

East Portal 1992 - before its collapse

This is a collection of my photos of the Alpine Tunnel area from 1991 through 2004 compared with original photos from 1880-1910.

PILGRIMAGE #3

PILGRIMAGE #3: 13 Years Later
Over a decade had passed from the moment I took my last look at the east portal and went on my way. Since then I had gone to college, gotten married to a wonderful woman, landed a teaching job, and even bought a house. All the while, the small narrow gauge whistles still echoed in my memories, beckoning me back to that railway of debris.

My wife and I discovered that we loved to travel. We had backpacked across Europe twice and even took a school trip to Ecuador. Next on our list was a road trip to the West and Colorado. No trip to Colorado would be complete, however, without a pilgrimage to the tunnel. This time, I convinced my sweet wife, we would visit both portals!

This trip began with a special treat: we were staying overnight in St. Elmo. The St. Elmo General Store rents out a one-room cabin. It was certainly rustic, particularly with its only bathroom facility being an outhouse. Oh, and we were told to watch our for some young bear cubs who frequented local trash at night. That made nighttime bathroom runs a bit nerve-wracking to say the least. Still, what was lost in comfort was made up in recalling that we were staying overnight in the town that was once a boom town on the DSP&P. What thrill to think that the street outside our window once swarmed with miners, railroad men, and swindlers. With these dreams I closed my eyes with the excitement of the next day welling up in me.

We were awakened in our bunk bed, not by the sound of chirping birds, but by the revving of ATV engines. This, of course, has replaced the revenue source for St. Elmo once supplied by mining. It was early, but it was a good time to get started. We had a long drive ahead, this time in our own Honda Civic. Not exactly a mountain vehicle.

As our Honda bumped and bounced its way over the rocky railway-turned-road we soon realized that making it to Hancock by car might not be wise. We parked near Romley and went on foot. In a mud puddle off the side of the road I found something I had not seen in any of my trips to the tunnel: a railroad spike! Either nature or souvenir hunters I assumed had taken them all. In the back of my mind, the spirit of Alpine and the sign up at the station reminded me: “Take only pictures and leave only footprints.” I hoped that this spike might someday remind some unsuspecting child that there once was a great railroad here on this dirt road. So, I left it behind. I was later told in a store at St. Elmo that most people would not have been so benevolent.

We trekked over the Romley bridge. It was still in great condition, but closed to auto traffic. We had once driven over it in our rental car, but now cars had to travel down the ravine and back up. While I’m thankful for having had the chance to drive over it, I’m glad someone is protecting history. As we got closer to Hancock there was a mine building that apparently snapped in half some time in the course of its derelict history and jutted out precariously over the road. I would have guessed it would fall any time if I hadn’t remembered seeing it in the same position over a decade earlier!

We reached Hancock and a soft wind blew through the grasses as the sun shone on a perfect day. The only signs of civilization were two big, yellow school buses that were parked next to the site where the Hancock depot once stood. I wondered what a school group was doing up here. I never did see them. We rounded the big curve and set off on our last three miles to the tunnel.

I was delighted to find much of the roadbed as I remembered it back in 1991. Many ties still clung desperately to their place in various cuts and wooded sections. I tried my best not to walk on them, hoping to preserve them, but knowing many other hikers would not be so kind.
Just like the last time I had come I found a great thrill as we exited the trees and began to walk the grade clinging to the shelf with the great Chalk Creek valley below. My wife was certainly on this trip out of love for my interests, but this sight convinced her as well that we were not just at another scenic overlook. This was a sight few eyes have been blessed to see.

We continued on, walking around a few boulders here and there. A wooden culvert still remained to guide water under the rails, though it had long since filled with dirt. There was even one lonely telegraph pole leaning toward the steep fall to Tunnel Gulch. It had been that way thirteen years earlier, so I trusted it would continue its defiant grip.

While much of what I found along the way had been the same as my previous visit, our arrival at the east portal was completely different. Fewer timbers were remaining from the snow sheds and more weeds and grass had grown at the sight. There now was even a sign stating that this was the Alpine Tunnel. However, this time, there was no tunnel arch to be found. Last time I had seen, touch, photographed, and videoed the top of the arch. This time I could find no trace of it. I looked in vain, but only found more rocks. Years later I learned that some time in the intervening years the east portal had simply collapsed. Those redwood timbers had defied the pressure of nature for over a century, but it had come time to go home to the embrace of the earth. In fact, Ray Rossman, who works for the forest service and has been instrumental in the preservation of the tunnel area, remarked that in 2002-2003 a portion of the tunnel on the western side collapsed as well. He said in an email that “For those lucky few to have seen the interior, I think they have glimpsed at a piece of history perhaps now gone from our view.” Certainly discouraging news, but it makes me thankful for the small glimpse of the immediate interior that I did have.

It was time for us to head back because the skies were darkening. See a trend? We were greeted with a mild hail storm that passed quickly but reminded me again of the battle of nature against running a railroad “way up here.” So we walked and walked. When we returned to our car, we had walked 13 miles. A generous vacationing family had treated us to a ride for at least the last mile back to our car! With sore feet, but happy and accomplished hearts, we bumped and rolled back to our little cabin in St. Elmo.

The next day we headed down to Salida, over to Parlin and up to Pitkin. It was a long drive and we were wiped out by the time we set up our tent at a campsite just north of town. Ah, but it was a sweet moment to know we were bedding down with the Quartz Creek quietly lapping right next to us.

The following morning we made our way north and turned onto the railroad grade. This time we didn’t want to walk thirteen miles, so we got more daring and let our little Honda handle the rocky road. It was slow-going to say the least. We made it as far as Woodstock and decided to enjoy the full beauty by walking the rest. A new treat was that I finally got to walk Sherrod Curve. Interestingly, someone had laid just a few feet of track on the curve. To this day I don’t know if this was the beginning of a project or just a piece of track left over from the work up at the station.

We climbed the four percent grade up and around the palisades. One thing that surprised us was that there was apparently a house of some sort built between the upper and lower portions of the grade. It was above Woodstock or so. I don’t know if it was a residence or not as it was apparently still under construction. We continued on and noticed the Williams Pass stage line above the grade was now a jeep road, but there was a sign stating that it was only open for one month each year. Boy, would I love to make that trip someday, but not with our Honda!
We spent lots of time recreating the same photos of the Palisades in a before and after fashion. How exciting to stand at the same location as so many train crews and passengers at the famed split rock.

When we arrived at Alpine Tunnel station we were greeted to a great many changes. There were nice wood sided bathrooms off the road! In addition, a great deal of preservation work had occurred. The old outhouse behind the telegraph station was completely restored. What appeared to be a cellar once attached to the frame boarding house had been unearthed and you could now walk down into it. There had also been extensive excavations in the burned out ruins of the engine house. One could clearly make out where there was once turntable pit inside. Once a source of argument among DSP&P aficionados, the existence of this turntable was now undeniable. The telegraph office was an entirely different color from my last visit. They had also added the “Alpine Tunnel” sign to the roof. Most exciting of all, though, was that they had lain several feet of track including a switch and harp switch stand.

Moving on toward the portal I discovered that there was also extensive rebuilding of the turntable. Much of the wood and railing around the pit was now standing and a sliver of new track also led from the mainline to where the turn table would be. We progressed onto the cut leading to the west portal and I was surprised that, where I previously I had to walk over mounds of rotting snow shed timbers, the cut was entirely cleared out. I was a bit disappointed to not find any rails there, as I know they were there before. I’ve often wondered what happened to them. The portal itself, though, was a great surprise. Unlike last time when there was just a small hole that I could peer into, now the major portion of the top stones above the arch were in full view. The tunnel itself was apparently “sealed” but the great stones were incredible to behold. I was able to match them exactly to the stones in an 1880s photograph of the portal (one of the few without a snow shed blocking the view).

My final pilgrimage was complete and it was time to head back because, as with nearly every visit, the weather began to look menacing. Thankfully, it passed, but it sure got us moving! We made our way past Alpine station, around the contours of the mountain, and when we arrived at the great palisades we decided to shorten our trek. I thought it would be great to take the old Alpine & South Park stage line down to Woodstock to reach our car. I had seen its outline in all the pictures, so I figured it would surely be a nice walk and a fun exploration.

That was the right idea for a short while. But not long after the incredible below-view of the palisades, we had a hard time locating our trail. We would find it for a few feet then lose it. Eventually, we couldn’t find it at all. We decided to just scale the mountain. This was not what we had expected, nor were we wearing the shoes for this. Much dirt made its way under our feet as we, at times, even slid down the mountain side. Still we made it down with a few scrapes but a good many laughs. From there we saddled up our Honda and headed back to camp.

So, here I am now, a 32 year old, married for 10 years and a father of two little girls. Still, something about this old tunnel draws me. I have some hope that my passion will be passed on as my oldest daughter is hooked on Thomas the Tank Engine. If I can keep this going, maybe she’ll be willing to join me someday on a trip to that old place. Certainly there are greater things in life. Anyone standing on the grade at east portal and looking out at the great expanse of Chalk Creek can tell you there are…Greater things. Still, that same Creator has given us lesser things that are sweet. This rotting tunnel has sweetened my life by connecting me with the past and the people who made this railroad, ran it, abandoned it, and the people that have worked to save it. I can only hope that one day I can walk with my wife on those grades once again, but this time with my two little ones at my side. That, will be, I hope, my fourth pilgrimage, and, potentially, the sweetest one of them all.

West Portal 1991

PILGRIMAGE #1

When we turned off of US 50 at Parlin my heart began to race. I recall seeing a sign on the road with a cheesy train exiting a tunnel. It read “Gateway to the Alpine Tunnel.” After passing through Ohio City and Pitkin we found the dirt path off to the right where the roadbed began. Our white Ford Taurus rental car was certainly not designed for off-road adventures, and the rental company was adamant that it not be taken off paved roads, but my dad was an outdoorsman and we did it anyway.

We slowly rolled over several miles of rocky road and wound up some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever seen. We passed Tunnel Gulch tank, which was just a base, and then passed Midway tank. Midway tank was built after a snow slide destroyed the town of Woodstock and its water tank farther up the line. The Mile High Jeep Club restored Midway tank from a precarious leaning state in the late 1950s and it looked great on this summer day. We decided to park our car here and walk the last three miles.“The next three miles of roadbed are possibly the most amazing stretch of railroad in the world.” There was a sign somewhere along the way that stated the above and we were not disappointed.

We eventually came upon the ill-fated remains of the town of Woodstock. All that remained were the six stones that once supported the water tower (with its supply pipe still gushing water), and some scattered timbers. We looked up to our left where the deadly snow slide had originated and saw the incredible Palisades, still towering and formidable, holding up the roadbed on a cliff over a century after its construction. My dad and brother Karl, being the daring guys they are, decided to climb straight up the mountainside to reach it. Being the faithful baby of the family, I stayed with Mom and we began walking the grade toward Sherrod…until we heard screams.

Up above we could make out my father standing on the palisades waving his arms and yelling. What he was yelling we couldn’t make out, but it made us panic a bit, especially because we didn’t see my brother. Had he fallen? Had some wild bear attacked him?! We were relieved to see a Park Service pick-up truck coming up grade toward us. He asked if we wanted a ride and we accepted. I was disappointed when he took a sharp curve and completely avoided Sherrod loop. In my concern for my brother’s welfare, I even missed the fact that we had driven right over and past the famous Palisades. Disaster was averted when we came upon my dad and brother walking leisurely along the grade where the Williams Pass stage line continued its ascent above the railroad grade. We soon discovered that my dad had simply been trying to wave a hello from the Palisades, but his muffled words did not reach us. We thanked our driver and continued our stroll along the roadbed.

I did see a few remaining ties in the dirt and took a small piece of one with me as a souvenir. My dad found a large rusted nut and bolt that I also added to my treasury. Whether it was from a wrecked Mason Bogie or a beat up Chevy pick up I still don’t know.We wound our way along until we turned a bend and before us lay the holy city: Alpine Tunnel station.

It was guarded by a gate keeping vehicles out. It also sported a sign that read: “Take only pictures and leave only footprints.” In the mid 90s the only preservation efforts on the site (excluding the addition of a leaning port-a-potty) were to the telegraph station and the coaling platform. The engine house was merely rubble and the frame boarding house appeared to be a pile of abandoned lumber. I did acquire some coal dust from the coaling platform that I subsequently glued onto the tenders of my model trains back in Ohio.

There was also a random length of rail lying in the grass just outside the engine house. The telegraph office was in great shape, though it did not have the famous “Alpine Tunnel” sign on top. Inside was a small table where people had placed miscellaneous finds including nails and spikes that were on display.

We continued outside and around the rockslide for my first glimpse of Alpine Tunnel. As the roadbed began its cut into the hillside a large wood beam blocked the way. In its center was a wooden replica of one of the arches inside the tunnel. Famed supporter of the tunnel Francis Trudgeon had constructed the replica out of discarded wood and installed the memorial at the site. To the left of this was the the “tombstone” to the tunnel placed by Trudgeon, Dow Helmers and Mac Poor back in 1967. It was missing a significant portion of the top right corner. I’ve always wondered what broke it. Some say vandals, some say an avalanche.

The cut leading to the west portal was piled high with old snow shed timbers. It made things fairly difficult to walk through and I can understand why they were later removed. When I made it to the portal it was almost entirely buried by rock fall into the cut.

Someone had created a rectangle of discarded boards to protect the little of the stone archway that they could. When peering inside the rectangle you could see maybe four or five of the archway stones and there appeared to be a small hole leading down and to the left, large enough for maybe only an animal to scurry through. Unimpressive as this may sound, I on the other hand was amazed: I was really here! Holy ground! I was standing at the west portal of the Alpine Tunnel! The pilgrimage made a passion. And then came the storm.The sky was getting quite dark. I have since read the railroaders knew that the weather could change quite dramatically on this line; we were yet novices and were very concerned about the distance between ourselves and our car downgrade. We quickly made our way toward the station. I stopped to snap a picture of a piece of original South Park rail submerged in water beneath the snow sheds. I also passed the turntable, which was simply a mound of dirt with only two of the three timbers on the roadbed that used to form an abutment for the roadbed leading to the long-gone turntable.

I took one last shot of Alpine Tunnel station and turned to join my family as we made a mad dash to our car. In order to save time my dad decided that we should just walk down Tunnel Gulch. Thankfully, the weather seemed to subside eventually so we slowed our hustle to a hike. It was more like a climb considering we were traipsing through the woods without a path. Just before reaching our car we stumbled upon two or three decayed cabins. Were these old work camps? Finally, we hopped in our car and noticed: we were low on gas.We knew we could make it to Pitkin, so we weren’t too concerned. However, upon arriving at the one station in town we discovered a sign in the window that read: “Closed Mondays.” Of all the days of the week, you can guess which one it was.

So began a much retold story among my family. We turned the car on and accelerated to the top of the many rolling hills, then turned it off…and we rolled. The repeated dialogue went something like this. Mom: How’s the gas? Dad: Low. Mom: Keep rolling. So, we rolled all the way to Gunnison, gassed up and hit the motel. I had just experienced an adventure, a journey, a pilgrimage. That pilgrimage led to two more because this pilgrimage, the chance to see in person something I had only read about, turned into a passion.

PILGRIMAGE #2

PILGRIMAGE #2: Return to Alpine
My hunger for all things Colorado & Southern did not go unnoticed by my parents. It was but a year or two more before we returned to the Alpine Tunnel in the summer of 1991. This time we planned on visiting the east portal.

So here we were, three years later with our newest victim rental car once again trundling up an old DSP&P grade. This time we were on the road to St. Elmo. St. Elmo was a ghost town and at this time it looked like one too because there was not a soul around and a large sign at the end of the main street screamed in its large letters to respect the property. So we did. We turned around and headed back on the grade. I regret our minimal exploration, for when I returned in 2004, unfortunately, nearly the entire east side of the street was destroyed by fire. We did explore the two rotting outfit cars on an old siding at St. Elmo. One was nearly half

gone and the other, while still structurally together was in poor shape. The lettering of “The Colorado Road” was still clearly visible.

Coming back onto the road we experienced something that today is no longer a possibility. Our rental car drove over the rickety trestle at Romely. Our tires had to fit onto long planks laid across the floor of the trestle. My mom was quite frightened, but, I, being a typical teenager, thought it was ‘totally cool.’

We reached the end of the travel-able road at Hancock and, since there were few remains of the town, we began the three-mile trek to east portal. Along the way, we signed our names into a registry. I wrote something like “The Alpine Tunnel Lives!” Remember, I was 17 at the time. I was so delighted at the authenticity of the eastern slope. Unlike most of the grade on the west, this side had not been converted for auto traffic. Ties still slept in the grade at various locations, sometimes for significant lengths. The tall pines around us betrayed the reality of the great heights we were climbing. Their veil was lifted abruptly, however, at one point. There the grade jutted out and clung to a steep rocky cliff. Below lay the deep canyon of Chalk Creek, also known as Tunnel Gulch. This was the most magnificent portion of the trip. We wriggled around and climbed over several fallen boulders until we reached the hallowed piercing of the Continental Divide.

As I approached the portal, the snow sheds boards were in a state of disarray, though a few upright beams still stood tall in case a railroad employee decided to resurrect the long dead tunnel. After climbing up some of the debris and dirt that had fallen around the entrance, I found a depression in the pile. There, still visible was a small portion of the top of the arch of the Alpine Tunnel. I crouched down to get a closer look. I could see a few more arch tops for about a foot or two. A small pond of water rested below them. I took multiple photos and video footage and made sure to touch the California redwood timbers just to confirm that fact that I was really here, really touching the interior of the Alpine Tunnel! I had made it: Pilgrimage number 2 and, not only that, I had received a vision, a vision of the actual tunnel interior! Little did I realize that when I would return nearly a decade later, I would no longer be able to see these timbers.

We took a short jaunt over Altman Pass following the old trail and got a beautiful view of the valley where Alpine station is nestled. Not much had changed since my last visit. We did find a peculiar critter called a marmot all around though. It looked a little like a fat squirrel that liked to stand up and swivel its belly. My dad took quite a liking to the creatures and they show up not just a few times in our home videos of our adventure. Soon, we headed back toward Hancock, hopped in the car, rolled over Romley trestle one more time (much to the chagrin of my mother again), and left behind pilgrimage number 2.

On a side note, we pulled down the road marked for the town of Fisher. Well, we never found much of anything. The road eventually seemed to dead end so we did a lot of backwards driving until we could turn the car around and off we went.