The Twisting Tale of the Georgetown Loop - Part 1

The following is a several part series I have been working on to chronicle the history of the restoration of the C&Sng's Georgetown Loop.  I've tried to research what happened from its abandonment in 1939 to the first train over the reconstructed bridge in 1984.  Sources vary from interviews and correspondence with some of the Loop's founders and some of those who worked the line in its early days.  I am particularly indebted to Lindsey Ashby for the time he took to share his experiences with me.  Of course many books such as DSP&P and its supplement, Documentary History of the South Park Line Vol. 7 and 8, C&S Clear Creek District Memories and Then Some, Narrow Gauge to Central and Silver Plume, The Georgetown Loop: Colorado's Scenic Wonder, and especially Georgetown and the Loop, along with online sources were also used.  I would be happy to receive any information that my readers may have to add to, adjust, or correct the content.  

The Twisting Tale of the Georgetown Loop

by Kurt Maechner

A Math Story Problem

1. Two towns both reside in the same narrow valley.  The second town is 2.1 miles west of the first and 638 feet higher in elevation.  What track layout would allow a narrow gauge railroad to reach from the eastern to the western town without exceeding a four percent grade (a rise of 4 feet for every 100 feet of track)?

This classic-styled math story problem is precisely what faced the perplexed engineers of the Colorado Central Railroad in 1881.  The railroad had reached from Golden to Georgetown, Colorado via Clear Creek Canyon in 1877.  Now, however, explosions of gold and silver mining in Silver Plume, just over 2 miles up the valley were beckoning the railroad on.  An even greater draw was coming from the mining boom in Leadville farther west.  While other railroads were already in the process of reaching Leadville, they all took long routes to do so.  In contrast, if the Colorado Central could build over or tunnel under what would later be named Loveland Pass, it would create the shortest, most direct route from Denver to Leadville in the state.  

The first step for the Colorado Central in a direct route to the cash cow called Leadville was to build 2.1 miles west out of the end-of-track at Georgetown to the next town of Silver Plume.  Due to the sharp rise in elevation between the two towns, this tricky bit of engineering would require a talented engineer.  Jacob Blickensderfer left his job at the Frisco Railway to take on the role of locating engineer under what was then called the Georgetown, Leadville and San Juan Railroad.  

Improving on an earlier survey completed by Captain E.L. Berthoud, Blickensderfer worked out a design for the railroad to leave Georgetown following the southern side of Clear Creek Valley and then cross the creek in a reverse curve and continue to climb up the northern side of the valley heading back towards Georgetown.  Then, at its most dramatic move, the railroad would suddenly loop over the trackage below on a high curved trestle, 75 feet above the track it just came from.  Now back on the southern side of the valley, the line turned again toward Silver Plume.  Farther upgrade, the track would veer towards the northern side of the valley, cross Clear Creek, take a sharp curve to cross back over the creek and, after a tangent, curve back toward Georgetown again and then enter a sharp opposite curve in serpentine fashion over a large dirt fill back towards Silver Plume, leaving two more curves before reaching town.  In the end, 2.1 miles of distance and 638 feet of elevation would require 4.47 miles of track with a gradient of 143 feet per mile, or 2.7%.

Construction began in 1881 and finally in 1884, after many years-worth of delays due to various problems including workforce issues, construction errors, and inclement weather, trains began slithering through Clear Creek Canyon from Denver to Georgetown and then over the great high bridge, dubbed the Devil’s Gate Viaduct, and on to Silver Plume in April on the stunning new Loop Line.  

The youthful Georgetown Loop quickly became a tourist sensation.  While its primary purpose was to serve the mines, the railroad ran excursions over the Loop from its very beginning, and tourism became its bread and butter.  Despite the railroad never being extended over Loveland Pass to Leadville and even the eventual decline in mining revenue, for over four decades tourists the world over came to ride the line that was described in brochures and news articles in such fanciful words as “The Serpentine Trail,” “the far-famed Georgetown Loop,” and “the famous Georgetown Loop.”

The Bridge Comes Down

Sadly, the excitement could only last so long.  In proof of the fickleness of man’s curiosity, the burgeoning popularity of the automobile and its individual freedoms in the early twentieth century stole hearts and pocketbooks away from the picturesque line.  By the late 1920s, passenger service was reduced, eventually dwindling in the 1930s to the offer of conveyance in the caboose on freight trains for the sporadic passenger.   With freight also falling precipitously, the railway called for permission to curtail service west of Idaho Springs, the last major town before Georgetown.  

In March 1938 Carl Hewett birthed what would become known as the Rocky Mountain Railroad Club when he submitted the following text for publication in Railroad Magazine: “I want to hear from persons interested in forming a rail fan group in Colorado, especially around Denver.  Also, I’d like to organize a narrow gauge fan trip over the famous Georgetown Loop.”  Surely knowing that the historically significant Idaho Springs to Silver Plume stretch was on the road to abandonment, Hewett rushed to beat the grim reaper.  The club had their inaugural meeting on March 30th, attended by individuals who are now iconic names in Colorado rail fan history such as Otto Perry and Richard Kindig among others, but for reasons lost to history, the Loop excursion never occurred and the Colorado & Southern Railway received the final green light from the Interstate Commerce Commission to abandon this part of the line less than a year later in February 1939.

The Steamboat Pilot newspaper of February 23, 1939 stated, “Work on removal of the track of the C&S Railroad started at Silver Plume last week.  It is reported that the famous Georgetown Loop trestle was sold for $450, the depot at Georgetown for $50 and four bridges for $50.  Rails and other iron will be sold at scrap prices.”  And so, in March of 1939, the rails of the line “once regarded as one of the outstanding engineering feats in the world” found themselves, as stated in the same newspaper a month later, “ripped up and unceremoniously hauled away.”  Three months after this, the railroad dismantled the bridge itself.  Some of the pieces of this renowned viaduct, whose image a few decades ago had graced ornamental pitchers and spoons, were now ignominiously sold off for use as supports in mine shafts.   

After 55 years, the cold wind could once again flow freely in the valley, no longer stopped by the spindly, but mighty, supports of the grand viaduct.  The only memory of the Loop besides the empty grade, the smaller bridges, and crumbling viaduct abutments became a mournful tombstone-shaped historical marker placed on August 17th, 1947 by the State Historical Society of Colorado.  

While the railroad became a silent memory, the valley was not to stay desolate for long.  Something was advancing from the east.  This time, however, it was not a train.  An interstate highway was on the march.

The Concrete Leviathan Cometh

Five years after the Georgetown Loop was torn up, the U.S. government passed the Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1944 which led to the construction of an interstate highway spanning from Baltimore, Maryland, all the way to Colorado’s capital in Denver, named Interstate 70.  Considering the reality of the Cold War between the U.S. and the U.S.S.R. that had even become not-so-cold for three years in Korea from 1950-1953, national transportation was important for more than vacationers.  Consequently, a highway that struck out in the east and ended at the foot of the Rocky Mountains did not help connect our western flanked states.

Many were in favor of pushing I-70 west from Denver over and through the Rocky Mountains and up through Utah to reach the west coast.  Utah, however, dug in its heels against the plan.  It was quite aware that the portion of the highway through their territory would necessitate copious amounts of state money to build over their intimidating mountain ranges.  

At last, in 1956, following lengthy mediation with Utah, and after a push by supporters, the National Interstate and Defense Highways Act was enacted to push I-70 west of Denver to California.  Tackling the Rocky Mountains of Colorado was to be no easy feat.  As one chronicler described it, the “Engineers and construction crews had to cope with the high altitude, seemingly impassable mountain slopes, and harsh weather conditions.”

Additionally, to traverse these mountains, two large highway tunnels would need to be built, the Eisenhower Tunnel and the Johnson Tunnel, both just west of Silver Plume.  Millions of dollars, hundreds of workers, and repeated delays would be part and parcel of this endeavor.

The oncoming concrete leviathan, welcomed by many, struck fear into a few.  I-70, that many-laned monster, was slated to steamroll right through the valley between Georgetown and Silver Plume, obliterating forever the feeble remains of the once glorious Georgetown Loop.  

But it was just the scar of an abandoned railroad, so who could be concerned?  

As it turned out, preservation moves were afoot.  In 1959 Stanley R. Wallbank donated 100 acres of land and the Lebanon-Everett silver mine, in the midst of the old Loop, to the Colorado Historical Society (CHS).  In addition, James Grafton Rogers, Georgetown mayor and head of the CHS, had decided that the valley between Georgetown and Silver Plume would be ideal to develop as a representation of the state’s mining history, particularly because of the remains of the famed Loop, an idea shared by Benjamin P. Draper, an early supporter of Georgetown’s historical value.  

But just as the seeds of the idea of rebuilding the line were beginning to sprout, they were suddenly in grave jeopardy due to the impending highway onslaught.

At the time, one of the few intrusions into this unspoiled historical valley, was two-lane U.S. 6.  It meandered along through the valley, passing just next to where the north abutment of the high bridge once stood, and caused very little disturbance to the area’s historical remains.  This was due to change as the massive, wide I-70 was to mirror the same trajectory, demolishing much of the area.  

The Colorado Historical Society’s only hope to save the Loop and its surrounding historical sites was to convince the state to route the highway away from the valley, an idea that would oppose what surely seemed, to those building the road, as the most economical direction.  Considering the hundreds of millions of dollars required for mountain road construction and tunnels of grand proportions, the chances of the highway department being willing to complicate matters and increase finances even more than already planned must have seemed slim at best.

Sparks of Hope

A surprise awaited all.  Ironically, the almighty Road that killed the railroad in the first place became a part of its historical salvation.  In a perplexingly benevolent move, the Colorado General Assembly worked diligently to protect the valley, leading the highway department to construct I-70 on the northern slope of Clear Creek Valley above the level of the Loop’s high bridge site.   The State Highway Department not only worked together with the historical society, but even erected an overlook for travelers to stop and view the valley and the remains of the Loop. 

The positive outcome of the close-call with I-70’s construction was a serious sigh of relief for those who believed in the Loop’s future.  However, saving the land didn’t change the fact that the valley’s historical sites and railroad remnants were still a discarded, deteriorating wreck.  Thankfully, this did not stop the dream of the Colorado Historical Society to see the Georgetown Loop come back to life, even if the dream seemed quite hazy at times.  Thankfully, nostalgia kept this weak flame lit.

Nostalgia for the Loop was on display in many places, like the sight of angled, wet spring snow spattered on the side of C&S standard gauge engine 809 and its train at Denver Union Station on April 8th, 1959 as the Rocky Mountain Railroad Club’s special waited to haul over a hundred guests to Golden over the former dual-gauge track.  This was the club’s annual dinner and the focus of the night was to be the Georgetown Loop, with a presentation at the Holland House hotel by noted rail photographer R. H. Kindig, a man who had himself been present to photograph the last solemn move of rail cars over the high bridge just a hair over 20 years ago.  Slides of his photos from the Loop’s last days in 1939 were projected to the crowd as they reminisced about that seemingly lost treasure that might still rise from the dead someday.

Nostalgia and hope for the future of the Loop did not only float amongst rail fans.  Over the years, major Colorado newspapers like The Denver Post and the Rocky Mountain News would periodically raise the sails on the idea of the Colorado Historical Society rebuilding the Loop someday in full or two-page picture spreads.  The printed dreams likely emanated from the Society, now led by the vivacious Stephen H. “Buzzsaw” Hart with James Grafton Rogers serving as the board’s chairman. According to the January 1967 Rocky Mountain Rail Report these two men had “been talking reconstruction of the loop for several years.”

Still, these articles seemed like blowing smoke.  Unlike its present self, the comparatively tiny CHS did not have the means or expertise to put any actual wind in the sails of its bombastic claims of reconstruction.  In fact, to some, the society seemed much more preoccupied with blowing wind into its fundraising campaign to erect its own new museum building.

January 1967 Rocky Mtn. Rail Report

    Despite the lack of working attention on the Loop, the turbulent ‘60s did see some small but important movement.  The rail company that once owned the Georgetown Loop, the Union Pacific (formerly known as the Union Pacific, Denver & Gulf), sent a gracious $10,000 to the project in 1966.  The CHS also got help from the Bureau of Land Management to keep new business and home construction out of the historical valley.  The Loveland Basin Ski Patrol even helped by moving the old C&S Silver Plume depot out of the path of the oncoming highway construction which had been bulldozing its oncoming path on all sides of the old station.  The Ski Patrol purchased the building as their headquarters until it might be used again for a reconstructed Loop in the future.  The move and new ownership also gave the derelict 1884 building some overdue roof and interior maintenance. 

These token gestures, however, did not change the fact that in the big picture little was happening.  Of course, the road to inactivity on the reconstruction dream was paved with good intentions.  The CHS even crowned a man by the name of Ed Gerlits as curator of the project, yet even he admitted that there was no active plan for the work.  Like a bucket list with no budget, the Georgetown Loop seemed destined to molder unless the money, expertise, and motivation could arrive.