What best-ever summer would be complete without boarding a train somewhere along the line? Along the line, heh. I just realized the phrase “somewhere along the line” probably comes to our daily usage courtesy of America’s (or Britain’s) long and romantic history with railroading. It’s a history that in this utilitarian and forward-looking corner of the world has had a hard time being remembered.
Nevertheless, volunteers at the Northwest Railway Museum have been collecting old engines and rolling stock at Snoqualmie’s historic depot for as long as I can remember — many of the engines being fine examples of the compact Shay logging type that worked these hills in the more exuberantly rapacious days of northwest resource extraction. In fact, my folks took us kids on what we always called the “Snoqualmie Railroad” or the “train at Snoqualmie” when I was about Millie’s age. It runs from Snoqualmie to North Bend. I have just the barest memory of being on the train with aunts and uncles visiting from the East, and of the train going north to the falls (Snoqualmie Falls, yeah, a big deal) on a summer morning where the sun dappled through the canopy of firs above the track, and of the train reversing and my thinking that was because it had derailed and had to go back, which I’m now sure was my misunderstanding.
In my late teens, Kip’s little brother Caleb and I went on a black-and-white photo expedition where we ended up climbing out onto the support beams under one of the bridges on the line between Snoqualmie and North Bend, waited for the little steam engine to toot its arrival at the bridge — not so little when it’s roaring above your stupid danger-courting teenaged misdemeanor-committing head and hot grease and oil are spattering off of it (off of the engine, I mean) — and then stood up next to the track with our cameras just as the engine was about to pass over and took one incredibly good photo (each) of the train crossing the bridge from rail level. I lost that photo and its neg “somewhere along the line.”
We got on at the depot in Snoqualmie, ate lunch in North Bend, then made the return trip. On the way back from North Bend, the train actually continues on through Snoqualmie Depot to the falls, stops next to the famed cataract, then reverses and backs up to the depot in Snoqualmie again. For this part of the trip we had secured the seats at the very back of the last Pullman car on the train, where some wicker chairs were arranged as in a living room. Millie, who has a thing for nodding off in moving vehicles, fell asleep just before we reached the falls.