Bravery and Courage Defined - Part Two

Karen, the young lady I spoke of in my last post was going out with us for her first trip as a student engineer. I expected to be called for an eastbound freight to Boston Bar, but when the call came, it was to deadhead by bus to Boston Bar.

Once we had our bus tickets in hand, a taxi was ordered to deliver us to the Greyhound Bus depot in Sapperton.  The ride to the Bar was long and tedious, with the bus taking the most circuitous route through every major center in the Fraser Valley.  Eventually, we stopped in Hope for a twenty minute break and then back onto the bus for the last forty miles through the canyon.

Getting off the bus at Cog's Hotel in Boston Bar, we walked down to the bunkhouse and went inside.  The train crew went to the station to find out what we were lined up for and how long our layover might be.   I showed Karen how to book a private room and where to find the kitchen and washrooms.  She was a bit disconcerted to discover that the company had made no alterations for female employees who would have to use the facilities in the bunkhouse.  It had been a male-dominated occupation since the first rails and ties had been laid here ca. 1913.  For Karen....this was going to be a problem.  For CN, it was going to be a major headache.

When we arrived at the station,the operator was preparing the orders for the train we would take back to the coast.  There was a westbound train sitting in track three, the only train in the yard.  I glanced at the train lineup hanging on a nail near the train register and saw that other than the train in track three, the next westbound freight would not arrive in The Bar for at least eight or nine hours.  It became obvious that there would be no room for bargaining with the Chief Dispatcher for a better train.   This was the only one available and it was something special; it was one hundred and twelve cars of Northern Alberta sulphur, loaded in thirty year old open-top three bay hoppers.  Westbound sulphur was shipped in unit trains carrying the designation "U883 and U897".   "U882 and U896" moved the empty sulphur trains eastward.  These unit trains were among the ugliest trains on the road.  They were sloppy, with lots of slack between each car.  One hundred cars could develop as much as sixty five feet of slack between the engine and the caboose. These trains were very heavy and required a lot of care and skill to get them up to track speed.  Getting them stopped required a lot of clear track ahead.

As well, CN didn't believe in dynamic brakes.  The majority of their locomotives were ordered without DB and many that were delivered with DB were stripped of the appliance early in their operating lives.  Dynamic brake is a combination of mechanical and electrical components that can change the traction motors into generators.  This creates a retarding force that is dissipated through large grids, similar to a kitchen toaster.  The heat that's generated in these grids is blown off into the atmosphere by fans in the body of the locomotive.  It's possible to not only control a trains speed, but in some cases, to bring a large, heavy train almost to a stop.  DB is generally used in conjunction with normal air brakes to control train speed, especially in mountainous territory.

There were two fifteen year old SD40's idling on the shop track.  Their paint was faded and worn.  And lube oil,  pushed from the exhaust stacks was left to run down the sides of the body and onto the walkways.

When the head-end man arrived on the shop track, Karen and I had already completed our shop track brake test.  As expected, our motive power for the day was not equipped with dynamic brakes.

After we had received verbal permission from the dispatcher to enter the main track, I motioned for Karen to take the seat on the right hand side...the engineer's seat.  She resisted, saying that she didn't want to make a mistake and get me into trouble.  I insisted, saying that I did not intend to let her do anything that might result in me being fired of killed; she sat down at the throttle.

We brought the engine out of the shop tracks and onto the main line.  Soon we were backing our engine onto track three.

With the engine coupled on and the air cut in to charge up the brake pipe for the brake test on the train.  The conductor called for Karen to set the brakes to begin the compulsory air brake test that was to be carried out whenever an engine was changed.  When Karen began to move the brake handle into the application zone, a rush of air exhausted into the cab.  Then the train brakes went into 'Emergency'!   Karen's hand shot from the valve handle and she looked at me in astonishment.  "It's OK", I said.  "We probably have a 'kicker' on the train."

 A kicker is a hidden problem within the brake system that causes the brakes to behave badly.  Generally, it can be traced to a sticking brake piston that can let go suddenly, causing the brakes to be applied in emergency.   Operating practice stipulate that when a 'kicker' occurs on a train, the crew is to locate the offending car and 'cut out' the brakes on that car, thus by-passing the problem and leaving the train with one less operating brake.  On sulphur trains, our experience was that one could spend hours chasing kickers around on a train until more than fifteen percent of the brakes had been cut out...only to find another kicker.

Oh, Lord how we hated those trains!  Most of us would like the CPR to be the successful bidder on the next sulphur contract!

The conductor called and asked me if I wanted to start looking for the kicker.  I thought about it for a moment and, weighing our options, made a decision.  "No", I said. "I'm willing to take 'er as she is, if you're willing to follow me".  "OK", he said.  "We've always got 'Emergency' in case we need to stop".

I called the dispatcher, whom I had known for some time and told him what we were dealing with.  He asked me if we wanted to leave the train in the yard and try to find the kicker and I told him we'd decided to take the train ... with his assistance.  I asked him to put every train that we might meet on the road into the siding far enough in advance of our arrival at the meeting place that we wouldn't have to touch the brake valve.  If we had to apply the brakes, they would go into emergency and likely would result in a train that was standing in several pieces on the mainline.  He said he would be happy to oblige us.

The dwarf signal at the west end of the yard turned from red to green and the conductor called to say that they were onboard and buckled up.

Karen released the engine brake and cracked the throttle.  The slack, which had been all bunched when the train was brought into the yard off the Ashcroft sub began to stretch and we could count the cars as they started their forward march into the canyon.

Above, is a profile of a bit of CPR track in the Okanagan Valley in BC.  Each solid vertical line represents one mile of track.  The straight horizontal line depicts sidings, yards and back tracks or storage tracks.  The wavy line with the multitude of numbers above and below it demonstrates the grades; the numbers show degrees of rise and fall from horizontal.  The other wavy line closer to the top of the image shows the curvature with attached numbers outlining the degree of curve.


As Karen had never been over this subdivision prior to today, and CN had never issued track profiles to any of its operating crews, we had to rely on my personal knowledge of the subdivision.  Trains will slow down when they go uphill and speed up when they go down hill.  Curvature will also slow a train and I explained to Karen that an engineer must always be thinking 'three miles ahead' of the train's current location.  In this way, we can use track-train dynamics to help get you over the road.  When you have a train such as this, you have to remember that when one end of your train is going uphill, the other end can be going downhill, depending on the track profile.  This means that, in order to get over the road safely, and arrive with the train in one piece, she would have to not only be thinking ahead of the train, but also where every car is and what surface conditions it is responding to.  If we had working dynamic brakes and/or working train air brakes, the job wouldn't be nearly as intense as it was going to be today.  I told her that if she could handle this.....she could handle anything.  And I meant it.

She settled right in and remained focused.  Listening attentively to the instructions I gave her, coupled with the reasons I was giving the instructions, she watched as the train responded to her slight increases or decreases in throttle, engine brake, and use of curvature and grade.

In the first fifteen miles, she had nursed that beast over Anderson Creek Bridge and through Hicks.  She crept around the curve at mile 4.9 where a locomotive could be seen lying in the rapids from a train wreck in the 60's, and eased past Hell's Gate.  Then she gently began to ease off on the engine brake and open the throttle; gently at first ... pulling out the slack just like she had done when we lifted the train out of the yard at The Bar. When she had counted as many 'bumps' in the train of slack as she could, she began to work on the throttle even harder.  The conductor called, saying that the train was now all stretched out.  This helped us a lot, because we were now on the hill and needed to get as much power working as we had available.

With the throttle wide open in the eighth notch, all 13000 tons of train were hanging on the end of the engine, held there by a ninety pound chunk of steel called a 'knuckle'.  (quote not mine)

Photo credit Michael Da Costa via www.Railpictures.net

With the diesels howling, the engine dug in, pulling the train through tunnels, along narrow ledges high above the angry brown water surging through the narrowest part of the lower Fraser canyon, beneath rocky overhangs and alongside rock slide warning fences that stood as silent sentinels against the enemy above....falling rocks.  The drawbars that connected each car to the one on either end of it groaned and creaked.  Wheels squealed against rails and the ties beneath us could be heard emitting sounds much like that of wood cracking under the weight of the train.

At twelve miles per hour, we crested the hill at Komo and began to reduce the throttle as the white mile board on the telephone pole near the track came into view.  Mile 11, just another one hundred and two miles to go.


Click on the "Komo" link above and you'll arrive at Google Maps/Terrain view.  Click on "Satellite" and zoom in close.  Follow the railway track to the right of the river and you'll find Komo.  There's a unit train going through Komo...!


As the engine passed the west switch at Komo, our speed began to increase.  Karen asked me for instruction, so I suggested that she think about what was happening as opposed to what she 'wanted' to happen.  Her next question was, "What does the track profile look like from here?"  I tried not to smile, because that was exactly what she needed to know so that she could decide what to do next.  Once I told her about the downward grade from here to mile 21, a distance of ten miles, she said she thought she should reduce throttle until the train speed leveled out at about 20 miles per hour.  Right!!!!  As train speed slowly crept past 20, she began to apply a little engine brake.  As brake pressure built up at the head end, the loaded cars coming behind began to bunch up against the engine....bump, bump, bump.  We counted up to 25 or 30, then one large "push" as the rest of the train ran in on the engine.  The conductor called to say that we had the whole train bunched up.  I was glad to see that he was paying close attention to what the train was doing.  He made it a lot easier and safer to control the speed and momentum by telling us what was happening at the tail end.

The CTC signals at Stout were green, or "clear" and so too was the signal to Yale.  As we emerged from the tunnel at the east (north) end of Yale, we saw an eastbound freight in the 'hole', or siding waiting for us.  He had been there for over half an hour and wasn't happy that he'd been held there and not taken to Stout for a meet on us.  As our engine went over the switch, their head-end brakeman got off their engine and crossed over to the far side of the track to inspect our train as we passed by.

We exchanged the obligatory waves accompanied by a short toot on the horn, or a 'ding' or two on the bell, and we were continued on our way as the dwarf signal turned green and their train began to move ahead.

When our caboose had passed theirs, there were calls on the radio..."OK on the PK at Yale, extra west" and, "You're looking good on the south side, extra east".

We had come through fifteen tunnels and as many slide detector fences in the first 35 miles, and with that out of the way, we could carry on without being concerned about rocks falling on the track in front of us.

Leaving Yale, the canyon opens up a bit and the track speed increases in the timetable and the trackside speed signs.  We can now bring 'er up to 40 miles per hour and let 'er roll.  Soon, we'll be past Hope and into 50 mile per hour territory.  But we won't be going that fast, and it's not because the engine won't pull us that fast; it's all about being able to control our stopping distance should we need to come to a controlled stop.

At Hope, we came to our first level crossing.  There would be lots of them from here all the way to Westlang, a few miles outside of Port Mann.  The whistle was blown long and loud and the bell was rung to add a second level of warning to motorists.

A couple of hours and a couple more eastbounds and we were drifting toward the yard limit board at Port Mann.  With the throttle at IDLE, our speed was steadily dropping.   I called the CN control tower and asked if there was anyone in the vicinity of the east yard lead who might be able to line the switches in advance of our arrival, as we were coming in with a crippled train and couldn't risk using the brakes and breaking in two.

When we arrived, a Trainmaster had driven up to the east yard lead and had us lined into our designated track.  With the train tucked away in between switches, the brakeman reached in between the engine and the first car and, turning the angle cock, shut off the air supply to the train.  Karen pulled the engine ahead slowly and we heard the loud 'whoosh', as the air that had been bottled up inside the mile and a half long brake pipe since we left Boston Bar was finally allowed to be free.

After placing the locomotives on the shop track at Port Mann, we met in the booking-in room.  We congratulated Karen for a job well done.  On her first trip as a student locomotive engineer, she had done something that no other engineer...to my knowledge had ever done...or would ever consider possible.  She had brought a Unit Train of Sulphur....U897 from Boston Bar to Port Mann, a distance of 113 miles without once touching the air brakes.

 I tip my hat to her for displaying both bravery and courage....as they are indeed, different from one another.  Bravery for conquering her fear of taking THAT train out of Boston Bar on her first day on the job, with only the engine brake and emergency brake at her disposal...and, courage for facing the wall that was, and still is... that of a pioneering "sister" entering the world of the "brother-hood".

Karen, wherever you are......'Well Done'.

Bravery and Courage Defined

Only those who have actually worked on trains can have a real sense of the dangers that might be encountered on the job.  Those same people know the measure of their own courage.  I've known railroaders who have been involved in derailments, large and small.  Some have slammed into large snow slides, rock slides or have ridden their charges over washouts where the rails were hanging in the air.  There have been head-on collisions, rear-end collisions, collisions with vehicles at level crossings, rollovers and engines that have gone over the side into the river or lake.  Not everyone survives the particular incidents that they have the misfortune to partake in; and not everyone will sustain injuries.  In thirty six years of railroading, I have experienced a number of occasions in which my adrenalin levels were elevated by the sudden appearance of the possibility of my death....or that of someone close to me.

Photo credit Peter Cox.  CN train hits rock slide at Boothroyd on Ashcroft Sub in Fraser Canyon. 

In the lives of railroaders, miners, loggers and fishermen there is an expectation of danger; an acceptance of the risk of injury or death.  Men, for the most part accept the risk as a fair exchange for the adventure, hardship and financial rewards offered by the occupation they choose.  Women, on the other hand prefer not to take risks and expose themselves to unnecessary dangers.

Let me tell you a story of exemplary courage and bravery of a different sort.

In 1972, CN was facing critical manpower shortages, especially in engine service.  They had all but run out of locomotive firemen from which they could draw to fill the locomotive engineers' ranks.  Engineers were 'doubling the road', meaning they were making a complete round trip, from home terminal to away from home terminal (average 18 to 24 hours) and, on arrival back at their home terminal, would accept another call to double back, or double through on the same train.  In many cases, the dispatcher would call the engineer when he was only halfway over the subdivision on his return trip to ask him if he'd take a call to double through.  This practice might mean that the engineer would make the equivalent of a weeks pay with little or no rest in less than three days.

Again, in 1972, CN sent emissaries to Eastern Canada in an effort to recruit engineers for the Western Region with limited success.  The decision was made to create a locomotive engineer training facility and the unused ex-RCAF air base at Gimli, Manitoba was chosen to accommodate the program.  It began pumping out engineer trainees a year later. None of the unions involved were willing to accept the new engineers outright, and CN wanted to be able to use them as multi-purpose employees; as engineers when increased traffic warranted it and as brakemen when business was slow.

Bruce at the throttle on the Okanagan Valley Wine Train in 1999...when business was good!  
Photo credit Phil Moreau ex CN Rule Instructor @ Kamloops, BC


And, when an ESB isn't set up as an Engineer, he or she works as a Conductor or Switch Person

Photo credit RBH.  Conductor Roger Befurt on Okanagan Valley Wine Train 1999

After leaving the classroom environment in Gimli, the student/recruits returned to their home terminals where they would be paired up with pre-screened and qualified locomotive engineers for an indeterminate length of time in order to gain as much experience as possible with as many engineers as possible to round out their training.  When the on-job trainers felt that the students had reached a level of proficiency that would enable them to take control of a train by themselves, the Master Mechanic in charge of the terminal would ride with the student to determine their level of competency.  Once qualified by the Master Mechanic, the student was then given his certificate and his seniority number on the Locomotive Engineer's Seniority List.  But they weren't to be called Locomotive Engineers, rather Engine Service Brakemen, or ESB's.

In 1979, CN's ESB program had been in full swing for about five years.  A sufficient number of new engineers had been trained and qualified under the terms of the negotiated Labour - Management agreements to fill the job assignments.   The rush was over!  This left a little classroom space at Gimli for the older Scoop-shovel hoggers to take advantage of a 'refresher course' of two weeks duration.

The photo above was a "class photo" taken by CN on November 2, 1979 of the Refresher Class I attended. If anyone can help me identify the men in the photo, please contact me.  Klaus Henze is third from the right in the back row and I'm first on the right in the front row.  I apologize for the lack of sharpness of focus.  The original picture was not entirely in focus.

This opportunity was not well patronized by the scoop-shovels in the Mountain Region and CN found that seats in the classrooms were going begging.  In an effort to keep the engineers at the top of their game, CN threw open the doors to anyone in engine service to attend the courses, and I applied.

I boarded an Air Canada jet in Vancouver and took my seat next to an old friend and fine engineer, Klaus Henze.  Klaus was anxious to see the Gimli Training Center, so I told him of my two month stay there, four years earlier.  Upon our arrival in Winnipeg, we caught a 'company shuttle' to Gimli, about sixty miles to the north and prepared to settle in for two weeks of intense training.

The weather was cold, especially for a couple of west coast fellows who rarely see temperatures that reach freezing.  Even though there was frost on the windows of the bus, I could see that there was definitely no fruit left on the trees between Winnipeg and Gimli.  Snow began to fall in earnest and the flakes grew larger, reaching upward at the last possible moment in front of the headlights as they tried to gain altitude to avoid a collision with the windshield.

We signed in and found our rooms, and after a shower and a change of clothes, Klaus and I met at the student's lounge.  Ordering a glass of "Gimli Goose", a locally made wine of questionable palate, we took a table near the fireplace.

The buildings were chock full of new recruits, brakemen and switch-men from all across Canada.  Well, I guess I should say the new recruits were made up of both men and women, as there were two or three women attending classes, one of whom was from the Greater Vancouver Terminal.  Her name was Karen.

One day, Klaus and I were sitting in the cafeteria with a small group of engineers (not students) from Southern Ontario.  The discussion was animated and friendly, considering that the conversation was focused on the Second World War in Europe.  One of the fellows at the table had joined the US Air Force when the war broke out; another joined the  Canadian Merchant Marine.  Still another had made his way to England to join the British Navy and Klaus...., well,  he was a youth in Germany when war broke out and he joined the Luftewaffe as a pilot-trainee.  In fact, Klaus was only a couple of days away from his first solo flight in a Messerschmitt 109 when the war ended and he was ordered to stand down...without even having made a test flight.

I sat quietly, eating my lunch and taking in the wonder of these former adversaries, now brothers in arms talking about their war experiences.  Perhaps, I thought, perhaps one day I might be able to sit down with a group of CPR guys and we'd all get along like these fellows.

A light tap on my shoulder brought me back to reality and I turned to see a man from the office of the General Superintendent of Transportation - Edmonton standing there.  He said that a group of officers would like to talk with me and could I please join them for a discussion?  Since I was all but finished with my lunch, I excused myself from the company of good friends at the table and followed the gentleman out of the cafeteria.

As we walked toward the Administration building, I asked him if he knew what this was all about.  He said they wanted to talk with me about the on-the-job portion of the engineer training program.  Ten minutes later, I was seated in an office with officials from the Mountain Region as well as the Transportation Training Center's second in command, Roy Stowe.

After we got settled into our chairs and everyone had been introduced, they began by asking me questions about the effectiveness of the program as a whole and the on-the-job part of the training.  I suspected that this was a 'fishing expedition' as there was no hiding from the fact that the Vancouver engineers were a thorn in the side of anything that the company wanted to do, even if it would benefit the engineers.  I suggested that we cut to the chase and talk about the matter that was obviously bothering them... the lack of cooperation by the scoop shovel hoggers in Vancouver!  They surprised me with their rather unconcerned response to my thrust into the conversation.  They were of the opinion that, like any forest fire, the controversial disruptions in Vancouver would burn themselves out eventually.  There was something else they wanted to address with me.

It took only a moment for them to explain the situation they were concerned about, and I understood it immediately.  The engineers in Vancouver had taken a stand.  Their executive insisted that ESB's would not be qualified until they had far more head-end experience than the time CN had felt should be adequate.  The BLE (Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers) local chairman had voiced what he felt should be the training benchmark and that should be modeled after the length of time that firemen had to serve.  Firemen, who were promoted to engineers whenever engineers were needed had sometimes been unable to achieve promotion for 15 years or more.  In some cases in Eastern Canada, firemen were still working on yard engines after 25 years of service.  Some of these were the men who had answered the call to move to the west coast to take instant promotion to the engineers list.  This conflict had been ongoing since the ESB program began in late 1972.  In 1974, I was assigned to train with an engineer on the 1600K transfer out of Lynn Creek and the engineer would only allow me to touch the throttle while the train was "inside" the two-mile tunnel under Burnaby mountain.  This was to assure him that no other engineer would know that he was "training" an ESB.
If it were discovered that he had allowed his ESB to run the engine, even to take it from the shop track to the head end of his train, he risked serious censure from the union local 945.

The purpose of this little chat in the Supervisor's office wasn't to ask me if I'd agree to train new engineers but, indeed, to ask me if I'd train their first FEMALE locomotive engineer candidate when she returned to Vancouver from the current course, now in progress.

There was no need for me to take my time in making my decision.  I had two young children at home...both daughters.  If I was to refuse to train a female student engineer, I would be denying my own children their opportunity to make career choices that might interest them when they came of age.    I knew that there would be trouble from the scoops, who for the most part would try to make my life and Karen's life miserable.  But I felt that she deserved the same opportunity that I had been given.

I said "yes".  The Master Mechanic in Thornton Yard would be advised that I was to train Karen when she returned to the Greater Vancouver Terminal.

At the end of our two week stay, Klaus and I got on the plane for our flight back to Vancouver and took our seats in the very rear of the plane...right beside the jet engine.

It was Klaus' birthday and I wanted to buy him a glass of wine, but he declined, saying that he wanted to be in the best shape possible when he got off the plane.  His new wife, Barbie was going to be meeting him and he'd been missing her.  We sat and tried to talk, but the noise was awful, so we fell into silence.

Then....I had an idea.  I excused myself from my seat and walked up to the galley.  I explained to the Stewardess that my seat mate had been in the German Airforce as a youth and hadn't gotten off the ground before the war ended.  I told her that it was his birthday and, was it possible to ask the Captain if Klaus might see the flight deck.   She asked me to wait while she stepped through the curtain onto the flight deck.

In a moment she returned and told me that the Captain said it would be OK for both of us to join them in the cockpit, but it would have to wait until after we left Regina, where we had a scheduled stop.  The Stewardess said she'd give me a little wave when it was time to bring Klaus forward.  I returned to my seat and sat down...grinning!

We landed in Regina and after a half hour at the terminal, we were airborne again.  When the aircraft leveled out, the Stewardess came partway down the aisle and motioned to me to follow her.  Klaus was sitting with his eyes closed and was about to nod off.  I tapped him on the arm and told him I had a surprise for him and that he should follow me.

We stopped outside the cockpit curtain and the Stewardess reached across and pulled the curtain aside.  Klaus still didn't understand.  Then the Captain turned in his chair and extended his hand to us ... and welcomed us into that magical little space.  Klaus and I were both spell-bound.

The Captain and his First Officer squeezed their seats forward and the Stewardess reached in and pulled two jump-seats down for us to sit on.  There was a small, triangular shaped window just above my head through which I could see the stars in the late night sky.  They seemed close enough to reach out and touch.  Looking through the front windows, we could see the clouds below us.  The earth was blanketed with a field of fluffy cotton that, illuminated by the full moon, stretched as far as the eye could see.  The only sound to be heard, other than the sound of Klaus and the co-pilot talking about locomotives, was a low hissing sound created by the atmosphere being pierced by the planes nose and running over the hull of the craft.

This was certainly a far cry from the control stand of a GP7 on a midnight transfer!

The First Officer asked us where we had been and when we told him we had been at CN's Gimli facility, he lit right up.  His dad was a CPR hogger in Revelstoke and he, himself had worked as a brakeman there while he was going to university.  We asked questions about aircraft and they asked questions about locomotives until the Captain changed radio frequencies from Regina to Vancouver and began to reduce the throttles for the initial approach.

This photo was taken by my wife, Susan while we were returning from a visit with my mom in Kelowna, BC.  The Fraser River can be seen below and Mount Baker, in Washington State can be seen through the smoke from summer forest fires in 2009.

We went back to our seats and sat down.  We both had wide grins on our faces this time.
I knew then that I was in the wrong profession.

Now what about the Bravery and Courage I mentioned in the title of this story?  You'll have to wait a little longer for that part.  It's a good one and you won't want to miss it, I'm sure.

A Day Out of the Ordinary

Four SW1200RS switchers sat outside the Port Mann shops, smoke drifting gently upward in the warm summer sky. It was mid-morning on Saturday, May 29th 1982. There wouldn’t be any prying eyes around to ask questions; knowing this, I had invited a train-crazy (foamer) friend to go for a ride with me. He eagerly accepted the invitation and we met in the parking lot near Thornton Yard’s Surrey BC diesel and car shop complex.

The job was going to be an easy one and a great opportunity to spend some time with an old friend who really loved railroading, even though he had been a truck driver until recently. The job was called with just a conductor and an engineer, aka C & E. Today, we were moving motive power around from one yard to another within the Greater Vancouver Terminal, so there would be no need to have any additional crew members to do the work that would be required of this assignment. There were four yard switchers (SW1200RS’s, GR12’s, yard engines or goats…what ever you want to call them) on the shop track that we had to take to Vancouver’s Main Yard, a distance of about 20 miles. Then we were to pick up four similar units and take them to Vancouver’s Waterfront Yard, a further three miles, and couple them up to four more GR12’s and bring all eight back to Port Mann. Easy.

After the Conductor and I had ‘booked out’ on our respective train register books, we read all the applicable train bulletins and notices that are posted almost daily in a large book in the office. The Train Order Operator was copying orders from the Burlington Northern Dispatcher in New Westminster/Sapperton that would allow us to proceed from the north end of the Fraser River Bridge all the way to Vancouver, so the conductor and I checked our watches against the standard railway clock on the wall behind the Operator’s desk. The Conductor made a couple of phone calls to the yardmasters in Vancouver and the Waterfront yard to find out if the ‘return power’ was ready to be picked up. It was. As soon as the Operator had completed copying our orders and had stapled them together, we would be ready to go out to the shop track and find the locomotives we would take to Vancouver.

It was a nice day; bright, with a high overcast sky, a light breeze coming from the east and balmy temperatures.

Photo Courtesy Peter Cox

The three of us walked over to the shop tracks, looking up and down row after row of standing locomotives.  There were a couple of consists of GP9’s ready for the afternoon transfers to Vancouver and Lynn Creek in North Vancouver.  Several single GR12’s stood ready for yard assignments on Port Mann’s west lead, east lead and north lead assignments.  On the inbound track, a couple of two-unit consists of SD40’s stood where they were left by crews who had arrived off the Yale Sub, and were waiting for shop hostlers to move them inside the shop for service.  A couple more consists of SD40’s stood ready on the outbound tracks.  These would be taken off the shop and placed by their crews on the east end of trains in the yard that had been made up on the night shift and checked over by the Carmen before being OK’d for departure. 

We found our engine, and while the conductor climbed up into the cab to call the Fraser River Bridge Operator for an update on rail and river traffic, Al and I walked around the consist, performing the shop track inspection.  Back up in the cab, the conductor and I performed the required shop track brake test, and with everything checking out OK, we were ready to go. 

We re-read the Burlington Northern orders and called the Fraser River Bridge for permission to enter the interlocking on the bridge.  The BN dispatcher called and said that we had the entire railroad to ourselves, as there was no traffic expected for at least 3 hours.  It’s a great day for a cab ride.

Isolating the lead unit so that it idled while the others worked, I opened the throttle.  This kept the noise down to an acceptable level, but I think Al would rather have the engine working harder so he could appreciate the sound of the engine exhaust barking from the tops of the twin stacks on the roof of the engine just ahead of our cab windows.  I cut the engine back in for the climb up the hill on the long timbered approach to the bridge interlocking where CN track met BN and BC Hydro Tracks.  We drifted over the Fraser River, to the sound of the GM diesel thrumming happily and the clanking of old tie plates protesting beneath the wheels and rails below us. The clean, cool smell of the Fraser river wafted through the open windows as we pulled ourselves up onto our seats and enjoyed what had to be one of the finest views of the river and the old city of New Westminster one could hope to see.  We weren’t going very fast, but as the engine was about to step onto the ends of the rails that sit on the swing span, I moved the Independent Brake handle that operates just the engine brakes over a little bit and applied just enough brake to slow the consist by a few miles per hour.  This reduces the amount of shock that’s transmitted from the span up to the bridge tenders offices high above the middle of the span.  Believe me, the Fraser river bridge was a shaky old lady, and even the movement of a few small yard locomotives could cause her to quiver noticeably.  Once off the metal works of the bridge, we drifted down past the BC Penitentiary toward Sapperton and the Burlington Northern railroad.  Whistle blowing, bell ringing, headlights on full, we came into view of the BN station where the electric train order board indicated green.  We called out “Clear Board New West” to each other and I dimmed the head light so the dispatcher could check our engine number and register our passing in his OS report.

Al took a couple of photos.

As we passed the BN office, I gave a couple of short, sharp blasts on the whistle and the dispatcher leaned into the window and gave us a wave. 

Bell ringing and whistle blowing like a trombone, I notched up the throttle as we crossed Braid street to begin the climb up to Burnaby.  Signals were all green. 

Al took another picture.

Once we entered double track at Burnaby, I throttled down, holding the four locomotive consist at 40 miles an hour.  There was a rail-fan at Piper road crossing who was taking pictures as we scooted across the crossing, once again, bell ringing and whistle blowing.  

From my collection....not exactly Piper Avenue, but a railfan nonetheless!

Al got a picture of the rail-fan.

Leaving double track, we began to descend through “the cut” to CN Junction where we lined ourselves into CN’s Vancouver yard.  As the conductor was lining the switch back behind us, I called the BN and advised him that we were now in the clear in Vancouver.  He thanked me for the report and said he’d begin to prepare our paperwork for the return trip to Port Mann as soon as he heard from us again.

We took the goats to the barn (shop track).  There didn’t seem to be anybody on duty there at the time, so we climbed onto the four engines that were ready for us to take away.  After checking them over and doing the shop track brake test, we snaked our way over the BI Line (or, Burrard Inlet Line) to the Waterfront yard where we tied on to the four units sitting in front of the yard office. 

Al took a couple of photos.

The yardmaster came out and told us that the General Yard Coordinator at Port Mann had added a pick-up to our assignment.  There were more locomotives at Lynn Creek Yard in North Vancouver that he wanted us to bring to Thornton for servicing.  This was a major detour that involved going partway back on the BN main line and backing into the two mile tunnel under Burnaby Mountain, crossing Burrard Inlet on the big lift span and running through the yard to the shop track.  I know, it doesn’t sound like such a big deal, but crossing Burrard Inlet can involve serious delays if a deep sea vessel is in the vicinity.  Marine traffic always…well…almost always takes precedence over rail traffic. 

But we were having such a good time, and everything had been going so well.  So we went without complaint. 

Al had never been through the tunnel and he enjoyed the ride quite a bit.  He got a few nice shots from the Second Narrows Bridge of Burrard Inlet and the north shore mountains. 

We went to the shop track to find that there were two yard engines waiting for us.  We were going back to Port Mann with ten locomotives!  That had to have been some sort of record, so Al got some photographs while we coupled up the engines and performed the shop track air brake test. 

We were about to leave the shop track when the yardmaster came out with a note from Port Mann.  They wanted us to take a 125 car train of empty sulphur cross hoppers back to Port Mann. We argued that we couldn’t do that because the union contract wouldn’t allow us to handle a train without a full crew.  They had a solution.  They took the utility man out of the lunchroom and put him on our crew for the return trip.

Grumbling, we put our ten unit consist on the sulphur empties, cut in the air and pumped up the train line for a brake test.  The conductor went to the caboose for the remainder of the trip.

The brakes applied and released and we got the OK from the Carman.  I called the Second Narrows Bridge Operator for instructions.  He said to proceed from track 51 and take the signal at the top of the yard.  He would take the elevator down to the bridge deck with our orders and clearance and would be in position in about 5 minutes.  I carefully opened the throttle and the train reluctantly began to follow, the slack already being stretched because the train had been standing on a fairly steep grade.

The signal out of the yard and onto the bridge glowing green, we proceeded out of the yard and onto the bridge.  It’s uphill from the yard office to the middle of the tunnel, so I had to make sure I had sufficient power to keep the train moving on the grade.  All ten units were cut in and working.  With that much power ‘on the line’, it would be easy to tear the train apart if the wheels slipped on the rails, or I mishandled the throttle and brake settings.  I focused on the job at hand and Al took a few more photos.

At the middle of the lift-span, the bridge operator appeared with our clearance and orders for the BN run.  Our head-end brakeman stepped out of the cab and went to the bottom of the steps to take the orders from the operator as the engine, roaring and bucking, pulled past him.  I felt a bit of compassion for him as the automatic sanding circuits kept cutting in whenever the wheels began to slip or spin, dumping small amounts of dry silica sand onto the rails for traction.  This immediately was ground to a fine powder by the passing wheels and was blown outward from the engine trucks by traction motor blowers.  The operator was almost obscured by the cloud of fine dust.  I couldn’t even temporarily shut off the sanders, because, without sand for even an instant the engine would slip and surge, tearing the train apart.  This would leave us sitting, straddling Second Narrows, unable to move until repairs were made and with the possibility of very large ocean-going ships approaching, themselves unable to stop.  We had to keep moving at all costs.

After giving the clearance and orders a quick check to ensure accuracy, I pulled the throttle into the eighth notch for the climb to the middle of the tunnel.  I changed channels on the radio to link with the second narrows radio and called him for a radio check.  There was no response.  The lights came on inside the tunnel, flickered and then went out.  The lights and the radio check were put in place to help crews in case of any mishap that might occur inside the tunnel, but they weren’t always 100% reliable.

By the time we reached the middle of the tunnel, the engines were getting pretty warm and the exhaust stacks were now throwing small sparks into the darkened tunnel. 

Some of these units had been sitting idle for up to 16 hours since their last working shift,  and as they got hotter and hotter, they launched massive amounts of smoke and sparks inside the tunnel.  Al took another picture.

Within a couple of minutes, blue and red alarm lights blinked brightly on my control stand and clanging alarm bells filled the cab with unwanted noise.  Our speed began to drop and I had to make a quick decision; stop inside the tunnel and try to re-start the offending units, or proceed out into the fresh air and park it on the BN mail line and hope that we could solve the problem without blocking the double track main for too long.  I kept the throttle wide open and opted for the fresh air option.

Al broke a grin and began snapping like crazy through the back window of the cab.  I looked back to see the most amazing light show….. golf-ball sized balls of flaming carbon were being thrown from the exhaust stacks!  They were going straight up, hitting the ceiling of the tunnel and dropping into the empty hopper cars behind the engine.  No harm.

I found that we didn’t have to stop the train to re-start the engines as the utility man had worked in the shops before he changed to train and yard service, and he knew how to start these engines.  He went back through the 10 unit consist and tried to start up the ones that had shut down.  A couple of the units just could not be re-started, so we left them dead and isolated. 

We continued toward the Fraser River Bridge but not without some trepidation.  If we lost another engine while on the bridge, we could be in deep trouble, as marine traffic would have to wrestle with their charges to avoid a collision with the bridge span.  The conductor called and reminded me that if we couldn’t make the bridge, we would have crossings blocked on the BN mainline as well.  I called the BN dispatcher and the bridge to tell them of our predicament.  The dispatcher said that he understood and would have the signals set for us if we decided to go for it.  The bridge operator said that the bridge was currently lined for us, but if a tug called, he’d have to open the bridge and hold us.  We gambled.  I opened the throttle to take a run at the bridge.  I advised the bridge operator that we would be approaching the bridge at a pretty rapid rate of speed, but the length of the train would slow us down to something that might resemble a “reasonable” speed for the crossing of the span.  He said he understood what I meant.  Thankfully.

Al re-loaded his camera.

While we entered the bridge interlocking at a speed that was more than twice the legal limit, we only just managed to keep the train moving as more of the train found itself climbing up the 1% grade to the bridge.  As we crept across the bridge, the locomotives roared and bucked under the strain, but they kept their feet and leaned into the load. 

Al got lots of photos. 

The engine was beginning to leave the interlocking limits and I was able to reduce the throttle a bit as the speedometer began to creep back up to 5 mph.  It was then that both the bridge operator and the BN dispatcher started calling us with some alarm in their voices.

Photo Credit R.A. Matthews.  

Taken on the Alberta Coal Branch.  Similar open top hoppers to sulphur cars.

The smoke in this case is hot brake-shoe smoke.

The damned train was on fire!  Yep…., all those golf-ball sized chunks of burning carbon had been landing in the empty sulphur cars, but apparently the cars weren’t exactly empty.  The contents had been unloaded in North Vancouver after a long trip from Alberta and some powdered sulphur had stuck to the inside of each car.  When we hauled the train out of the yard, the sulphur had dropped into the bottoms of the cars and gathered in the hoppers there.  And that’s where the burning carbon went too!  The sulphur, when burning, turns to a molten mess and drips from the cars onto the railway road bed, creosoted ties and …  BRIDGE TIMBERS! 

The bridge tender, when he heard the GN dispatcher’s call on the radio telling me that our train was on fire and dripping burning sulphur onto the tracks, immediately and excitedly told me to get off the bridge as quickly as possible.  While he couldn’t see any flames forming on the bridge, it was a reasonable assumption that there soon would be.  In order to avert a major fire, he got busy on the phone trying to alert fire fighting forces.  A train of 125 cars had a length of about a mile and a quarter.  It wasn’t going to get across the full length of the span and the timbered approaches any time soon, even if I increased the speed to an absolutely scary number like 20 or 25 miles per hour. 

First and foremost, I had to ensure that I didn’t do anything that would cause the train to derail on the bridge.  That would be the end of it.  Secondly, I had to ensure that all concerned were notified of our situation and every action were taken to ensure that there were no trains or engines blocking our way once we got off the bridge and approaches. 

Photo Credit RBH 

I changed radio channels and contacted the yardmaster at Port Mann, telling him of our situation.  With our train burning, we couldn’t risk stopping anywhere between the bridge and a secure track in the yard.  There were several industries along that stretch of track including lumber mills, manufacturers and fuel suppliers.  I asked the yardmaster to ensure that all train and yard movements in and around the west end of the yard were well clear of our route into the yard and that he arrange to have our train lined into a track that could easily be serviced by the Surrey Fire Department.

He replied that the west end of the yard was clear and there was no one available to line up our route into track 103, a long track with a paved service road nearby.

 The approach to the bridge and portions of the bridge deck were now on fire and we were ordered to get off the bridge immediately so that fire crews could respond.  Al got some shots of little wisps of smoke rising from the timbers.

Bob Huen, the on-duty Utility Man managed to get all the switches lined up for us, and with low throttle, pulled the burning train into the yard.

As the head end of our train began to enter track 103, I noticed something rather disconcerting.  The two tracks on either side of us, tracks 102 and 104 held two trains, each containing many cars of propane, butane, chlorine, gasoline and other hazardous chemicals.  What was the yardmaster thinking?  I was "ordered" to get our locomotive consist to the shop as quickly and "quietly" as possible.  I was quite concerned about the safety of the yard and of the residents living near the yard where our train had been parked.  

 Photo Courtesy Barrie Sanford from his book Royal Metal, Story of the New Westminster Rail Bridge