Peering through the rain streaked cab windows, Simpson engineer Sterling “Stick” Shilman has a trained eye on the rail ahead as the train ascends the grade towards Mill 5. Rainy weather is the normal working condition for these railroaders in the Puget Sound region thanks to mois- ture-laden air colliding with the Cascade and Olympic mountain ranges.
Simpson centerbeam flats are in cap- tive service to the railroad, as are the log cars.
The real show begins when the water logs are to be tugged up the hill to Mill 5. Additional crews come on duty to their multi-stall roundhouse to bring extra units on-line to provide an added boost for the tonnage up the hill. A creak of the door of the roundhouse and the roll of the starter and an SW1200 comes to life. After safety checks the conductor walks out to align the hand- operated turntable and the switcher creeps onto the table. After careful po- sitioning to balance it, the two man crew spins the engine to the correct outbound track.
After quick check of the sanders they are ready to position themselves to boost the log train. The dispatcher sits in a diminutive office next to the round- house and on the shore of the Goldsbor- ough where he has a front row seat to the action of not only the Simpson, but also the busy rails of the PSAP. Numer- ous radios keep the dispatcher in con- tact not only with the train crews but also the different parts of the lumber mill. Between issuing out clearances, the chirp of active radios fills the back- ground. The walls of the office are adorned with photos of the Simpson in action, some back to the steam days. Many modern photos are from local rail photographer Joel Hawthorn. An equal
amount of non-rail photos are there too, most depicting the harvest of a day’s hunting or fishing. Outside water runs off the awning at an angle from the stiff cold breeze. It’s a typical western Washington November day. Up in the cab of Simp- son 1202, it’s loud but warm, the ca- dence of the whoosh-whoosh of the pneumatic wipers clear a temporary line of sight through the light rain. Even without earplugs you would have to yell across the cab to be heard over the drone of the wall heater and the idling of the engine. Under power, you might as well forget it; ear plugs are a must.
After the last logs are loaded aboard, Simpson 1202 gets the clear from the dispatcher to head up the hill. On the drawbar are 28 loaded log cars. As the rear end clears the main crossing in town, the two push helpers, Simpson 1201 and 1200 hook on the rear, place their throttles in run eight and start the long pull-push up to Mill 5. A com- bined 3600 horsepower over 12 axles roll over sanded jointed rail in the fad- ing light.
Departing Shelton, the tracks cut through back yards, but almost imme- diately start a climb, hanging close to Goldsborough Creek, where it will fol- low closely for the next five miles. Blind crossings, and lots of road traffic keep the crew busy watching out for haz-
ards. Within a mile after leaving Shel- ton, the line enters the Goldsborough canyon. Only the railroad and the creek share this route. Although just a few miles from the town, it feels like a thou- sand miles away from civilization with the railroad providing the only tangible link.
As sand is spit out on the rail, the en- gineers work to keep the wheel slip to a minimum as they ascend. Although there are several slow orders along the way, today’s train will not even get close to the reduced speed. A combina- tion of wet rail and newly fallen leaves play havoc with traction. Even with the amount of traffic on this short stretch, this is the rain forest with nearly five- and-a-half feet of rainfall on an annual basis. A seemingly endless tree canopy covers the tracks for several miles. Even though it’s only a few miles out of town, the only road access to the Golds- borough canyon section are locked log- ging roads leaving the deer, elk and bear to substantially outnumber the few hunters and fishermen.
It’s now nearly dark, and the rain has picked up, the wipers are having trouble, leaving streaks of water. The headlight beams struggling to cut the dusk. Nearing the top, the grade steep- ens at a location affectionately called “Sandcut” by the railroaders. This is where trains can slowly grind to a halt. Once on top it’s a short mile into the
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