Guest post by Frederick Manfred Simon.
December 30, 2016
Hartline, Washington: before
breakfast-o’clock in the midst of temperatures tumbling into
inhumane depths; when one can scarcely feel his digits ditch lights
reach into the darkness and find Conductor Gary Durr wading through
drifted and drifting snow to hold a job briefing with Dave Reagan,
his Engineer, where Durr will briefly escape the inclemency in the
relative warmth of the cab as they assess the situation and plan
their next few moves. Railroaders have been at war with the elements
for generations, hence there is nothing extraordinary about this
scene. Yet, it is a glimpse into one such campaign in that perpetual
conflict between man; his machines; his – a la Nietzsche –
indomitable Will to Power and what is Force Majeure. To-wit: the crew
confronts myriad complications: frozen switch locks; compacted,
snowed in switches and “throwing” them means throwing your back –
all your living and dead might – into bending frozen steel to one’s
will; bad, if not non-existent footing; air hoses and the air that
passes through them frozen, unbendable and impassable; not to mention
the overarching mental and physical fatigue all while ensuring that
each move is orchestrated according to a detailed, sequential plan:
switches lined, handbrakes set, derails dropped, cars properly
spotted, working in between unaired cars and 200-plus-ton
locomotives. These men; this Band of Brothers, they have each other’s
six every-single-step of the way for any lapse or deviation from said
maneuver or miscommunication is consequential. The demand for
unflagging concentration is nothing short of supreme as the wind
mercilessly knifes its icy blades into any exposed skin and through
as many layers of clothing, and any romantic notion of railroading
leaves you as quickly as the boreal vacuum sucks the warmth from your
body.