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After practicing some reskinning I whipped up some minor mods for a few pieces of equipment, and decided to try my hand at one of those "story through picture" deals.
Narrow gauge operations can be small, but the early mining and lumber lines were even smaller. The Iron Creek Mining Company is one of those, a tiny fledgling line in operation for only a few years. Until the ore seams start paying off, the line is making do with its first two engines, a pair of Porters. Trains are small, often only a few cars in length, since the Porters do not climb steep grades very well.
On a clear summer morning, Iron Creek No. 1, "Samson", pulls out of a small valley station with the 10:00 mixed. This consists of a boxcar of supplies for the miners and the railroad's only coach, the combine "Madeline".
The little engine, dwarfed by its tow, gains speed and winds up the grade into the canyon, dwarfed by the lineside vegetation.
At the same time, Samsons twin, "Vulcan", threads its way down from the mines with a load of ore.
Vulcan is considerably more worn than its brother, having been roughed-up in a shallow mine entrance collapse in 1869. Its black paint is worn and scuffed, and its saddle tank is coated in a rusty brown hue, having been rebuilt from scrap iron.
Meanwhile, Samson struggles up the grade, barking and panting like a little terrier.
There are no signals and no telegraph lines, so all meets are strictly timetable based, with the first train responible for halting and awaiting the oncoming one. Samson must race up the canyon to reach the siding on time, and the train rattles along the cliff edge.
Vulcan is also also racing to keep the schedule, though it is aided by gravity as it clatters down the grade.
Screaming along at a paltry 20 mph, Samson still manages to seem much faster.
A few moments later, tranquility is restored to the woods as the train quietly simmers at the siding, until the determined chuff of the downgrade freight increases in volume. Moments later, Vulcan pulls into view.
Sighting Samson, Vulcan cries out in greeting.
The freight slows, and slips past the patient mixed passenger train.
It isn't often that a passenger standing on the vestibule platform can look down at a passing train's drivers!
As Vulcan slips into the distance, Samson slowly puffs off, and the two little trains part ways, high-pitched whistles hooting out across the mountain.
There is something so charming about tiny trains, dwarfed by the landscape. They seem so comical, and yet so determined, willing to put in more than their fair share of work. Big engines are wonderful, but when you are feeling blue, there is nothing quite as cheering as a small little engine, shoving its nose to the grindstone and defying all expectations and hauling loads far in excess of their own weight. :derisive:
