It wasn't always like this - Buick 1949 Fastback Sequence 4
July 3, 2004
Well. No Bob on Thursday (1st) or Friday (2nd). I had called Jenny to say that I wanted to spend another night up in Bear Mountain.
That was all I could manage though. I had promised to get back to town so we could be at her parents house for Forth of July (tomorrow).
The Celebrations were building in both Bear Mountain and Big River, so there was plenty and hustle and bustle. I began thinking what it would be like to celebrate July 4 up in a mountain town here – but knew I would be dead if I didn't get back to the city.
In the absence of Bob, I had made a few more enquiries that would help me get the Buick down from the mountain. I had been introduced to a retired gentleman named George Manning through the ladies at the Historical Society. George had been involved with the mine through to its closure. He had held various jobs at the railway station/loading centre that I had seen earlier in the week.
Fortunately, George also still had the keys to various locks, including the site gate, and through his connection to the Historical Society, had permission to open up the site, including the buildings and road, to people with a legitimate interest.
Lucky for me, George thought I fitted the bill, and didn't require any liquid encouragement for the favour.
After I spent most of Thursday in and out around town waiting to find Bob, I thought I would make better use of Friday, so I asked George if it was ok if he took me for a look through the rail yarding and buildings, and maybe, a drive up the road toward the mine.
George said that was fine. We spent about 2 hours walking around the now disused railway yard. It was obvious though that at its peak dozens of men would have worked there just to keep the place running keeping pace with the mine.
As we walked around, George recalled stories from those times, including some more information about the Buick parked up on the ridge, a bit more information about Doc Charleson and more history of the town and mine.
One of George's last jobs was as the Senior Clerk at the yard. A job that earned him an office, a telephone and a typewriter, from which the official correspondence of the office was handled. This also gave George access to most of the records, and hence, a distinct role within the Historical Society for the preservation of part of the key documented history of the town. Even the payroll records made for some serious record keeping volumes.
Most of the records for the mine were also now located down at the railway yard offices where they were more readily available to their historical 'Minders'.
George was looking through some of these – less business – records, including documented 'Official Visits' by State and National Politicians (mainly during election campaigns) and celebrities during promotions for films or concerts. There were many interesting and unusual press clippings and photographs.
Among these were a handful of photos recorded at the location of the old Buick. From these I learned that it was located at a point known as Wilson's Ridge. The location was beautiful, obviously, but the old car had combined with it as a mini local tourist attraction.
One of my Thursday activities was to purchase a decent topographical map, and I had this spread out on one of the office desks to mark in the location of some of these older landmarks in assisting me to reach the car. Wilson's Ridge was quite clear, but the road was no longer clearly marked, and though the rail line was indicated, it also suggested that it was in significant disrepair and would likely be difficult to locate in places.
Given I had not seen the line when I was by the Buick, I did not doubt this last point.
I had a pretty good set of landmarks though and George had loaned me some old photos and clippings which he said I was free to copy so long as I returned them to the Historical Society shop front in town. Among these was a photo taken in around 1967. It was colour, so it indicated that the Buick's paint job had seen better days, it also showed that the pine trees had started to make one of their journeys up towards the rail line.
The photo also showed what looked like it may have been the sapling of the mighty tree that now found its home in the Buick's engine bay.
George said I was welcome to keep that one, as it was of less significance to the town than some of the other materials, and that it obviously fascinated me greatly. I said that I would make a copy and give back the original. But it was obvious that I was now piecing together some more of the history of the car, tree growing through it and the town nestled at the bottom of the mountain.
After we had looked through the records, I took George for a drive some way up the road toward the mine in my car.
It was clear that it had not been regularly used for quite some time. There was a lot of debris across the road, and some small pines had planted themselves right into the edges of the road surface in places.
We reached another gate about twelve, windy miles in. George said he had the keys for this gate also, but not on him. He also said that the road became much steeper, and probably in a much worse state of repair from there onwards, as much of had never been sealed in tarmac. The road was very windy, despite its effort to stay close to the rail line, crossing over or under it at points where it passed through cuttings, or over small gorges. It had been a shorter, though steeper climb by foot earlier in the week.
We both got out to stretch and have a look round. The road had already climbed upwards a thousand feet or so, and already the views were opening up spectacularly. It must have been a beautiful daily drive for the Doc, and the miners who rode the train up and down each day as they wound in and out along the ridges and peaks on the way up to the mine.
I took some more photos at the location and made notes in my diary (including making sure I collected the keys to get through the gates). I had most of my camping gear still in the car, so offered George a beer, as we sat in the shade of one of the larger trees, ate some chips (mainly me) and listened to more of George's stories about the town.
After we had driven back down the road and locked the gates to the rail yard, I dropped George back into the main street of the town and headed back into Big River to get some ice-cream and enjoy a good meal in one of the Bars on Friday night leading up to the Forth of July holiday celebration.
I made sure I didn't drink much, and then headed back to Bear Mountain for the night before packing up in the morning.
It was obvious I had run out of time to get the car down the mountain this trip. I would need to head up again in the Fall (autumn) when I had some more time off from work. I would bring Jenny up to, as I was sure she would love to do some paintings of the Fall colours and the stunning scenery.
I then finished packing the car, and headed back to the city. My camera full of photos. My diary full of notes. A bunch of old photographs. The beginning of a plan to get the beautiful old Buick down of the mountain and into my workshop for restoration.
It wasn't always like this - Buick 1949 Fastback Sequence 4
July 3, 2004
Well. No Bob on Thursday (1st) or Friday (2nd). I had called Jenny to say that I wanted to spend another night up in Bear Mountain.
That was all I could manage though. I had promised to get back to town so we could be at her parents house for Forth of July (tomorrow).
The Celebrations were building in both Bear Mountain and Big River, so there was plenty and hustle and bustle. I began thinking what it would be like to celebrate July 4 up in a mountain town here – but knew I would be dead if I didn't get back to the city.
In the absence of Bob, I had made a few more enquiries that would help me get the Buick down from the mountain. I had been introduced to a retired gentleman named George Manning through the ladies at the Historical Society. George had been involved with the mine through to its closure. He had held various jobs at the railway station/loading centre that I had seen earlier in the week.
Fortunately, George also still had the keys to various locks, including the site gate, and through his connection to the Historical Society, had permission to open up the site, including the buildings and road, to people with a legitimate interest.
Lucky for me, George thought I fitted the bill, and didn't require any liquid encouragement for the favour.
After I spent most of Thursday in and out around town waiting to find Bob, I thought I would make better use of Friday, so I asked George if it was ok if he took me for a look through the rail yarding and buildings, and maybe, a drive up the road toward the mine.
George said that was fine. We spent about 2 hours walking around the now disused railway yard. It was obvious though that at its peak dozens of men would have worked there just to keep the place running keeping pace with the mine.
As we walked around, George recalled stories from those times, including some more information about the Buick parked up on the ridge, a bit more information about Doc Charleson and more history of the town and mine.
One of George's last jobs was as the Senior Clerk at the yard. A job that earned him an office, a telephone and a typewriter, from which the official correspondence of the office was handled. This also gave George access to most of the records, and hence, a distinct role within the Historical Society for the preservation of part of the key documented history of the town. Even the payroll records made for some serious record keeping volumes.
Most of the records for the mine were also now located down at the railway yard offices where they were more readily available to their historical 'Minders'.
George was looking through some of these – less business – records, including documented 'Official Visits' by State and National Politicians (mainly during election campaigns) and celebrities during promotions for films or concerts. There were many interesting and unusual press clippings and photographs.
Among these were a handful of photos recorded at the location of the old Buick. From these I learned that it was located at a point known as Wilson's Ridge. The location was beautiful, obviously, but the old car had combined with it as a mini local tourist attraction.
One of my Thursday activities was to purchase a decent topographical map, and I had this spread out on one of the office desks to mark in the location of some of these older landmarks in assisting me to reach the car. Wilson's Ridge was quite clear, but the road was no longer clearly marked, and though the rail line was indicated, it also suggested that it was in significant disrepair and would likely be difficult to locate in places.
Given I had not seen the line when I was by the Buick, I did not doubt this last point.
I had a pretty good set of landmarks though and George had loaned me some old photos and clippings which he said I was free to copy so long as I returned them to the Historical Society shop front in town. Among these was a photo taken in around 1967. It was colour, so it indicated that the Buick's paint job had seen better days, it also showed that the pine trees had started to make one of their journeys up towards the rail line.
The photo also showed what looked like it may have been the sapling of the mighty tree that now found its home in the Buick's engine bay.
George said I was welcome to keep that one, as it was of less significance to the town than some of the other materials, and that it obviously fascinated me greatly. I said that I would make a copy and give back the original. But it was obvious that I was now piecing together some more of the history of the car, tree growing through it and the town nestled at the bottom of the mountain.
After we had looked through the records, I took George for a drive some way up the road toward the mine in my car.
It was clear that it had not been regularly used for quite some time. There was a lot of debris across the road, and some small pines had planted themselves right into the edges of the road surface in places.
We reached another gate about twelve, windy miles in. George said he had the keys for this gate also, but not on him. He also said that the road became much steeper, and probably in a much worse state of repair from there onwards, as much of had never been sealed in tarmac. The road was very windy, despite its effort to stay close to the rail line, crossing over or under it at points where it passed through cuttings, or over small gorges. It had been a shorter, though steeper climb by foot earlier in the week.
We both got out to stretch and have a look round. The road had already climbed upwards a thousand feet or so, and already the views were opening up spectacularly. It must have been a beautiful daily drive for the Doc, and the miners who rode the train up and down each day as they wound in and out along the ridges and peaks on the way up to the mine.
I took some more photos at the location and made notes in my diary (including making sure I collected the keys to get through the gates). I had most of my camping gear still in the car, so offered George a beer, as we sat in the shade of one of the larger trees, ate some chips (mainly me) and listened to more of George's stories about the town.
After we had driven back down the road and locked the gates to the rail yard, I dropped George back into the main street of the town and headed back into Big River to get some ice-cream and enjoy a good meal in one of the Bars on Friday night leading up to the Forth of July holiday celebration.
I made sure I didn't drink much, and then headed back to Bear Mountain for the night before packing up in the morning.
It was obvious I had run out of time to get the car down the mountain this trip. I would need to head up again in the Fall (autumn) when I had some more time off from work. I would bring Jenny up to, as I was sure she would love to do some paintings of the Fall colours and the stunning scenery.
I then finished packing the car, and headed back to the city. My camera full of photos. My diary full of notes. A bunch of old photographs. The beginning of a plan to get the beautiful old Buick down of the mountain and into my workshop for restoration.