Nomad of Mid-America
Up in the Ayer
Big obstacles breed big solutions. When the Oregon-Washington Railroad & Navigation--a subsidiary of the mighty Union Pacific Harriman empire--was building north out of Hinkle, OR, towards Spokane, they picked the easy route and followed the south bank of the Snake River. At the confluence of the Palouse River, flowing into the Snake from the north, the railroad decided to leave the low waters of the Snake for the Palouse Coulee's steep climb to escort it to higher elevations towards Spokane. Southeast Washington's Palouse region is an undulating, rocky land, hardly ideal for railroad construction, and the steep walls carved by the Snake River complicated the matter. But they had to get across the Snake to where they needed to go. So they built a bridge.
The bridge they built wasn't just a bridge--it was an engineering marvel. The railroad climbed on a moderate grade of 0.6% from the river's edge at Ayer for about 2 miles up to the bridge's south end wall before making a hard left turn onto the deck girder approach spans. Over the channel, five Warren deck truss spans were erected as cantilevers; a crane worked its way out onto each span as construction progressed from north to south, setting each truss member until it could reach the next tower location, which it would then also construct, then repeat the sequence. After 2 years, the viaduct stretched 3,920 feet in length over 55 total spans, top of rail around 260' above the water (construction of a nearby dam raised the water level by around 70'). Trains rolled across it for the first time in 1912.
There are taller bridges. There are longer bridges. There are bridges in arguably more scenic locales. But sit down and write out a list of bridges in American Railroading that combine all elements as harmoniously as Joso, the results are remarkably few. It's a unique and spectacular feat of engineering, form and function married as happily as they ever have been wed, in a fascinatingly eye-catching setting. It's an antique, a historical artifact of America's manifest destiny to conquer the west, yet one that continues to play a major role in the economy of the Northwest and Union Pacific's network in the PNW. It is part of the Ayer Sub--"The Washy"--a gateway between the lumber and potash producing provinces of Canada's west and US's interior consumers and coastal ports. MSKHK 04, a short-run manifest from UP's outpost in Spokane to its hub classification hump at Hinkle, OR, tiptoes across the Joso Viaduct with 64 cars, a majority laden with lumber products. It bends into the low-hanging sun of a late spring afternoon and lands onto the Snake's south bank, preparing to drop down the grade into Ayer where it will spend the remainder of the evening working the small interchange yard located there.
Postscript: You're seeing it right--this train doesn't have any of its headlights on. 1,300 miles from home, plane flights, meandering drives, hikes, and long waits. A spectacular setting complete with a long train, presentable motive power, low light that managed to beat out the rapidly incoming shadows, and nary a cloud in the sky. All of said effort and fortune ruined because the engineer forgot to flip on the headlights after taking the siding for a meet. The urge to throw the cameras off the cliff and go home was powerful, but cooler heads fortunately prevailed through the tizzy.
So this will have to do until next time, when something else will undoubtedly screw things up.
Up in the Ayer
Big obstacles breed big solutions. When the Oregon-Washington Railroad & Navigation--a subsidiary of the mighty Union Pacific Harriman empire--was building north out of Hinkle, OR, towards Spokane, they picked the easy route and followed the south bank of the Snake River. At the confluence of the Palouse River, flowing into the Snake from the north, the railroad decided to leave the low waters of the Snake for the Palouse Coulee's steep climb to escort it to higher elevations towards Spokane. Southeast Washington's Palouse region is an undulating, rocky land, hardly ideal for railroad construction, and the steep walls carved by the Snake River complicated the matter. But they had to get across the Snake to where they needed to go. So they built a bridge.
The bridge they built wasn't just a bridge--it was an engineering marvel. The railroad climbed on a moderate grade of 0.6% from the river's edge at Ayer for about 2 miles up to the bridge's south end wall before making a hard left turn onto the deck girder approach spans. Over the channel, five Warren deck truss spans were erected as cantilevers; a crane worked its way out onto each span as construction progressed from north to south, setting each truss member until it could reach the next tower location, which it would then also construct, then repeat the sequence. After 2 years, the viaduct stretched 3,920 feet in length over 55 total spans, top of rail around 260' above the water (construction of a nearby dam raised the water level by around 70'). Trains rolled across it for the first time in 1912.
There are taller bridges. There are longer bridges. There are bridges in arguably more scenic locales. But sit down and write out a list of bridges in American Railroading that combine all elements as harmoniously as Joso, the results are remarkably few. It's a unique and spectacular feat of engineering, form and function married as happily as they ever have been wed, in a fascinatingly eye-catching setting. It's an antique, a historical artifact of America's manifest destiny to conquer the west, yet one that continues to play a major role in the economy of the Northwest and Union Pacific's network in the PNW. It is part of the Ayer Sub--"The Washy"--a gateway between the lumber and potash producing provinces of Canada's west and US's interior consumers and coastal ports. MSKHK 04, a short-run manifest from UP's outpost in Spokane to its hub classification hump at Hinkle, OR, tiptoes across the Joso Viaduct with 64 cars, a majority laden with lumber products. It bends into the low-hanging sun of a late spring afternoon and lands onto the Snake's south bank, preparing to drop down the grade into Ayer where it will spend the remainder of the evening working the small interchange yard located there.
Postscript: You're seeing it right--this train doesn't have any of its headlights on. 1,300 miles from home, plane flights, meandering drives, hikes, and long waits. A spectacular setting complete with a long train, presentable motive power, low light that managed to beat out the rapidly incoming shadows, and nary a cloud in the sky. All of said effort and fortune ruined because the engineer forgot to flip on the headlights after taking the siding for a meet. The urge to throw the cameras off the cliff and go home was powerful, but cooler heads fortunately prevailed through the tizzy.
So this will have to do until next time, when something else will undoubtedly screw things up.