FlanaryRon-SOU3300-No256-NaturalTunnelVA-8-22-82
Hang In There
As far as I can tell, I exposed from first single frame of black and white film at Natural Tunnel in early 1964. The results were less than thrilling, but the experience of standing near the track as five Southern Railway F7s rolled by at 15 MPH—dynamic brakes howling in a high amplitude whine as the electrical power of 20 traction motors was dissipated in the rheostatic action of heat in the brake grid resistors. It wasn’t a convenient hike from the top of the huge “amphitheater” (especially going back up the steep switchback trail), but I knew I would be back---many times, in fact.
I’m not sure why I was back on this afternoon, but the date on the slide mount (August 22, 1982) was a Sunday. Perhaps I was just bored and decided to photograph the daily Duke Power unit train from the transloader at Appalachia as it exited the tunnel. The single frame of film suggests I just drove to Natural Tunnel, descended to track level, and waited. The weather was perfect, but if you’re trying to photograph a train passing through a hole in the ground, lighting can be very tricky.
Overcast days at the tunnel are not a problem, as the light is even with very faint shadows. Full sun, however, can yield a tremendous shot of an eastbound train---if---the sun is coming in from the southeast. The window of time for such perfection is brief. Depending on the season, that means favorable light in the early afternoon. However, as the sun angle shifts to the southwest, the direct light at the very bottom of the “hole” will soon leave you with the extremes of bright light at the top of the tunnel with the tracks in shadow. The curse of uneven lighting with film photography was only correctable with some skilled darkroom work of “dodging” and “burning” to even up the lighting. For color slides---forget it.
Late trains always get later, and No. 256 of that day had to hold the main for a meet with a westbound at Tito. My hope for an efficient meet was gone after I passed the westbound train at Sunbright—still several miles from Tito. Refusing to accept defeat I parked and descended the switchback trail to the bottom—without the assistance of dynamic braking on my loafers, I might add. When I reached the “spot,” I almost instantly knew a memorable shot would not be possible. The sun was already dropping below the upper reaches of Purchase Ridge, and the prominent shadows were encroaching on the track. Stubbornly, I decided to “hang in there.” In my head, I remembered my father’s advice (of many “sayings” he used): “Do something, even if it’s wrong, but don’t just stand there and no nothing.”
The light only got worse, of course, because that’s how the Universe rolls. About the time I conceded a usable photographic image would be worthless, I heard the distant whine of dynamic brakes on the other side of the tunnel. I had to shoot “wide open” at a slow shutter speed, but I knew he would be doing no more than 15 MPH. If he was going much faster, it wouldn’t matter, because I would likely be dispatched to Glory Land, self-sacrificed in an epic train derailment of twisted metal and coal. The tunnel’s steep descending grade of 1.8 percent and internal 18-degree reverse curve keeps the pucker factor high for any engineer who has wormed his train through the hole.
At last, the headlight and illuminated number boards of lead “white face” SD40-2 No. 3300 appeared in my viewfinder. I took one shot, then stood back to experience the long train of aluminum “Silverside” gons squealing through the corkscrew. The sounds were equally interesting: the audible resistance of double-spiked welded rail trying to pull from their moorings in the ties, and the constant screeching from the wheels on the high side of the curve fighting those on the low side as they rotated at different speeds. There was more dynamic brake whine as the radio car and three mid-train units filled the arena with more noise. The rear portion brought less sound as most of the pressure was on the front of the train. At last, a standard red Southern Railway bay window caboose appeared. A friendly wave from the flagman through the open window, and it was over.
I followed the train through the man-made “Little Tunnel” to begin the switchback climb to the top. I was sure the image was a waste of time, but at least I hung in there. As my father always advised, I did “something, even if it was wrong.” More than four decades later, digital technology would allow the improvement of a so-so image from 1982. Only now can I feel some redemption for having waited for the train.
FlanaryRon-SOU3300-No256-NaturalTunnelVA-8-22-82
Hang In There
As far as I can tell, I exposed from first single frame of black and white film at Natural Tunnel in early 1964. The results were less than thrilling, but the experience of standing near the track as five Southern Railway F7s rolled by at 15 MPH—dynamic brakes howling in a high amplitude whine as the electrical power of 20 traction motors was dissipated in the rheostatic action of heat in the brake grid resistors. It wasn’t a convenient hike from the top of the huge “amphitheater” (especially going back up the steep switchback trail), but I knew I would be back---many times, in fact.
I’m not sure why I was back on this afternoon, but the date on the slide mount (August 22, 1982) was a Sunday. Perhaps I was just bored and decided to photograph the daily Duke Power unit train from the transloader at Appalachia as it exited the tunnel. The single frame of film suggests I just drove to Natural Tunnel, descended to track level, and waited. The weather was perfect, but if you’re trying to photograph a train passing through a hole in the ground, lighting can be very tricky.
Overcast days at the tunnel are not a problem, as the light is even with very faint shadows. Full sun, however, can yield a tremendous shot of an eastbound train---if---the sun is coming in from the southeast. The window of time for such perfection is brief. Depending on the season, that means favorable light in the early afternoon. However, as the sun angle shifts to the southwest, the direct light at the very bottom of the “hole” will soon leave you with the extremes of bright light at the top of the tunnel with the tracks in shadow. The curse of uneven lighting with film photography was only correctable with some skilled darkroom work of “dodging” and “burning” to even up the lighting. For color slides---forget it.
Late trains always get later, and No. 256 of that day had to hold the main for a meet with a westbound at Tito. My hope for an efficient meet was gone after I passed the westbound train at Sunbright—still several miles from Tito. Refusing to accept defeat I parked and descended the switchback trail to the bottom—without the assistance of dynamic braking on my loafers, I might add. When I reached the “spot,” I almost instantly knew a memorable shot would not be possible. The sun was already dropping below the upper reaches of Purchase Ridge, and the prominent shadows were encroaching on the track. Stubbornly, I decided to “hang in there.” In my head, I remembered my father’s advice (of many “sayings” he used): “Do something, even if it’s wrong, but don’t just stand there and no nothing.”
The light only got worse, of course, because that’s how the Universe rolls. About the time I conceded a usable photographic image would be worthless, I heard the distant whine of dynamic brakes on the other side of the tunnel. I had to shoot “wide open” at a slow shutter speed, but I knew he would be doing no more than 15 MPH. If he was going much faster, it wouldn’t matter, because I would likely be dispatched to Glory Land, self-sacrificed in an epic train derailment of twisted metal and coal. The tunnel’s steep descending grade of 1.8 percent and internal 18-degree reverse curve keeps the pucker factor high for any engineer who has wormed his train through the hole.
At last, the headlight and illuminated number boards of lead “white face” SD40-2 No. 3300 appeared in my viewfinder. I took one shot, then stood back to experience the long train of aluminum “Silverside” gons squealing through the corkscrew. The sounds were equally interesting: the audible resistance of double-spiked welded rail trying to pull from their moorings in the ties, and the constant screeching from the wheels on the high side of the curve fighting those on the low side as they rotated at different speeds. There was more dynamic brake whine as the radio car and three mid-train units filled the arena with more noise. The rear portion brought less sound as most of the pressure was on the front of the train. At last, a standard red Southern Railway bay window caboose appeared. A friendly wave from the flagman through the open window, and it was over.
I followed the train through the man-made “Little Tunnel” to begin the switchback climb to the top. I was sure the image was a waste of time, but at least I hung in there. As my father always advised, I did “something, even if it was wrong.” More than four decades later, digital technology would allow the improvement of a so-so image from 1982. Only now can I feel some redemption for having waited for the train.