A Tale of Two Mountains

(actually, it’s two tales of the same mountain on very different days)

Tale #1: Snow Train: January 28, 2024

On a recent winter morning, trainmasters Andy and Josh rolled M7, our newest diesel locomotive, out of its warm overnight berth in the maintenance shop. Fixed to its up-mountain end was a massive twin-fan hydraulic snowblower, tuned and ready for a routine track-clearing mission toward the summit of Mount Washington. Josh was in the cab operating the engine, and Andy was at the snowblower controls out on the frigid right front running board. It was foggy and heavily overcast when they left the base station, but conditions would change dramatically as they climbed higher.

Also in the cab that morning was Marc, hitching a ride on the 7 up to Waumbek for his weekly turn as Stationmaster at our winter passenger destination. Like many of the rest of us, Marc fills multiple roles at the Cog, from track crew to plow truck driver to brakeman. He’d spend this day shoveling snow, keeping fires lit, dodging running children with pointed marshmallow sticks, and generally just keeping things hunky-dory and spic and span. 

The ride up to 4000’ was chilly but uneventful, and with the snowblower not yet necessary, Andy joined Josh and Marc in the unheated cab. After cresting Cold Springs Hill and slowly crossing the lower switch, Josh eased the locomotive up to the narrow A Gate at Waumbek and pulled the brake. He and Andy helped Marc off-load plastic crates of supplies and steaming coffee and hot-water dispensers for tea and hot chocolate. Then, after a number of off-color witticisms followed by two toots on the horn, they were off to higher climes. Marc was left to his own devices with little more than shin-deep snow, a foggy, cold gray sky, and the refrain of a sad tune running through his noggin:

Ain't nobody there to care where I been
I'm humming on that lonesome song again

On the 7, Andy was out on the running board guiding Josh across the upper Waumbek switch and the narrow tree-lined corridor beyond. Deepening snow covered the tracks, and the snowblower chute was projecting a high velocity icy-white stream down onto the service road parallel to the tracks. Suddenly, approaching Halfway House at 4500’, Andy signaled Josh to stop. They had been running just a few clicks too fast, and the chute and augers had started to plug-up with snow. The boys climbed down onto the steep trestle very carefully, making sure to not step in the snow-covered void between two cross ties. Using shovel handles, their hands, and a lot of elbow grease, they eventually cleared the jams and continued on their way. They repeated this exhausting process a number of times– stop, climb down, clear, proceed– through 4-6’ drifts hundreds of feet long.

Then, about halfway up Long Trestle approaching tree line at 5000’, the cloud cover thinned and disappeared. The sky went from dingy gray to brilliant blue almost instantly, and just like that the locomotive cab filled with warm sunlight. They had broken through the undercast and were now seeing peaks of the northern Presidentials looking like rocky islands in a fluffy white sea. A rainbow formed a colorful arch in the northern sky.

The jaws of these two rock ‘em, sock ‘em mountain men hit the floor (Josh’s leaving little drops of tobacco-stained chew around it) as they gazed in child-like wonder at one of the most beautifully surreal vistas a human being is ever privileged to see. Josh summed the scene up perfectly, succinctly, in two words uttered in three syllables under his breath: “Ho–ly sh*t!”

Meanwhile, back at the ranch… er, Waumbek Station, Marc was warming up in one of the heated shelters between arriving passenger trains, picking sticky toasted marshmallow goo out of the treads of his insulated work boots. A brisk January wind swirled outside as he imagined Andy and Josh lollygagging the day away under perfectly calm and clear bluebird skies 2000’ higher up on the mountain. Even though it had been a good day at Waumbek (meaning he hadn’t been run through by a running 4-year-old) he longed to be where the action was. He longed to be high above the trees and the clouds, poking, scooping, and shoveling while trading profane barbs in manly congress with his colleagues. But most of all, he longed to get that stupid song out of his head…

It's sad and it’s long
And can't nobody sing along
It’s a southbound train
It’s a whistle in the wind
Ain't nobody there to care where I been
I'm humming on that lonesome song again

Tale #2: Rescue Train: February 17th, 2024 

Nearly everything, EVERYTHING about the events unfolding on the afternoon and evening of Saturday, February 17 was wrong. Wrong for all the wrong reasons, and wrong, most of all, for being necessary in the first place. Certainly, the only brilliantly RIGHT thing about the ordeal was the herculean, death-defying effort of a brave band of mountaineers intent on saving the life of a single individual trapped in one of the most unforgiving environments on the planet. This is about the small part we played in that effort.

General Manager Ryan Presby got the call from New Hampshire Fish and Game shortly before noon on Saturday. A hiker traversing the Westside Trail was down and possibly injured somewhere below the trail in a wash leading into the Ammonoosuc Ravine. His proximity to our tracks at Skyline, where we cross the same trail, suggested that we would be the fastest way to get search and rescue (SAR) teams as close as possible to the victim. As we always do, Ryan agreed to help, and began formulating a plan.

Then, an hour or so later, a pair of hikers advised Amanda and Cynthia at the ticket desk that they had encountered an individual on snowshoes heading up the difficult Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail as they were coming down, having wisely turned around in the face of severe conditions above tree line. They were concerned because this guy did not appear to be properly dressed or equipped for such a tough hike in such adverse weather. They said that he refused to heed their warning and continued up-mountain. Could this be the injured hiker we were preparing to help rescue? We believe it was.

Fish and Game mobilized a group of rescuers from their own Advanced Search and Rescue Team, supplemented with volunteers from Androscoggin Valley Search and Rescue (AVSAR) and Mountain Rescue Service (MRS). It would take some time, but all were directed to form up at our Base Station for a ride up to Skyline, where they would leave the train and hike to the guy’s last known cell phone coordinates.

The first team arrived at Marshfield just after 3:00, and they boarded locomotive M7 still fitted with the snowblower and crewed by Ryan and trainmaster Andy Vilaine. We all watched as they left for Skyline just ahead of the scheduled 3:15 passenger trains, with the rescuer’s bright red parkas and heavy backpacks clearly visible through the back door of the engine. After a slow climb due to low visibility and drifting snow on the tracks, M7 arrived at the drop-off point at Skyline about an hour later. The team climbed down off the engine, took their bearings, and set off on the Westside Trail into blowing snow and 50-60mph winds.

It was around this time that the injured hiker made another broken-up, barely comprehensible call to Fish and Game, saying that he had moved from his original location to the “dungeon” at the Lakes of the Clouds hut. While the hut itself is locked up tight for the winter, there is a small, unheated room underneath that is accessible for just these types of emergencies. He had found shelter from the wind, but was already hypothermic and suffering from frostbite on both feet. Without help, he would not survive the night.

The new location was radioed to the first rescue team coming from the north. Steve and John shuttled the second team on M5 from the base up to Waumbek around 4:45, where they were met by Ryan and Andy on the 7 for the run up to Skyline. On the way up they learned that the rescue effort had shifted to Lakes. Ryan suggested that the second crew return to the base and hike up to the hut on the Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail, which would keep them sheltered by the trees for nearly the entire route. But they were almost to Skyline at this point, and they insisted on following in the footsteps of the first team.

Conditions had deteriorated to critically dangerous levels for both the locomotive and the crews by the time the third team arrived at Skyline after 7:00. It was full-on dark by then with wind gusts approaching 100mph. These guys were looking at a nearly 2-mile hike in zero visibility with wind chills at 50 below and dropping. Ryan implored them to return with them to the base to hike the safer Ammo route up, but that would delay their arrival at Lakes by many hours, and time was of the essence. They were all-in, so they flicked on their headlamps, shouldered their packs and quickly climbed down off the engine. The instant the last boot hit snow, Ryan slammed the joystick to the left, released the parking brake, and started moving slowly down-mountain. He was rightfully concerned that if they remained in those conditions any longer than was absolutely necessary, the diesel fuel would turn to gel and the locomotive would become inoperable. One complicated rescue was more than enough for a Saturday night.

Back in the dungeon at Lakes, the first rescue team was in the process of slowly warming the victim after changing him into dry clothes and boots. The second and third teams would eventually arrive after “leapfrogging” from cairn to cairn, a technique used in low visibility to help them always keep another team member, and the next trail marker, in sight. Finally, after many hours, all three teams and the hiker began the difficult hours-long descent from the hut down the steep Ammonoosuc Ravine Trail to the Railway’s parking lot, arriving just before 11:00. Waiting for them was an ambulance and EMT from Twin Mountain ready for the 25-mile ride to the hospital in Littleton. But to the amazement of everyone, the hiker refused the ambulance ride. He thanked his rescuers, got in his car and drove to the hospital himself.

Several days later, in an interview with The Associated Press, the now-recovering hiker apologized profusely for putting so many lives in danger. “I am extremely grateful to all 11 of the men who saved my life Saturday and am also extremely sorry that they had to risk their lives to save me,” he said. “I certainly made poor decisions and was underprepared for this hike.” He also stated that while he was an experienced hiker, this was his first outing in fierce winter conditions.

We’ll end this very long essay the same way we ended our short social media post the morning after the incident:

Mount Washington cares not a whit about your adventurous soul. The only chance of survival this guy could hope for rested in the selflessness, strength and expertise of a small team of mountaineers. If you know someone who serves with any of the volunteer or professional organizations mentioned here, please give them a hug or pat on the back for us. True heroes truly do walk among us.