Daughter-Daddy Day With the Daylight

A summer day is not complete without watching trains.

In my previous blog I shed some light on how my home had changed this summer and what effect it had on my railfanning. The entry, a digest of summertime railfan outings, ended with the anticipation of the 4449 and Disney's Christmas Carol train. Flash forward a few days.

My daughter and I were on our own the Saturday morning of SP 4449's departure to Michigan. The wife didn't even ponder getting up early enough and always planned on staying home. Like clockwork, ten minutes before 0700h, a door slammed waking me up. As always the bang is followed by a randomly-mixed loop of "Papa?" "Wake up." and "Get dressed." in whispered voice. Apparently my daughter only wants to rouse me from slumber. Yet all is well as my plan was to dart down to Minneapolis Jct, show my daughter the epitome of a heritage unit, and likely head home. Sans diaper bag or other childcare provisions - does a water bottle, fruit snacks, and a Ziploc of animal crackers count? I should have known better that when it comes to railfanning, plans go out the window. Typical fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants decisions guide me.

At Minneapolis Junction, I parked in the cul-de-sac just northeast of the blue building which acts as home to the 261. My daughter could see the hissing and puffing orange-and-black west coast's most famous iron horse. She was a bit intimidated being so close to the idling steam locomotive and after unsuccessful coaxing she patiently waited in the car while I took some photos never leaving her sight. Eventually, holding her on my hip, she was able to brave the behemoth. Wanting to get to a good spot downt the line, we hustled back into the car and reloacted.

Now a safe distance away, out of earshot and line-of-sight, we waited behind a single story office complex a quarter mile away. My daughter earned dirty hands while playing with rocks. Just a few minutes after the hour I heard the breathy, wet low from the 4449. Little did I realize, I had set up my cameras - video and film - right were the power would come to a rest while a conductor replaced the switch to its proper alignment. Railfans congregated at this spot receive a steam bath. Before the train resumed its travels, I secured my co-pilot and cameras in the car and made a circuitous path along the Midway sub. Having no idea of the special train's route to Prescott, WI through the Metro, I wagered on it taking the BNSF.

Several minutes after planting the video camera's tripod just east of Snelling Ave, I caught the faint chah-chah-chah as it echoed through the makeshift canyon. Still not at speed, the motley collection of private passenger cars behind an equally odd match up of steam and modern diesel-electric was just as impressive as I imagined it could be nearing 70 miles-per-hour. My daughter displayed her awe by clamping ever tighter onto my thigh.

Clear of vision but not hearing, I folded up my tripod, wrapped the handstrap of the camera on my left hand and cradled the tripod under my arm. Wanting to hustle down a grassy hill back to the car, I scooped up my daughter in my right arm and deftly zig-zagged to the car. Knowing the best route well, after years of finding the quickest way from the Midway to Pig's Eye, I had some time to get on St Paul's eastside. Down Lexington Parkway and onto 94 brought us to the the fork in the road. I had a choice to make.

Deciding not to go into the parking lot at Pig's Eye, I continued traveling down Highway 61. Driving along the expansive rail yard, clumps of railfans lining the road's shoulder quickly grew more numerous as we neared the hump yard. Indecision prevented me from pulling over onto sparser populated shoulders of 61. Unlike Xrayguy and other photographers who have exploited the scenic overlooks of 61, I am less familiar and did not want to waste time finding out I had chosen a less-than-prime location. Before I knew it, the widest (and safest) roadside shoulders were gone. Now I was in the bleakest stretch of road (for trackside shooting) between Pig's Eye and Cottage Grove. The only logical next stop was Prescott, WI.

Johnny-come-lately almost didn't find a place to park in the landing where the BNSF comes into Wisconsin. I squeezed into a sliver of a parking space where the only non-railfans were waiting for their ride. A small group of college co-eds watched me pensively as I put my digital camera around my neck then retrieved my video camera still mounted on the tripod. But scrutiny turned to "ahhh" and "she is so cute" when I lifted my daughter out of her booster. All of my creepiness factor faded when my daughter informed the clutch of students we were going to see the choo-choo. As I set up, a sedan with Washington plates rolled into the deadend with a screech. The car had a train horn afixed to the roof; it could have been confused as a poor attempt at recreating the Blues Brothers' vehicle of choice. Within ten minutes railfans and unsuspecting diners in the restaurant alike were treated to the 4449's presence.

Believing that manuevering the crowd of people spilling into the road and parking was the most difficult part in Prescott today, I was unprepared for the departure. I was not alone in the hurry-up-and-wait game. This short roadway, which empties two parking lots and a condominium, was as congested as downtown streets during the 5th inning of a Twins-Yankees game. No one could wait to get out, on the road, and chase the train. I was waved out into the main road only to wait another three to five minutes as the main road was just as busy, righthand turns were taken at breakneck speeds into traffic on Highway 35. This is probably what done me in.

Everyone crept past the police car perched upon a grassy patch, just on the edge of town. Once out of radar, no one could threaten the speed limit. Over the next few miles, Sunday drivers out practicing on Saturday steadily sped up or turned off 35, allowing us with important business to pick up the pace. That is until a duo of Goldwing motorcyclists brought this makeshift convoy back to a funeral processional crawl. Safely hovering five miles under the posted, they took extra precaution navigating the curves. So safe that 35 mile-per-hour was the norm. Our chances at seeing the Daylight were dissipating much like the smoke of the SP 4449 at trackspeed. My hopes were temporarily re-stoked when I saw a small phalanx of railfans armed with video cameras at Stationsign Diamond Bluff.

I continued several more miles because of indecision. No intersection looked promising enough until I was at it and past the point of turning into it. Ultimately I found a great spot. A frontage road split into the business drive of a quarry. It offered a lot of safe parking and unhindered access to the tracks free of trespassing. I was the first one. Happy with my tripod location a gentleman ambled over after parking his F-350. First impression usually are not too far off the mark, and mine proved this rule. From the beaded necklace to the pink tank top to the tight jeans, I placed this man as more comfortable in a San Francisco disco than trackside between Prescott and Chicago.

As I answered all of his questions more vehicles arrived. I tried to explain the draw of old time steam locomotives. I wouldn't be surprised if this man didn't believe a word I said. As others congregated near the crossing, I was devoid of any railroad fallen-flag regalia; my car clear of rail-related stickers or scanner antenna; and I happened to be completely incorrect that the Daylight would show. The headlight we did see (and waited for with bated breath) belonged to a BNSF manifest. After the clatter of the train subsided, a man checked the Daylight's location, via a GPS Website, on his iPhone. Word was passed from one another until I heard the news from a short man. It was in Stockholm! Was I in a timewarp? The man who announced its location spoke in a Scandinavian accent only a native could have. Having no clue how far Stockholm, the one in Wisconsin, is, I packed up the little one who had subsisted on fruit snacks and milk up until now. Luckily she drank her milk before it became warm and her diaper had absorbency to spare! We drove home after my 30 minute itinerary was stretched into a 3 hour tour. Thankfully we didn't have to drive an electric bamboo car home.

My daughter remained hungry for trains. The Disney's A Christmas Carol train was in town and tied down at the Amtrak Station. We swung in on the way home. Two P42DCs were wrapped in similar billboard graphics on buses and commercial vehicles. Behind the locomotives were several passenger cars fitted to display original Charles Dickens writings and promotional items from the movie. We went as a family later, yet just getting photos of the power was the best part of the train.

Rail outings have gone from a trickle to a dry riverbed. I wouldn't change my current situation for anything. Now each outing - to see special trains or otherwise - are just as unique as ever. I can't wait until my son is old enough to appreciate the awesome power of modern railroading. For now it will be a special bond between my daughter and me.