Tungsten and Sugarloaf Station.

 

better viewing: click on the image to make it bigger.

Looking south from the Trail at about 6:45 in the morning, I could see Thorodin Mountain in the distance, home of Golden Gate Canyon State Park and an icon to residents of Nederland, Rollinsville and Gilpin County. This was my early September ride by mountainbike from the Peak to Peak Highway (State Highway 72) to Boulder--downhill, of course.

It was on this ride it occurred to me it would be fun to show the prominence of Sugarloaf Mountain in the city of Boulder terrain.

At 3% grade, it's an easy coast-along mountainbike ride. The condition of the Trail is rough, though, and in many places it's much more like riding a dry river bed than a genuine trail. Because it was on a Monday--work day--I didn't want to dally too long along the way. In fact, I went much too fast for the conditions of the trail, and despite a hefty front suspension on my bike I got a pretty good jarring.

It also meant I didn't get to look around nearly as much as I wanted. My eyes and attention were focused pretty intently on staying upright and astride the bike.

But even to a divided attention the world around me was breathtaking. I have this notion that Time stands still when we're confronted with Beauty, and it sure did for me along the way here. A few weeks previously I'd done a Saturday morning trailrun along three miles of this stretch, so I had some familiarity with the terrain. I'd been surprised that so much of it overlooked the Pennsylvania Gulch side to the north. But again and again and around each bend this morning I was startled by the splendor of what I was seeing.

It all reminded me of the mystical, magical landscape of the film A Walk in the Clouds, sunlight broken by soft mist, breaking through the dark evergreens in streaks of gold, a cool breeze sweet with the scent of forest.

I wanted it to last forever, but was pulled along by the urgency of getting to work and even more by my curiosity to see the stop at Tungsten, which I've had a difficult time locating in aerial orthophotos.

By Forest Crossen's account, when the important Sugarloaf Station was first completed the grade under the tracks didn't settle immediately, causing locomotives to slide off the track when they started up. Engineers found it necessary to continue on to Tungsten, a little over a half-mile to the west. Passengers and freight would then have to hike or be hauled back, as Sugarloaf townsite and mill were further east, the other side of the mountain.

Knowing that detail put me on the lookout for what might be Tungsten as I rode along this morning. I had no idea what to look for--would it be a widening of the road, a patch of aspens, a homestead? I've seen all three variations of previous stops.

Finally after a few false stops--which included image-making, just in case--I came to what is undeniably the site of the Tungsten Stop.

Here I'm approaching the stop, off to the right, as I follow the Switzerland Trail ROW almost due east at the left side of the image. Having searched unsuccessfully in aerial photographs for it for mapping, I was relieved to see it so clearly. I spent a while walking around, actually savoring its historic qualities. There were trails leading away from it in every direction, clearly indicating it as a hub of activity in earlier times--no doubt now as well, with all the outdoor activities we enjoy in this part of the country.

Continuing on, I came to my first siting of Sugarloaf Mountain. Here's an image from my earlier posting of the location of Sugarloaf relative to Boulder.

I was struck with what a challenge it would have been to hike, no less carrying a pack or supplies of any kind, back to the Sugarloaf townsite. This was not an easy distance by foot, and I could appreciate in a moment the true challenges of traveling in these previous times.

Soon enough on mountainbike I arrived at the site of the Sugarloaf Station.

This is the largest clearing I've yet seen of a Switzerland Trail site, no doubt a reflection of the contemporary use of the area as a launching point for backcountry adventures.

Here's a sign on Sugarloaf Road coming out of Boulder Canyon, pointing the way to the location of the Sugarloaf Station site.

Many years ago this is the sign I was searching for, in my first encounter with the mythical "Switzerland Trail" I had heard about and was due at for a training session with Front Range Rescue Dogs.

Like my reaction to the absence of historical references at the Georgetown Loop Railroad, I find it disconcerting that a site like this has nothing indicating its significance in the history of Boulder County.

I've worked on this project now for several years, and I can say with some authority not one person in ten in Boulder has a clue what Switzerland Trail means.

Disgraceful.

As I wandered the site of the station, I saw one striking detail of its location. This is the best south view I've yet seen of the magnificence of Longs Peak, the 14,000-ft flagship of Rocky Mountain National Park.

I was transfixed with the discovery, stunned with the glory of this magnificent view. Living in Colorado, in recent years less than four miles from this site as the crow flies, I sometimes think I'm a bit jaded to the wonder of it all. Not here.

Imagine what an earlier traveler from Kansas might have thought on viewing this for the first time.

Looking toward Sunset.

images made 10.05.09

Looking west to Sunset, the small grove of aspens in dead center of the image. Pennsylvania Gulch up to Glacier Lake, above Sunset, lies in the misty rays of the morning sun.

The visible right-of-way here, at the bottom of the image, is actually Four Mile Canyon Road.

The original RR ROW runs across the creek to the south, paralleling this road, and is now deeply buried in the overgrowth of the forest. When the Greeley, Salt Lake and Pacific RR ROW was washed out in the flood of 1894, the new roadbed was constructed above the river at a higher level. I've not yet sorted out how much of the new ROW was actually along the course of the present Four Mile Canyon Road. One stretch that does is at the Black Swan Curve, as shown in this journal entry.

As the terminus of the original Greeley, Salt Lake and Pacific and the juncture for the later Colorado & Northwestern, then the Denver, Boulder & Western, Sunset was a key geographical feature in mountain railroad history. Many, many entries here will be devoted to it.

In an image by Rocky Mountain Joe Sturtevant published in Forest Crossen's book, we see the trestles for the Eldora branch to the south, Eldora branch moving north. The locomotive at the right of the image is on the Ward branch.

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Black Swan Curve Disaster.

On my mountain bike ride down this morning, I was looking for two locations in particular: the precise spot for Point Frankeberger, and the site of a tragic runaway derailment that claimed the life of the young fireman on duty. The tragedy happened on the Black Swan Curve, 0.3 m below the Salina station.

Forest Crossen tells the story, with the images here published in his book

The 5th of July [1915] (the 4th was on a Sunday) was a busy day on the Trail, with excursion trains rumbling up and down Four Mile Canon (sic). Every available man was pressed into duty, including some new to the DB&W.
Train No 36 was on its regular trip from Eldora and had made its schedule stop at Salina. Walter Flint of Denver was engineer, Earl Keith, eighteen years old, fireman of No 30.
Conductor C R Phillips gave the highball, and Flint whistled off. The train rolled smartly down the short stretch of the heaviest grade on the railroad. Faster and faster it went, passengers clutching their seats in alarm. Then it happened…
On a curve (Black Swan) the tender suddenly derailed and turned over. The baggage coach ran ahead, tearing off the fireman's side of the cab, shearing steam lines. Instantly high-pressure steam enveloped the cab, billowed back into the baggage car. The mail messenger, George Shull, and the baggage messenger, Harry Cluphf, jumped. Flint was already on the ground.
From the fireman's side came agonizing screams. Flint leaped back into the cab, tried valiantly to find his fireman. The scalding steam drove him back.
The screaming stopped. A low agonizing moan went up. Then silence, terrible silence.
In the following coach, which turned over on its side, General Manager Ford and Conductor Phillips managed to apply first aid to the five slightly injured passengers and calm the others.
The steam finally escaped from the boiler and a hushed silence fell. When the men reached Keith he was dead. Whether he died from the crushing blow or scalding steam no one ever knew.
No man knows exactly why or how the accident happened.

page 226

I was curious to see if the site of the Black Swan Mill would be evident, or perhaps built over by a residence as so many other sites have been. Not a problem--it was clearly identified by a sign.

From there it was just meters away to the curve.



Exploring the site, I contemplated the events of that tragic day. Cars came flashing by, workers on their way to Boulder full of their own anticipations on a busy Monday morning.

I wondered about the thoughts an 18-year-old might be having on his day of work on the railroad. It was a dream job for most young men.

Point Frankeberger.

[click images for larger view]

from Forest Crossen

At 7:30 this morning I was once again on the stretch from the Gold Hill Station to Boulder, a distance of 19.5 miles. This morning's ride was slow and observant. It took me 90 minutes to cover the 4.5 miles to Sunset, as I eased my bike over and around the boulders buried in and laying on the trail.That gave me plenty of opportunity to look around and take in the beauty and make a few images. Much more pleasant than the racing pace I did it in the other day, which jarred my bones and shook my brain.

What beauty it is. This image, taken a couple of weeks ago in warmer weather, is from just a little west of Point Frankeberger, before I actually discovered the true location for the camera. I was working from a memory of the Rocky Mountain Joe photograph and would have done better if I'd actually had a copy with me. Why Frankeberger? Named after the engineer that laid out the course of the ROW. (I'll return later to the striking differences in vegetation in the photographs taken in different centuries.)

Early October, it was a cold ride, temperatures in the 30's, occasional small snow pellets. I was interested to determine more exactly the spot identified as Point Frankeberger, where six levels of ROW are visible. Much to my surprise, it actually is a point, the apex of a narrow curve just above Mont Alto. And even more surprising, there is a cleared and flattened earthen platform about five feet above the ROW to stand for the best view.

Once again I had clear visions of passengers lining up for their turn to see this view of the remarkable feat of engineering that had taken them to this place. Ooohs and aaahs, and much silence.

I've lived in these mountains for several years now, just over five miles from this segment of the trail (as the crow flies). Though I see the trees and the rocks and the skies here every day, I continue to marvel at the magical place it is. As I rode along taking in the smells and the sights this morning, I imagined what it must have been like for someone from the flatlands to be feeling it all for the first time. Shangri La.

I'm becoming aware that much of my love of this project stems from the same impulse that has attached me to the earth sculptures of Andy Goldsworthy and the Running Fence of Christo and Jeanne-Claude. There is so much in the current American zeitgeist that says the human impact on the environment is destructive. These works, including the Switzerland Trail of America, demonstrate so clearly that the human imprint can also serve to magnify the glory of God's creation, as they focus the attention on the rolling mountains, the immensity of the scale, the distances spanned.

Wall Street Assay Office.

The second Saturday of each of the summer months, the Assay Museum at Wall Street, next to the monolithic wall in Four Mile Canyon, is open and staffed with local volunteers.

We visited today, to see what they have to offer and what stories they might tell.

The volunteers were well-informed, well-connected in the canyon area, and truly interested in their work at the office. The stories they told focused largely on the people involved in the mill and assay office, most especially Delores Bailey, descendant of the men who bought the office from the mill and converted it to a residence.

There was a small display of assaying equipment on display, probably about what would have been used in the operation of the office, and a few mining artifacts--lights, picks, ball mill balls, etc.

While I personally find the human stories only mildly interesting--I know I'm something of an outlier in saying so--I did find a couple of publications of great interest. One is the story of the local community written by Ms Bailey, called God's country U.S.A., subtitled the life and history of milling, mining, and families along the Switzerland Trail. This is one I will purchase, available from her daughter in Prescott Valley AZ as well as from Tom McMichen, Cultural History Interpretive Coordinator for Boulder County Parks and Open Space Department.

The Switzerland Trail ROW is perhaps 50 feet south of the Assay Office, across what is now a meandering creek about four feet wide trickling down through the heavy overgrowth. I had to bushwack my way even to see the creek, the woods are now so heavily overgrown. Four Mile Canyon at this location is at most 75 yards wide. With the occasional massive storms we still see these days, it's easy to imagine a wall of water exploding through the narrow opening, washing everything away.

With Claudia driving so I could gawk without being distracted, we drove up the canyon to Sunset, then back to Salina, Summerville and on to Gold Hill and home. The aspens are at their peak this week--it was a joyous trip. I was speechless.