A Train Forgotten
The railroad we walked on was in operation for over 50 years. Lines of rock cars moved up and down it every day for all those yeas. Then, one day, it simply stopped. The workers simply left, leaving everything where it was. Some things were sold; some were dismantled. Other things, like the roundhouse and water tower, were left to weather the elements on their own. And then some things - like what we came across next along the old line – seemed to have been simply forgotten.
If you look closely along the ridge above Ripley, you can see them. Sitting atop an apparent poor rock pile, they stand watch over the valley below. Left on a siding at some time during the railroads life, they sit waiting for a passing locomotive to pick them up; a locomotive that will never come. For unknown to them, the railroad has long since closed, the rails torn up, the locomotives sold or scrapped, and they have been forgotten.
Atop that ridge the trail had split, moving around that line of rock cars now half camouflaged in trees and brush. About a half dozen of them remain, still sitting on the old rails they were left on years ago. Time hadn’t been good to them during their wait. Sitting up here, exposed to the elements and man, they had been abused. Besides a generous covering of graffiti, the cars appeared to have suffered a fire at some time. A few cars showed signs of fire damage, and at least one was completely burned down to the steel wheels. All were similar in design to the rock car we had found previously, just down the line. One of them seemed to be of a design more similar to the one we had found wrecked in the woods, with low side rails instead of the higher ones found on its brothers.
Turning away from them we are greeted to a high view of Houghton through a steep valley. Looking down, we could see that we were standing on top of an apparent poor rock pile, which dropped down into the woods of the valley. At its base was a generous helping of washing machines, refrigerators, and other appliances. There was even an upside down truck, which must have been fun getting down there.
From old photos taken of this hill at the turn of the century, we knew that what we were really standing on was an old wooden trestle. The steep valley ahead of us once continued under us and behind for a couple hundred more feet. It was a cut in the ridge that Quincy spanned with a wooden trestle. Over the years they must have filled this ridge with poor rock, until the wooden trestle was no longer needed and they simply ran the tracks atop the poor rock. Now, fifty years later, man continues to fill the valley in. This time with old appliances and cars.