The Secret Of The Washita And Me

The old Washita River and the Santa Fe Railroad up in Oklahoma on one of its calmer days.

          

Back in 1973 I was a twenty-five year old Gang Foreman working in Oklahoma for the once strong and proud Santa Fe Railroad. I was Foreman on a Steal Gang. A Steel gang was a high priority gang with some of the most talented and specialized personnel in the Engineering Department. I was honored to be given the opportunity especially at such a young age and with less than a year's experience as a Foreman.

          

We were working on the main line track between Davis and Dougherty, Oklahoma. This portion of track follows the Washita River as it cuts its way through the beautiful Arbuckle Mountains. The scenery was at times a distraction from the work at hand. About twenty to thirty feet from one side of the track were the steep walls of the Arbuckles and on the other side within only a few feet was the drop off into the Washita River. The river and track looked like a giant snake winding its way through the 350 foot granite walls that run for about fifteen miles through this area.

          

We were changing out the old rail that has a tendency to wear out as trains 5000 to 7500 feet long traversed around the curves. The old rail was replaced with new one-quarter of a mile long strands of rail which weighed 119 pounds every three feet. We would begin work every morning at 6 A.M. and shut down by 2 P.M. in a effort to avoid the heat of the day.

          

After several weeks, we were finishing up with the last strand of rail and had plans to let the gang go early in order to prepare for the move to the next work location. We had cleared the main track and were in the process of preparing the work equipment for moving when the first train passed us moving southbound. Within several minutes of passing us we heard the train transmit on the radio, "Emergency, emergency, emergency! Our train has derailed!"

          

The train had derailed several hundred feet prior to getting to the new rail that we had just finished laying but before the train came to a stop several hundred feet of the freshly laid rail had been damaged. There were several hopper cars loaded with corn derailed and leaning on their side against the steep granite wall. Two of the cars had been ripped open and corn was covering the ground and track. It was necessary to walk through corn up to your waste to inspect the damage. It was determined that the derailment was caused by one of the hopper cars that had leaked out most of the corn on one side of the car causing it to become unbalanced and as it entered the curve it leaned and its wheels left the rail derailing the car.

          

After several hours the train, the derailed cars and the corn were finally cleared so that we could begin making repairs to the track. It was terribly hot and humid as we worked well into the night repairing the track and once again relaying the damaged rail. After finishing the repairs and opening the track for trains the Roadmaster felt that it would be necessary for the track to be walked and inspected after each train through the remainder of the night. I volunteered for the job (it was a tuff job but the pay was good).

          

After everyone had left, I built a campfire not far from the track and waited for the first train. The first train rolled by slowly after which I walked the track. I returned to the campfire and tried to get comfortable because I knew from talking to the dispatcher earlier that it was going to be over an hour before the next train. As I sat there tired and miserably dirty, all I could think of was how great a cool refreshing shower would be. Then I became aware of the sounds of the river as it rolled by just fifty feet away. I began to think how nice it would be to wash a couple of layers of dirt and dried sweat off not to mention the fact that it would recharge me and make the remainder of the night more tolerable. After all, I did have my suitcase in the truck with a nice clean change of clothes.

          

That's when I decided to disrobe and take a needed bath in the cool waters of the Washita River. I think I have pointed this out to some of you previously but this is just another example of the fact that sometimes 'smart' and I don't get along. Anyway, I carefully climbed down the steep bank toward to rolling river. As I reached the water's edge, I sat my railroad lantern down on a nearby rock and looked into the water. I knew the water was moving with some force but figured I would just ease down into the water and hang onto the rocky bank.

          

As I eased down toward the water, the rock I was standing on dislodged and sent me tumbling into the river. Before I could react I had washed fifty feet or so down river. I finally got upright and could feel the bottom with my feet, but the force of the water was more than I could handle as I continued my trip down river. The only chance I had was to try and get close enough to the bank to grab hold of something. Finally, I was able to grab hold of an old log that had become lodged into the bank. For the first time I was able to look back and try to see my lantern--I couldn't see it. The bank was too steep for me to try to climb. I knew I didn't want to take a chance and go further down stream so I began to work my way back upstream by holding on to rocks, logs and briers.

          

After about thirty minutes I finally could see the lantern -- It looked like it was a mile away. I began to get extremely tired and would stop and find a location where I could wedge myself between boulders in order to rest my arms. Still the bank was too steep to climb up so I continued upstream. Finally, I reached the lantern but had to wait a few minutes because I was too weak to pull myself out of the water. Just as I pulled myself up on the bank, the next train slowly approached. I decided that my best bet was to lay between the rocks until the train passed. I didn't think I wanted to explain my nakedness to a bunch of talkative railroaders.

          

The train seemed to take forever to pass, but finally I was able to climb up to the track, walk a short distance to my truck, tend to the cuts and scrapes that I could reach, and at last put on a clean, dry set of clothes. I walked the track and made my inspection and returned to my smoldering campfire.

         

I sat down, leaned back and took a deep breath as I looked up to see the slight glow beginning to appear in the eastern sky behind the silhouette of the Arbuckle Mountains. Life felt good. This was an amazing night. I was a lucky man. As I sat there I made the decision that it would be a long time before anyone would know about the events of that night. 

Forty years is probably long enough.

The old Santa Fe Main Track follows the Washita River through portions of Oklahoma.