Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
got on, and he was right, although in any direction there is something to see, Denali and
Foraker and Silverthrone and Moose's Tooth, the broad reach of the Susitna River, lesser,
rockier rivers with water so clear it is almost invisible, high ridges carpeted in dark red
fireweed, thick stands of birch with leaves just then turning from green to gold, through
which the outline of an occasional cabin flickered in and out of sight.
I tore my eyes from the window and started talking to the passengers. Why were they
on this train, this little one-car operation that trundles the fifty-five miles between Talkeet-
na and Hurricane Gulch, neither of which are exactly destination resorts?
Retired railroader Charlie Dillard and his wife Kris had driven to Talkeetna from An-
chorage to take the Hurricane Turn five miles up, to the end of a footpath that parallels the
tracks, and hike back to Talkeetna. “We do this all the time,” Charlie said.
They got off first, but not before Mark threw his own birthday party, complete with
birthday cake, enough for everybody on board. He and Elva Cerda were traveling up to
their cabin, which Mark had homesteaded in 1981. He's taken the Hurricane so often he
can name every ridge and river from his seat, and he dons leather gloves and helps con-
ductor Chuck Chapman to load and unload luggage like he's drawing a paycheck.
“I load a lot of coolers filled with fish,” Chuck says, a twelve-year Alaska railroader.
“That's what they tell me, anyway. Maybe they fill 'em full of rocks just to make it look
good.” The week before he had a carload of twenty-six Swedish tourists. “They didn't
speak a word of English, but they were a lot of fun.”
Joe Lestina, a young doctor from Eagle River, is going fishing, with his dog Kluane for
company. I ask him where he's going and he says, “I don't know.” “What do you mean,
you don't know?” I say, and he says, “I just told the conductor I wanted to go fishing, and
he said he'd tell me when to get off.” “You have a gun with you, right?” I said, “for
bears?” He said he did, but something in the way he said it made me ask, “You know how
to use it, don't you?” He replied solemnly, “You point the skinny end away from you.” I
still don't know if he was having me on.
Chuck and Michael Lindberg, the engineer, have seen a lot of bears this summer—“A
lot of black bears,” Michael says, “and a few grizzlies.” Michael's been an engineer for
the Alaska Railroad for eleven years. “I love the job,” he says. “The Budd Can Boogie.
It's a daylight job, I like the people, the scenery is great.”
