(The following story by Katie Burford appeared on The Durango Herald website on July 27.)
DURANGO, Colo — As occupations go, it’s hot, noisy and very, very sooty. Still, it’s something millions of little boys aspire to be – a train engineer.
Sure, most of them out grow it, eventually getting desk jobs and feeding their interest through models, museums and trips to see historic railroads.
But a small minority sees the fascination through to fruition. William Colley is one of them. Four days a week during the summer he’s at the controls of one of the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad’s vintage steam locomotives.
Colley, a Southern California native, says trains cast their spell on him even before he received his first train set, an American Flyer, at age 4. One of his early jobs was working at Disneyland on the park’s steam engine and monorail.
Later, he went to work for the railroad in Durango, paying his dues as a “fireman” – the crew member who does the backbreaking work of shoveling coal into the locomotive’s firebox as it makes the 3,000-foot climb to Silverton – before ascending to engineer.
“This is one of the few places you can do this,” he says.
Now, at 49, he’s in his 20th year at Durango’s railroad, with 14 of those as an engineer. Though the mystique of the job doesn’t always live up to its grimy reality, it’s still something Colley relishes doing and he doesn’t plan on quitting soon.
Here’s what a day in his boots looks like.
‘You’ve got to love it to do it’
Colley, an affable man who smiles easily, clocks in around 7 a.m. on a recent Monday, though his train won’t leave until 8:15 p.m. His locomotive on this day is No. 480, built in 1925. One of his duties before departure is oiling some of its many moving parts.
“A lot of people ask if these are maintenance intensive. Yes, they are, but they were when they were new,” he comments.
While he speaks, little black specks are raining on us from the idling engine.
“I think this is almost one of the world’s dirtiest jobs,” he says.
Soon, we’re pulling out of the station, loaded with 11 cars and several hundred passengers.
Large as locomotives are, their cabs are not. There are just two small seats, one for the engineer and one for the fireman. In between them is a set of butterfly doors that swing open every time fireman Mike May steps on a pedal to toss in a fresh shovel-full of coal. When the doors open, as they do continually on a three-hour trip up, a blast of super-heated air wafts into the cab.
May is a lanky 25-year-old originally from Chicago who has worked on the Durango railroad for several years. He’d hoped to move up to engineer, but with only three trains going to Silverton this season, instead of the usual four, the opportunity dried up.
Above the firebox doors is a dizzying array of levers, knobs and gauges.
In front of Colley is a large lever, called a “Johnson bar,” that makes the train go forward and backward. To his left are levers for the throttle and brakes. Behind them is the tender, a cart carrying some 8 tons of coal. May will have shoveled more than half of it into the firebox by the time we return.
The noise can be deafening, and we all wear earplugs.
As we go, Colley works the controls and communicates with the dispatcher by radio. There is no speedometer, so he judges speed by the sound of the engine and landmarks. Meanwhile, May carefully monitors the steam pressure, the fire and the color of smoke coming from the stack, making small adjustments when needed.
Because the fireman and engineer spend hours in close proximity, executing the intricate dance that keeps the 90-ton engine chugging forward at a steady pace of about 18 mph, it helps if their personalities jibe. Because the lineup rotates, they must each learn to work with the different styles of their cab mates.
Other members of the crew are the conductor – who is like the train’s captain – two brakemen, a concessionaire and private car attendant. All of these ride in the cars.
Colley said he and his colleagues have a hard time explaining their passion for trains.
“We’ve tried to figure that out,” he said.
May can’t explain it either but said, “for me, it’s pretty specifically steam engines.”
Perhaps it is too individual and complex a thing to bear analysis.
Colley said his father was a doctor and, unlike many train fanatics, railroading doesn’t run in his family. But he has two sons, ages 7 and 9, who have shown an interest, though he’s not sure he wants them to follow in his footsteps.
It is, after all, a dirty job.
“You’ve got to love it to do it,” he said.
Life on the rails
As we start to climb after Hermosa, Colley talks about the railroad’s different engines.
“They all have personalities all their own,” he says.
Today’s train, No. 480, is “a tough workhorse kind of engine.”
May is partial to No. 473 because it seems to burn more efficiently.
“I’d be sitting half the day,” he says.
The locomotives, like people, also have their moods.
“They vary daily,” Colley says. “I could have this engine tomorrow and it would feel like it just doesn’t have the oomph it did.”
No. 483 will always have a special place in his heart. On a rainy day in October 2006, he was headed back from Silverton when he saw a section of the track ahead was submerged in several feet of water. Unable to stop short, the train plowed in.
“It felt like we were derailed,” he recalls. “After about 12 tries, we back out of this quagmire.”
He doesn’t think the other engines could have done it.
As the passengers unload in Silverton, the engineer mystique is evident.
“Can we talk you into a picture?” a woman with a young child asks.
A minute later, another query, “Can I take a picture with my grandkids?”
Colley happily complies.
After turning the train around, lunching in the engine and killing time, it’s time to head back.
Going downhill, May’s job is much easier, giving them more time to chat – or half shout – over the din of the engine.
May recounts how recently a brazen bighorn sheep parked itself on the tracks and tried to charge the train before veering off at the last minute.
Further down, Colley points out a spot near Shalona Lake where the History Channel staged a train wreck that fortunately didn’t require wrecking a real train.
The bit parts Colley has had in various productions have earned the nickname “Hollywood” among his peers.
On various occasions, the conversation turns to model trains, which both the men work on.
“I guess you’ve probably figured out that the reason we do this job is because we’ve never grown up,” Colley jokes.
Though the runs are shorter and fewer, Colley continues to engineer and occasionally work the fireman slot in the winter. He once took a sabbatical to work on California’s Skunk Train, an old logging railroad that carried redwoods from the forest to coastal mills.
He says it was like “a dream come true.”
The train thread runs throughout the fabric of his life. Colley met his wife on the Durango train, where she worked as a concessionaire. They married in 1996. Most of his family’s vacations involve trains.
Tomorrow’s engineer?
Around 5 p.m., we make our way across the Animas Valley past Hermosa. People stand in their yards and wave. Some stop their cars and take pictures or video.
Back at the station, passengers unload and some make their way toward the engine for a last photo op.
A pre-teen boy peers in with a look of awe on his face. He asks May to open the firebox doors, which he does, and the boy’s eyes widen.
Turning to Colley, he asks, “Is this fun to do?”
“Most of the time,” he answers.
The boy soaks it in a minute longer, then turns and leaves, dreams of trains dancing in his eyes.