Seen from a train: pylons

Train 2: like an old friend

I collect my bags and return to the waiting lounges in the VIA Rail ticket hall. It’s a great shame that most of the large railway stations I’ve been in on this tour offer you very little preview of the tracks that you board your train on. Travelling by train is a special event, and it’s rather disappointing to always be herded through waiting rooms and ticket halls that are separated from the tracks by escalators or stairs. When train 2 does pull in, about one hour late, everyone is informed of it’s arrival by the immense sound of heavy cars clanking over tracks above our heads.

The lounge areas here are divided for sleeper car passengers and coach passengers. Both sides are pretty full, and they get busier as the passengers who’ve stepped off the train for a short break re-join us for boarding. The platforms are closed off at Winnipeg in between disembarkation and boarding so that the platform crew can service the train. Winnipeg is also a VIA Rail crew base, so the entire on board team is changing here. Winnipeg based crew operate on three roundtrip routes: to Toronto and back, to Vancouver and back, and to Churchill and back. Less experienced staff generally work without an ‘assignment’ – meaning that they do not know until a day or two before their next departure where they’ve been scheduled to work. Tara, my chef and sleeper attendant on my last two trains, told me how this was her first season with an assignment, and therefore with the benefit of knowing where and when she would be working next.

Just after 12.05, a boarding call is made for the sleeper car passengers. This causes much commotion in our coach lounge, and of course the human instinct prevailed: we all form a neat line ready by the gate for when it’s our turn. I recognise a few faces who had been one or more of my preceding trips on train 2: our overlapping and interweaving itineraries make for enjoyable brief friendships that come and go.

A few minutes later, the gate opens, and the neat orderly line gradually transforms into an eager rush to get on the train, and to find ‘good’ seats. Most people seem to have differing opinions of what a ‘good’ seat is, so to be honest there probably isn’t much need for rushing. I emerge onto the platform to find train 2 occupying significantly more of the length of the tracks than train 692 had this morning. Like a long silvery snake (hey, no criticism, it’s hard finding synonyms for a big long silver train) the front and back ends of train 2 dwarf the length of the station shed, stretching almost to the ends of the platforms.

I later saved myself a long walk, and got the attractive sounding roster of our train from my coach attendant. The train consists of:

Two locomotives, baggage car, coach, coach (me), Skyline (dome), Jarvis Manor (sleeper), Draper Manor (sleeper), Lorne Manor (sleeper), Skyline (dome), Fairholme (restaurant), Blair Manor (sleeper), Douglas Manor (sleeper), Macdonald Manor (sleeper), Chateau Vercheres (sleeper), Skyline (dome), Kent (restaurant), Amherst Manor (sleeper), Drummond Manor (sleeper), Dawson Manor (sleeper) and the Banff Park car.

Two of the first sleepers were ‘dead-heading’. It took some further polite questioning to work out that this meant they’re empty, running without staff or paying passengers. This does mean, however, that every crew member should have a bed to sleep in, which always makes for happier crew.

I find a seat that meets my amateur’s definition of a ‘good’ one (un-obscured window, middle of the car, away from the doors and axles) and settle in. I’m mostly surrounded by continuing passengers from Vancouver and Edmonton, but a number of people get on Winnipeg. This car has an interesting mix of younger travellers and older passengers. A friendly coach attendant checks my ticket, and we’re soon on our way, running about one hour behind our schedule.

I’ve chosen a very warm day to be leaving ‘Canada’s Chicago’. As we turn to cross the Red River through a beautiful old steel bridge, our welcome announcements begin and I head to the dome car behind my coach. We running along a track that is now heading straight east out of Winnipeg, on an embankment that affords me an even better view from the raised viewing section of the Skyline car. We skim along the treetops of St. Boniface, and the green suburbs eventually give way to the suburban commercial and industrial strips. Even out here, everything is somehow green: roadside tracts of grass and the tree lined streets are in full colour, and under a blue sky it feels good to be back on a fast train again. Winnipeg’s eastern freight yards pass us by to out left, and continuing along a dead straight stretch of track, we begin to pick up speed.

I’ve substituted the inhospitable true north of Canada for the prairies that I know and love. In doing so, it’s amusing to notice that I’ve also substituted an entirely Canadian group of fellow passengers for a mix of tourists from all over the world. It seems that it’s only usually Australian, Kiwi, Polish, French and English folk who’d consider taking a train from Winnipeg to Toronto. Snippets of a conversation in the lower level lounge is filtering up into the dome. I can hear two British men discussing Home and Away and Eastenders with a family from Australia.

We have 1,943km ahead of us, and we’ll be in Toronto by tomorrow night.

Winnipeg (twice in one week)

When I descend to the Winnipeg station ticket hall, the monitors are advising the train 2, my eastbound ‘Canadian’ is running on time, and will be departing at 12.25. It should even arrive before then to allow for servicing, so I decide not to stray too far from the station. I cross the imposing foyer, and out onto the street. A little roadside diner across the street caught my eye last time, so I head over the VJ’s Drive Through to eat the ‘special’ hamburger. It was very special indeed, and although the air is still fresh, I sit outside with a newspaper and enjoy the sunshine.

When I cross back to the station a short while later, the screens are telling a different story, and the train is now running late. So I leave my bags at the ticket desk and go for a walk in the Forks. This redeveloped are sits to the south-east of the railway station, in the small parcel of land cut off from downtown by the railway tracks. Old warehouse buildings have been refurbished and opened up into the Forks Market, and what looks like an old pumping station or generator house is a television and radio station. An old CN caboose and an old passenger carriage stand in the car park. The Caboose is intact, the train car is now a sweet shop.

I have a look round the indoor market, which is bustling at ground level with dozens of food joints, fruit and vegetable stalls and other small shops. I spend thirty minutes on a computer sending a few e-mails and bashing out a quick blog entry, and then wander a bit more. To one side of the markets is more modern steel and glass viewing tower, with a stair and an elevator that carry you up to an open air platform. The views from up here of the Forks, the river and across the train tracks towards the skyline of downtown Winnipeg are pretty impressive, and I take a few photographs in the warm sunshine. This would be a good place to watch the ‘Canadian’ sweeping across the bridge into the station, but since I don’t want to miss it, I decide it would be safer to go back to the station.

I cross beneath the tracks just south of the station, stopping briefly to peer into the windows of a car similar to one that I’ve arranged to rent when I get to Halifax. Despite a bit of driving when I was in California, I don’t how easy it will be to return to piloting myself in a vehicle; I’m rather used to being chauffeured around (so don’t forget BMM… bring your license :-)

Train 692: into Winnipeg

I wake up to the familiar sights of Manitoba. We’re back on the mainline, heading towards the town of Portage la Prairie. It’s home, amongst other things, to the world’s largest can of Coca-Cola (click on the photo and see if you can find it!) Next time I’m in town I’ll have to do my own tour of Manitoban big things to compensate for my earlier Albertan tour. I had toyed with the idea of getting off here and joining the ‘Canadian’ here before it reached Winnipeg so as to spread my layovers over a wider variety of cities, but the ticket agent at Winnipeg station had advised against risking it. It is actually better to have more time in the morning on the train – I am less rushed to get packed and off

I take a shower and have a shave to start the day. Although we’re scheduled to arrive in Winnipeg just after eight o’clock, this train always runs slightly late, so there’s no rush this morning. I know for certain that I will make my connection with the eastbound Canadian later today, so I’m not fretting. Refreshed from my shower, I re-pack my bags for the short interval between trains. Breakfast is still being served, so I go forward and have one last meal in the ‘Annapolis’ dining car. I have a hot coffee, and get teased by Carmel for asking if I can have some jam to put on one of my own bagels. Sorry VIA Rail, we Rail Pass passengers aren’t going to help you turn a profit this year.

Tara is in the process of converting our berths back into seats when I return. I shift my bags out of the way while she finishes, and settle down with my book as we race towards Winnipeg. ‘Race’ may not be the most appropriate verb, but it feels like we’re sprinting in after the crawl we moved at for most of the journey.

The suburbs of Winnipeg soon appear beside the tracks. Modern family homes are being construction in faux-communities further and further out from the downtown district. We pass underneath the outer circular highway, and begin to slow as we enter the broad sets of tracks around Winnipeg’s busy railroad freight yards. Passing the VIA Rail maintenance facility, I catch a brief glimpse of the obsolete ‘Northern Spirit’ trains that worked this service for a few years. They’re easy to spot because of the bizarre oversized decals of Manitoban animals that are applied to the sides of the stainless steel carriages. Interesting, but probably of limited interest to the actual Manitoban wildlife who get to see the train pass by every three days.

We arrive in Winnipeg’s station just before 11.00. Tara helps Vera and me down from the sleeper car, and wishes us both a pleasant trip. I’ve been travelling with a small stock of CD compilations that I have been giving to those who have hosted me during my trip – both friends and the volunteer hosts of the Hospitality Club. Since I spent four nights in her company, and she’d been such a good attendant, I apologised for not being able to leave a gratuity, but gave Tara one of the discs. Few recipients are likely to enjoy the whole album, but given my sporadic taste in music there should be something in there somewhere that she’ll enjoy. We bid each other farewell, and I complete my 3,394km round trip by heading downstairs to the ticket hall.

Train 692: The Pas

We arrive at The Pas. The train is quiet, and virtually empty save for about a half dozen coach passengers. I step off the train and take a quick walk around the old station building (which apart from the VIA Rail ticket office, is now used as offices by the Hudson Bay Railway company). The locomotives fuel tanks are being filled, and the water tanks underneath the carriages are being filled. There aren’t many people about, and only five new passengers join us.

The sun is setting out of sight, and turning the western edge of the sky pink. The colours reflect in the windows and on the stainless steel of the train. They may be over fifty years old, but these cars are still very elegant. Even on a modest and purely function train like this one, they cut a dash at every station they stop at.

I get back on board, and prepare to enjoy my last night in the comfort of a VIA Rail couchette. Tara has once again been called into action to fold, collapse and unfurl the third pair of berths. One of the passengers who boarded at The Pas has upgraded from coach to a bed, and will be joining us for the night. It takes Tara about five minutes to perform the conversion, and soon we have another pair of beds ready for the night. I’ve enjoyed this little bit of luxury immensely: it’s an affordable and extremely fun way to make an overnight trip by train more comfortable, and I would definitely consider it again, especially instead of a more expensive private room. I’m not particularly fussy about privacy, and the comfort of a berth is more than enough to make a night time journey easy to sleep through.

I close my curtains for the last time and lie in my snug berth with the blind up. In my line of sight I can see the sky dropping from a deep aquamarine, to blue, to pale blue, to grey, to white and to pink. Thicker and deeper silhouetted forests are now speeding past us as we rejoin faster tracks that will carry us in our wide curve through a slice of Saskathewan and back into Manitoba early tomorrow morning.

I tumble into my dreams very rapidly, and sleep soundly.

Train 692: Sunset in The Pas

Train 692: dinner

I take a break from my book and my cheap dollar store su-doku puzzle book, and take a seat at the far end of the restaurant car to make myself a salami and cheese bagel for supper. At the other end of the car, the restaurant only serves three meals tonight. The economies of this train would give a private company a collective heart attack. But the joy of this journey is the reminder that passenger trains are not meant to turn an operating profit. Their benefit to communities and individuals cannot be measured, because they make otherwise impossible connections impossible, as well as providing employment to the people who operate the trains and the businesses that survive because of them.

As we get further south, the landscape gets greener once again. I kid myself that I can feel the warmth of the sun through the window. North of Cormorant, we pass close by a lake, and the bright sun reflects along a sparkling line from the horizon to the edge of the lake next to the train. The sky is blue, and the water is bluer. At perfect moments like this, it’s only the strangest of sights that interrupt the view. We pass alongside a gravel road between us and the lake, and we catch sight of a hearse parked beside the road. The driver has stopped, and is getting out as we pass to take a photograph of our train.

Train 692: like trains in the daytime

The afternoon passes me by. I’m deep in my book, so forgive me for not repeating myself in describing the scenery as we re-trace the route that carried us north two days ago. I’m transported back to the first half of the twentieth century in The Blind Assassin, reading the life story of a Canadian woman who would never have imagined herself visiting northern Manitoba.

South of Sipiwesh (marked by the strange white poles that stand either side of the track as part of an experiment to monitor the permafrost level beneath the track) we pull forward into a siding to allow the northbound ‘Hudson Bay’ train 693 pass. An identical train to ours slips past, but the shaded windows don’t reveal any faces in the bright sunshine. I imagine another blogging traveller on board that train, trying to think of something poetic or apposite to describe our two trains passing, like ships in the night. That synonym wouldn’t work of course, because it’s broad daylight.

We reach Wabowden about fifty minutes behind schedule. The speed restrictions of the track have held us up, but I am assured by both Tara and Carmel that I’ll have no problems making my connection tomorrow in Winnipeg. When we first came through Wabowden it was raining – not it’s a bright sunny afternoon. Several of the passengers and our conductor cross to the ‘Lucky Dollar’ general store to buy lotto tickets. Tonight’s draw is worth five million Canadian dollars, which could probably persuade even the happiest VIA Rail employee to consider early retirement.

We’re directed into another siding a little further south. A northbound freight train trundles past: about forty empty lumber cars and tankers are pulled by two very shabby looking locomotives with the name of the Hudson Bay Railway stencilled onto their flanks. I can’t imagine painting them would make them go any faster, and besides not many people see them up here, so appearance is hardly important.

Train 692: Thicket Portage

Train 692: Thompson

Train 692: a trip to Thompson

We’re about half an hour late into Thompson, having turned off the main line once more, and performed the slow manual turning manoeuvre just outside town. This time, though, there’s a longer stop, and I have plenty of time to walk into town to get some more food supplies for the rest of the trip. Tara opens up the door at the back of the train for me, and she points me in the direction of town. I walk along the rusty tracks in the opposite direction to that from which we arrived, and at a level crossing with the road to the station make a right. In fifteen minutes, I’m back in the Canada that I know: grey suburban sprawl. Featureless suburbs, carpet shops, hardware stores, car dealerships, kids out from school for lunch, their hands stuffed in brown paper bags from Kentucky Fried Chicken. It’s strange to be back in a miniature metropolis.

I turn right again at a garage where dozens of shiny Ford trucks and minivans are lined up (‘Built with pride in Ontario’) and find the side entrance to a large Wal-Mart mall. I steer clear of the Wal-Mart, but instead go into the Safeway store to buy hot soup, bagels, salami and cheese. I retrace my steps up a low hill and over the crest between electricity pylons and next to a yellow traffic sign that warns drivers to beware of crossing skidoos. Now that the snow has all gone, I doubt there’s much to look for now, but I make a precautionary glance to my left and right just in case.

I’m back at the station with plenty of time to spare, so I walk past the train on the side of the freight sidings. There aren’t many wagons here, but to my left is a low pile of left-over ballast, and between some of the sleepers are small piles of wood chips, memories of departed loads. I walk the length of the train, take a few photographs, and then walk round to the platform side. I surprise the two Winnipeg tourists, who see me emerge from the wrong end of the station with a Safeway shopping bag. The station is a small pale yellow building. The platform has an old hand pulled cart for loading freight and baggage onto the train. I crunch across the unpaved car park, but there isn’t much to see in this muddy end of town. I re-board, and eat my scratch lunch in the part of the dining car where the tables aren’t set for lunch. All sense of obligation to Tara’s cooking has gone by now – it’s very good, but I’m still getting by on C$30 a day.

We leave on time at 12.35. The train has now emptied of it’s Churchill passengers. Vera and I are alone in the sleeper car, and there are maybe a half dozen passengers in the one unlocked coach.

Train 692: smoke stop

Train 692: the first morning

I sleep well once more, and enjoy being a little closer to the train’s centre of gravity. The upper berth is definitely more fun for a first time sleeper passenger: climbing up into it makes it even more special. The lower berth, however, is much more practical and suitable for most adults. I say good morning to Vera, who’s already awake, who says that it’s by the far the best sleeping accommodation on the train. The return of mainline VIA Rail coaches to the ‘Hudson Bay’ is to be welcomed – apparently the unreliable ‘Northern Spirit’ trains didn’t offer this budget sleeper accommodation.

I take a shower. While I’m washing my hair I sense the train slowing down. The distant rattling of wheels over bolted tracks begins to recede through the drain beneath me, and we come to a halt. Crouching down, I can see gravel and a sleeper directly beneath me. I towel myself dry, and when I emerge from the bathroom I see that we have been pulled into a siding to allow the engineer to do a wheel check. The train’s smoking population has been allowed off to inhale the ‘fresh’ air, and they’re beside the track enjoying their morning fags.

I come forward to have breakfast. We pass a junction with another rail line that seems to go north-west to a point on the Nelson River called Kelsey. I believe that this is the site of one of Manitoba Hydro’s larger dams, although I’m not sure. Unlike Thomson’s spur, there is no passenger service on that line.

I order the ‘Continental’ breakfast. As always, I’m still not sure which continent this breakfast comes from, because it’s definitely not Europe. I substitute cereal for hot oats, which are served with brown sugar and milk, and have coffee, toast and juice to start my day. It comes to a very reasonable C$6.

Vera is sitting near me, and as we cross a bridge high above the Nelson River (downstream from the Kelsey hydro dam) she says that it’s looking higher than she has seen it in a long while. In a recent trip south she says that the train was held up even more by very high water levels in the streams on either side of the track. I’ve yet to see a beaver on my trip, although their dams are everywhere, and these frequently have to be broken by track maintenance crews to stop overflowing water from causing subsidence to the already fragile track bed. A little later I even see a few trees felled by beavers; their trunks chewed away to leave the timber and stump with perfect exposed points, like freshly sharpened pencils.

We reach Pikwitonei at 09.30, keeping very good time so far.

Train 692: ready to return

Shortly after we arrived this morning, our train reversed out of Churchill station, and was turned in a triangular turning circuit just outside town. It subsequently backed into the station, and was left there with engines running all day. From time to time I would round a corner and hear the not too distant hum of the gently throbbing locomotives. It might seem like a waste of diesel, but it’s safer than shutting down the engines and then discovering that they can’t be re-started. This especially important in the depths of winter, when a train failure could be extremely difficult to fix, and a replacement locomotive could take days to reach us. Despite their normally short consist, trains 693 and 692 to and from Churchill operate with two locomotives not for pulling power, but for safety. If one were to break down, there would not be much chance for another to reach a stranded train for some time. And in the depths of winter, if a train with a single locomotive was to break down, the heating in the passenger cars would soon drop far below freezing. It would cease to be a matter of convenience, and soon become a matter of life or death.

I’m early at the station (old habits die hard) but there is already a hub-bub on the station platform as luggage is loaded into the baggage car. The tourist office inside the old station building has a single VIA Rail ticket desk, and it’s from here that a locally employed agent sells tickets and provides information to passengers. I notice that on the desk is a pile of the new Amtrak system timetable. Perhaps a few other long distance journeys have commenced here?

Most of the tickets being sold, however, are for Thompson. There is a small group of young teenagers here this evening, all with violin cases and luggage for a couple of days away. I learn through overheard conversations that they are actually fiddles, not violins, and that they are presumably going to play in a concert or competition.

Of the handful of passengers who travelled north with me, two are returning to Winnipeg this evening as well. The two gentlemen, who I’d already met on the first night, had taken advantage of a VIA Rail special offer, which allows one passenger over the age of sixty to take a companion of any age for free. Both being over sixty, they paid one fare and split it between the two. Having lived in Winnipeg for much of their lives, they had decided (much like me) to take a trip to Churchill just for the sake of it. They had had a similarly interesting day, but had also retreated indoors in the afternoon to warm up.

Our train began boarding at about 20.15, preparing for a 20.30 departure. There was a healthy load of coach passengers, most going to Thompson and connecting to bus services from there. I boarded the sleeper car shortly afterwards.

Earlier today, Tara had mentioned that she would be making up another of the berths for another passenger. So when I re-board the train and head to the familiar couchette end of the carriage, I meet a new travelling companion. Vera has lived in Churchill since 1979, and she runs a three room bed and breakfast on Hearne Street (call 204-675-2544 for details). She has two sons in the town, and ever since she arrived here almost thirty years ago following a period in the Wrens, has called Churchill her home. One son works on a pilot boat that guides ships into the harbour. The other is an engineer in the Town Complex, and helps with the maintenance of the water supply. Tap water is sourced from the Churchill River, at a point about two miles inland from the town. Part of his job is to maintain the water heaters that heat the water three times between the river and the two. Without these (and the element heaters that many houses have in the pipes where the water enters the house) the pipes would freeze solid throughout the winter. Along with heavy duty engine block heaters that require cars to be plugged in overnight to prevent them from freezing up, it’s just another practicality in the life of the town.

It’s rewarding to finally talk to a Churchill resident for a short while. She says she is yet to be convinced that the port will ever be open for much longer, but says that despite the bitter winters she enjoys living here. Everyone knows everyone, and it’s a tight community. I ask about the inevitable flip side of remote life in Canada: are there drug or alcohol problems in Churchill? Her answer is yes – there will always be a few heavy drinkers, but the drug problem is harder to solve. A town meeting later this week will be bringing together the officers of the RCMP and local residents. Until specific information can be brought against members of the community suspected of supplying drugs (such as fatally addictive crystal meths) not much can be done.

We leave a few minutes early, and together we watch the settlement slip away. In ten or fifteen minutes, we cross the level crossing that had announced our arrival to me this morning, and we’re on our way back across the wilderness once more. Ten hours in Churchill might seem a short justification for eighty hours of travelling, but at this time of the year I didn’t miss much in town. Besides, for me the journey has been as much the destination as the town itself.

Shortly after leaving Churchill, Tara returns to make up the third pair of bunks. A passenger in coach class has decided to pay the night fare for a couchette through to Thompson, so we’ll be losing the spare pair of seats for the night. It’s fine with us – Vera goes forward to read in the coach car, and I decide to turn in early to read. For this half of the Churchill run, I’ve paid a bit more and booked a lower berth. Getting in and out of it is easier, and I get this time I get window. If there’s one complaint it’s that the lower bunk is just slightly too low: it’s not possible to lie in bed and look out of the window at anything other than the sky or the tops of the trees beside the track. But that’s hardly a major complaint. I curl up under the sheets, button the curtain closed and dive into The Blind Assassin. Beside me, my picture window fills with an ever deepening blue, as the sun sets and night falls. I’m back in my natural habitat, it seems, warm and cozy, gently falling asleep to the sound of the train rattling over the tracks. It’s Tuesday evening: I will arrive in Toronto in three days time.

Train 692