All Aboard



 “I hear the train a-comin', it's rolling 'round the bend

And I ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when…” – Johnny Cash

The hiking in the mountains, the walks in the park, going to the beach, even the art museum all had one important thing in common: they were free. Recently, Ann and I engaged in our first paid intentional entertainment activity, riding a train to nowhere.

From our isolated home in the woods, you can hear a lonely whistle blow a few times a night, about three nights a week. It’s quite melodic. The train is well out of sight, some distance away, and on the other side of many trees, but its sound fills our house in a pleasant and peaceful way. It’s more like some kind of woodwind instrument than an alarm. We had to get closer, and the boarding station was a mere two miles away.


The Mt. Rainier Scenic Railroad https://mtrainierrailroad.com/ runs daily through the tourist season, but this time of year it is weekends-only for its Halloween train. We booked the latest of three trains on a Friday, the only tickets available. There were a lot of families with children on the train, but not as many as I expected; less than half of the occupants I would say.

Like most historic train rides, it’s about the journey, not the destination. But they have to go somewhere, so our ride over the river and through the woods took us to their railyard museum. There are enormous steam engine parts and logging machines about that are probably interesting if you know anything about them, and I knew very little. They had a very large tent set up with pumpkins to be decorated, or bowled down slides, and candy to be had. The staff were trying to make the best of it, but we were out in a hard rain and cold temperatures. No one was late when the train was ready to depart


the rail camp.

Now that Halloween is past, they are retooling for the Christmas train, which carefully avoids the words “Polar Express” in all of its promotional materials to dodge any trademark infringement lawsuits from Warner Brothers. But you get the idea.

I think I’ll wait until next summer and come back for the Whiskey Train.  

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