text: The Train Wreck The day was balmy and warm though winter was not yet done with us. On such a day the hills called out to be trod upon. Ol’ Spot and I set out, in no particular hurry, to mount those hills with whom we had become close friends over the years. Seasons never deterred us but were merely a change in mood, and who of us has not changed our mind or mood on occasion. The slope was steep with small riverlets that would eventually join a creek, then a river or two and finally the ocean. They were now clogged with leaves and ice and blowing snow. Normally Spot would stop to lap water from the icy flow, but with a hard freeze he was content to bypass that adventure. Up a slope and down to a glade, I repeated the ascent twice more till my muscles ached and perspiration in spite of the weather told me it was time for a rest. The view was worth the effort. Even Spot was impressed! Far below, in the valley I could see the train’s rails disappearing in the distance both east and west. The rails glissened in the reflected winter light. From my vantage, only small distances were hidden behind hills. My bologna sandwich called to me, and Spot and I enjoyed our lunch break. In the distant west I could see a freight train plowing over the low hills. It was a massive slow slogging behemoth gamely struggling to make its schedule. But wait, something else was going on. To the east, was the sleek steel tubular passenger liner, headed west like a racing steed. The liner appeared fast and lithe. Its speed was twice that of the freight hauler. I looked closely, but knew from my knowledge of the area that there was no siding for a sleek passenger carrier to stop. Communications being what they are these days, collisions are rare. But did either of the engineers know the other was coming? My phone was there. (I may be dedicated to nature, but I still demand a few conveniences.) The 911 operator promptly answered with her rehearsed response. “911, how can I help you?” I described the railway and the approaching trains. I identified the area as closely as possible. Efficient, but with more urgency, she responded, “Hold on, I’ll contact the dispatcher.” Only a moment later she returned on line. “The dispatcher cannot get in touch. It’s a very desolate area! Down in those valleys, communications are sketchy. I’ll try the local EMS." After a short time she returned, somewhat out of breath. “EMS will try, but they also had no communication response and said there are just no highways. It’s a designated scenic area.” As I gazed back at the tracks, the two trains were eating up the territory like an eager teenager at a pizza buffet. The geography with its rolling hills and unending curves effectively hid them from each other. It was unlikely they could stop in time and time was against them. I had one more request for the vexed 911 operator, “How about calling my cousin, Muley. He lives near here.” I gave her his number. “Sure, how can he help?” He can’t, but he can come up here. He’s never seen such a wreck!” She had just closed the connection when I heard soft footsteps behind me. It was Muley! Muley had an uncanny ability to show up when needed--usually before being summoned. “‘Sup, Buddy!” “...big problem down in the valley, Muley. It looks like confusion on the tracks. There’s a fast passenger carrier barreling from the east and a gigantic freight carrier slogging its way from the west. I don’t see any siding and with the hills I doubt they are aware of each other. The dispatcher can’t communicate.” Even before I finished describing the problem, Muley had pulled his rifle cover from his shoulder (I hadn’t noticed he had a rifle.) He unzipped it and revealed a 30.06 rifle complete with tripod and the most sophisticated sight I had ever seen. “What’re you gonna do? You can’t stop a liner with a rifle.” “I don’t plan to stop it. I’m just going to send a signal they won’t ignore.” “What’s your signal say? Stop the train or Butch Cassidy and Sundance will blow you up!" “No, I’m simply going to signal danger--BIG DANGER, STOP, BACK UP!” In the time it took to say these few words, Muley had set up his tripod, screwed on the sight, mounted the rifle and was already peering through the sight at the engine of the fast liner. “Do you think you can hit the liner?” “I’m aiming for a corner of the locomotive window or the windshield. I want to send a signal without injuring anyone. I will, at least, give it a good old college try.” Now the sleek liner was starting up a large hill at a tremendous speed. The freight carrier was last seen approaching the other side of the hill. Now we could no longer see the freight engine on the far side of the hill, but some of the following cars were still visible. At that moment, I heard a crack of the rifle. Muley said, “Well, I grazed the windshield, but I think that round skipped off without penetrating.” As we spoke, I heard-- CRACK! In a more satisfying voice Muley stated, “I think that did it. A solid hit, less than four inches from the front lower corner. Muley continued his narration, “About now that engineer is looking at the hole and thinking, ‘What the hell.’ He’s scratching his head and looking at the front windshield crack. He thinking to himself, DANGER. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he’s going to hit the brakes and go into reverse.” At that moment, with the liner half way up the hill, sparks began flying from the locomotive and under the undercarriage of the passenger cars. Soon the wheels reversed and there was some slow backward motion. Even at our distance from the track, we could hear the couplings compress. The backward movement was barely perceptible at first, but gradually gained momentum. One look at the top of the hill revealed that the freight engine had gained the top of the hill and was gamely moving down the slope. Soon the engineer noticed the liner obstructing the track and hit his own brakes and reversed gears. I commented to Muley, “You did it! You stopped the collision.” “No. No, I didn’t prevent anything; But I may have avoided a derailment and loss of life.” Muley was already packing away his rifle, scope and tripod. We watched as the trains tried desperately to slow. It was a futile attempt. The two locomotives crashed with a deafening CLANG! The forward three to six feet of both engines were tangled together in a mess. Then we saw engineers from both trains climb out to survey the damage. Soon passengers disembarked as well. Muley said, “It’s a train wreck alright. But there’s no loss of life, so we’ll take that as a win. But we’d best get going. There’ll be investigators, drones, dogs and all sorts of questions. The fact that we saved hundreds of lives won’t be considered. As they say, ‘no good deed goes unpunished.’” As we scampered down the trail, I had one question for Muley, “You said you would give it ‘the old college try.’ I know you didn’t go to college. What college were you referring to?” “Well, it wasn’t exactly a college, but it surely was an education. It was Ranger Sniper School.”