Moments of discovery are always a thrill, and so I sought out a new area to hike, the James Peak Wilderness, under which runs a railroad tunnel. Even the area’s name seems mysterious—East Portal.
Driving up, I turned onto a dirt road that led west and slow danced around, under, and over the solid, symmetrical train tracks. Signs warned of “heavy truck traffic,” and early on, I waited for one long truck to thread under the train tracks. Another one zoomed past a few miles farther on, taking up more than its fair share of the road.
Other moments abounded. On the border of the forest and a horse-studded meadow, the roof of a log cabin steamed as the morning’s first sun warmed it. An old yellow schoolhouse stood alone in the meadow, with bald peaks in the distance.
At the parking area near Moffat Tunnel, a single green boxcar sat abandoned on a side track. The tunnel, built in 1927, was coated black with diesel smoke and dirty streaks of rain.
Suddenly I heard a swooshing sound, then a bell ringing, and the tunnel produced a Union Pacific train. Three yellow-and-smoke-smudged locomotives emerged, leading cars full of coal--formed in mountain darkness, the small black nuggets were extracted once again into light. Another engine strained in the middle of the train, and two pushed at the rear. After the train whined down the track, a whirring began at the tunnel, as fans blew the engines’ spent breath out of the mountain’s depths.
Past the tunnel, the trail rose through fir trees draped with coarse, wooly moss. After climbing steeply to treeline, I saw the lakes cupped beneath the peaks.
An ill-mannered, unleashed, and very large dog belonging to people fishing at the lake tried to take my sandwich right out of my hand. I moved to a quieter spot to escape hearing the three of them fuss at the dog, and each other.
Above the quiet meadow, afternoon clouds began building and drifting behind the ridge. A white stream sashayed out of the lake. And bees sucked from pink fireweed blossoms—likewise drinking in the day.
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