The Skunk Train

Wednesday morning was the day to take the Skunk Train--we were only going halfway, planning to return at North Spur.  We wore our special blue bracelets identifying us as the occupants of the 1st class car where we would be served a free Mimosa and then wine taste with crackers, cheese, fruit and other hor d'oeuvres on the ride.  No children would be  allowed in this winetasting car.

We arrived at the parking area and the day was already warm, with throngs of people lined to get on the train.  We moved to our gate, noting that some folks with kids in tow were lined up there also.  Soon they were told that they had to board further down the line, and we climbed into our car, which was the one gaily painted with scenes of wildlife.  It is an historic car, and of course rthere is no air conditioning--only a few of the ancient windows opened, and we were warned to watch our elbows as these might close unexpectedly.  Still, I was comfortable and a breeze passed through the nearby open window once the train began to move.

The Mimosa was delicious, and just the way to start the ride.  Laura and I also had samples of other wines as we passed along dense forests, ferns and waterways making our way inland.  We start in the Pudding Creek drainage with the creek along our left, then pass trhrough a lengthy dark tunnel (our car had no lights and it was pitch black almost), emerging into the Noyo River drainage.  Trestle bridges criss-cross the Noyo which at times is on the right and at times on  the left. One interesting area was the site of a cyclonic microburst, where winds reaching 200 mph had tossed trees every which way over a 30 minute period this past January 2010.  At the time, the rails had been blocked by fallen trees, and the shattered remains of trees everywhere across about a 5 acre area were impressive to see.  

We passed isolated ranches, scout camps, and one 1000+ year old tree, then reached North Spur, where we disembarked and had a barbecue lunch.  The train reversed the position of the engine and our car, which had been just behiund the engine, now becoming the last car in the train.  Back we came, with the heat of the day.  It was quite warm in the car, but we were happy with the beauty passing by, the camarderie of the car, and the entertaining railway songs of Greg Shandel, dressed in period costume and playing a harmonica and guitar.  Too soon we were back in Fort Bragg.