The Precarious Railway
The mission was clear, but everything else was murky.
We were on the beach, way down at sea level, and high above us, miles away, was the destination, the cluster of buildings far atop the pinnacle of the mountains, the clouds swirling. You could see the place, but it was a tiny speck, so far away and so far up.
All we had to do was follow the track of the old line, clear and refurbish it, and then lay the track for the new line. I started out. The old line was pretty tough to see, but if you kind of squinted, kind of imagined, kind of got into the landscape, then the linear features of the old bed would come out and you could follow it.
The only problem was that the enemy was shooting at us. That made the going slow, miserably slow. Sure, this mission in itself was an absolute pisser, near impossible to begin with, given the topography, but now we had goddamn enemy dropping artillery and firing machine guns at us. What in the holy hell . . .
Soon enough I was up above the beach as the cliff rose from the flat sand. The old bed was hugging the contour of the coastline, still winding its way toward the center up in the mountains. I looked down, and I was hundreds of feet above the beach. It was a blinding white fuzz of sand, no sound coming from the surf. I was on the very edge of the cliff, and I was perilously close to toppling. I was on all fours, and the ground was incredibly soft and giving. I wondered how stable the cliff itself was, as I felt myself sinking down into it, feeling gravity pulling me toward the lip of the cliff, my feet and ankles already dangling into space.
Had to move slowly and carefully, very purposefully now. The ground was completely devoide of any undergrowth, no grass, weeds, sticks, leaves, nothing. The only thing I could think of was local critters that would eat the stuff. And there were the subtle movements of the crabs under the soft earth. Thousands of them, little tiny holes for their breathing and the subtle yet now so obvious to see movement of their fist-sized bodies a few inches below the surface. The soil was loose, dark, and powerfully redolent.
Man, I thought, the railway is going to take some work, some serious engineering work, to get it up here and working. But when it's all done, it'll be a breathtaking ride.
I moved on out, keeping low, toward the V-shaped valley ahead where the old right of way passe.
We were on the beach, way down at sea level, and high above us, miles away, was the destination, the cluster of buildings far atop the pinnacle of the mountains, the clouds swirling. You could see the place, but it was a tiny speck, so far away and so far up.
All we had to do was follow the track of the old line, clear and refurbish it, and then lay the track for the new line. I started out. The old line was pretty tough to see, but if you kind of squinted, kind of imagined, kind of got into the landscape, then the linear features of the old bed would come out and you could follow it.
The only problem was that the enemy was shooting at us. That made the going slow, miserably slow. Sure, this mission in itself was an absolute pisser, near impossible to begin with, given the topography, but now we had goddamn enemy dropping artillery and firing machine guns at us. What in the holy hell . . .
Soon enough I was up above the beach as the cliff rose from the flat sand. The old bed was hugging the contour of the coastline, still winding its way toward the center up in the mountains. I looked down, and I was hundreds of feet above the beach. It was a blinding white fuzz of sand, no sound coming from the surf. I was on the very edge of the cliff, and I was perilously close to toppling. I was on all fours, and the ground was incredibly soft and giving. I wondered how stable the cliff itself was, as I felt myself sinking down into it, feeling gravity pulling me toward the lip of the cliff, my feet and ankles already dangling into space.
Had to move slowly and carefully, very purposefully now. The ground was completely devoide of any undergrowth, no grass, weeds, sticks, leaves, nothing. The only thing I could think of was local critters that would eat the stuff. And there were the subtle movements of the crabs under the soft earth. Thousands of them, little tiny holes for their breathing and the subtle yet now so obvious to see movement of their fist-sized bodies a few inches below the surface. The soil was loose, dark, and powerfully redolent.
Man, I thought, the railway is going to take some work, some serious engineering work, to get it up here and working. But when it's all done, it'll be a breathtaking ride.
I moved on out, keeping low, toward the V-shaped valley ahead where the old right of way passe.
posted by Scrumpox at 9:34 AM
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