Hoosac
There’s a certain understanding, call it the “Murphy’s Law of Photography,” that at some point, somewhere, you’re going to lose camera gear that’s reasonably important and useful. You’ll not realize it until it’s too late; otherwise, you’d be able to intercept the gear fairies that have absconded with your stuff. Last year, it was a lens hood that went rocketing off the top of my rental car in Iceland, and this year, so far, it’s been a camera grip/sleeve. Irritating, to be sure, but at least I didn’t lose my camera.
With the preamble of my trials and tribulations out of the way, I submit the above picture for your consideration, complete in its monochromatic glory. It’s a train hurtling through the Hoosac Tunnel in western Massachusetts, going from North Adams by way of Florida.
Since I discovered the Mohawk Trail in Massachusetts shortly after moving here in 2003, I’ve always travelled it regularly. It’s my escape route, therapy, my “listen to music or just the noise of the road” approach to dealing with life’s problems. Over the years, I’ve seen all of the seasons from the vantage point of the various pull-outs and stops along the way. It embodies, to me, the very best of what Massachusetts has to offer, so long as you don’t require an ocean and beach.
I suppose there’s a side commentary to make about the diminished role of railroads in this country. For me, it’s a sad state of affairs as rail transport, of goods and people alike, represents one of the more novel, environmentally friendly approaches to moving “stuff” from Point A to Point B. It’s also an interesting signpost highlighting this perverse need to be “ruggedly individual” that this country fantasizes over, what with our incessant push for semi-trucks and personal vehicles. One could argue that in the collective wisdom of other countries, a decision to focus on rail has paid dividends for mobility, accessibility, efficient cargo transport, and reliability. But here, in America, this falls off from consideration.
Not everything is perfect, to be sure. Railroads require considerable construction and operational engagement to implement. It’s not as easy as laying asphalt, considering weight, loading, vibration, and mountains that tend to be in the way. You can route yourself around these sorts of things where possible, but sometimes, you just have to go through them. This brings us back to the Hoosac Tunnel.
The Hoosac is the sixth-longest rail tunnel in the United States and is over four miles long. It’s carved through the southern end of the Green Mountain range, which protrudes from Vermont into the northwestern corner of Massachusetts. It’s designed to move cargo and people on the rare occasion it’s needed. It has a storied history from its inception in the early nineteenth century until now. Yet, it persists despite accidents, bankruptcies, and the typical mergers and acquisitions common to our modern society. Oh, and it has my camera grip somewhere in its confines.
The people who gathered to see the train and tunnel are far more fascinating to me. As a relic of a bygone era, trains don’t always hold the same appeal for people of a certain age. And yet, standing in the misting rain that heralded my arrival, there were families, other photographers, and a few railcar experts amongst the bunch. A couple of teenagers (or at least early 20-somethings) decided to run down into the tunnel yet, wisely, started heading back out when the distant lights of the approaching freight train appeared. Overall, it was a moment to be celebrated for its diverse audience: young, old, male, female, photographers, and others.
Beyond the social commentary of both American individualism and the fascination we have with the analogue devices of our history, I’d like to suggest that these moments are what matters in life. It’s not about the perfect capture, the lost gear, or even the drive to get there. It’s about what happens when you arrive, about meeting others in a place of their curiosity, having conversations, and then curating the experience by tucking it back into your memory with a gentle smile. It’s about reliving these moments a day, a month, a year, or even a decade after the fact and realising that even though people and technology will change, the circumstances around community, excitement, and discovery won’t.
May it ever be so.
