Manuel had prepped our beds before we
reached Minneapolis and we had opted for retiring early rather than
stretching our legs outside the train as it made a thirty-minute or so stop
to refuel there. As the train was streaking through the remainder of
Minnesota, the gentle rocking brought me the well-deserved rest I needed
after a long day with too much excitement.
By about 3:00 am the following morning,
we had crossed into North Dakota at Fargo and by 5:00 am we were heading
north and west, leaving the lowland plains and entering onto the Great
Plains: an amazingly immense stretch of country, reaching from Mexico all
the way into Canada and spreading east of the Rocky Mountains like a giant
welcome mat. Scoured by glaciers more than 10,000 years ago, this vast
and treeless area is now as dry as one can imagine, receiving less than 20
inches of total rainfall per year. We were also headed toward an
intersection with the very route traveled by Lewis and Clark in 1805/1806.
As a seemingly endless stretch of dry and flat grassland passed before us, I
tried to imagine what it would have been like to cross this area -- almost
totally void of water -- two hundred years ago on horseback. I even
allowed my mind to wander much further back in time, several hundred million
years, to when this entire area was covered by a shallow inland sea...
We suddenly arrived in Minot, a thriving city with a rich history.
Also known as "Magic City" (it literally sprang up over night), it was also
once home to Al Capone's illicit liquor smuggling operations. West of
town we crossed the The
Gassman Coulee Trestle and continued our journey across the extensive,
nearly flat floor of the former sea, to first Williston, then to Ft. Buford
(Chief Sitting Bull surrendered here after the Battle of Little Big Horn),
and finally to Ft. Union (near the confluence of the Yellowstone and
Missouri Rivers) before crossing into Montana at Wolf Point, just before
noon.
The Route... Montana, Idaho and Washington
View our route on a Google Map
Halfway through Montana, I began to
notice a subtle change in the landscape: geologic features called buttes
began to appear: isolated hills with steep, often vertical sides and small
flat tops, formed by erosion when a cap of hard rock, often of volcanic
origin, covers a layer of softer rock that is easily worn away. This
is prime territory for dinosaur fossils, although vastly different now from
the lush and almost tropical climes that were bounded on the west by
volcanic activity. The Hell Creek formation is here on the Fort Peck
Indian Reservation. Past Glasgow and Malta we sped, arriving at the
town of Havre, Montana for a service stop at about 2:30 pm. Stepping
from the train, we breathed some crisp but warm Montana air; I was still
amazed at the relative flatness of the terrain here, so close to the Idaho
border.
Our iron steed raced on, often at speeds
that I estimated to be close to 80 mph. This occasionally made it
difficult to walk through the dining and coach cars back to the
lounge/observation car for a look at the glorious scenery. However,
the "drunken sailor" method of walking with feet spread rather than one in
front of the other made things easier (as an interesting side note, as far
as I could tell, no wait-staff in the dining car ever spilled a beverage --
an amazing feat considering the amount of rocking that occasionally took
place!). We passed through Shelby, Cut Bank and Browning, watching as
the Rockies began to rise ahead of us: the elevation had now risen to 4655
feet from the relatively low 1547 feet at Minot, ND. At approximately
6:45 pm local time, we arrive at the majestic East Glacier Park station --
unfortunately only for a brief four- or five-minute stop. I wish we
had more time here, especially because I would love to have visited the
massive and stately Glacier Park Lodge -- built with trees estimated to be
600 years old. A mere 200 yards away, it loomed large in the window of
our roomette.
Quickly on our way again, the fading sun
of October 1st, combined with the towering Rockies, didn't leave much time
for viewing the impressive scenery. Even in the dim light of dusk, the
colors are breathtaking and the rugged beauty masks the desolation of the
area -- not a place I'd like to be alone after dark! Across the
Continental Divide and through Marias Pass (at 5216 feet, the lowest pass
between Canada and New Mexico) we glide, arriving at Essex and the Isaac
Walton Inn there to drop a few passengers. The inn is a converted old
railroad bunkhouse where, without telephones, roughing it takes on a new
meaning for those wanting the seclusion. West Glacier, Whitefish and
Libby are the last towns on the route through Montana; we are sound asleep
when the train slides into Idaho in the black of night -- the moon is new
and therefore not visible --just before midnight when we arrive at Sand
Point.
It is almost 2:00 am as the train slowly
comes to a stop in Spokane. A few small bumps cause me awaken briefly as a
few cars at the rear of the train are uncoupled. They will get a
different engine and continue southward to Portland. It is not yet
quite first light, but I am awake fully now as we pass through Wenatchee.
Blessed with rich and fertile soil resulting from the decomposition of lava
from ancient volcanoes, this agricultural area supplies over 15% of the
nation's apples. Two of our dinner companions from the previous
evening depart the train and I wave goodbye as the train once again sound
the now-familiar two short blasts of the horn and we continue on, descending
through the lower Cascade Mountains, past rivers and streams and quaint
whistle-stop towns where fishing, forests and tourism reign, and then to
Everett and Edmonds. We will follow Puget Sound for a long ways before
the 605 foot Space Needle signals our arrival into Seattle, the train
finally coming to rest just outside Qwest Field, home of the Seattle
Seahawks.
To some, a forty-six hour journey by
train may seem as eternity. For me the journey of 2206 miles through
seven states passed quickly; from the interesting variety of people to
glorious sights to the time spent decompressing, it was lots of fun.
But I opened with a reminder that -- at least for my wife and me -- travel
is more about the journey then it is about simply "getting there". If
you subscribe to the latter of those two descriptions, then train travel is
truly not for you. But the mournful wail of the train's horn, the
swaying of the cars, the fine dining, the scenery and the joy of taking our
time is what keeps me coming back. My only advice -- at least as far
as the Empire Builder is concerned -- would be to book your trip during the
summer months so as to take full advantage of the long daylight hours to be
able to view the awesome scenery. And if you require a bit of extra
space, by all means upgrade to the full room -- it is definitely worth it!
Perhaps the only thing that somewhat
disappointed me on this trip was the route -- and not because it wasn't
beautiful. The views were incredible. But our trip took place in
late September, after the Equinox date. This simply meant that the sun
was going to set by around 7:00 pm, and much of the best scenery that might
normally be viewed... was going to be available after it was already dark.
By the time we had reached Milwaukee, the sun was on its way down. We
did get to see much of the fall colors in the valley approaching the
crossing of the Mississippi River at La Crosse, but we crossed the river in
the dark. The train followed the river for a great distance on its way
northward to the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul, but the glory of
the river and its accompanying colors was lost to the black of night; much
more daylight would have been available had we planned a trip for earlier in
the summer.
