Review by Ed Quillen
Rail History – September 1994 – Colorado Central Magazine
The Monarch Branch of the D&RGW – Trails among the Columbine – A High-Country Anthology
Russ Collman, editor
Published in 1994 by Sundance Publications Ltd.
ISBN 0-913582-59-X
UNTIL YOU SEE this edition of Trails among the Columbine, you might have trouble imagining how a mere 21 miles of railroad track could inspire much more than a pamphlet, let alone a solid and handsome 224-page book.
But to railroad buffs, the line from Salida to the Monarch Quarry represents the zenith of mountain railroading: built as narrow-gauge and converted to standard-gauge, heavy grades of up to 4.5%, sharp 24° curves including the tremendous double-S curve above Maysville, and at Garfield, the only switchbacks in the entire D&RGW system.
From another perspective, the quarry spur, for as long as it remained in use, reminded us why Salida was here: the town was fabricated in 1880 to support the transfer of trainloads of raw materials from the mountains to the industries on the plains.
Most of the extensive iron network that once spread from Salida had been abandoned long before I arrived in 1978. But every summer morning for the next few years, a train of empties crossed the steel truss bridge over the Arkansas River and climbed into the mountains, to return that afternoon laden with limestone destined for the CF&I steel mill in Pueblo. As the train rattled by, the crew tossing candy to children standing at trackside, it provided a sense of continuity. We still had mining and railroading, long after they had faded elsewhere in the Rockies.
When the quarry line was abandoned in 1984 because CF&I had stilled the blast furnaces that needed the limestone, that continuum was severed forever. On a bitter-cold morning in January of 1985, I looked down F Street and the depot was gone, overnight. I kept thinking “that’s the reason there is a Salida, and it’s gone, so why are we still here?”
Like all Sundance books, The Monarch Branch offers a profusion of historic pictures, many in color and all reproduced well, covering everything from a Poncha Springs grocery in 1879 before the rails arrived to Dick Dixon’s 1984 photo of a hydraulic claw ripping out the rails as an era ended.
Much of the text concerns the challenge of running trains up and down the line. Thanks to short tails on the switchbacks and the limits of locomotive power, trains had to be divided. A 56-car narrow-gauge train from Salida had to be split into four sections en route to Monarch. On an easy day, the crew put in 12 hours, and many days weren’t easy; runaways presented a constant menace.
Such operations, which changed but were still complex after standard-gauge and diesel came in 1956, are recalled by Ted McDowell, long-time brakeman and conductor on the run. Other articles cover Poncha Springs, Maysville, Garfield, the two hydro-electric plants on the Little River, Frank Gimlett (the “Hermit of Arbor Villa” who once billed the government for his work guarding the snow on the peaks), and, of course, quarrying at Monarch.
One section explains the “town” of Barrel, Colo., which sat in the railroad yards between Salida and Cleora. The D&RGW once employed 75 men to shovel loads from narrow- to standard-gauge cars. Enter the barrel transfer machine, installed in 1925, which tipped the small cars to dump their limestone, coal, and ore into the big cars for further shipment. It saved time and labor costs, although labor costs certainly weren’t high then; based on the numbers in the book, the pay for shoveling a ton was about 10 cents.
This book doesn’t miss much, although I didn’t see anything about two wrecks near the end of the line’s life. In December of 1981, a gondola derailed on the yard curve leading to the Arkansas bridge as the cars were being pushed up the line for storage. Every crossing in town from Sackett to Seventh was blocked that Friday night, to much consternation. The next summer, some of those cars got loose and rolled, piling up wreckage near Holman Avenue.
Nor does it mention a county hearing in late 1984 about the fate of the right-of-way. I went to argue that it should become a foot, bicycle, and horse trail; the room was dominated by those who said a trail would just attract hippies with dogs that would scare their cattle. In case you have any trouble guessing who won, I’ll give you a hint — it wasn’t the trail.
Despite those minor omissions, The Monarch Branch is a valuable addition to local history. It could have used some closer editing, though; some material gets repeated from section to section, a hazard for any work with multiple authors. Besides McDowell, text contributors include Wade Hall, Dell A. McCoy, and Russ Collman, with photos from dozens of sources.
If you ever wanted to see how Salida and Monarch once operated as part of the Rust Belt in not-so-long-ago times, this is the place to look.
— Ed Quillen
