Chapter 6: Into the Depths
Now. 7:45 p.m.
As the leader of this mission, I took the first tentative step into the hole Jon had bored through the artificial fill in the Glenwood tunnel’s portal. Granted, both of them refused to be the first in and I really had to crawl rather than step, but the end result was the same. I took the flashlight with me and held it tightly in my right hand.
The hole was at least fifteen yards above the original ground of the tunnel, and I was not surprised to find a steep slope ahead of me. The light danced with the shadows in the dark maw of the cavernous tunnel. I looked around as I cautiously crawled, very aware of the thick mesh of white, threatening cobwebs covering every pit in the uneven granite ceiling.
Unlike the Summit Tunnel, which required extensive timberwork to ensure the roof did not collapse, most of the tunnel between Glenwood and Laurel was made of granite and required only token supports. Those supports were removed in 1942, but the ceiling still held firm, except for some minor spills here and there where burrowing animals cut holes through weak rock, or ground shifts and earthquakes let in stray sand.
The roof was still too close for comfort, so I took a few steps down the rubble pile before turning my flashlight on the hole so that the next explorer could enter into the Southern Pacific’s lost cathedral. I could hear Joe and Jon bickering outside over whom would go next. Eventually Jon’s head appeared and Joe followed, looking backward with alarm as if somebody was going to catch us. I shifted down a few more feet as they moved into the space.
“Everything alright?” I asked, not expecting a problem.
“Yeah, I just think we should make this quick. It’s getting really dark out there and nobody really knows we’re here.” Joe stopped and looked around again, his eyes widening.
The rubble pile went all the way to the ground, where the original right-of-way remained largely intact, with covered gutters lining each side to allow water to flow out. Despite the rubble, it appeared that most of the water did indeed seep out through the debris into the cesspool outside since the interior was surprisingly dry. All three of us descended to the ground and I slowly rotated the flashlight around the chamber.
The ceiling was now high above appearing as a continuous rock that had no end or beginning, It wrapped around the sides of the cavern to the floor, wrapping us in its cocoon. Turning ahead, I tossed the light of the flashlight into the distance but received no return. The blackness was complete – a mile of undisturbed tunnel, empty, sealed. The rumors were false. There was no train trapped inside, or the railroad or salvage firm had removed it after the disaster. Although we could see nothing in the distance, our voices alone, which echoed through the roots of the mountain, came back undisturbed.
We started to walk down the tunnel slowly. We didn’t fear getting lost, but we also did not want to explore for too long. I was convinced the legends weren’t true, so hiking further into the bore would accomplish nothing. After hiking for fifteen minutes in near total darkness, I signalled to the guys that we should turn around and head back. It was past 7:30 p.m. and we had been gone far too long for comfort.
As we began our march back, a strange squeal cut into our thoughts. It sounded like somebody was taking a piece of bow and rubbing it hard along a violin string. The three of us turned around. I flashed the light into the darkness, but received no report. “Let’s get out of here,” I said, suddenly aware that we may have destabilised this tunnel by opening it to the elements.
We walked faster this time, but didn’t run. Although we were on edge, it was a slight disturbance. But then we heard the unmistakable whistle again, and this time there could be no doubt that it came from within the tunnel itself. A high scream from a tight metal tube bounded down the tunnel walls, momentarily deafening us. It was followed quickly by the sound of steel-upon-steel and the puff-puffing of an overladen locomotive climbing a steep grade.
We sprinted toward the hole, ghostly shadows chasing us along the walls...
Then. 7:45 p.m.
The train whistle cut through the pounding rain heralding the trains approach into Glenwood, the first and only relevant stop through the mountains in 1940. But the train’s late arrival and the inclimate weather made it unlikely anyone was there to flag the train. And, sure enough, the train was not slowing – nobody had triggered the flag to stop.
Harold gritted his teeth as the train sped along the double-track through the Bean Creek valley. It was through Glenwood that he had first come to Santa Cruz County ten years earlier, when there was still a station in town and even a few businesses. Now the place looked abandoned, although porch lights marked where the general store still stood. Harold remembered popping into that store in 1930 to send a letter to his parents to let him know he had arrived. He had traveled via an autobus that operated along the route, and it stopped at Glenwood to unload vacationers who still had some money to spend. Harold was not so lucky, but he could afford a postcard and a stamp. Harold’s father was always fascinated by tunnels and the general store happened to have a postcard showing a train at Glenwood entering the tunnel just beside the town center.
Now Harold realized that that same tunnel was his next destination: a 1.1-mile-long bore through the heart of the Santa Cruz Mountains beneath the newly-completed Highway 17, which was closed due to damage from this same storm. After the two previous tunnels, Harold dreaded the thought of entering another, fearing the strange hollow sound, the suffocating smoke, and the sheer blackness. But he was committed and it was too late to detrain anyway.
The train rounded a sharp bend in the track, blasting its whistle as its wheels screamed loudly upon the rails, descending into the depths. Harold took a deep breath, fearing it would be his last. And then, all of a sudden, the train lurched unnaturally to the left and all the lights flickered off...
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. While some elements may be based on historical fact, the events described are entirely the author's own creation.
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