Over Donner summit, 1904

We reach Truckee, walking the track the entire distance, in a continuous downpour of rain. This town boasts of a thousand inhabitants, and is a collection of saloons and gambling dens, with not one store in the place which did not partake of the nature of a dive, truly a cesspool, and headquarters for gamblers and criminals.

Two miles from Truckee we enter a continuous thirty-five mile stretch of snow sheds and tunnels, practically a subterranean passage, as but little light is admitted, all being in a state of semi-darkness. This chain extends over the summit and half way down the other side of the Sierra Nevadas.

These snow sheds are very large, and built of heavy and massive timbers. The top forms a solid roofing, but the sides have openings of several inches between each timber, through which some of the light of day penetrates; during the severe winters upon these mountains tons upon tons of snow fall upon these sheds.

The track makes the most erratic twists and turns, the grade is very great, causing even three engines on a train to make but very slow progress.

We have been traveling in the snow sheds but a short time, when we have our first hair-raising experience, as one of the Southern Pacific Flyers passes us.

We hear it slowly and laboriously ascending the grade behind us, and take steps to place ourselves and our machines in a safe position on the sides. Soon it approaches with a deafening and thunderous puff and chug-chug of the engines, sparks, fire, and dirty black smoke belching forth from the smokestacks, fire shooting from beneath the fire-boxes on each side of the track, for on these engines oil is burned, every sound made a thousand-fold louder by being enclosed in such a small space. To us, with our nerves at their highest tension, eyes nearly bulging from their sockets, it seems as if we shall never live through the ordeal. It seems an age until the two foremost engines pass us, and then comes the long string of passenger coaches, which gives us a chance to recover and be prepared for the puffing and hissing monster which brings up the rear. But there is an end to all things, and at last as from a dream we find ourselves to be staring vacantly after the departing train.

Before we reach the summit we have many such experiences, trains passing us frequently, coming from each direction. Great watchfulness had to be exercised in listening for trains coming down from the summit, as the grade was so great, that the momentum would carry the train swiftly and it would approach almost noiselessly, so that it would be upon us before we were aware.

We pass through many tunnels, ranging from four hundred to thirteen hundred feet in length. In one of these, which was almost semi-circular, it was as dark as Egypt, and as we had no light nor torch, we could see nothing whatever; by walking the rails we manage to keep in the track. There was no room on the sides, so that we knew that if we should be caught by a train, we should immediately be made into mince-meat. As we get well into the center, we find our courage oozing out at our toes, our knees knock together, hair stands on end, and perspiration springs from every pore at the slightest noise which resembles the "chug-chug" of a locomotive. Nevertheless, we arrive at the other end in safety.

This is indeed almost one continuous tunnel, even the telegraph stations being built into the sides of the sheds.

"We reach the summit, which has an altitude of 7,017 feet, to find that while it has been continuously raining lower down on the mountains, here a fierce snow-storm is in progress, there being a covering of fifteen inches of the beautiful, accompanied by a freezing temperature.

Owing to the many fires occurring in the snow­sheds, a fire train stands at the summit in readiness to respond to an alarm.

Twenty-three miles more of walking brings us out of the subterranean passage of the snow-sheds, and it is still raining steadily. We had many thrilling escapes from being run down by trains which came from our rear down from the summit. Running almost without a sound they would glide around a curve bearing down upon us, causing consternation and terror, which would nearly paralyze our muscles. There we would stand unable to move; but even though each time it seemed as if this surely would be the end and that even now we were staring into the cadaverous features of Death, we always succeeded at the very last instant to avoid the danger, the train passing us leaving limp masses of flesh stunned with fright and terror.

Now that we were out from the protection of the sheds, we have the full benefits of the shower bath so unsparingly dealt by the elements, and we are soon wet to the skin. It rains nearly all the next forenoon, but sometime past noon the rain ceases and we have the pleasure of again viewing the beaming countenance of '' Old Sol.''

Unhidden by any snow-sheds the glorious and majestic grandeur of the Sierras lay before us. Now we find ourselves high on the side of a mountain; nearly two thousand feet below us is a seeth­ing, rushing, roaring mountain torrent angrily leaping like a thing of life. Here the track dizzily describes a complete half circle traversing a mountain but a short distance from its summit, clinging to a narrow ledge, and as one looks into the terrible abyss, a tremor shakes one's frame. Now from the heights we look down upon a panoramic view of a beautiful valley, hemmed in by mountains on each side, where across from us apparently a river seems to be flowing along the side of the mountain. Here we nervously and cautiously pick our way across a high steel trestle, where nearly a hundred and fifty feet below us the diminutive tracks of a narrow gauge railway pass under this gigantic structure.

We are nearly out of the mountains, coming down into the fertile valley of the Sacramento. Vineyards dot the slopes of the mountains.

Now beside the track is a portion of a mammoth vineyard, its other side lost in the distance. The vines are in the form of small bushes, so that the whole at a distance resembles an orchard. We hasten to drop our wheels and help ourselves to the luscious fruit, but in our haste we fail to note that the gaze of a man who carries a gun over his shoulder is upon us, until we stoop to pick some of the large bunches of grapes when we are very much surprised to be challenged by a stentorian voice, and we abdicate immediately in favor of the man with the gun.

From Auburn to Sacramento we are able to ride over a good wagon road, a pleasant change, as we have followed the railroad continuously since leaving Reno.
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