Heroes of the rails

I wake up at 7:00 a.m. that morning as if I’ve been bitten by the bug. Muffled snoring penetrates through the absorbent cotton filter. I pull the stuff out of my ears and leave the snoring compartment in a hurry. Outside the train, I am greeted by the relaxing chirping of the birds and the sound of the waves of the Baikal. The morning air refreshes my spirit and my mind. “Would you like to ride in the driver’s cab with us?” the driver asks me. “Really? I’d love to,” I reply, happily surprised, and feel the last remnants of tiredness evaporate. A little later, Tanja and I climb into the old locomotive via a steep iron ladder. The heat feels like 50 degrees. “You can sit here,” the stoker Sergei offers us two simple, terribly uncomfortable seats next to the hot boiler. The train driver Alexander turns an iron wheel and gives us a friendly nod. It hisses and moans so much that our ears ring. “Thhhüüüüüiiiiiiiiit! Thhhüüüüüüiiiiiiiiit! Thhhüüüüüüiiiiiiiiiiit!” the loud signal of the steam locomotive echoes from the mountains. The old lady starts to move, puffing, crunching and jerking loudly. Sergei opens the iron mouth of the boiler with a large lever. If we thought it was hot before, now we have to fear for the survival of our cameras and make sure our eyelashes don’t get scorched. Like the fire-breathing breath of a dragon, the inside of the machine presses its heat into our faces. Using a shovel and muscle power, Sergej transports 20 kilograms of coal from the drag tender into the voracious maw. Then he closes the heavy metal gate and the extremely hot steam is suddenly reduced. “Chop, chop, chop”, the ten large steel wheels now move faster and faster with loud bursts of steam. The boiler now appears to be under full pressure. “Thhhüüüüüiiiiiiiiit! Thhhüüüüüüiiiiiiiiit! Thhhüüüüüüiiiiiiiiit!” the engine driver sounds the shrill horn again. The iron lady rumbles and rattles along the tracks at a speed of around 40 km/h. Alexander hangs his head halfway out of the window to watch the tracks. They are not left unattended for a second. The speed of the monster can be regulated by changing the cylinder charge accordingly. Before every bend, the massive wheels are turned with considerable effort to let off steam. Alexander and Sergei are soon shouting commands to each other that are incomprehensible to us. Here, one hand knows what the other is doing. Engine drivers and stokers work in perfect teamwork. If one person doesn’t look out of the window, the other takes control. When Sergei is shoveling coal, his engine driver regulates the boiler pressure. “Attention cows!” Sergei suddenly shouts into a microphone. The warning is immediately echoed by the second locomotive, which is attached behind ours and is also traveling at full speed ahead. Both locomotive teams, as we now realize, have to work together to keep their tourist train rolling along the Baikal coast undamaged. “Thhhüüüüüiiiiiiiiit! Thhhüüüüüüiiiiiiiiit! Thhhüüüüüüiiiiiiiiiiit!” the shrill whistle sounds to get the cows moving. At the same time, the wheels squeal. The hundreds of thousands of tons of steel are slowed down with a frightening groan. The cows are frightened by the hissing and screeching monster and jump off the tracks. The pressure in the boiler is immediately increased again and the regular hissing, steaming and moaning becomes faster. “Shh, shh, shh!”, it snorts loudly and the white steam and black smoke is eaten up by the trees of the taiga. Fascinated, we watch the two men as they keep their iron dragon under control. More steam, less steam, warning horns, commands into the microphones, shoveling coal, checking the gauges. It stinks of acrid smoke. In the few moments when he is not screwing on wheels, looking at dial gauges or feeding his voracious, insatiable mouth with fuel, Sergei lights a cigarette. Quickly and deeply inhale the tobacco smoke, wipe the sweat from your forehead with your sleeve, look out of the window and off you go. Man oh man, this is not how I imagined driving a steam locomotive. Pure hard work. But the men are proud of their job. They see themselves as the true heroes of the track. “Anyone can drive electric trains and diesel locomotives, but only a few people can still master this iron marvel from a bygone era,” Sergei roars and laughs. “Who knows how long your health will put up with that? The heavy coal smoke, the steam, the heat and then back outside on the cold tender to bring in new coal. Man oh man, what a tough job,” I think. “Our locomotives are 95 years old. They work as well as ever!” Alexander praises his black-painted, in some places rusty great-grandmothers with sympathetic self-confidence. Steam hisses out of a valve next to me. “I wonder if something like that could burst? Or one of the old, rusty pipes? What would happen then? Will the men get scalded?” I think to myself. You travel on this Baikal Railway throughout the summer. every week. In the past, soldiers, ammunition and economic goods of all kinds were transported and today it is Russian tourists from all over the country. Apart from the load, nothing has changed.

Tanja and I also work in a team. While I film the spectacle, she captures it with the Leica. Then the train disappears into one of the tunnels, which are over a hundred years old. I stick my head out of the window of the heater to film into the blackness. The spitting noises, hissing, steaming and squeaking are reflected back from the walls. The locomotive’s chimney is belching smoke upwards, which trickles onto me and the camera as soot. After that me and the camera are covered in soot. “Do you want gloves?” asks Alexander, because he can see how we are slowly getting dirty and looking like real train drivers. “No thanks. I won’t touch anything,” I reply with a laugh. 20 kilometers before Kultuk station, we meet more and more hikers on the old Baikal Railway line. “Thhhüüüüüiiiiiiiiit! Thhhüüüüüüiiiiiiiiit! Thhhüüüüüüüiiiiiiiiit!” they are warned of the iron snake in good time before every bend and tunnel. They jump off their hiking trail, the rails. Many of them have set up their tents right next to the tracks. Fresh fish is grilled around the campfire, vodka is drunk and guitar is played. “Hooray! Hooray! Sound your horn!” the campers shout joyfully and wave enthusiastically towards the locomotive. I wave from the driver’s cab. What a fantastic experience. Without exception, everyone is fascinated by the sight of antiquity. Everyone loves the old steam locomotive, the heroine of all locomotives.

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