Enjoying a steamy affair on the tracks

By ELIZABETH LIGHT


It's a chilly dawn on platform four. Two hundred of us are waiting, hands in pockets. But the omens bode well for the day. I look east down the railway lines, to where they disappear into the lumpy cap of Rangitoto. The rising sun decorates clouds with gold edging. Steel rails glint silver.

Ten minutes later the splendid sunrise has passed but, down the lines the other way, Auckland, bathed in soft low sunlight, is the colour of honey. Behind, the sky is leaden and a rainbow arcs clear over the top of the city. Auckland is gorgeous ... but Joanne steals her thunder.

With an ancient roar, puffing smoke and hissing steam, Joanne appears around the corner from the west. The crowd surges forward, stretching, to peer at this great metal beast as she moves along the line towards us. The roar of a thousand cogs in motion changes to a metallic shriek as she eases to a halt. With a big sigh, a great gush of steam tumbles skywards and Joanne is still.

Sam has found our carriage and is stowing pillows and a picnic basket under our seat. I'm transfixed by the engine, smelling the acrid smoke, admiring the huge moving metal machine.

Joanne, JB 1236, was made at the North Britain Locomotive Works in Glasgow in 1936 and shipped to New Zealand before World War II. She is now owned by Mainline Steam, a private steam train company which works out of the old Parnell railway yards. For this trip, Joanne was lent to The Railway Enthusiasts Society whose main trunk line steam engine is out of commission.

Most of Auckland sleeps as we thunder through the southern suburbs. Rail provides a different view of the world, the hidden view, into backyards rather than frontyards. Some have pretty gardens, others neat mown lawns, some are chocka with dead cars and one, with high fences, is filled with chickens.

The Manukau Harbour has watercolour softness of pink, grey and blue. Graffiti climbs the sides of factories, bright colours, hard edges, the "zap-kapow" lettering of comicbooks.

We gallop though the rolling farmland of Tuakau. The clouds have gone and all is intensely emerald in the morning sun. Mist hangs in valleys. Animals stop grazing. Sheep stare in disbelief. Dairy cows, udders swaying, run in frightened herds until curiosity gets the better of them and, at a safe distance, they turn to look at this noisy apparition. Horses go ballistic, galloping around their fields neighing, kicking up their hooves.

Farmers stop their tractors and gaze in appreciation as Joanne streaks by trailing an enormous feather boa of smoke and steam skyward.

By 10am we are at Frankton Junction and have time for a cuppa before we are off again. We pick up speed on the wide Waikato plains. The flat farmland is delineated by rows of giant gum trees and has a surreal Impressionist quality.

There are people about now. They look, wave, and we wave back. The spectacle of a huge steam train passing is piquantly nostalgic for many and a feelgood for everyone.

Around Te Awamutu we pass serious dairy country. Black and white cows graze green fields, new calves herd together waiting for the farmer to feed them, half-round barns are nearly empty of hay, and farmhouses spread generously in big gardens.

At Te Kuiti, we stop for half an hour because Joanne needs water. The old water tank at the railway station has long gone, but the fire brigade with its tank, hoses and pumps is waiting. The passengers scramble out. We head up front to admire the mechanics of the beast. The engine is stationary but still trembling and hissing. Somewhere, in the complicated steel blackness, there must be a heart.

Many have their photo taken standing in front of Joanne, the celebrity. Others head to the bakery across the road and come out with doughnuts and pies.

South of Te Kuiti steep hills are fractured by limestone escarpments. Deep valleys cradle clear sparking rivers and we pass stunning waterfalls seen only by train passengers and farmers. The train stops briefly at Porootarao to pick up a couple of passengers. I'm taken to the cab, a rare privilege.

It's hot in here, but airy. I see the fire glowing red when the door to the firebox opens. The bridge is a tangle of steel and brass gadgets; pipes, levers, dials, gauges, taps, hooks and connecting rods. There are 23 knobs that need to be adjusted to keep this lady on the rails. Driving a steam engine is complicated. .

I meet the train driver, Lou Bristow. Already an experienced diesel driver, he's learning the art of steam. Dave Simpson, a steam man of old, is training him. Ward House is the fireman and Grenville Purchase the engineer.

It takes two to drive a train, working in unison turning knobs, adjusting levers, getting the perfect amount of fuel to the fire, to make the perfect amount of steam, to push the two huge pistons, which push the driving rods and turn the giant wheels.

Simpson is coaching Bristow. "Open her up now and stretch her out. Steady, steady. Yep, yep, there's a rise here, a bit of a hill, put on the pressure."

Joanne roars down hills, strains up hills and slows for bridges and curves. When the pressure is on she chuffs and puffs, we feel her pushing the pistons, we feel the effort and the energy. Great drafts of black smoke fill the pristine valleys.

At road crossings the whistle blows. It's no little toot but a full-throated steamy shriek. Cars are stopped, people watch in awe.

The land we pass gets progressively wilder. It is beauty of an untouched kind. We follow the edges of deep gorges, pass though bush-filled valleys and cross the Ongarue River many times.

Simpson, the teacher, knows every curve and hill of this line and has taken steam trains over it more than 100 times. He says that if you listen to steam trains, they tell you how to drive them.

"You can't rely on visuals. I've driven this line in fog so thick you can't see two metres.

"Then, if you listen to these ladies, to the sounds of the engine, the wheels on the line, the strain as she takes the load, they tell you what they need.

"Of all the machines that man made, these are the most human. They each have a personality of their own, each engine is an individual and has to be worked in the way that suits it."

I ask Simpson to think of one word that describes the way he feels about steam trains. He shakes his white spiky hair and says he can't. "It's hard to explain but, I tell you, if I had to choose between a night driving one of these and a night with Raquel Welch, I'd choose the train."

We roll in to Taumarunui at 1.15pm and it seems strangely deserted. Maybe people have gone skiing or are at home tucking into a Sunday roast. Sam hunts down a takeaway shop and we head to a park where I have a nap in the sun amid thousands of daffodils.

Four times a year

The Railway Enthusiasts' Society runs steam train trips four times a year on the main trunk line. It runs the Glenbrook Vintage Railway on Sundays and most public holidays from Labour Weekend to Queen's Birthday. Ph (09) 636 9361 or 0800 472 452

Catch a train tour

Mainline Steam has 17 steam train engines, as well as workshops in Auckland, Wellington and Christchurch.

It's a charitable trust that runs steam train tours and charters. Contact (09) 270 5592 or (04) 233 9421


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