Now boarding for
Leander, Liberty Hill and Burnet!

short train whistle 36k long train whistle 219k

by Tom Gasson

If you happen to be driving on Texas Highway 71 toward Oak Hill, look to the left just past the intersection with William Cannon Blvd., and you will see a large limestone outcrop that has been cut into deeply and exposed. Looking closer you will realize this was not done to create the road. Actually this was done to quarry limestone to build the Capitol in nearby Austin.

Limestone? Everyone knows the Capitol is made from granite, and besides, what does that have to do with the Hill Country Flyer steam train? The answer lies in the late 19th Century in Austin. The year is 1881, and the original Austin capitol building lies in ashes after a tragic fire. The public officers of the day must rebuild. Having long emerged from a frontier town to a small city ready to burst into the 20th Century, Austin decides to build a spectacular monument to the democratic process.

It is carefully designed with it's rotunda. legislative chambers, offices and famous Goddess of Liberty perched atop like an angel crowning a Christmas tree. It will be a magnificent limestone structure. That's right, the original design called for limestone. A spot south of town, Oatmanville (to be renamed Oak Hill) was negotiated as a quarry site, to which a railroad spur was built. The labor was supplied by the State of Texas. Convict Hill, got it's name because 8 convicts died while quarrying.

After the builders discovered that the limestone was too soft to support the grand design, granite became the next material of choice. (It kind of makes you feel good about present day state government for a moment) And so another railroad spur was built to the Marble Falls area, where the new stone of choice was in ubiquitous supply. This track was laid north and west of Austin, over the San Gabriel River and on to the site where the huge, beautiful blocks of pink-red granite were cut. This rail-line was not, and still is not particularly busy with commercial rail traffic. If not for it's original purpose, it may never have been built.

All this will be more meaningful to you if you take a ride on the Hill Country Flyer. As the track winds through the Texas Hill Country across Leander, Liberty Hill and finally to Burnet, the natural beauty of the San Gabriel River valley seems more striking than usual. Sitting as a relaxed passenger, with no time schedule to beat and not strapped in a car seat, one can really appreciate the different perspective that you don't normally get from the road.

The Flyer's steam engine is the old Southern Pacific #786 that pulled cars over rails in Texas and Louisiana for 40 years until it was put out of service in 1956. Austinites saw this engine for years, as she ended up being displayed in a downtown park. In 1989, the Austin Steam Train association, a non-profit group of railroad enthusiasts, began a thorough inside-out restoration of the 1916 engine. The cars acquired were also 1920s vintage to maintain the authentic feel of the period. This incredible achievement came to fruition in 1991 as the first passengers took what amounted to a first excursion into time travel.

We arrived slightly hung-over on a Saturday morning on perhaps the brightest day of spring. The train whistle is a beautiful sound. Somewhat like a cross between a dinosaur's yell and a chorus of pan pipes. It is truly a romantic sound that makes you feel nostalgic for no apparent reason. With the whistle urging us on to board and great wisps of billowing steam hissing out of the engine, we approached with our tickets.

A friendly but serious man decked out in the most authentic railroad get-up I've every seen greeted us and directed us to our car. Walter S. Davidson Jr. is the brakeman. He explains that a brakeman puts people on the train, throws switches and checks the brakes. We feel good about the brakes when he tells us he was a yardmaster for the Santa Fe Railroad for 43 years.

Actually, all of the volunteers like Walter have either spent a life working for the railroad or dreaming of it. The railway wanderlust strikes people at different times in their life. But it's power of seduction should not be taken lightly. Jewell Johnson, another volunteer, told us that Santa Claus never brought him that train he asked for as a child. Quitting school at 16, he ran off to work for the railroad. Now retired (and yes, he did go back and finish school), he still is doing what he loves; working and riding the rails.

Now boarded, we take our seats, and with a whistle and a screech we are off. It is a very smooth ride with a rhythmic, almost soothing sound and feel of the wheels moving over the rails. The car gently bobs and weaves from side to side as it feels like you are floating over the pastures of the beautiful Hill Country. Some passengers begin to move up and down the aisles with a look of wonderment. Others stay in their seats content to let the scenic spring day come to them slowly through their window.

Brownie Troop 717 sings a train song 308k

We of course are on a mission. In the next hour we will make our way all the way through the train to the caboose to see what we will find. Our first stop is the vestibule, the space between the cars where passengers stop for picture frame views of the passing scenery. Unexpectedly it is not only video but a multi-media real-time production. Brownie Troop 717 from Austin is standing in the vestibule singing train songs! We tell them we are with a magazine and they sing louder and move toward us. Stumbling into the next car we arrive at the concession car. There are soft drinks and snacks and cool gifts, like authentic railroad spikes and 3-D viewers with old train pictures. I immediately want to buy a button that flashes like a train crossing and a reed train whistle. Mumbling something about childhood regression Austin Axis publisher Glenn Pieper shakes me and shoves me into the next car.

We now enter into one of the special parlour cars that are climate controlled and represent different vintage years. These are privately owned and leased to the Steam Train. There is a row of private staterooms that were sleepers. These are outfitted with comfortable looking lounge chairs and tables. In the main section of the car, there are some colorful oriental carpets and informal tables with chairs, where passengers are sitting.

At the head of the car is a bar serving soft drinks. The bar area was actually a working food and drinks preparation area for first class passengers. Our service is of course much more informal, as a delightful volunteer named Mary Ellen Biggs tells us why she is involved with the Steam Train. "Because my husband loves trains!" she laughs. We are beginning to see a pattern. Finally we have made our way to the caboose. Here, a couple is standing on the back of the last car. She works for a health-care service and he owns his own business. This is his first train ride. Why did you come, we ask? To get him away from the shop, she replies. How do you like it? It's therapy, he sighs.

By now, we are pulling to a stop at Burnet. Walking through the square in Burnet we see the obligatory restaurants and quaint tourist shops. Walking past a street vendor we do a double take and turn around to see an old man dressed in cowboy plaid selling some very unusual looking metal artsy-looking sculptures. Looking up we see a sign that says, "Fire Ant Art." This interesting gentleman tells of a story of working with molten iron once and spilling some on the ground. When it cooled he pulled it up and found that it had seeped into an ant mound and created a replica of the tunnels. Explaining that fireants produce formic acid (Formica) to line their tunnels it creates the perfect lining for the molten lead. He then cleans and paints these fascinating natural works of art.

After lunch, (see listing at end of article), we witness an old-fashioned, wild west shoot-out. Campy, yet entertaining this "Old Tuscon" style production is put on by the Burnet gunfighter's association and represents the all out effort by the town of Burnet to entertain it's train-passenger visitors.

Now that whistle is blowing again, calling us back. The real excitement is about to begin, as we have made arrangements with the engineer to ride in the steam engine itself with the crew. The engine is noisy, hot and bustling with activity and excitement. We stand and watch engineer Robert Schoen Jr. and his fireman seated across from each other pull levers, open valves and pull a rope that sounds the now deafening whistle. Karen, the fireman explains it is her job to keep the boiler at the right temperature. We are going up a hill from Burnet to turn around at a switch. She tells me her first runs up this hill were terrifying as a new fireman as she had to keep enough water in the boiler to avoid dry-heat cracking the whole engine, but generate enough steam to make it up the hill! The engineer-fireman team coordinate a smooth and exhilarating run up the hill.

The train now stops as we are led off the engine back to the car. As we enter our car, a colorfully clad volunteer that has been entertaining the passengers with songs and railroad stories is asked if bandits have stopped the train. "No, I think it's those darn photographers with that magazine," he says. (knowing full well we were standing right behind him with cameras and tape recorders hanging around our necks. We are in full journalistic dweeb regalia he gets a big laugh from the entire car) But as a friendly gesture he sings us and the car a short, humorous song that I can't print.

Having been discovered, and since we have already talked all the passengers to death, we finally sit and relax as the bucolic meadows, longhorn cattle, and cedar fences move gracefully by our view. Somewhere outside Liberty Hill I see a large granite block laying down close to the bottom of the track. There are actually several of these along the way. Some made it to be cornerstones or floors. Some fell off and lie still along the track that was built because of a fire in 1881. Sometimes serendipity can be found in the oddest places.