Every November
at the end of the summer timetable a special charter travels the line with enthusiasts
who share the twin passions of steam trains and photography. The train drops
them at Campbell’s Platform and positions are taken at the seaward end and
along the wall below. Bristling with lenses, tripods and bags full of gadgets,
some stand on stools and step ladders. Down the line, Taliesin, with a string
of heritage carriages, waited patiently in the trees.
A big blob
of cloud arrived with the charter so it was time for a chat and sandwich break;
I recognised Geoff from the same event nine years ago who subsequently stayed
at Campbell’s Cottage and is threatening to return for New Year. ‘You’ll be
very welcome Geoff, tell the others how great it is!’ It used to be known as
Dduallt Mess sleeping eighteen volunteers in bunk bed accommodation but these
days sleeps four in two en-suite bedrooms.
I asked a
man with an American accent how much he’d paid to join the train; he’d thought
it was about £50 a day for three days but that was small beer compared to the plane
ticket from Detroit!
Sunshine
moved slowly up the valley like a giant floodlight and the walkie-talkie gave
the driver the signal. Spectacular plumes of steam spouted out of the chimney
and jetted forwards from beneath the engine. A sixty second burst of click-click-clicks,
like you hear on the news, followed the train as it rounded the corner. The
driver reversed and repeated the journey twice to give the chance of a better
shot or a better angle with a different lens. Then another engine pulled a
string of slate wagons up and free-wheeled down. Likewise this happened several
times until it was time for the circus to carry on down the line. And this is
what it was like:
