Trains Of Thought

Reading the news breaking about 3pm that a train had derailed in nearby Amherst, the baby and I resolved to have a closer look at the unusual situation. The plan was to bike in along the Norwottuck rail trail which runs alongside the section of track where the calamity had occurred.

But getting to the trail entrance closest to us, we found the fuzz had already taken steps to quash the satisfaction of curiosity that we were seeking.

We waited for the officer to leave, and persuaded ourselves that the yellow tape was really for holding less intrepid investigators at bay. We mounted up, ducked the tape, and rode.

About a mile in we could see through the trees the beginnings of the stricken train. It was already about 3 hours or so since the wreck happened and the engine was gone. But several cars in, each successive car began to look like it was sitting on the tracks a little more askew.

Just further on, we got to where both the trail and the tracks crossed Station Road in Amherst and sure enough, there it was.

As advertised. The officer standing nearby greeted us with "There's something you don't see every day!"

No, indeed. No we don't. About 4 or five cars right near the road were really blotto-ed, and dug pretty good to the street where tons of moving steel had plowed into the relatively soft asphalt; probably made all the more pliant by the mini heat wave of the past couple days.

Crews were on the scene, but apparently waiting for the inspectors and crash investigators to do their work.

We watched across the bog as a handful of hard-hatted, clipboard toting officials were combing over the train and track; from the first car to several hundred yards behind the last car.

We saw them take a particular interest in a couple sections of track,

...and we wondered what they found.

Well, I wondered what they found. About an hour or so had gone by and my sidekick had just about lost interest in giant tottering trains, road blocks and investigations, and was becoming more and more persuasive about heading back home for some dinner.

Time to go. We'll have to read about this in the papers...

Rain. Rain. Rain. Rainbow.

My nifty porch-mounted rain gauge registered that a well over 4 inches of rain had fallen this past week. With our area's rain average running about 50 inches a year, (or roughly 1 inch a week), we got hammered this week, indeed. And it wasn't even the rain that was so weary; it was the nearly complete lack of sunlight all week setting misery meters high.

But that finally broke Friday, if just barely.

On a drive to Atkin's Farm for green stuff, we spotted some portentous thunderheads looming in the distance.

Lightning and thunder could be seen/heard when we emerged from the store; so we decided to do the opposite of the common sense thing, and seek higher ground to have a look around. Mt. Pollux was conveniently on the return route, and it had the advantage of a lofty parking area with great views, so we could stay in the relative safety of the auto if the lightning got to intense. We're not completely crazy, after all.

We squeezed into a tight parking spot between a couple hipster types in their beat up station wagon, and a collegy-professory type in his ride. To our right, the sun was just sinking in for the night...

...while to the left, the torrent approached. The sun managed a few breaks through the cover, and turned the dark mass of water approaching into an orangy mist.

The lightning began to crackle and flash more often and closer, and then to our amazement, the collegy-proffessory guy got out of his car, metal framed umbrella in hand, and started on foot up to the bare summit of Mt. Pollux! Dead man walking, we mused to ourselves. Then a few minutes later, just as the first fat raindrops began to strike our windshield, another car came up the hill and parked quickly, and out ran a laughing young couple who also trotted up the trail and towards the top. Dead couple walking, we mused to ourselves. Isn't it lightning 101 not to seek higher ground during a lightning storm? The hipsters stared blankly from their station wagon.

Just before the downpour was finally upon us, the sun found a complete break in the cloud, and set the terrain alight in color and flame.

Then close on it's colorful heels came the rain, or deluge to be more precise, with lightning cracking right above. We had gotten our pictures, so we waved adieu to the hipsters, who stared back blankly, and we were out of there.

On the way home, in the midst of the pounding storm, an ambulance went screaming by heading in the direction we just came from. Kelly and I looked at each other. Nah. I'm sure they knew what they were doing...

Getting home, my nifty porch-mounted rain gauge showed that another 3/8 of an inch had fallen, just from that passing storm. How much more is in store.

High And Dry

We skipped through an extravagangiing Amherst center...

...hung a right and headed down and out of town for the beautiful, peaceful wood and water of Amethyst Brook.

The brook was roaring on this day. Possibly the highest levels and flows we've ever seen here, at least in our handful of visits.

This presented a problem on our usual circular route when we found the fording section of the brook completely unfordable; except for a precarious balancing act across a teetering board.

A couple years ago Kelly and I would have chanced it. But not in these baby and doggy bound days.

Better to take the long way back...

...it's a nice day for a walk anyway.

Rough And Tumble

A Sunday drive with the baby-scrums took us near UMass, where there was a rugby-scrum afoot.

We pulled up along a field-side gravel road, and were able to watch the game right from the comforts of the vehicle. I took pics of the game while the baby changed radio settings, emptied compartments of their contents and relocated the rear view mirror to the rear seat.

That stuff can wait. The game had captured my attention.

Admittedly, there isn't too much I know about the game of Rugby other than what I've read about on Wikipedia or seen a handful of times by chance. What I do know is it's one rough and tumble sport to play, and just about if not as exciting as American style football to watch.

This is definitely a game yet unpadded by the litigious set, or otherwise hampered by anything resembling modern health and safety scruples.

Couple that with the preeminence of our vaunted NFL, and you know there won't be a 'Monday Night Rugby' on ABC any time soon. This game is still relegated to the more curious and exotic tiers of world sports that haven't quite hit it here but are a blast to play; taking it's station somewhere between soccer and lacrosse.

Still, kudos to these hearty souls who brave this game's inherent risks, in order to make the victory or defeat that much more ...real.

For them, and for us.

Sun Spotting

It was an excellent couple of days for leaf peeping. We had manged to get in a couple of good hikes for a healthy dose of color and exercise. But Kelly had to work Sunday night, which left the bloggerette and I to wind out the weekend ourselves. We discussed our options and decided a ride up to Mt. Pollux was in order, for a good sunset viewing.

Since days like these will soon be in short supply, it seemed best not to waste a minute indoors.

There was a smattering of people on the hilltop, just hanging out, quietly contemplating and soaking in the last rays of the day.

Then there was this one guy, who was enjoying the scene a little more intently than the others.

He had brought up his telescope and had it aimed at the sun. Everyone within earshot was invited to have a look.

His name is Tom, a member of the Amherst Area Amateur Astronomers Association. He can be found here from April to October, on Saturday afternoons and Sundays at sunset, ever eager to share the treasures of the sky with whoever is willing to listen, or watch.

I took a turn at the telescope and in the eye piece, sure enough, was a large, beautifully rendered view of our mighty yellow Sol. Replete with sunspots and atmospheric shimmer.

Tom offered up plenty of info on the sun and other heavenly objects as each of us peered through the glass, and several minutes later generously invited everyone for another round as the sun slowly melted into the horizon, now compressing into a more oval shape due to refraction of the atmosphere, and the distant tree tops in the eyepiece swayed in silhouette against a vanishing orange disk.

Then in a flash, it was gone.

Most everyone remaining was now making their way back down the hill. The bloggerette and I hung out for a few more minutes with Tom and another straggler. Tom had one more thing to show us. After all, what does an astronomer do when the sun is all gone?

Points his scope at the moon, of course.

Sunset People

Having stole up to Arcadia for a freezing cold Winter Solstice celebration last December, the bloggerette and I book-ended the extending daylight of the past six months with a visit to the UMass Sunwheel, for a balmy Summer Solstice gathering.



The gathering was gathered by the the time we got up there; and we made haste to find our spots on the grass amid the circle of stones that make up the Sunwheel.



At the center of the wheel was Astronomist Dr. Judith Young, armed with a globe and Jar Jar Binks action figure, in mid-lecture about the cycles and angles of light dancing between Sun and Earth.



The crowd was mostly laid out on the grass and basked in the glowing, golden twilight of the longest day of the year, rapt with attention to Dr. Judith's teachings...





While behind us, the sun quietly completed it's mission for the day.



The final moments of light had arrived.



An impromptu strain of "You are my Sunshine" broke out as Dr. Judith formed the crowd up into a line. Most everyone took a turn standing in the middle of the wheel to line up their own eyes with the Solstice marker stone and setting sun...



...and really, to take a turn welcoming back the Summer.