Hurricanes, scourge of the Key
West Extension during its
construction, seemed to lose
interest once the line was in
place, for a good long while, at
least. Even the monster blow of
1926, which struck Miami head-on
and virtually destroyed the
spanking new suburb of Coral
Gables, laid hardly a scratch on
the Keys Extension. ...
On Sunday, 1 September 1935, as
the storm approached the
Bahamas, less than 100 miles
(160km) east of the Florida
Keys, it was packing winds of 75
miles (120km) per hour, what
would be regarded as a Category
1 storm today. Bulletins issued
by Associated Press suggested
that it would pass to the south
of Key West and move into the
Gulf of Mexico. In 1935, the
standard margin of error for
storm tracking was 110 miles
(175km) - they did not have the
sophisticated tracking models of
the late 20th century. ...
On Monday, 2 September, the
storm suddenly veered north and
increased in strength to a
Category 5 storm, with winds of
up to 200 (320km) miles per
hour. The energy released by
such a hurricane in a day would
power the electrical needs of
the USA for about 6 months. A
Category 1 storm's wind strength
has the capability of propelling
a shard of 2-by-4 timber through
a 4 inch concrete wall. When the
wind speed doubles, the wind
force quadruples! Andrew, in
1992, was a Category 4 storm.
At this time, the other major
transport construction project
in the history of the Florida
Keys was underway - the Overseas
Highway, the road from Miami to
Key West. 684 men made up the
workforce on this project. And
the storm was heading for their
camps on Matecumbe Key. ...
Because it was a holiday
weekend, there is some
difference of opinion as to just
how many men were in the camps,
but everyone agrees that
hundreds had stayed there. And
now that the winds were rising,
the rain had begun, and the
whitecaps had begun to cover the
island, the men were desperate
for the arrival of the promised
rescue train. But there were
problems with that train. ...
Subsequent inquiries have
suggested that the rescue train
was supposed to have been
dispatched from Miami on Sunday,
the day before the storm hit,
and was to have remained on
standby, with a crew at the
ready, in case it was needed for
a quick dash down the line to
the camps, no more than one hour
away. But bureaucratic snafus in
Washington prevented
arrangements being finalised
with the Miami railroad offices.
By the time the gravity of the
situation was apparent and the
frantic SOS went out at 2.35pm
on the Monday, railroad crews
had dispersed for the holiday.
Delays in the assembling of the
train became inevitable. But the
train eventually was assembled,
and it left on its fateful
journey at 4.30pm - one
locomotive ('Old 447'), 6
passenger cars, 2 baggage cars,
and 3 boxcars. Scarcely had the
train started off when there was
another maddening delay at the
crossing of the Miami River,
where a drawbridge yawned open
to allow the passage of Labor
Day pleasure craft. ...
Most observers feel that
the tidal surge that swept up
out of the ocean that evening
was 18 to 20 feet (5.5 to 6
metres) high, though the
September 1935 issue of the
Monthly Weather Review
suggests a more chilling
possibility: 'The track and the
crossties of the railroad were
in one stretch washed off a
concrete viaduct 30 feet (9
metres) above the ordinary water
level.' The winds were so strong
that the waters covering the
shallow reefs were being
displaced - picked up in one
huge wall of water that swept
across the islands.
By the time the train reached
the southern tip of the Florida
mainland, engineer J.J. Haycraft
was very concerned. A 14-year
veteran of the Extension, he had
seen his share of tropical
storms. The otherworldly
gray-green cast of the sky told
him that this was likely to be
the grand-daddy of them all.
Given the intensity of what he
sensed was coming at him,
Haycraft reasoned that it made
good sense to shift the big
locomotive from the front of the
train around to the rear. That
way, he could reverse his way
down the single-track line that
crossed the Keys and, after he'd
piled everyone on board, could
pull straight back north, able
to use the locomotive's headlamp
to help to guide the way through
the oncoming darkness. It might
have been a prudent decision,
but going through the switching
manoeuvres in the yards took
another 15 precious minutes. It
was now nearly 5.30pm. The storm
was reaching its peak strength.
Visibility was near zero. Even
on the widest island, the winds
had driven the tides hundreds of
feet across the flattened
landscape to lap at the edge of
the rocky right-of-way. Haycraft
cut his speed to less than 20
miles per hour. Time and again,
the train had to stop to clear
obstructions from the track. The
last 20 miles of its journey
southwards was into the full
force of the storm. The
barometer plunged to record
lows, and crewmen were forced to
work their jaws against the
sudden popping in their ears.
From the engineer's place in the
cab, Haycraft saw waves breaking
continually over the tracks that
had once been more than 6 feet
(2 metres) above sea level. By
all appearances, Haycraft was
now piloting a rocking train -
at 1 or 2 miles per hour -
across the surface of the ocean,
and even he had begun to
despair!
At one point, he stopped the
train to pick up some people.
And then he felt the iron grip
of his fireman upon his shoulder
and sensed the panic in the
man's unintelligible shouts.
Haycraft to see what had
possessed the fireman, then
caught sight of it out of the
corner of his own disbelieving
eye. At the same instant, he
felt the rumble rise up from
beneath his feet, a growling
that overwhelmed even that of
447's mighty engine. A dark wall
was rushing towards them, a
swath of blackness that seemed
to dim the light from the
headlamps. Nearly 20 feet tall,
it stretched across the horizon.
A tidal wave. The worst that had
ever struck US shores. "Lord
have mercy," Haycraft murmured,
his hand going instinctively for
the throttle. And everything was
dark.
He opened the throttle wide, in
a desperate attempt to save the
human cargo. But nature had
other plans. The train lurched
forward a few feet and ground to
a halt. The conductor, J.F.
Gamble, flung himself into the
cab, his uniform soaked and
dripping, to report the worst:
one of the 100-ton boxcars at
the rear of the train had been
toppled by the wind and waves,
automatically locking the air
brakes on the entire train. They
were frozen in place, then, as
the tidal surge advanced. As far
as Haycraft could envision, they
were as good as dead. ...
447 was a workhorse, built in
Schenectady, New York, in the
1920s, designed for duty and not
for grace. She weighed just over
320,000 pounds and gripped the
rails with all that weight.
Still, as the wall of water
slammed down, Haycraft felt as
if he were being tossed in
whitewater rapids in a frail
canoe. There was a great lurch
as the rest of the eleven cars
were toppled by the wave. But
447 proved too heavy even for
that monster wave to overturn.
Miraculously, Haycraft, Gamble,
and the fireman, Will Walker,
came up from the battering of
the waves to discover that they
were saved.
But for 40 miles flanking that
single, 60 foot stretch of track
on which 447 stood, the roadbed
of the Key West Extension had
been obliterated, as had
everything else in the path of
the storm, including the station
house and all the homes in the
area. Wrote one reporter:
'The Florida East Coast Railway
is a total wreck ... tracks have
been picked up and tossed aside,
sometimes 50 yards from the
roadbed. The trestles through
the cuts are ruined. Not a
building stands, up to 300 yards
inland. From a distance, there
seems to be nothing left but
tumbled rock, shattered stumps,
a pile of rubble, or a twisted
rail.'
After the many inquiries had
finished, some people hoped that
the rail line would be rebuilt,
pointing to the fact that,
despite the devastation of most
of the low-lying roadbed, the
mighty bridges had come through
the storm virtually undamaged.
But the railroad company was
bankrupt and in no position to
rebuild anything, much less a
project that Scientific
American magazine had once
described as 'one of the most
difficult works of railroad
construction ever attempted'.
"Desperate for cash, the company
quickly sold the right-of-way to
the state for $640,000, a very
low return on a project that
cost almost $30 million, and
took seven years and a workforce
of 40,000 men to build.
Flagler's dream was over - for
ever!
Our
journey begins on Platform 10 at
Roma Street Station, the main
intrastate station in Brisbane
(bottom city on the map to the
right), where the Sunlander (photo
below) awaits its 8.55 am departure
for Cairns, about 1050 miles north.
The Sunlander today is 18 cars plus
2 automobile carriers on the rear.
On the platform near the front of
the train is a podium announcing
“Registration for Queenslander Class
Passengers”.
A
few minutes before departure, we
proceed to the lounge car, “Daintree”,
to stake out a couple of seats for
the morning. Daintree is also a
1950s car, but it has been totally
refitted with a decorative theme
based on the elaborate timberwork
popular on better Queensland houses
in the early part of the last
century. There is a central cocktail
bar and, at each end, very
comfortable freestanding tub
armchairs and small tables. At the
end adjoining the sleepers, there
are external access doors, a tea and
coffee bar and a shelf groaning with
current magazines, games and the
weekend papers. If one is to be
critical, it might be said that the
decor is starting to look just a bit
tired. 
1.
Where do you live? Can you tell us
the three best things about the area
where you live? How long have you
lived there? Have you moved around
much during your life?
