Just outside the city of San Diego is Anza Borrego State Park. The land is typical of Bugs Bunny and Wile E. Coyote cartoons; dry, rocky, with spectacular cliffs and hideaways. Among the winding terrain is a place called Carrizo Gorge where, in 1933, an engineering marvel was created.
In the early 1900s, San Diego and Eastern Arizona Railroad completed a 140-mile section of track dubbed the "Impossible Railroad." It was so named for the steep grades and searing desert heat that it had to conquer. The line was completed in 1919, boasting 16 tunnels and 21 trestles, but a collapse in the 1930s necessitated the creation of a massive trestle over Carrizo Gorge. In 1933, the Goat Canyon Trestle was completed, measuring 630 feet long and 186 feet tall, made entirely of wood. To this day, Goat Canyon Trestle remains the longest, tallest curved wooden trestle ever constructed in the United States. Want to know the best part? The railroad line stopped passenger service in the 1950s, and fell into disrepair during the 1980s. It is a classic ghost of the American Southwest, preserved by the dry, desert heat. Literally, there are abandoned passenger cars, derelict tunnels, and the Goat Canyon Trestle, all tucked away and forgotten in the dusty corners of San Diego County.
For our last hurrah in San Diego, we decided to hike the Carrizo Gorge, to Goat Canyon Trestle. After all, who knew the tallest, longest, wooden trestle in America is just sitting there, abandoned?
Dave, Stewbert, Sarah and I parked at Mortero Palms and followed the three-mile path over the Jacumba Mountains. This was early May, and the desert simply glowed with an enticing, comfortable air of renewal. It was warm, but not hot. A slight breeze made the walk pleasant, and the cacti in bloom made for spectacular display.
In certain parts the hike was a challenge, following riverbeds of car-sized washed boulders, as well as switchbacks up sheer precipices. In other parts the trail all but disappeared over a series of dry riverbed cliffs, leaving us to pick our way down, bit by bit. Although the ground was bone dry, the evidence of water was everywhere. I imagined the beauty of a heavy rain, and the spectacular waterfalls that must accompany.
Other parts of the trail flattened out as the terrain crested, making our hike amicable. We were the only adventurers about on this day. With every hill rise crested, we strained to catch a glimpse of the abandoned track. Goat Canyon Trestle was proving to be elusive until, just there over the horizon, we saw something that was clearly man-made. Part of the earth had been graded smooth into the hillside, the telltale indication of a track. Just below the track, on the face of a mountain lay two objects unmistakable as abandoned passenger cars. We were nearly there.
Slowly but surely, Carrizo Gorge came into view. From our vantage point we were sitting above the track, looking down the valley. The wooden bridge was still a quarter-mile below us; via a haphazard descend over loose rock. Dave and I decided to go for it - we came this far, right?
For the last stretch there was no trail, just a destination with a variety of options. The descent was dangerous and steep - I found the best way down, was to sit on my butt and slide, using my legs to stop my freefall against a boulder. From a distance, the bridge looked as through it was constructed of matchsticks. Up close, I realized that the 'matchsticks' are actually massive wooden beams, much larger than standard railroad ties. We walked onto the track and crossed the trestle, which, by the way, is technically prohibited; the track is privately owned and trespassing forbidden. At the center we were nearly 200 feet up, looking down through the cracks at the valley floor.
I felt a sense of vertigo; there was no solid path, and one misstep could actually send me falling amongst the beams to the rocky bottom. I wondered how many souls have?
At either end of the trestle are tunnels. In parts, the ceiling has collapsed, dusting the tracks with softball-sized chunks of rock. Inside the tunnels the air is cool and spooky, reeking heavily of coal fire, even after so many decades. The ceiling is charcoal black, and for a moment I could envision an old steam engine barreling through in a cloud of smoke.
Picking our way back, Dave and I could easily see the site of the old tunnel collapse. It was built in the early 1900's false-front style, sitting perfectly preserved on the face of the canyon. As we rejoined Stewbert and Sarah, we looked back toward Carrizo Gorge, at the incredible window to the past we had just looked through.
Speaking of windows to the past, we saved the best for last. Just at the completion of our six-mile hike, the parking lot nearly in site, we entered Mortero Palms. Tucked away in perfect obscurity amongst the boulders was a perfect desert oasis, a natural pocket of air conditioning. Palm trees towered overhead, and we lost site of each other as we picked our way through. Nestled in the rock were again, a series of Native American morteros, or grinding holes. This was not a museum, or refurnished mockup; this was genuine. I knelt, placing my hands into the deep depressions, ground into solid rock.I thought of Carrizo Gorge, the Impossible Railroad, and now the morteros.
I smiled at the thought of an old gravestone epitaph: "As you are now, so once was I; As I am now, so must you be. Remember me."
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
In the early 1900s, San Diego and Eastern Arizona Railroad completed a 140-mile section of track dubbed the "Impossible Railroad." It was so named for the steep grades and searing desert heat that it had to conquer. The line was completed in 1919, boasting 16 tunnels and 21 trestles, but a collapse in the 1930s necessitated the creation of a massive trestle over Carrizo Gorge. In 1933, the Goat Canyon Trestle was completed, measuring 630 feet long and 186 feet tall, made entirely of wood. To this day, Goat Canyon Trestle remains the longest, tallest curved wooden trestle ever constructed in the United States. Want to know the best part? The railroad line stopped passenger service in the 1950s, and fell into disrepair during the 1980s. It is a classic ghost of the American Southwest, preserved by the dry, desert heat. Literally, there are abandoned passenger cars, derelict tunnels, and the Goat Canyon Trestle, all tucked away and forgotten in the dusty corners of San Diego County.
For our last hurrah in San Diego, we decided to hike the Carrizo Gorge, to Goat Canyon Trestle. After all, who knew the tallest, longest, wooden trestle in America is just sitting there, abandoned?
Dave, Stewbert, Sarah and I parked at Mortero Palms and followed the three-mile path over the Jacumba Mountains. This was early May, and the desert simply glowed with an enticing, comfortable air of renewal. It was warm, but not hot. A slight breeze made the walk pleasant, and the cacti in bloom made for spectacular display.
In certain parts the hike was a challenge, following riverbeds of car-sized washed boulders, as well as switchbacks up sheer precipices. In other parts the trail all but disappeared over a series of dry riverbed cliffs, leaving us to pick our way down, bit by bit. Although the ground was bone dry, the evidence of water was everywhere. I imagined the beauty of a heavy rain, and the spectacular waterfalls that must accompany.
Other parts of the trail flattened out as the terrain crested, making our hike amicable. We were the only adventurers about on this day. With every hill rise crested, we strained to catch a glimpse of the abandoned track. Goat Canyon Trestle was proving to be elusive until, just there over the horizon, we saw something that was clearly man-made. Part of the earth had been graded smooth into the hillside, the telltale indication of a track. Just below the track, on the face of a mountain lay two objects unmistakable as abandoned passenger cars. We were nearly there.
Slowly but surely, Carrizo Gorge came into view. From our vantage point we were sitting above the track, looking down the valley. The wooden bridge was still a quarter-mile below us; via a haphazard descend over loose rock. Dave and I decided to go for it - we came this far, right?
For the last stretch there was no trail, just a destination with a variety of options. The descent was dangerous and steep - I found the best way down, was to sit on my butt and slide, using my legs to stop my freefall against a boulder. From a distance, the bridge looked as through it was constructed of matchsticks. Up close, I realized that the 'matchsticks' are actually massive wooden beams, much larger than standard railroad ties. We walked onto the track and crossed the trestle, which, by the way, is technically prohibited; the track is privately owned and trespassing forbidden. At the center we were nearly 200 feet up, looking down through the cracks at the valley floor.
I felt a sense of vertigo; there was no solid path, and one misstep could actually send me falling amongst the beams to the rocky bottom. I wondered how many souls have?
At either end of the trestle are tunnels. In parts, the ceiling has collapsed, dusting the tracks with softball-sized chunks of rock. Inside the tunnels the air is cool and spooky, reeking heavily of coal fire, even after so many decades. The ceiling is charcoal black, and for a moment I could envision an old steam engine barreling through in a cloud of smoke.
Picking our way back, Dave and I could easily see the site of the old tunnel collapse. It was built in the early 1900's false-front style, sitting perfectly preserved on the face of the canyon. As we rejoined Stewbert and Sarah, we looked back toward Carrizo Gorge, at the incredible window to the past we had just looked through.
Speaking of windows to the past, we saved the best for last. Just at the completion of our six-mile hike, the parking lot nearly in site, we entered Mortero Palms. Tucked away in perfect obscurity amongst the boulders was a perfect desert oasis, a natural pocket of air conditioning. Palm trees towered overhead, and we lost site of each other as we picked our way through. Nestled in the rock were again, a series of Native American morteros, or grinding holes. This was not a museum, or refurnished mockup; this was genuine. I knelt, placing my hands into the deep depressions, ground into solid rock.I thought of Carrizo Gorge, the Impossible Railroad, and now the morteros.
I smiled at the thought of an old gravestone epitaph: "As you are now, so once was I; As I am now, so must you be. Remember me."
- Dan Wegmueller of Monroe writes a column for the Times each Monday. He can be reached at dwegs@tds.net.
