Chapter 4: WR&N Version II

The great unfinished dream

After living in two apartments in as many years, my future wife and I bought a house in 1983. It took five years of heavy-duty renovations before I was able to start a layout. But by then I was primed and ready: the all-new White River and Northern was to be my masterwork, incorporating no less than five different railroads, set in four seasons and four distinct eras, all in an 18-by-24-foot space.

The odd-sounding notion of mixing seasons and eras on one layout was to be accomplished by transitions from visually-separated areas. At one end of the around-the-wall plan was a large city, the terminus for the Greater New England Railroad, a fictional line based on a composite of several northeast lines, in particular the Central New England Railway. As one moved away from the city, the clock started cranking backward and the seasons also shifted, rolling from spring in the present (late 80s at the time) to summer in the late 60s to autumn in the early 50s, where the GNE met the layout's namesake, the White River and Northern.

Transformed into a fairly substantial dual-gauge logging line, the WR&N was headquarted in White River Junction (no relation to the real town in Vermont). Beginning at a dual-gauge interchange with the GNE, the WR&N twisted its way through a floor-to-ceiling mountain range, eventually ending at a rugged logging camp set in a 30s winter scene.

In addition to the GNE and WR&N, the layout also featured the Spano Bay Traction Company, a small industrial switching railroad that served the industries surrounding the main GNE yard, which was set in the early 70s (around the time I actually met its namesake, Rick Spano). The last two railroads were the Fresnel Area Rapid Transit (think about that one), which made "peek-a-boo" appearances in the modern-era city and doubled as a subway, and the 8th Street Trolley, a kind of "timeless" service that straddled the transition between the city and the old 'burbs behind the GNE yards. Twin hidden staging yards would automatically direct mainline train movements to maintain the illusion of continuous traffic.

Many space-expanding visual tricks were planned; for example, the city would have the appearance of tremendous depth by being sandwiched between two parallel facing mirrors. For photography purposes, the fascia-free, canyon-shaped walk-in aisles could be temporarily filled in with large sheets of Plexiglas "water" to create vast, seamless vistas. The layout was also going to feature a great many animated scenes, including functional rotary dumpers, cranes and suchlike. And of course there would be a full day-night lighting system.

Once the basement was ready, construction proceeded at a swift pace: within one year the lighting system was installed, all principal benchwork was completed, and tracklaying had begun, using Rail Craft Code 55 flex track and handlaid turnouts. By year two, much of the engine facility was complete and several chunks of scenery were done, including a large rock quarry. Enough mainline was in place that trains could begin to roll—Rick Spano captured the maiden run on video.

Several unique construction techniques were employed, such as a totally new method of tracklaying. Using a custom tool, double-sided adhesive foam tape was split lengthwise into slope-edged strips that resembled traditional cork. The foam tape was simply applied to the subroadbed, and the track was then applied to the tape. This method of tracklaying proved to be astonishingly fast, with the added benefits of solid, continuous adhesion, no nailheads, and good sound insulation. (The technique is detailed in the March 1992 issue of Model Railroader.)

Another departure from traditional tracklaying was doing away with rail joiners. The rails and ties at the ends of each length of flex track were clipped to produce a staggered configuration such that longer, free rails would slip into spaces left by clipped-back rails. This not only helped eliminate misaligned track sections—even on curves—but the small gaps left between rail sections accommodated normal expansion and contraction, thus doing away with the possibility of "accordion track." Then, each section of track had its own set of redundant power feeder wires, which eliminated voltage drops along lengthy stretches of trackwork, as well as dead spots due to broken rail joints. Also, for improved appearance, the feeders were soldered to the undersides of the rails before the track was laid. But probably the most unorthodox technique I employed is detailed in a clinic on styrene tie turnouts.

Still in its infancy, the WR&N hosted an open-house tour for the Mideast Division of the NMRA, during which about three dozen visitors were treated to a functional engine transfer table, a blazing campfire, and a field of flickering fireflies. Although no trains were running, most of the visitors were content to study the raw benchwork, something that is not often seen on such tours.

But what happened next could not have been foreseen: My wife left me. The house became a painful reminder of all those years we spent renovating it together, so I had to move. The White River and Northern was collected in pieces at the roadside by the garbage men. The only item that remained intact—the transfer table—was donated to the Sceniced and Undecided.

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