Story and Photos by Harrison Smith
I pause my rapid, rocky ascent for a moment, standing perfectly still to listen for any warning sounds of my quarry approaching. Part of me knows that listening is all but pointless; the snow dampens any sound that these surprisingly stealthy beasts make as they rumble up and down Lake Champlain.
A couple of hand warmers tucked into my boots and a pair of insulated ski gloves are making the single-digit temperatures and howling wind tolerable, but I still question my sanity as I press onward, occasionally glancing down at Lake Champlain, over 100 feet below me.
I don’t carry a rifle or a crossbow. Instead, my weapon of choice is a Canon R6 Mark ii stowed safely inside my heavy winter coat.
I’m not hunting deer, I’m after something far more endangered: The elusive freight trains that operate up and down the rails of the Delaware & Hudson.
The Route that Almost Wasn’t
The history of the rails that hug Lake Champlain’s west shore is long and storied, spanning two centuries of change. The Delaware & Hudson was chartered as a canal company in 1823, making it the oldest continuously operated transportation company in the United States.
Unfortunately for the builders of the canal, which was constructed between Honesdale, Pennsylvania and Kingston, New York, this method of transportation was quickly rendered obsolete by steel wheels on steel rails. The slow-moving barges of the D&H canal couldn’t compete with the mighty iron horse, and the future for the company appeared to be a certain dead-end.
Fortunately, the D&H pivoted to become a railroad, a significant move that would bring its network much farther north, eventually reaching Canadian connections in 1875 through a series of acquisitions.
The route along Lake Champlain, blasted and carved into the side of rocky cliffs at heights of up to 150 feet above the water, wasn’t supposed to be built. D&H predecessor Whitehall & Plattsburgh planned to construct an inland route between Port Henry and Plattsburgh, having determined that following the west shore of Lake Champlain would be nearly impossible to complete.
The Whitehall & Plattsburgh constructed a line south from Plattsburgh to Ausable Forks, New York, following the Ausable River. The company anticipated continuing through the tough but manageable terrain from Elizabethtown to Port Henry, but a series of organisational changes led to D&H control and a determination to blast a direct – and incredibly scenic – route along Lake Champlain. This decision would cement the D&H as one of the most sought-after routes for railroad photographers, a legacy that continues over a century later.
Generations of Change
Jim Shaughnessy was the man who put the Delaware & Hudson on the map. Born in Troy, New York, Shaughnessy began photographing the D&H in the late 1940s, venturing north in the 1950s and ‘60s to pioneer and create some of the most recognizable railroad photographs of all time. Shaughnessy was especially drawn to “Red Rocks,” the stretch of railroad north of Willsboro, the few miles of track that the Whitehall & Plattsburgh deemed impossible to construct.
Shaughnessy’s work, which culminated in “Delaware & Hudson,” published in 1967, inspired the next generation of railroad photographers to explore the D&H. Hugh Strobel was among the first to walk in Shaughnessy’s footsteps, followed by many others in the late 20th and early 21st centuries. “I knew the passenger schedule, so I could catch those trains, and then I kind of expanded my horizons,” Strobel said. “Shaughnessy was one of my mentors. I liked the style of his photography.”
Strobel documented decades of changing times for the railroad, from the shiny, classic, blue-and-grey passenger trains of the 1970s to modern Canadian Pacific Railway freights, which began to operate following CPR’s acquisition of the railroad in 1991.
This era of Canadian Pacific operation is when I began to photograph trains in the late 2010s. At the time, Plattsburgh was still served by a Delaware & Hudson locomotive, one of two remaining in the classic Lightning Stripe livery made famous by Shaughnessy’s work. A few cell phone photos are all that I have of this legendary locomotive, but they sparked a decade of railroad photography, a pursuit I refined by taking heavy inspiration from the photographers who came before me.
Seeking New Heights
I’m no rock climber, but I’m not exactly afraid of heights, either. Glancing down at the cold, dark waters of Lake Champlain, I wonder if Shaughnessy, Strobel, and the other photographers who stood here before me experienced any fear of losing their footing while making this climb. “What kind of drone do you use?” is a question I’m often asked by casual enthusiasts who see my photographs, assuming that these absurd locations were reached aerially. These comments always make me chuckle– I’ve never touched a drone in my life, and I have no intention to anytime soon.
Standing at a location known as Shaughnessy’s Red Rocks, I patiently wait for my target freight no. 228 heading south from Montreal to Saratoga. Despite the forecast, the sun is shining, and I’m desperately hoping it stays. Unfortunately for me, train 228 would take over 45 minutes to reach my location, and the perfect morning light would be reduced to a soft glow by clouds.
Once a daily train, No. 228 now only operates on Monday, Wednesday and Saturday. The trains have become slightly longer, but this change represents a long-term decline in freight traffic moving up and down the shores of Lake Champlain. A morning along the lake would yield about four trains a decade ago; one or two is considered a good haul these days.
On this day, No. 228 had a Canadian Pacific locomotive followed by a Kansas City Southern unit, a reminder that Canadian Pacific became CPKC following the merger of the two railroads in 2023. Another Canadian Pacific unit was buried about halfway through the 120-car train, working remotely to bring the tonnage south.
A few days later, I’m a mile north of Red Rocks to attempt an angle I’ve been eying for several weeks — a rocky overlook south of a large inverted truss bridge. My first attempt was thwarted when train 228 was canceled, and I called off my second attempt after failing to find a safe place to park my vehicle in snowy conditions.
This time, my third attempt, I felt confident I would succeed. I carefully climbed the backside of the overlook, estimating that I would be waiting approximately half an hour for the late-running 228 to arrive. This particular shot requires an afternoon southbound to avoid poor lighting, something that only happens occasionally on this section of the railroad. When it does, I jump on the opportunity to capture angles from the other side– the west side– of the tracks, allowing the lake to become a proper backdrop for the train.
228 arrives, and I make my image– it’s nice, but I think a lower composition would work better. I’ll try again in the future. Right now, I’m on my way south to Port Henry, preparing to frame the train at a second location, taking advantage of the frozen lake to travel north along the rocky right-of-way. Even the toe warmers and gloves weren’t able to mitigate the cold during this windy trek, but the resulting image was worth the effort.
A Dying Trend
Trekking, climbing and hiking after new angles has become a dying art of railroad photography. New technology allows enthusiasts to create these scenes virtually or access them via aerial technology, such as the aforementioned drone cameras. The trains themselves continue to become fewer, harder to find, and less attractive to photographers. Despite this decline, photographers like Strobel do it for the scenes, not the subjects. “I’ve never been a fan of ‘roster shots,’” Strobel said. “I like to integrate something artistic.”
As I watch the former Delaware & Hudson lose business to trucks, competing railroads and economic shifts, I can only ponder what the future holds for the legendary rails along Lake Champlain. One thing is for certain — as long as trains continue to ply the rails of the D&H, I’ll continue to find new ways to frame them against the natural beauty of the Adirondack Coast.
