Better to have a little of excellence than an abundance of mediocrity.
Although this represents a specific location, there are general principles at play here. Although the interchange track appears to be of limited length, only coping with 6 cars, that figure refers to the unencumbered track, clear of any turnouts. In practice, the CNR can drop off more cars (empty 40′ box cars and some feed in hoppers for Agway at Coleford), pushing them down the tail end of the former MEC trackage, as long as their own power does not go off its own track. Any local traffic for the short spur near the depot needs to be switched by the NSRC.
Similarly, an arriving NSRC train can come in on the main, run round, then push its full loads onto the empties, and pull them clear of the interchange, putting them into the NSRC loop if necessary, before placing its train of full boxcars (and any empty hoppers) onto the interchange road. If necessary, it may need to use the recently acquired train to push the loads clear of the turnout for the CNR to collect, without going onto the track itself (I am sure blind eyes were turned at times!)
The NSRC ran once a week, but on two days. I know that sounds odd, but on a Tuesday, the loaded boxcars were switched away from the plant, and replaced with empties that were waiting. On Wednesday, they took the loads down to North Stratford, coming back with empties which were placed ready for the next week.
In MEC days it was simpler, as the branch train came up the CNR making use of trackage rights.
In any era, this presents interesting operating potential, and with the CNR served by storage loops and the NSRC by a couple of storage roads, it would make for an interesting oval layout in its own right, whether for the prototype roads, era and location or for anything else.
In a round-robin Email between a small group of friends (whom I like to think of as “The Unusual Suspects”) Matt LaChance, not even speaking in his mother tongue, came out with several superb insights, not least of which was this:
I’m still looking for my personal approach to this [for the] Temiscouata project even though I know deep inside all the key ingredients are there. Making a good layout right now would be easy, but making it a special layout with personality, that is something else. I have a blurry vision in my mind, I can almost feel on my neck the slightly chilly wind that sweep the St. John’s River valley, but have yet to translate it on the canvas.
Now, isn’t that a grand, poetic way to view the creation of a Model Railway?
That’s my emphasis, but what a great phrase, “a special layout with personality”.
When you think about it, isn’t that what precisely (and yet indefinably) defines a great layout?
I saw this on a forum I use:
But, as it seems I don’t build etched brass kits or even whitemetal ones some will say that I’m not a modeller
Who are these “some”? I haven’t met any of them.
Anyone who goes beyond simply opening boxes is a modeller and the idea that you have to build etched brass kits to become a modeller is nonsense.
This is akin to those who refer to, for want if a better way of putting it, “finescalers” as elitist. Well, I know some of the best modellers in the country, and not one of them is in anyway elitist. Sure, they want to make their models as accurate as possible, to the finest possible standards, etc, but not one of them has ever told me that everyone else must do the same, or that anyone who doesn’t is somehow not worth anything. And all of them, and I do mean every single one, are prepared to share their techniques with anyone who is interested. The only complaint I ever hear from them is that too many are afraid to try.
Personally, I am getting sick and tired of it. We all have limitations, be they time, money, space or skills, but we can increase and improve our skills given time a degree of time. And time can replace money, too: start with raw materials and learn their properties, and acquire the basic tools to work with them. Cutting out and embossing takes longer than buying etchings, yes, but the mistakes and hence the lessons learned are your own, and with time these mistakes are replaced with new ones, and new lessons.
The only times I see the idea that what someone is doing isn’t good enough to be “proper modelling” is from their own minds. There are no right and wrong ways to be a modeller: just putting some personal effort into making a model look more like the real thing, which is as much about careful observation of the real thing as it is about anything else. And you don’t have have to go back in time to see how dirt and weathering affect things.
No, when I see people refer to “some”, I generally incline to the view that the speaker is the “some”, and rather than admit that they feel they could do better, they project their disappointment onto a perceived elite which doesn’t exist. Feeling that you could achieve more and better is quite possibly the defining characteristic of the human condition: it drives us to self-improvement, to every model being slightly better than the previous one (in the early stages, to every model being significantly better than the previous one) until we reached a point where the law of diminishing returns starts to kick in.
From what I have observed, that doesn’t usually happen until one is well advanced into one’s dotage.
As the Bard put it,
From this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.
Mike Cougill has posted a very pertinent post on our connection to real trains, and asks if we need it:
Do we need the connection to real trains? I believe we do without a doubt. Without inspiration from full-size railroading, I’m not certain what this work would become other than a flight of fancy. I believe a connection with your subject is vital but in the absence of first hand experience, friends and mentors can help us understand our strengths and help us explore the form our interests might take. Historical research can provide a strong sense of a different era. That said however, you still have to do the introspection required and make your own choices.
I posted some time back on a personal memory, way back when I was 13½, and yet although the sound, heat and smell of a class 08 shunter or a class 25 Bo-Bo is probably what ties me to the prototype, it isn’t what I model, or indeed want to model.
It’s a sort of chain reaction: that inspiration takes me back to my youth, when I was starting to find my way in the hobby. It is an essential link to my history, but the chain is longer than that. From this starting point, I became more interested in my local railways and their history, and that in turn expanded my horizons further, both in time and geography, and my modelling interests evolved away from that starting point.
And do you know what? That’s great. Trying to recapture my youthful starting point in model form won’t work. Sure, I can get the sound, but not the smell, and model smoke looks like model smoke and not like a model of smoke. And visits to preserved lines are fine, but the context is different: it doesn’t have the same impact on me as – it is slightly ersatz, and not real. But the connection to the trains of the past is still there for me, via a nearly 40 year old memory, still evoked by the smell of (of all things) the diesel fumes from buses of a certain age.
In a thread on one of the more popular model railway forums, a post was made with the following sentiment:
I now see railway modelling as an art form to be enjoyed rather than an exercise in trying to achieve technical perfection
If you read any of the blogs to which I frequently refer, especially Mike Cougill’s and Chris Mears’, then this will not be anything new to you.
My response (to be self-indulgent, but what is a blog if not that?) was:
I agree entirely, but as all artists will agree, it takes a while to develop the techniques required. In fact, you may have tapped into a better metaphor than you realise!
In fact, many artists return to the same subject time and time again, scrapping earlier efforts (either completed, or part completed) because what appears on canvas or in clay/wood/metal/stone/whatever isn’t what they have in their mind’s eye.
In this respect, you should take comfort from the blind alleys and false starts: like any great artist, they are but learning points on the path to ultimate success.
And make no mistake, whether we build an individual item of rolling stock, a small diorama, or a large layout, we are all creating a work of art which says to the the world, “This is what railways mean to me.”
Artists spend their lives trying to express what something means to them using their favoured medium/media. They will tell you that they often feel that they have failed, and try, and try, and try again. I know I am repeating myself, but it is worth remembering that.
Techniques do need to be mastered, but only to allow us to create what we want to create. This is not easy, but if we focus entirely on technique, we can only be technically brilliant, but our creations will be emotionally austere. If we want to get beyond the simple achievement (and great pleasure!) of simply playing with trains, we need to remember what we want to create: what is it in our mind’s eye that says “railway”?
There are no golden rules here. I can no more dictate what you must do to achieve your Model Railway dream than can anyone else, but it is worth putting some questions to yourself to help define your goal.
So, what inspires you? How does that lead to a satisfying expression of your interest?
- It could simply be locomotives or rolling stock. They don’t have to move.
- It could simply be the end of a rural siding, disused, rusty and strewn with rubbish. Nothing but some track, some form of stopping things coming off the end of it, just a few square inches of baseboard.
- It could be the operations of unit trains – after all, shifting goods and minerals in bulk was how railways came about.
There are so many alternatives, each as different as each of us. The point is, to get beyond technicalities and toys, we can view model railways as art.
But only if we know what inspires us.
I am a great believer in good technology liberating us from old ways of doing things, and this is a superb example that only appears to be obvious after it has been pointed out…
It’s hard to believe the iPhone is only a decade old, when the world has changed so much. Today, I had to wait in a parking lot for a few minutes, and as I was thinking about the look of 622’s truck wheels, and how they don’t quite match the photo, I thought I’d see what I could do there and then.
So, I opened the OnShape mobile app, and changed a number of dimensions until I was happy with it. Then I wrote this blog post on my phone too. It’s not the hours you can spend on this hobby, but the minutes that matter. Now there are more minutes.