The winter solstice (plus or minus a couple weeks) is the only time of the year when I can photograph Go Trains before sunrise. The first train of the morning commute passes a level crossing along the Lower Don Trail just north of Pottery Road at 7:00 am when the sky is still dark. For me, this has become an annual tradition. I get up early and leave my home at 5:40 am. That gives me enough time to make the 50 minute walk and to set up my gear for the shot.
To be honest, this tradition has gotten boring. It’s the same shot year after year. The trains don’t change. The lighting is the same (train headlights). So this year I decided to change things up. I waited until the weather forecast called for snow. Maybe headlights through falling snow would give the shot an atmospheric effect.
Walking down to the level crossing, it was unclear if the weather would resolve itself to rain or to snow. My big pack doesn’t have a waterproof sheath, so I carried an umbrella to protect it. I got my gear set up well in advance and framed my shot before the bell began to sound, and lights flash, and arms lower to block the path across the level crossing. As the light approached through the trees, another light appeared to the right in my peripheral vision. A car had come down from Beechwood Drive and was waiting for the train to pass. I got maybe five shots, then the bell stopped clanging and the arms rose. The car started up again, spinning its wheels in the snow, sliding sideways back and forth, but making no headway over the low rise of the rail crossing.
I thought it strange that a car would be here at this or any other time of day. The only reason I could think that there would be a car in this area is that the city has been doing some environmental rehabilitation work on the Lower Don Parklands. Maybe this was a foreman showing up early to the work site. At last, the wheels got some traction and the car lurched over the rail crossing. In the darkness, it was hard to see the make and model, but I had the impression it was an older model 4-cylinder shit box with no winter tires. The car passed as I was packing up my gear. For the time being, the precipitation had resolved itself to snow. The car doubled back and pulled up beside me. The driver got out of the car and stood by the hood. He was not the foreman of a work crew after all. He was young—maybe 30—with close-cropped blond hair and was dressed in jacket and tie. Maybe it was just the cold, but he carried himself the way young people carry themselves when they aren’t used to wearing a jacket and tie, stiff, like someone’s stuck something up their ass and the sensation is still a little startling.
— So what are you doing here?
His speech was broad, pulled back into his throat, a cross between John Wayne and Vladimir Putin. I expect Russian was his first language.
I explained I was doing a little train spotting, catching the first Go Train of the day.
— You do this for money
— No, I’m more a serious amateur.
— I could be a train.
— What?
— A train. I could be a train for you.
I didn’t say anything. I needed figure out whether the broad speech was the result of a gregarious personality or too much vodka. Likely vodka. It was 7:00 am and the guy was probably sloshed.
— Want something interesting? I could give you something interesting to shoot.
— Oh, I’ve already got my shot, thanks.
Although I’m no mind reader, I think I understood what the kid wanted to do. He wanted to spin out in the snow over the level crossing and have me take photos of it so he could show his friends. It was a tremendously stupid thing to do, if for no other reason than that he’d likely lose control of the car and take out the photographer. I like being alive and I go to great lengths to stay that way. I finished folding up my tripod and, as I was strapping it to my pack, explained (semi-truthfully) that I had to hurry to my next location to shoot the 7:30 train. I walked over the train tracks and hurried back to the Lower Don Trail.
The kid got back into his car and, once again, spun his wheels in the snow. He passed me just as I turned off the road and headed down to a rail bridge that crosses the Don River at the foot of an old mill race. As I set up for my second shot of the morning, it occurred to me that maybe the responsible thing for me to do would be to call the police. What would I report? A kid who was possibly intoxicated but at the very least, criminally stupid, proposed doing doughnuts in the Don Valley? And no, I didn’t get the make, model, or license number of the vehicle because it was too dark. So I let it go.
I stared across the river to the bridge and could see from all the pings on the surface of the water that the snow had turned to rain. I got my shot, but it wasn’t much of a shot. Who wants a shot of a train’s ass receding into the distance? The only reason for the shot is that it served as a pretext for my escape from the idiot and his doughnuts.
Once again, I packed up my gear and headed down the Lower Don Trail. And, once again, the precipitation changed, reverting to big snowflakes. Just south of the Don River Fish Ladder (it’s a real thing officially marked on Google Maps), I stepped down to the bank of the river for some scenic snow-dappled shots. I set down my tripod and laid out my pack on a sheet of plastic. I spread my umbrella over the pack to keep it dry. Tilting back my head, I let the flakes land on my face, tingling at every point of contact. Water burbled to my left. Traffic roared on the Don Valley Parkway to my right. Was this the sound of an om that could set a monk to meditation? Or the sound of an urban cacophony that could inspire a latter day Gershwin?
With the arrival of winter, I make a habit of taking a flask on my photo walks. I pulled it from my pocket and took a couple gulps of Scotch. A warmth spread from my gut, through my capillaries, to the tips of my fingers.
Doughnuts! What an idiot.
Who the fuck gets sloshed this early in the morning?
