Folkston, GA is famous for their Folkston Funnel, a double track which serves as the main artery for railroad traffic into and out of Florida. Nearly 50 trains a day run through the Folkston Funnel, sometimes even more. I invited a friend of mine to go to Folkston with me one weekend, to spot trains and record their activity. I didn't really know anything about the hobby of trainspotting, except that when a train goes by, you take note of what kind of train it is, and then research where it's going, and where it's coming from, and what it's carrying. Then you take a photo of the train, if you desire. Then you record all your information in your little pad of paper, sort of like how a bird watcher records the birds he sees. Then after you get good at identifying trains and rail activity, you join some sort of club where you can brag about how much you know about trains to other trainspotters. Then when you die, your children will find your little pad of trainspotting notes and throw it into the trash, along with all your other useless stuff.
At the Folkston Funnel there is a viewing platform, which features lights, ceiling fans, and a scanner to listen in to radio traffic in between trains going by. Adjacent to the platform are picnic tables, a restroom, and even a grill, because one is sure to get hungry watching trains all day long. There is also a train museum and a few shops nearby, plus lots of noisy bells ringing and lights flashing all day, because attempting to drive a car through the Folkston Funnel is a dangerous thing.
I managed to find a parking place close to the viewing platform, then grabbed my pad of paper, pen, and camera, and got down to some serious trainspotting. My companion and I chose a seat on the blistering hot platform, and listened as the train engineers radioed information back and forth to each other. After a few minutes a train came by and I wrote down notes about it in my pad of paper. I tried to take some photos with my digital camera but they came out blurry. All of this took about five minutes. I bounced happily on my seat, though, all fired up about my new hobby, until my friend said to me, "What exactly are we doing here, Karen?"
I looked at him, dumbfounded, and explained for about the tenth time what trainspotting was all about, and he sighed heavily. "This is boring. I'm hungry. Let's go." If I had known the Folkston Funnel had a grill and a restroom, I would have brought some steaks with me, maybe a bottle of wine, or a baguette to keep my companion busy while I trainspotted. But I was unprepared for his lack of interest, so pouting, I left the platform and we found a barbecue joint down the road.
Trainspotting is not as easy as it looks. Nobody I know wants to do it, and if you go trainspotting by yourself, it's not much fun to get all excited and point delightfully at trains with no one there to share your enthusiasm. And I found out that trainspotting isn't even the proper name for watching random trains, as I was doing. Authentic trainspotters are looking for certain types of trains, what they call "rolling stock," whatever that means. I wasn't a trainspotter, I was a rail fan... a common rail fan.
These days I walk with my beau Bruce up to the railroad tracks behind our house. We bring our ukuleles and sing freight train songs until trains come by, then we wave at the engineers, who blow their train whistles madly, in an attempt to get us to move back from the tracks. When the trains go by, there is an acrid smell and scary sound, as metal grinds against metal, and then a great whoosh of hot wind as the train passes at top speed.
After the train is gone, I sigh heavily, and say, "Well, that was fun. I'm hungry. Let's go." And we head back to the house.
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