Trapped on a Trestle

Excerpts from Birdies, Bogeys and Kiwis: Golfing around New Zealand

Hopeful of a pleasant afternoon, we purchase tickets in Christchurch to ride the Tranz-Alpine Express through the Canterbury Plains and the Southern Alps for an afternoon at Greymouth on the West Coast. A local old-timer at the station tells us the train is a bit of a bone-rattler and he’s not far from wrong. After some jolts and bumps, the train sets out across those pastoral Plains and gradually climbs up into the majestic mountains.

Suddenly the train violently lurches…  Passengers scurry for their seats and secure the luggage spilling out from the overhead racks. We’ve come to a halt on a high mountain pass in an absolutely pitch-black tunnel.

“We’re OK back here,” reports the Conductor in muffled tones into his two-way radio as he walks forward through our carriage.

For nearly an hour the passengers in our car sit in almost complete silence, waiting. Perhaps they’re thinking what I’m thinking. The train runs tight to the tunnel walls. How long is the tunnel? How long will we have fresh air to breath? How long will we be stuck here? How will we get out and will we ever get out?

Thirty minutes later the engine attempts to pull but lurches, then stops again.

Rather than carry his usual plastic garbage bag, a member of the food service staff walks through the carriage with a large flashlight. I can’t see how a flashlight is going to fix the problem…

Read what follows in Chapter Six:

From Meadows To Mountains…

By George It’s British…

Pause For A Great Patriot…

The French Connection…

Golf Cluster Courses.