Category: Railroad

Jothmada: A Logging Camp Along the Railroad

July 13, 2025July 13, 2025 Admin 2 Comments

Rails Through the Timber: The Forgotten Story of the Virginia Southern Railroad Tucked away in the steep ridges and hardwood forests of Grayson and Smyth Counties, the Virginia Southern Railroad once carved a lifeline through the mountains—a narrow-gauge logging route designed for passengers, timber, mail, supplies, shipments and more. Though its memory has largely faded, traces of the rail and its legacy still echo through the woods near Sugar Grove and Fairwood, and in stories passed down by the region’s old timers. The Virginia Southern Railroad was the brainchild of Jerome W. Moltz, a seasoned lumberman who had already made his mark in Pennsylvania. There, his Moltz Lumber Company managed 7,000 acres of forest and operated 15 miles of logging railroad—an enterprise that remained active into the 1940s. Seeking new timber-rich territory, Moltz turned his attention southward to Grayson County, Virginia, and began constructing a new line between Sugar Grove and Fairwood. The purpose of the Virginia Southern was clear: harvest the vast reserves of timber in the region and transport it to nearby sawmills for processing. This industrial corridor quickly became a bustling artery of Appalachian lumbering, reshaping both the landscape and the economy. Eventually, the Virginia Southern, along with the Marion Rye Valley Railroad, came under the control of P.S. Swain of New York, who was appointed president over the combined 27-mile rail network. Swain’s oversight marked a period of organized expansion and efficiency, aligning two essential railroads under a single management structure during the peak of the southern Appalachian timber boom. One of the more curious landmarks along the Virginia Southern’s route was a stop known as Jothmada, located between Sugar Grove and Troutdale, near present-day Raccoon Branch Campground along Dickey’s Creek. The name “Jothmada” was a creative blend—formed by combining the first two letters of the first names of the wives of the four men who founded the local logging camp. While most of the women’s names have been lost to time, one is remembered: May Moltz, wife of Jerome. Old maps from 1916 and newspaper timetables list Jothmada/Jothmado (pronounced “jot a mada”) as a regular stop, and locals once referred to it as a “shack town,” a temporary settlement of logging workers. From this remote camp, narrow shoots of small-gauge rail snaked up into the mountains, allowing crews to access and fell timber from otherwise inaccessible terrain. The logs were hauled down to the main line, loaded onto trains, and transported to Troutdale and Fairwood for milling. The Jothmada stop was located at milepost 2 along the Virginia Southern Railway. After the U.S. Logging Company had exhausted the forests along the line between Sugar Grove and Troutdale, the area’s economic flame began to dim. With the timber gone, so too was the purpose of the rail. Eventually, the entire operation was sold to F.L. Knight of Lynchburg, marking the final chapter for the Virginia Southern Railroad. Though the tracks are long gone, the ghost of the Virginia Southern lives on in archival maps, rusted rail fragments, and place names that still cling to the landscape. It’s a story of ambition, resource extraction, and the transitory nature of boomtowns built on timber. Photo of Moltz Lumber Engineer Grant “Dutchman” Bruner leans on front truck of a Shay Engine delivering logs to the mill at Lake Toxaway, PA. The company operated similarly there as it did here even using the same Shay style engines. Special thanks to Gary Price and Ed Clayton for their contributions to the information in this article!

Industry, Railroad

The Wreck of the Number 9- A Day In The History of the Marion Rye Valley Railroad

February 4, 2025February 4, 2025 Admin No Comments

September 10, 1912 began like most other days, the crew boarded a boxcar coupled to the #9 Shay in Fariwood and headed up to their work site on Pine Mountain. Kent Steffey was a seasoned 45-year-old engineer, respected for his skill and experience. A proud member of the Brotherhood of Engineers Union, and a native of Wythe County who had relocated along with his wife to Wilson Creek, Grayson County. Steffey worked for Spruce Lumber Company. He was known for his dedication to his work, and on the fateful day in September, he was once again at the helm of Shay locomotive #9, taking on the daunting task of navigating Pine Mountain. The journey from Fairwood to the top of Pine Mountain was no small feat. Spanning about five miles, it took roughly an hour for Steffey to guide the massive locomotive up the switchback. The logging crew was dropped off and Steffey’s train was turned to begin its descent. It was here that things took a tragic and unexpected turn. As the train began its descent down the mountain, which featured a steep 6% grade, Steffey applied the brakes, expecting to slow the heavy load. However, to his horror, there were no brakes. The train began to pick up speed rapidly, and Steffey realized the full extent of the danger. Without brakes, he was helpless to slow the train as it hurtled downhill. He whistled to the back of the train to alert the Fireman. The train reached dangerous speeds, and the situation worsened as gears started stripping off the wheels, further reducing the train’s resistance. At this point, Steffey’s options were limited. In a desperate attempt to alert the crew and prevent a disaster, the fireman, Nute Bateman, tied off the whistle to signal impending doom. Bateman, fearing for his life, jumped off the train, narrowly escaping the impending crash and certain death. Meanwhile, Fields Anderson, the conductor, managed to lock the brakes on the last car in a last-ditch effort to stop the train. Realizing they had no chance of stopping the runaway train, Anderson also jumped, watching helplessly as the train sped away around the bend. Both Bateman and Anderson survived, though they could do nothing but watch in horror as the train disappeared around a curve in the mountain. Moments later, the sound of a horrific crash echoed across the valley. The two men rushed to the scene of the wreck, which wasn’t far from where they had jumped. As they approached, they saw the twisted, mangled wreckage of the train, derailed and overturned on its side. The wreck was a scene of utter devastation. Steffey, however, was not immediately found. It wasn’t until later that his body was discovered, crushed beneath the boiler of the 65-ton Shay locomotive. Kent Steffey’s death was a tragic loss. He was survived by his wife, Emma, and their four children: Mabel, Ruth, Virginia, and Mary. His passing left a deep void in the community, especially for his family and colleagues at Spruce Lumber Company. Despite the danger he faced, Steffey’s courage and quick thinking during his final moments, as well as the brave actions of his crew members, remain a testament to the sacrifices made by railroad workers every day. All that remains is his tombstone in Rural Retreat, Va., and this ballad, “The Wreck of Ole Number Nine.” Kent Steffey was an engineer, the best one on the line. Each morning he’d leave Fairwood with his Engine Number Nine. To the mountains he would go, making sure to run on time, Not knowing that his fate relied on his lucky Number Nine. Fields Anderson was conductor on that fateful day. The autumn sun shone brightly, painting the world in gay display. Beneath the clear, blue sky, no hint of danger lay, But the engine’s brakes refused to work, and Kent’s train ran away. “On brakes, on brakes!” he whistled, but the brakemen were all gone, And the fireman, Nute Bateman, thinking of his home, Leaped from the cab to save his life, as Nine dashed madly on. Still on the rails, the bell began its mournful clang, And across the mountain air, the sorrowful whistle rang. ‘Farewell, farewell,’ it seemed to say, and the wheels sang death’s song. It struck the curve with awful force, and from the rails she sprang. Beneath the wreck, now cold and still, the engineer was found, His body crushed and mangled, buried beneath the ground. Now poor Kent is sleeping beneath the mountain sod, His body cold and buried, but his soul has gone to God. ~Anonymous

History, Industry, Railroad, Stories

History of the Dickeys Knob Fire Tower

September 27, 2024September 27, 2024 Admin No Comments

The Dickeys Knob lookout tower was built in the early 1930s. The exact date is unknown. A USGS marker is located on top of the mountain not far from the location of the lookout tower. 1934 has been said to be the year of the construction because a 1934 penny was embedded in the wet cement of the marker. Later, vandals chiseled it out. Seasonally, during Spring before the trees leafed out and Fall when lots of dry vegetation was on the ground were the times that guardians/fire watchers were employed to man the fire towers. They used a device that was rather modern for the time called an Osborn Fire Finder. This was used to determine the location of the fire so it could then be pinpointed on a map and reported. Reports were made to dispatchers using short wave radios or telephones that were maintained by the US Forest Service for this purpose. A report was needed from 3 total lookout towers to pinpoint coordinates on a map of a fire location. This all took place before fire crews were summoned. To use an Osborn Fire Finder, you needed to look through the sights similar to sights on a rifle, line it up with the base of the fire and a peephole in the rear sight. Once the hair is properly aligned, you can then take the horizontal reading in degrees and minutes. After that, you obtain the vertical angle reading by using the measurement on the sliding metal piece on the rear sight and estimate the miles between the tower and the sight of the smoke using the metal tape on the device. Check the map which is calibrated to my tower’s location and affixed to the fire finder to pinpoint the area of a fire very closely. This fire finder was designed by W. B. Osborne, a US Forest Service employee in 1915. Parts for this device have not been produced since 1975 making them very scarce. There are also no casting patterns or production drawings. Guardians, or lookouts lead a very quiet and often lonely existence in the lookout towers. Sometimes people would climb the mountain to visit or bring supplies, food or water. During fire season, sleep was interrupted every hour on the hour during the night to scan the horizon for a glow of fire. Sometimes Steam from moonshine stills back in the mountains could be seen from the lookout towers but the fire watchers knew better than to report this due to the isolated nature of their work and reasonable possibility of severe retaliation from the moonshiners. The tower on Dickeys Knob was 50 feet tall and had an interior space of 12×12 enclosed at the top. There was a catwalk all the way around the top of the tower on the exterior. Generally, October 15-December 15 and February 15- June 15 is considered “fire season” by the US Forest Service in our area which is known as the Holston District of the Jefferson National Forest. During the time of these operations, Charlie Harrington, a Sugar Grove native, and 4 other men in this district, would make the fire towers their homes where they would live, eat, sleep and keep lookout for forest fires. If someone seen smoke, they used the Osborne Fire Finder to get a coordinate/location then made contact with other towers in the area to have them do the same. With a total of 3 coordinates, the location would be pinpointed on a map and a fire would be reported to the ranger or assistant ranger on duty who would be on their way to the location with a fire crew. The Osborne Fire Finder was similar to a large compass laid overtop a map of the area. Two other towers were needed to provide coordinates to map an exact location. At this time, the US Forest Service had their own telephones and lines that they maintained. Workers were required to have a phone at their home and were assigned a specific number of rings such as 2 longs and 1 short. These phones were wall mounted crank phones. There were very few phones in Sugar Grove at this time. The public phone system during this period was called Inter-Mountain Telephone Company. The fire tower was equipped with a small wood stove for heat and cooking. There was also a 1 man bed, some cabinets for storage and cooking utensils. Among these were a few porcelain pots and pans which were widely used during this era. The tower had unobstructed glass windows all around for a full 360 degree view of the forest. The tower had no electricity or running water. Perishables could be hung underneath the tower on the north side to keep items cool. With the elevation, there would often be a nice breeze flowing and the north side provided shade from sun. There were no restroom facilities except for a small brown building at the base of the tower a little ways off to the side which was an outhouse. The fire tower was a popular place to visit in the 1930s and 1940s. At that time, it was possible to drive a car up to the tower or walk up the mountain trail. On the east side, there is a rock cliff with a drop some 30 feet straight down. After the tower was a torn down, a hiking trail was built from the nearby Raccoon campground. This trail goes past the cliff and then to the top of the mountain. Charles Harrington kept a guest log that Donald Harrington, his son, made available in his book*. The tower had lots of visitors who signed the log book. Sometimes they were from other states. When visitors came to the tower, Mr. Harrington gave them a “Squirrel Card” that featured a picture of the lookout tower and bore the emblem of the US Forest Service. It read “This Certifies that ______On…

Communities, Dickey, Harrington, Industry, Railroad, Sugar Grove

The Death of Daniel “Doc” Hoppers on the Marion Rye Valley Railroad

July 31, 2024September 20, 2024 Admin 4 Comments

On September 25, 1910, the Marion Rye Valley Railroad was struck by a profound tragedy that shook the local community and the railroad industry alike. The incident claimed the life of Daniel “Doc” Hoppers, a respected fireman who was tragically killed in a horrific accident. As the dust settled on that fateful day, the story of Doc Hoppers became a somber reminder of the dangers faced by those who worked tirelessly on the rails. Daniel Hoppers, known affectionately as “Doc” by his colleagues, was a fireman on the Marion Rye Valley Railroad. At 35 years old, he was a seasoned worker, trusted by his peers and valued for his experience. Doc was originally from North Carolina, but his life and work had brought him to the heart of the developing railroad industry in Grayson and Smyth Counties. On that particular September day, Doc Hoppers was performing a routine but perilous task. He had adjusted a switch and underhook in preparation for the Shay engine, a robust locomotive known for its unique design and power. He needed to jump onto the cow catcher of the engine, a maneuver that was fraught with risk. However, as fate would have it, something went tragically awry. While attempting to complete the task, Doc fell under the moving Shay engine. The heavy machinery, unable to stop in time, ran over him before the engineer could bring the locomotive to a halt. The scene was one of utter devastation, with Doc Hoppers’ life cut short in a matter of moments. Daniel Hoppers was not just a worker on the railroad; he was a devoted husband and father. He left behind his wife, Alice, and three young children who were left to grieve the sudden and tragic loss of their beloved father and husband. The impact of his death rippled through his family and the community, leaving a void that would be felt for years to come. The accident occurred near the old band mill located in Fairwood, a place that now holds a bittersweet significance in the history of the Marion Rye Valley Railroad. It is here that Doc Hoppers met his untimely end, a grim reminder of the perilous nature of railroad work in that era. In honoring his memory, Doc Hoppers’ remains were interred in the Liberty Hill Baptist Church Cemetery in Grant. The cemetery, a place of solace and reflection, now holds the resting place of a man whose life was cut tragically short but whose legacy is remembered with respect and sorrow. The death of Daniel Hoppers serves as a poignant reminder of the inherent dangers faced by those who worked on the railroads during the early 20th century. The rigorous and often dangerous nature of railroad work was compounded by the limitations of safety protocols and equipment of the time. Each accident was a stark reminder of the risks involved and the critical need for stringent safety measures. As we reflect on the life and tragic death of Doc Hoppers, it is important to remember the sacrifices made by railroad workers and to honor their contributions to the industry. Their dedication and bravery paved the way for the modern advancements in railroad safety and technology that we benefit from and know today. In the annals of railroad history, the story of Daniel “Doc” Hoppers stands as a somber testament to the bravery and risks faced by those who kept the wheels of industry turning. His memory continues to be honored by those who remember the perils of the past and work toward a safer future for all involved in the railroad industry. For added context and information, Gary Price provided the following insight on this event: “It was a very common practice for railroad men to ride the cowcatcher of a locomotive when throwing a lot of switches, assuming their trip that day was going up the switch backs to the scales. The fireman would throw the switch and jump on the cowcatcher and then ride to the end of the switchback while the brakeman on the rear would reverse the switch for the climb up to the next switch back. Once passing the switch again, the fireman would return the switch back to the original position and climb back aboard the locomotive. The underhook was a device used to help secure the Shay locomotive to the cars it was hauling because the tacks were crude and uneven.”

Industry, Railroad