Tag: 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

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