Click to enlargeKyle Massick Photo

Railroad officials weighed how to recover three Boeing 737 fuselages that were dumped into the Clark Fork River in a Montana train derailment that closed the track for much of the day.

Getting the aircraft hulls, which were bound for a Boeing…plant in Renton, Washington, out of the river may take two days, Lynda Frost, a Montana Rail Link spokeswoman, said today. Three additional fuselages also tumbled out of the train July 3 near Rivulet, Montana, and stayed on land.

We’ve never done this before,” Frost said in a telephone interview. “We have a lot of heavy-duty equipment on hand to do this. The plan is to drag them up the bank.”

BNSF Railway…was carrying the fuselages and some assemblies for 777 and 747 aircraft to Boeing’s Renton plant from Spirit Aerosystems…in Wichita, Kansas. Montana Rail Link, a regional railroad company, took control of the train as it crossed Montana, and the accident occurred on MRL’s watch, Frost said.

No one seems to have been injured. Until heads start to roll.

  1. toys4thoughts says:

    A better way to haul that sort of cargo.

  2. toys4thoughts says:

    “But as I have said before, it is bound to come! Arrah-na-Pogque is breeding a song that will bedeck some mountain with new-made graves! In another week we shall be “Wearing of the Green, ” and in a fortnight some will be wearing of the black in consequence. Three repetitions of this song will produce lunacy, and five will kill — it is that much more virulent than its predecessors. People are finding it hard to learn, but when they get it learned they will find it potent for harm. It is Wheatleigh’s song. He sings it in Arrah-na-Pogque, with a sprig of shamrock in his hat. Wheatleigh sings it with such aggravated solemnity as to make an audience long for the grave. It is doled out slowly, and every note settles deliberately to its place on one ‘s heart like a solid iceberg — and by the time it is finished the temperature of the theatre has fallen to twenty degrees. Think what a dead-cold winter we shall have here when this Arctic funeral melody becomes popular! Think of it being performed at midnight, in lonely places, upon the spirit depressing accordeon! Think of being driven to blow your brains out under such circumstances, and then dying to the grave-yard cadences of “Wearing of the Green!”

    At least the clean up crews didn’t have to deal with cold and ice and snow. This is a boost for the air cargo industry.

    The NSA can recognise from the group order whether an attack on the curve will be successful (reasonable assumption)

    Was it terrorism? Isis in Montana could be behind it!

  3. What is it? says:

    Three giant ballpoint pens?

    Three giant expensive cigars in metal tubes?

    The wreck of the starship NCC-1701?

  4. toys4thoughts says:

    Ode to Snowden
    New York,
    Feb. 23, 1867.


    I ONLY got over a calamitous cold in the head yesterday, and to-day I felt like the breaking up of a hard winter. I had the blues; and a ceaseless drumming and ringing in the ears; and a deadening oppression of the brain, and a horrible sense of suffocation. The weather was cold, and the gases from the villainous coal fire were stifling. Beside all these little inconveniences, my thoughts persistently ran on funerals and suicide. I was in a fit frame of mind for any desperate enterprise, and with a recklessness that even stirred a sort of dull admiration within me, I resolved to go and take a bath.

    In five minutes I was breasting the frosty wind and ploughing through the soft new snow, and in fifteen I stumbled upon the place where they keep the monster they call the Russian Bath…WHAT SIX YEARS HAVE WROUGHT

    They have increased the population of New York and its suburbs a quarter of a million souls. They have built up her waste places with acres upon acres of costly buildings. They have made five thousand men wealthy, and for a good round million of her citizens they have made it a matter of the closest kind of scratching to get along in the several spheres of life to which they belong. The brown-stone fronter and the rag-picker of the Five Points have about an even thing of it; the times are as hard for one as for the other; both struggle desperately to hold their places, and both grumble and grieve to much the same tune. What advantage there is, though, is all in favor of the rag-picker – he can only starve or freeze, but the other can lose caste, which is worse.

    The old, genuine, travelled, cultivated, pedigreed aristocracy of New York, stand stunned and helpless under the new order of things. They find themselves supplanted by upstart princes of Shoddy, vulgar and with unknown grandfathers. The incomes, which were something for the common herd to gape at and gossip about once, are mere livelihoods now – would not pay Shoddy’s house-rent. They move into remote new streets up town, and talk feelingly of the crash which is to come when the props are knocked from under this flimsy edifice of prosperity. And, to tell the truth, a part of the crash is already here; and the sooner it comes in its might and restores the old, sure, plodding prosperity, the better. Heavy failures are frequent, but people seem to dislike to talk about them – dread the subject, maybe. If everybody goes to Paris in the summer, that movement will not assist any in keeping up the present ruinous prices of living. Government is helping to bring the crash, too. She is drawing all idle capital away from public improvements and other great new enterprises. Her bonds pay better and surer interest than railroad investments, mortgages, etc., and the money is not taxed. People grumble bitterly that they cannot borrow money against such formidable competition as the U. S. Government. Everything is high. That was well enough in war time, when a million men in full employment under Government pay made help scarce and money plenty as dust. But now, with that million discharged, of course help is plenty and money scarce. Yet all hands conspire to keep up prices. No man can afford to be the first to make a move toward lowering the figures.

    You pay twelve hundred dollars rental, now, for the dwelling you used to get for five or six hundred. For a store you pay – well, you pay all you can make, and then turn your stock of goods over to your landlord at the end of the year. One firm here had occupied the same premises many years – a firm of sixty years standing. They used to pay $3,000; during the war the figure went up to $6,000; was raised afterwards to $12,000; this year they were told they must pay $18,000 or move. They moved.

    I for one aint takin a bath on your thieving methods. Now Wall Street has killed the cupcakes. We have lots of fruitcakes though, so not to worry.

  5. jpfitz says:

    Eideard….please help. The blog has been invaded by a termite. Gnawing at the context of this once great blog. Folks are not logging in because of the termite. Please update your determiner.

    • ± says:

      I’m with you jpfitz, except that there is no need to be obsequious (and that is being generous [to the blog]) in your reasoned request.

  6. toys4thoughts says:

    “We leave nature’s noble cliffs and crags undefiled and uninsulted by the advertiser’s paint-brush. We use the back of a king, which is better and properer, and more effective,too, for the cliff stays still and few see it, but the king moves across the fields of the world, and is visible from all points like a constellation. We are out of kings this week, but one will be along soon–possibly his Satanic Majesty of Russia.”

    I love crypto, it tells me what part of the system not to bother attacking—Drew Gross, forensic scientist
    Jailed for unbreakable code? It’s not worth attacking, it’s supposedly evidence. Despotic and moronic.

  7. mainecat says:

    Jolly Green Giant – “That water sure is cold today”

    “.. and deep.”

  8. bogart says: