It had began as a rather dull and uninspiring Tuesday, but as I sat flicking through my twitter feed that was mostly reacting to somber news of the night before, I came across a Bristol Evening Post tweet, linking through to an article about the Flying Scotsman.
The story went on to explain that the famous steam locomotive would be passing through Bristol and other parts of the South West during the day, but that due to the actions of over zealous amateur photographers on previous advertised journeys the official route and timings were not being published by the event organisers this time around.
However, in the age of the Internet secrets are not secrets for long, and the paper continued to inform readers that the plucky people at 'UKSteam.info', the WikiLeaks for trainspotters it seems, had released what was thought to be the intended itinerary and this info was passed on alongside the appropriate 'this is nothing to do with us, follow at your own risk' disclaimer.
The question now was what was I to do with this not quite so secret knowledge of a trains possible arrival and departure times at various points throughout the south west, but having had a fondness for trains from a young age thanks mainly to the Sir Reverend Audrey and his Thomas the Tank engine stories and holding this particular locomotive as a long time favourite (despite it not having a face) the answer to this was plainly obvious... let's go and hunt down this train!
Now if at this point you are wondering, what is all this fuss about a relic of a time gone by, it needs to be mentioned that this particular train was no ordinary steam locomotive, this was a world record breaking train, the first to record a speed of 100 mile per hour (160.9 km/h if you're strange) on the 30 November 1934 no less, this was proper train spotters porn!
And so with a rush of purpose I bundled myself out of the house, armed with not much more than my phone, wallet and well worn leather jacket and headed for the obvious starting point, Bristol Temple Meads for just after midday.
The secret schedule had revealed that the Flying Scotsman had already passed through earlier in the morning, but was due back there at around this point on its return journey.
Having briefly circled the exterior of the station looking for suitable but most importantly safe vantage points, I decided the best place was within the grand old station itself and purchased a ticket to Taunton, where the train was rumoured to be heading.
Whilst at the station, I did ask a young station attendant for a hint as to which platform the 'special guest' might be arriving on? With a rueful smile, she apologetically explained they were not allowed to confirm these details to the public, but when I knowingly followed that up that with 'would it be listed as an arrival' the 'maybe?' response was all I needed to take myself to platform 6.
As soon as I reached platform 6, the secrecy only a moment before suddenly seemed pretty silly given there was a man selling Flying Scotsman memorabilia on that particular platform and there were other obvious lurkers waiting for the same arrival, but happy in the knowledge I was in the right place I went about finding a suitable vantage point, preferably away from the maddening crowd.
The platform itself was a long curved double platform and most of the public paparazzi had picked points at either end, but I decided that a spot just inside the entrance of the platform was an ideal spot especially as this was completely sparse of people.
I had ample time to take a test video of a train departing from the opposite station and having checked back on the near perfect result of this, I was feeling very pleased with myself ahead of 4472's arrival.
However, in these public arenas you can never account for the unfortunate wondering of people and as the moment arrived, two ladies of an earlier generation than mine unknowingly walked straight into my shot.
A little flustered by this, I attempted to gradually move the shot so there was less of the ladies and more train, but try as I might the ladies - clearly drawn by this unexpected occurrence and completely oblivious to me crouching someway behind them - continued to trespass into my shot, resulting further fumbling, the dreaded 'fingers over the lense' on too many occasions to clip out and what was ultimately a mess of a short video.
Having gone for an early vantage point, by the time the train had come to a halt at the other end of the platform it had been engulfed by swarms of train enthusiasts, plus people that are happy to take a selfie of anything so long as they're in it and so the chance for a clear and artistic shot at this opportunity had reasonably passed.
By using google maps to follow the train line from Bristol Temple Meads to Taunton, I had located a couple of potential scenic viewing spots which the train should pass on its second journey later that afternoon.
There were a couple of spots with potential, but in the end I plumped for a bridge in the middle of nowhere that went over the top of the main line between Highbridge & Burnham and Bridgwater and so with renewed energy that only a station Cornish pastie can give you, I headed for my second appointment with the Scotsman.
Having arrived at my destination, considerably early, I pondered if what I was doing was a little silly, given I was stood on a little hump back bridge by myself, with the infrequent cars that would pass probably wondering what the hell I was doing.
But that feeling receded when I was eventually joined by someone else, only to be instead with feelings of inadequacy as I discreetly checked out the far superior equipment he was packing - you should have seen the size of his lens!
Shortly after that, two became three, became four, then three more all came at once, an enthused father, a not quite enthused but going on with it mother and a young child who probably wasn't too sure why her parents had brought her along to look over a bridge.
As the moment of truth drew nearer, the little gathering on the bridge grew to about a double digit number and we all stood with eager anticipation, me positioned with my camera phone steadied and in precise position on the bridge, elbows out protecting what I felt was the plum spot directly over the line The Flying Scotsman was surely going to come down.
A shout of "there it is" came and sure enough, in the distance was an indistinguishable spot on the horizon giving away its tell tale sign of steam dissipating into the warm spring afternoon air. My finger hit record and reassured there were not two ladies breaking my shot, I braced the phone tightly with both hands.
The Flying Scotsman gradually grew in the middle of the picture, becoming the impressive centre piece and so confident of the great shot that was developing before me on the screen, I afforded myself a little peak from around my phone at this beautiful and powerful beast steaming towards me. It's majestic motion, hypnotic sounds and reassuring old world smells filled me with a naked excitement of the like you only really experience in childhood.
The moment itself was brief, gone in a puff of smoke (quite literally in this instance) especially considering the extent of effort and time taken to experience it, yet as our huddle turned to go our separate ways, there was a quiet reassuring satisfaction that what we had just witnessed together was something special.
The Flying Scotsman will be continuing its tour around the country soon. For the not so secret details of when and where it might go, check out http://www.uksteam.info/tours/trs17.htm - but please photograph responsibly!
