Claudius Crozet Blue Ridge Tunnel

By Lisa Provence

Nothing happens quickly with the Claudius Crozet Blue Ridge Tunnel. Not its mid-19th-century eight-year construction, nor Nelson County’s nearly 20-year effort to reopen it, nor the documentary recently released by local filmmakers Paul Wagner and Ellen Casey Wagner.

“I thought it would only be a few years, weaving the reopening and the history of the tunnel,” says Academy Award-winner Paul Wagner, who directed The Tunnel. “I had no idea it was going to take almost nine years.”

When it opened in 1858, the hand-dug Blue Ridge Tunnel was the longest tunnel in North America. About 800 Irish immigrants used star drills and black powder in those pre-dynamite days to carve through Rockfish Gap’s granite, dangerous work that, along with cholera, killed dozens and maimed many more.

The idea of intercutting the two stories—the difficult construction of the tunnel and the nearly two-decade effort to reopen it—appealed to Wagner, who describes the film as “the creation and re-creation of the Blue Ridge Tunnel.”

Says Wagner, “We’ve made a lot of historical films, and often there are not visual materials to tell those stories. It was nice in this case to have a present-day story that was directly related to the historical story, that gave a story thread in the present that reverberated against the historical story line.”

The film focuses on the Irish laborers who fled the famine in Ireland to find work and who were considered more expendable than enslaved workers. This isn’t the Wagners first Irish-centric film. Out of Ireland traced eight workers in the United States, one of whom worked on the railroad.

The Irish in America “have been an interest of ours,” says Wagner, and The Tunnel, which became available on YouTube on St. Patrick’s Day, uses students from the Blue Ridge Irish Music School to help tell the story with music and dancing—and a haunting violin solo.

The Tunnel also tells the story of the enslaved workers and the institution of slavery “in such a powerful way,” says Wagner.

Engineer Claudius Crozet, who was hired to construct a 17-mile railroad from Mechum’s River in Albemarle to Waynesboro, wrote to his board to explain having to pay $2,400 compensation for the deaths of two Black workers. The enslaved laborers contracted out to Crozet could not be used for the black powder blasting, not out of concern for the men but because of their value as property.

“It was an insight on the thinking of the institution of slavery and how it worked,” says Wagner.
Filming provided some challenges. The eastern portal had waist-high water. “We’re vaguely outdoorsy, but I do not have hip boots in my closet,” says Wagner. “I’d wade into water up to the waist in the dark holding a camera.”

Despite that discomfort, Wagner says it was not an arduous shoot. “One of the joys was that you could just walk in there and turn your camera on and end up with these beautiful images,” he says. “Between the light and the dark, the water, the brick walls, the stone, and especially the lighting as you walk in and out of the tunnel. The lighting effects are so beautiful without even trying.”

During the 1950s, a 12-foot-thick bulkhead was built in the tunnel for propane storage, and blocked passage through until restoration work began in 2018. Wagner describes the magic of seeing the light at the other end of the tunnel after it was blasted out.

“I had been in there many times and never seen light,” he says. He compares the experience to December 29, 1856, when workers broke through the rock. A newspaper clipping said, “Light now shines through the Blue Ridge.”

“This is what it was like,” says Wagner. “I had a little emotional reaction.”

The image of a tunnel is symbolic in itself and often mentioned in near-death experiences, he says. “There’s something powerful, almost spiritual about the tunnel.”

Along with the history, it’s also a great local story, one that ties into the rails-to-trails movement, tourism, and recreation, and intersects with the Appalachian Trail and the Route 76 bike trail, says Wagner. “Go with your kids, ride your bike, but there is a real dark and tragic side of the story that’s worth remembering.”

The film was a labor of love for the Wagners. “We didn’t raise a lot of money to do it,” he says. “We did it as a side project over the years,” ultimately getting some funding from the Claudius Crozet Blue Ridge Tunnel Foundation, the Virginia Tourism Corporation, and Virginia Humanities.

“We want as many people as possible to see it,” he says. Historical preservation isn’t just about places like Monticello or Montpelier, adds Wagner. “This is about historic preservation, too. It’s the common people. It’s landscapes—natural and manmade—that are also valid to think about as historic sites.”

Since the Blue Ridge Tunnel opened in November, 35,000 people have gone through it, according to former Nelson County supervisor Allen Hale.

“I think the film really captured the spirit of the project and paid tribute to the people who built it,” says Hale. “It was a lost treasure. The film does a wonderful job of re-claiming this lost treasure.”

It’s a wonder: Blue Ridge Tunnel trail opening is more than a century in the making

It’s dark. It’s damp. It’s cold. And it’s so cool.

The newly opened Claudius Crozet Blue Ridge Tunnel trail lets you walk under the Blue Ridge—under Rockfish Gap, under I-64, under the Appalachian Trail and Skyline Drive. More than 700 feet above, drivers sweep through forested hillsides while you peer at walls of hewn rock and brick. Up there, hikers hear leaves rustling in the wind while you hear water dripping from the tunnel walls; they see dappled sunlight while you see flashlights bobbing like underground fireflies—and one small point of light ahead, a beacon from a mile away.

The tunnel is a secret world but not a closed one. A steady breeze brings fresh air through the passage, which is arrow-straight and has a very slight incline. Kids coming through will laugh to stir an echo, and squeal when they find wildlife—salamanders and crayfish live here, so be respectful. And it’s hard not to think about the men who labored here, mostly Irish immigrants and enslaved workers hired out for cash, pitting their strength—and their lives—against the unyielding mountain.

When the 4,273-foot Blue Ridge Tunnel was completed in 1858, it was the longest railroad tunnel in North America. Construction was overseen by Claudius Crozet (yes, the town was named for him), a French immigrant and highly trained engineer. When the eastern and western tunnel crews first connected, the two sides were only a few inches off. But it took years before the tunnel was up and running, and Crozet, fed up with management problems, public pressure, and criticism, eventually resigned—three months before the tunnel’s grand opening. He didn’t get to ride on that first ceremonial train.

The Blue Ridge railroad tunnel was in service for 86 years—it closed in 1944, when an adjacent tunnel designed for larger locomotives was completed. In 2007, CSX generously donated the property to Nelson County. The Blue Ridge Tunnel Foundation, including representatives from Albemarle, Nelson, and Augusta counties, the City of Waynesboro, and local community organizations, was set up in 2012 to develop community support and funding. The opening last weekend was the culmination of more than a decade of that work.

The trail is now open every day, sunrise to sunset. Nelson County Parks and Recreation Director Claire Richardson recommends checking the department’s Facebook page or website before coming, since there may be occasional closures due to weather or maintenance. There are access points at either end (one in Nelson, one in Augusta), with small parking lots and half-mile approach trails leading up to the tunnel entrances. (Word to the wise: The western approach trail is much steeper than the eastern one.) Bring a flashlight, headlamp, or lantern for safety, and a jacket for comfort; the crushed gravel path can be uneven, so wear decent walking shoes. And bring your mask.

But mostly, bring your sense of wonder: at this area’s natural beauty, at a remarkable human achievement from 160 years ago, and at a marvelous opportunity to visit a world we don’t usually get to see—unless we’re salamanders or crayfish.

And, as Richardson says, “Stay tuned for Halloween 2021.”