Posted 2007-10-01. Tags: anymouse, bc, canda, mines, nut freezing cold, skaught.
Skaught and Anymouse suggested some winter mining might get the juices flowing and instill some respect for the mighty maple leaf. Not likely - they plaster it on everything that damn leaf will stick to. The Department of Homeland Identity (or wtf it's called) needs some imagaination. Even WcDonalds has adhered the maple leaf to their logo.
Western Alberta and British Columbia are home to the Rocky Mountains, thousands of acres of picturesque snow covered peaks and serenity. Below the mountains are just as incredible, vast underground caverns burrow throughout the mountains. I'm talking about mines. If you ever played Scorched Earth, the Heavy Sandhog is the mental image you want. Not the open cut junk seen so commonly today but glorious, old school mines haunted by the ghosts of carbide lamp sporting, pick wielding mountain men of years long past.
The entrance to mine itself is quite visible from the parking spot and I scoffed at the one hour estimate I'd been told it would take to reach. I could almost count the bars across the entrance. One hour my ass. Forty five minutes later I assumed the fetal position halfway up the mountain, waist deep in snow and breathed warm air into my feeble, bony fingers. I removed my undersized snowshoes, drove them into the snow wolverine style and hauled my sorry ass up towards the gaping maw of the mine portal. This is why nobody bothers to mine in the winter, it's a right bitch.
The mine fittings were never scrapped and the tunnels are littered with simple elements of the mines active past. Rusty rail lines snake through corridors of roughly cut exposed rock with the occasional ore cart. Sparkling ice formations fill the passageways and long wooden ladders traverse the great height between levels. Levels 1 and 2 are accessible through the entrance we used, access to the third requires further exterior ascent of the mountain. We rode the mine carts and rappelled a short shaft to poke around a drainage adit. The ore chambers are huge mineral rich spaces excavated by the miners. They're so large the sensation of being underground is lost and replaced with that of being inside a warehouse. The cosiness and closeness of drains and similar spaces isn't the forte of these mines.
We exited after dark and the snowy slopes glowed faintly from the few stars poking through the cloudy sky. A crisp wind whipped through the valley carrying light snow. With out snow shoes for mini sleds we skimmed down the mountain to reach the bottom in less than 10 minutes. One day I shall become rich by developing a gravity distortion field so one can sled effortlessly up mountains to mine portals. I suspect it's a lucrative market.
ds, January 2007
I'm kicking around in western Canada chasing the authentic Canadian experience. Even with a larger than life Month Pytonesque finger dropping from the sky it's elusive and difficult to pin down. For authenticity there must be cold - definitely frigid manhood shrinking cold. Next add a bunch of gorgeous snow covered mountains into the mix. Short of chugging maple syrup or getting freaky with a beaver (perhaps a beaver drizzled in maple syrup?) I about as close as I'm willing to get.
Skaught and Anymouse suggested some winter mining might get the juices flowing and instill some respect for the mighty maple leaf. Not likely - they plaster it on everything that damn leaf will stick to. The Department of Homeland Identity (or wtf it's called) needs some imagaination. Even WcDonalds has adhered the maple leaf to their logo.
Western Alberta and British Columbia are home to the Rocky Mountains, thousands of acres of picturesque snow covered peaks and serenity. Below the mountains are just as incredible, vast underground caverns burrow throughout the mountains. I'm talking about mines. If you ever played Scorched Earth, the Heavy Sandhog is the mental image you want. Not the open cut junk seen so commonly today but glorious, old school mines haunted by the ghosts of carbide lamp sporting, pick wielding mountain men of years long past.
The entrance to mine itself is quite visible from the parking spot and I scoffed at the one hour estimate I'd been told it would take to reach. I could almost count the bars across the entrance. One hour my ass. Forty five minutes later I assumed the fetal position halfway up the mountain, waist deep in snow and breathed warm air into my feeble, bony fingers. I removed my undersized snowshoes, drove them into the snow wolverine style and hauled my sorry ass up towards the gaping maw of the mine portal. This is why nobody bothers to mine in the winter, it's a right bitch.
The mine fittings were never scrapped and the tunnels are littered with simple elements of the mines active past. Rusty rail lines snake through corridors of roughly cut exposed rock with the occasional ore cart. Sparkling ice formations fill the passageways and long wooden ladders traverse the great height between levels. Levels 1 and 2 are accessible through the entrance we used, access to the third requires further exterior ascent of the mountain. We rode the mine carts and rappelled a short shaft to poke around a drainage adit. The ore chambers are huge mineral rich spaces excavated by the miners. They're so large the sensation of being underground is lost and replaced with that of being inside a warehouse. The cosiness and closeness of drains and similar spaces isn't the forte of these mines.
We exited after dark and the snowy slopes glowed faintly from the few stars poking through the cloudy sky. A crisp wind whipped through the valley carrying light snow. With out snow shoes for mini sleds we skimmed down the mountain to reach the bottom in less than 10 minutes. One day I shall become rich by developing a gravity distortion field so one can sled effortlessly up mountains to mine portals. I suspect it's a lucrative market.
ds, January 2007
