The Peter and Gertrud Klopp Family Project

Reflections on Life, Family and Community

Monthly Archives: March 2017

Chapter 27 of the Peter and Gertrud Klopp Story – Part I

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The Voyage

There is a tide in the affairs of men.
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat,
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

Shakespeare

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Giessen Theatre – Photo Credit: Wikipedia.org

Travel Preparations and a  Farewell Speech on a Vinyl Record

The day after Biene had returned home, Adolf took my sister Eka and me on a whirlwind tour to Berlin, where we saw for the last time Aunt Alma and her family. On the way back we dropped in at the apartment of our brother Karl in Braunschweig, where he had recently embarked on a banking career at a local bank. There in the beautiful apartment we spent a few days with our brother, his wife Ingrid and their little baby daughter Annekatrin.

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Adolf Standing in front of the Giessen Travel Agency

Back at home we directed our attention to the task of getting our belongings packed and ready. Our tickets for the voyage to Canada included the shipping charges for the wooden crates that contained all our personal effects. Almost too late we found out that we were responsible for moving them to the travel agency in Giessen. Almost instantly arose a heated argument among the hot-tempered siblings, myself included, as to whose fault it was for having overlooked such an obvious problem. Accusations were flying back and forth. It seemed that each one of us was on a faultfinding mission. Of course, no matter how hotly we debated the issue, the heat of the arguments would not move our big, heavy crates to Giessen.

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Problems Worked out over a Mug of Beer

Fortunately our cousin Jürgen arrived just at the right time and helped diffuse a potentially explosive situation. He suggested a cooling-off period for the enraged brothers. In Giessen we dropped in at the ‘Vienna Forest, a popular restaurant, where they served us grilled chicken and beer. Tension and lingering hostility abated quickly at the same rate as our stomachs filled with delicious food and copious amounts of beer. Now we were ready to tackle the shipping in a more amiable environment. Jürgen had just made the acquaintance of a fellow student, who would be willing to provide his old and dilapidated VW bus for the crates. After a few more drinks at a roadside fast food outlet we were going to announce the good news at home. However, the pub, ‘The New Homeland’, was still open in Watzenborn. We thought a few more beers would not hurt and would definitely clear away the last little bit of rancour, before going home. So we finally arrived in a fairly boisterous mood. Everybody had already gone to bed. But this did not prevent us from loudly announcing to Eka that we had found a solution to the shipping problem. We all withdrew into the furnace room, which with its excellent sound-proofed walls offered a modicum of protection against the noise. Befuddled by all that beer I played the guitar rather poorly often missing the correct fret, while Adolf sang the song merrily out of tune with the chords I was playing. In the meantime  Jürgen and Eka had an animated discussion on the poor timing of our nocturnal arrival. Not receiving the appreciative reception that we were expecting, we decided to spend the night at Jürgen’s place in Giessen and slept for want of something more accommodating all three in one bed, but not before having a taste from the bottle of whiskey that happened to be there for this crazy occasion. Next morning (or was it noon?) Adolf and I, feeling somewhat remorseful for our rambunctious behaviour the night before, drove home quite willing to accept any criticism with a repentant heart and to make amends by getting the crates ready for shipment.

Record

In the turmoil of the endless visits of well-meaning relatives and friends, who all came to say good-bye, I still managed to keep up the correspondence with Biene, although it was almost impossible to find a quiet corner in the house. I had  made a recording of a few simple classical guitar pieces that I felt were good enough for her to listen to. In addition, I recorded a farewell message on tape and mailed it together with the music to a company in France to have it pressed onto a vinyl record. A few days before our departure date the record arrived, which I embellished with some pretty labels and redirected it to Biene’s home address. It so happened that on the very day we boarded the Canada bound vessel, the ‘Ryndam’, she received my gift.

The recording sounds a bit scratchy. But what do you expect from a 50-year old vinyl record?

STEEP AND CROOKED … by Late Writer, Artist & Castle Builder Bill Laux

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THE MINING RAILROADS OF THE CANADIAN BORDER

 By Bill Laux

CHAPTER TWELVE

JIM HILL BUILDS TO PHOENIX 1903 – 1905

eholt.jpg

It was certain that as soon as Jim Hill got his tracks into Grand Forks and around Observatory Mountain to the Granby smelter, he would begin building to Phoenix.   From the days back in the 1870s when he took over the ailing St Paul and Pacific, Hill had maintained that, “every mile of track must pay its way.”   So, with his “Third Main Line” plan, he intended to make every mile along the VV&E pay by competing for every carload of traffic offered.   As well, Hill had bought heavily into Granby, seeing its smelter as a market for coal.   He had bought an interest in the Crowsnest Coal Company in the East Kootenay, and built a railroad from his main line to its operations to supply his locomotives.   Hill could move Crowsnest coal over his water level routes to the Granby smelter, while the CPR route had a 30 mile barge trip plus climbs over two mountain ranges on 2.2 percent grades.

As soon as the Hot Air blockage was removed by Holland’s compromise, the VV&E men began bridging the Kettle River and laying track north toward the smelter. Just outside the Grand Forks municipal boundary, a wye was installed, called Columbia Junction.   From the east leg of this wye, track extended down what is now 68th Avenue, and a station built at Boundary Drive.   On the west leg of the wye, the station of Weston was established with a five track yard, a locomotive servicing facility, coal bunker, water tank, and engine house.   This line continued northwest, and

at mile 2 (Km. 3.2), from Cooper’s Wye (now called “Big Y,”) where the Grand Forks line diverged from the main line to Curlew and Republic, another wye was laid, called Copper Junction.   The east leg of this wye, at mile .6 (Km. 1), bridged the CPR line with a 1000 foot trestle and single span Howe truss bridge.   The grade then went around the east shore of Ward Lake and paralleled the CPR smelter spur on a slightly higher alignment just a few feet south.   At the North Fork (Granby) River, a trestle and two span Howe truss bridge, 660 feet in all, bridged both the CPR smelter spur and the river.   On the north bank the VV&E ran parallel and just uphill of the CPR line into the smelter yards at mile 3.3 (Km. 5.3), from Copper Jct.

Hill then set his men to grading a loop from the west leg of the Copper Jct. wye to climb around Eagle Mountain and enter Fourth of July Creek.   This was slow work since much of the grade had to be blasted out of granite bluffs.

While Hill’s men were methodically grading toward Phoenix, expecting to reach the camp in 1904, Nichols and the New Yorkers who had bought Granby, decided to Americanize the company.   With an American railroad shortly to be completed from the Phoenix mines to the smelter and to Spokane, they saw no more need to conciliate the Canadian Pacific or their Canadian directors.   In June, 1904, Nichols requested the resignations of Granby’s Canadian directors.   All but one, Robinson, resigned.   In their place, the American directors made Abel Hodges, whom Graves had hired in 1898, Granby’s General Superintendent, reporting directly to the board.   Jay Graves kept his vice-presidency, and became non-resident General Manager.   Yolen Williams, Graves’ trusted lieutenant, was retired and given the honorary position of consultant.   That Graves held his place at all was due to J.J. Hill, whose man, George Baker Jr., represented Hill on the board.   Hill’s interest, though studiously and repeatedly denied by the company, was quite evident. Graves, for his own purposes, floated the legend that he, through Granby, was the trusted associate of J.J. Hill.

With his line to the smelter, Hill had captured the Granby coal market with his lower rates.   Now his men were on their way to Phoenix where he intended to take the ore haul away from the CPR as well.   The VV&E grade, which is very visible today from Highway 3 just west of Grand Forks, climbed Fourth of July Creek toward Summit Camp, on the divide between the Brown’s Creek and Eholt Creek. Here, at mile 14.3 (Km. 23), a station called Hale was laid out with a 2000 foot passing track and water tank.   The loaded ore trains would take the siding here, while the up trains passed.   At mile 15.9 ( Km.25.6) the track passed right though the Oro Denoro mine, a large and irregular glory hole, with a 1000 foot siding for loading ore and a station named Denoro.   The CPR’s Phoenix line was just a few feet uphill, climbing in the opposite direction.

At mile 16 (Km. 25.7), and the Emma mine, the VV&E tracks passed under the CPR trestle bridging the gulch.   An interchange to the CPR was laid here, and the place was called Coltern (the CPR called this point B.C. Junction).   Now on the north slope of Montezuma Hill, and running west on a continuing 2 percent grade, the line crossed the canyon of Glenside Creek at mile 18.1 (Km. 29.1) on the huge, Deadman’s Creek trestle, 672 feet long, 195 feet high, and built on a 14 degree curve.

A loop into Providence Creek came next with another curving trestle at mile 21.4 (Km. 34.4).   Turning the corner into Twin Creek at mile 22 (Km. 35.7), the line came out of the dense fir forest and onto open, grassy slopes facing south.   The VV&E entered Phoenix on the 4300 foot contour, just above the road up from Greenwood.

Phoenix was built in a shallow gulch; the VV&E entered town with a wye on trestle work at the intersection of Dominion Avenue and Banner Street. The left leg led to the depot at mile 23.4 (Km. 38.8) and the foot of Phoenix Street.     The west leg of the wye crossed Twin Creek and climbed to a switchback at the 4400 foot level, and then ran back to the Idaho mine ore bunker at the 4500 foot level.   From this spur, a second switchback climbed the slope of Knob Hill, and reversed back to the Victoria ore bunkers at the 4600 foot level.   With the Americanization of Granby, the VV&E was invited to install loading tracks on the lower side of the Victoria mine ore bunkers, while the CPR loaded from the uphill side.   Here, an interchange track connected the two lines.

On February 15. 1905, the VV&E hauled its first train load of Granby ore.   By building a climbing spiral clear around the mountain on which Phoenix was located, VV&E engineer Kennedy had constructed a longer but easier grade than the short but steep CPR branch.   Both railroads now had their tracks at the mine mouths and ore bunkers of the Granby Company’s biggest producers, and it was clear that the lowest rates would determine who got the haulage.

With its 2.2 percent grades, the VV&E could bring down more loaded cars in a single train and haul more empties uphill.   That gave it a cost advantage over the C&W with its 3.4 percent grades.   The CPR typically ran ore trains of 15 cars down to Eholt; the VV&E ran 22 car trains down its grade to the smelter.   The CPR immediately reduced its rate for hauling Phoenix ore to the Granby smelter from $1.00 per ton to 25 cents, which President Shaugnessy agonized loudly, was “bare cost.”   If 25 cents was “bare cost” the previous $1.00 had represented a substantial profit.   But Hill was not to be outdone.   He reduced his rate below “bare cost,” and got the bulk of the traffic.      From 1905 on the VV&E was hauling 70% of Granby’s ore.[i]

Although running different routes, the two lines were almost exactly the same length.   The CPR line from Phoenix to Eholt was 9.7 miles (15.6 Km.) of 3.4 percent grade, plus Eholt to Smelter Junction, 12.5 miles (20 Km.) of 2.2 percent grade, plus 2.2 miles (3.5Km.) of nearly level grade into the smelter, 24.4 miles(39.1Km.), in all.   The VV&E had 22.3 miles (35.7 Km.) of 2.2 percent grade, Copper Junction to Phoenix, and 2.2 miles, (3.3 Km.) into the smelter, a total of 24.3 miles (39 Km.).   The CPR ran its short ore trains down to the Eholt yard, where they were broken up and separate cuts of cars made up made up for the four smelters to which they were consigned.   When a sufficient number of cars had accumulated for the Granby smelter, a train would be made up for that destination.   Cars destined for the Trail smelter would be attached to eastbound freights, those for the B.C. Copper or the Dominion Copper smelters, attached to westbound freights.

The CPR went after the traffic from those outlying mines not served by the VV&E.   From Hartford Junction, a spur was extended east .8 miles (1.3 Km.) to serve the Winnipeg and Golden Crown mines.     A short spur running south along the ridge top from Hartford Jct. reached the Buena Vista.   As previously described, other spurs served the B.C. Copper mine in Summit Camp and the Jackpot and Athelstan mines above Spencer.   In 1909 a short spur was built west from Hartford Junction to the terminal of an aerial cable way which brought ore down from the Boundary/War Eagle mine on the south slope of Knob Hill.

As the CPR line made the loop at Hartford and climbed the east slope of Knob Hill, short spurs ran in to the Rawhide, Gold Drop, Snowshoe and Curlew mines, all of which were big producers.   The west leg of the wye at the Phoenix station was extended down the north side of Twin Creek to reach the Brooklyn mine.   A few hundred feet west of the Brooklyn, it switch backed down to the Stem winder, below the Brooklyn.

Granby, however, was still the largest producer, with the VV&E loading at tunnels 2 and 3; the CPR at tunnel 2.   Hill’s line was tying Grand Forks and the Boundary District closer to Spokane and the U.S.   By 1905, the Hill lines had 60 percent of all classes of Boundary rail traffic.   The Rossland experience was being repeated.   There the steep Trail Creek Tramway had won the race to the mines, but the better engineered Red Mountain Railway took the bulk of the traffic and by far the most passengers who were bound for the American trading center of Spokane.   Now, at Phoenix, though the CPR had won the race and covered the mountains with its twisting spurs, the Hill line with its better grades and its direct connection to Spokane, was taking most of the business.

 

Chapter 26 of the Peter and Gertrud Klopp Story – Part III

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Last Rendezvous in Germany

Peter on the Left Walking out of the Falckenstein Barracks

The day of our official release from the West German Army had finally arrived. For the last time we stood in attention in front of the main building. One could easily spot the reservists and distinguish them from the soldiers on active duty by just looking at their clothes. We wore civilian clothes, while the others were standing in their uniform. In spite of all the drudgery during the past two years, it now felt good to have served one’s country. To prevent a war through the presence of a strong army as a deterrent to a would-be attacker was in my opinion far more important than being involved in a conflict with its horrors at the front line and with its casualties among the civilian population. I was grateful for the opportunity to spend my final six months in Marburg. I felt enriched by the outstanding technical training, blessed with a company of cheerful comrades, respected by a competent staff of officers and sergeants. Last but not least I was awarded a fine testimonial, which gave credit to my successful teaching assignments. Soon after the brief farewell speech and words of encouragements and good wishes by the commanding officer we walked through the open gate into momentary freedom until new duties and responsibilities – some of our own choosing, others forced upon us by circumstances beyond our control – would limit our choices all over again. But at this very moment we were truly free. I took the very first available train to take me home to my mother in Watzenborn. In an almost nostalgic mood I hummed in my mind: Parole heißt Heimat, Reserve hat Ruh!

Card Sent Home to announce my Coming

Biene’s reply to my long-winded exposition on love and faithfulness was very encouraging. She also confided to me that only two years prior to meeting me she was not even allowed to step outside the door. Her mother, to whom I will remain for ever grateful, worried a lot about her, kept a watchful eye, and thoroughly investigated, where she was going and with whom she was getting together. At that time quite a few dramas were rolling over the home stage. Biene admitted that during that time she was often in danger of being swept up by her impulsive and passionate feelings. Mother Panknin kept her from getting lost on the wrong path and made sure that her precious daughter would not be led astray by false emotions. But now it seemed that she had trust in her daughter. And even though she had never really got to know me, through the eyes of her daughter she seemed to have developed a favorable image of me. How else, so I asked myself, could she let her travel to me and allow her to stay overnight at a distant location? On Biene’s last visit, before I departed for Canada, with full support of her parents, she came to visit me for an entire week. Perhaps Herr and Frau Panknin shared Biene’s older sister’s view believing that once I was off to another country far away from Biene, our relationship would eventually fizzle out and die a natural death.

Peter and Biene in Front of Erna’s House in Michelbach

On Monday, April 5th, Biene arrived by train in Giessen, where I met her at the station. From there we traveled together to Michelbach near Schotten at the foot of Mount Vogelsberg. The week before I had given Erna, Father’s second wife, advance notice that we were coming for a visit. She knew that this would be the very last time Biene and I would be seeing each other before my voyage to Canada. Even though she was still mourning over Father’s sudden and unexpected death the year before, she did her best to make us feel welcome in her so typical cheerfulness. Everything was prepared for a comfortable and enjoyable stay for us. I was going to sleep in Father’s bedroom upstairs, while Biene was sleeping in the guest room.

Erna, Father’s second Wife, on the Left with her Friend Friedchen Langlitz

After a good night’s rest and a hearty breakfast, Biene and I decided to hike up to the Hoherodskopf, one of the higher peaks of the Vogelsberg Mountains, a 2500 square km terrain that was formed totally from volcanoes some 19 million years ago. This volcanic region has been long extinct. It had created one of the most amazing basalt rock formations anywhere in the world. But on this wonderful April day we were not going to study geology, we had better things in mind. We were more interested in each other’s company, living in the here and now, savouring each precious moment. It was cool, but the sun shone brightly over the park like landscape. Thunderclouds arising above the western horizon lent the vernal panorama a dramatic effect. We were grateful that we encountered very few people on our leisurely stroll, as it was early in the season. There was nothing that would disturb the warm, tender feelings we felt for one another. This was also not the time to look back at all the obstacles, challenges, and problems that we had to deal with in the past. We had mastered them and had set them aside not allowing them to interfere with our blissful state of mind.

Biene on our Hike to the Vogelsberg Peak

There was no need to talk. Our hearts and souls felt at one. We reached the top just in time to find some shelter from a heavy downpour that was threatening to spoil our outing. Near the peak of the Taufsteinhütte we stepped into a cozy restaurant by the same name, when the first raindrops began to fall. The dining area created that special kind of ambience so conducive for a romantic get-together, each table place at a window with a view over the spectacular scenery. Just then lightning lit up the dark clouds. Then followed the rumbling of thunder in the distance. I ordered a bottle of Mosel wine to celebrate and drink to our love that had carried us so far and would help us bridge the long time of separation ahead. For on this day we had not only climbed Mount Voglsberg, but even more importantly we had also reached a new pinnacle in our relationship. The rain was now coming down in buckets. Thunder and lightning engendered an electric atmosphere. In a strange mixture of fear and passion it made us move closer together. In the spirit of ‘carpe diem’ we did not gulp down our wine as if in hurry, instead we sipped the sweet wine from the Mosel valley to make the moment last. We almost wished that the storm would last forever. At least for the moment, time appeared to stand still. When we tasted the last drop, the storm and rain had subsided and had moved on. Erna, having worried about us, had sent a neighbour to pick us up in his car. We reluctantly got up and with a feeling of regret let the neighbour drive us back to Michelbach.

Schotten – April 1965

On the following day Biene and I promenaded down to the quaint town of Schotten with their timber-frame houses so typical of this region. Biene was quite excited and full of anticipation. For I had announced that I would buy her a mystery gift. Of course, I could not tell her what it was; after all it was supposed to be a mystery gift. Biene behaved as if she knew the secret. Therefore, she kept her innate curiosity for all things unknown to her in check. If I had a picture of us two walking into town, I would in a comic-book-like fashion place two speech bubbles above our heads. The one above Biene would say, ‘Today is the day Peter will buy me an engagement ring. I will be so happy!’ And my bubble would say, ‘Today is the day I will buy her a genuine Hohner harmonica. She will be so happy!’ Had I not played the mystery game, had Biene said just one word, I would have bought the ring and put it on her finger for everyone, her parents, friends and all would-be suitors to see that she was engaged. Instead she was now in possession of a fancy harmonica that could be played on both sides in keys C and G. Biene looked pleased and even appeared happy, but I am sure that deep inside she was also a bit disappointed. What I could vaguely at the time was that we could have saved ourselves a lot of pain and agony in the not too distant future, if we had been able to communicate with each other just a little better.

Michelbach, the Little Village, between Schotten and Vogelsberg Mountain

It was the night before we had to head back to Mother’s place at Watzenborn Was it the moon, or the noisy cats prowling and meowing in the attic, or fear of the unfamiliar surrounding, or romantic passion stirring in us? Perhaps all of these things! The plain fact, however, was that we could not sleep. With the two upstairs bedrooms so close to each other it would have been so simple on any of the three nights to yield to temptation. But we did not. I would be a hypocrite, if I was going to explain our conduct in terms of a moral victory. It just happened, almost certainly for our own good.

 

Our Son’s Guest Post on Norway

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A Bridge of Stone in Norway

by Robert Klopp

As my father turns 75 this week, I felt compelled to finally fulfill a promise to make a contribution to his Blog with a personal narrative, touching on some of his favorite themes: history, heritage, and family.

Fjord

Several months ago I received an invitation to visit Norway to attend a conference. I usually would not attend such things, but I had some vacation to use up and going would give me an opportunity to meet up with a school friend that I hadn’t seen in almost exactly 20 years. So I registered and when the time came, I headed north.

Travelling in Norway can be strange sensation if you have grown up or travelled in British Columbia, as there are times you would swear you have just been teleported there.   (There are of course many areas that are uniquely Norwegian.)   Having visited the city of Stavanger, I was now driving east to Oslo where I had to be at the end of the week. The weather was what it should be near the beginning of spring, grey and rainy bordering on snow, so I was considering leaving the country roads I was on and getting on the main highway to drive through to Oslo, to spend an extra day there.

Norway1

For some reason, shortly before getting to the highway, I decided to stop at a geographic tourist information point. The map contained many geologic points of interest of the area. I gave it a quick look and was about to go when something caught my eye: a place named “Terland klopp” and it wasn’t far from where I was.

Norway2

So off I drove, curious to what I might find. As I headed inland, the landscape quickly changed. I crossed the main highway and the road became smaller and traffic almost disappeared. Thinking I had missed the location of which was likely to be only a small historic site; I was already looking for an opportunity to turn around. Fortunately this was not possible due to the road improvement work that was in progress.

Just then, over the river to my right, a stone pedestrian bridge appeared. Impressed at this beautiful simple structure in the middle of nowhere, I stopped in the only space available and got out. A sign, in three languages, provided some information. Terland klopp was built about 200 years ago – the longest bridge of its kind in Norway.   There was no information on who built it – but I figured it could have been named after the builder, or perhaps one of the main users.

Bridge

After having photographed it from as many vantage points as possible, I explored a bit more. Heading further up this valley, the dark granite walls on either side continued to rise and became steeper.   I soon reached a pair of lakes.   These mirrored the extreme calmness I felt around me. I stopped to take it in as everything, the lakes, mountains and fog blended into each other, part of each other.

Regular readers of this blog will know that my father lives in a fairly sparsely populated area of British Columbia. And while this particular region of Norway is more like the coastal areas of British Columbia, I couldn’t help but think that perhaps there would be something here that would explain the deep attachment of my parents to the place which they eventually made their home.

Egersund, which is the nearest major town to the bridge, is an ancient port on one of Norway’s best natural harbors. It was named after an Oak forest that used to exist there.   Historically people have lived here since several hundred years BC.   As a historical reference marker typical of Europe, the first church is mentioned in 1292. The ancient Norwegians (aka the Vikings) had travelled extensively and had been known to cross and settle in Northern Europe – perhaps there was some ancient link?

Ship

I finally got on the highway to Oslo.   Later in the week, I hit the internet trying to find further potential links to this region, either through language, person, or history. It took some time. With some careful research over the next days the mystery was solved.

As it turns out, the key was located right next to the bridge.

Map

Across the 42 “Sidalsveien” road I was travelling on is a smaller one called “Terlandsveien” that leads up a hill to some farms.   In Norwegien, “-veien” is fairly common suffix that translates to –you guessed it- , road. So if “Terland” is the name of the road, it was also the name of the bridge. But Bridge in modern Norwegian is “Bro” and “Bru” in ancient Norwegian, so what exactly did the klopp mean?   Again the solution lay nearby, a small group of houses named “Kloppa”.   This translates to small bridge. Further searching also led me to “Kloppen”, which means footbridge in Norwegian.   So, with slight bitter-sweetness, I had found the explanation.

Epilogue: As I was shutting down my computer, I found a reference for a small community incorporated into Tønsberg, not far from Olso. Tønsberg is generally regarded as the oldest town in Norway. In the late medieval period it served as one of three Hanseatic trading posts in Norway, with ties to Northern Germany. Tønsberg is a part of Vestfold, which is mostly dominated by lowland and is among the best agricultural areas of Norway. And that community is called Klopp. And there is not bridge anywhere in the vicinity….

STEEP AND CROOKED … by Late Writer, Artist & Castle Builder Bill Laux – Chapter XI

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STEEP AND CROOKED: THE MINING RAILROADS OF THE CANADIAN BORDER

 By Bill Laux

Typical Trestle Bridge around 1900

Chapter XI

JIM HILL VS THE HOT AIR LINE 1900 – 1908

When the Canadian Pacific brought its Columbia and Western rails into Grand Forks in 1900, a civic dream was born.   In the euphoria of getting a railroad, a copper smelter, and a hug influx of miners, merchants and promoters, the citizens began to see their town as a second Spokane, the hub of an empire of mining, agriculture and industry.   Their location, with broad, easy valleys leading to east, west, north and south, suggested that it was the destiny of Grand Forks to become the center of a network of railroads.   Not cramped on a steep hillside against a lake, as was Nelson, nor on top of a wintry mountain, as Rossland, it would be Grand Forks, they believed, that would dominate southeastern British Columbia.

“The immensity of the ore deposits in the Boundary and Kettle River districts is almost unparalleled in history,” the Grand Forks Miner exulted in 1896.   The year following, the Miner’s pride soared to even greater heights as the editor counted the local “firsts.”

“…the first town in the Boundary to have a man found dead in his room in a hotel; the first to have a man publicly horsewhipped by a woman; and the first to announce the arrival of a pair of twins.”

Local prospector, R.A. “Volcanic” Brown, spoke of “a new type of city arising; one without any schools, churches, or banks, and served by four railroads running in from the four cardinal directions..”  Having witnessed the rise of Rossland from a handful of tents and log cabin to the fifth city in B.C. in a single year, Grand Forks’ dream seemed eminently achievable.   All that was needed was leadership.   Leadership and money.

The leadership presented itself in the person of Tracy Holland, a native of Ontario, who had come west to manage the affairs of the Grand Forks branch of his brother’s Dominion Permanent Loan Company.   Holland proposed that Grand Forks itself build Volcanic Brown’s railroads to the four cardinal directions with himself as manager.   He enlisted the support of his brother, Frederick in Ontario, and his Loan Company.   Their enthusiasm converted James Stratton, the Provincial Secretary of Ontario, Thomas Coffee, manager of the Toronto Trust and Guarantee Company, and George Cowan, a Vancouver lawyer.

Holland then went to work to secure a charter for the four railroads.   He gave them a bewildering confusion of names: Grand Forks and Kettle River Railway, to run east; Grand Forks and Republic, to run south; Kettle River Lines, to run west.   The skeptics of Grand Forks, wearied of Holland’s endless speechmaking, and interminable lobbying in Victoria and Ottawa.   Just another paper railroad, they concluded, and all of Holland’s projected lines, whatever its corporate title, went by just one name: “The Hot Air Line.”   The name stuck, and all of the chartered lines, Canadian and American, were known in the Boundary Country only as “The Hot Air Line.”   To avoid confusion, we shall refer to them by that name.

When Jim Hill bought the Vancouver Victoria and Eastern charter in 1902, his way was clear to enter Canada with his line from Marcus and build to the Phoenix mines.     He had chartered the Washington and Great Northern Railway to build the American parts of his line, and began from Marcus with a reaction ferry carrying the cars across the Columbia while the long bridge was being built, just as Dan Corbin had done six years before in Northport.   His graders followed the Kettle River north to the Canadian line at Laurier, crossed it, and then. under the VV&E charter, began working west.

At the same time, in Grand Forks, it appeared that after years of lobbying, Tracy Holland had actually succeeded, and had real railway charters in his hands. The delighted residents swung in behind him.   Amazingly, they now had charters for all those four railroads running to the cardinal points.   Volcanic Brown’s dream was becoming reality. In their enthusiasm, the City Council passed by-law No. 68 in December, 1901, allowing for the issuance of debentures to grant the Kettle River Railway $3,500.

Holland’s charters authorized him to build a fifty mile line north up the North Fork of the Kettle River to the gold mines at Franklin Camp.   A second line was authorized to run west to Midway.   A third would parallel the CPR tracks east to Cascade where a smelter was proposed to take advantage of the electric power that could be generated at that point from the falls of the Kettle River.   In addition, Holland had obtained from the Americans a charter for a line south to the new gold camp of Republic (Eureka Creek).   None of the charters provided land grants.   And the $3,500 from the city of Grand Forks would not build much of a railroad.   But there were the Ontario Banks supporting the scheme. And there was the CPR.   Its position would be crucial.   When the newly formed Hot Air Line issued construction bonds to finance their first line, the Canadian Pacific bought the bonds and quietly became the line’s sponsor.   With Jim Hill about to begin a fourth incursion into southern B.C. and the territory the CPR considered its own, the Hot Air appeared to be the tool with which to fight him from behind the scenes.

In Grand Forks, railroad enthusiasm became conviction, when, on August 31, 1901, the first contract for construction was awarded, and grading began on the line south to Republic, Washington.   This first Hot Air line was to run south from a depot on Fourth Street where the Boundary Mall now stands.   It was to cross the Kettle and turn west to enter the U.S.A. at Danville, and then south down the valleys of the Kettle River and Curlew Creek to Republic.   On the 28th of October the Hot Air’s first locomotive arrived, an ancient 4-4-0 of ungainly proportions and uncertain ancestry.   However, it ran, and a celebration was in order.   The townsfolk followed the local band across the Kettle River Bridge to the CPR siding called Cuprum, and here, leading citizen, John Manly, pounded down the first spike, while his wife who had left her horsewhip at home on this occasion, broke a bottle of champagne across the first rail.   The scoffers showed up as well — they always do — with a wagon on which was mounted a huge blacksmith’s bellows with the legend, “Hot Air.”

However, locomotive No. 1 had real steam up, not air, and demonstrated her ability by creakily moving off the CPR rails, and onto the very first lengths of steel of the Grand Forks and Republic Railway.   From the ragged sound of her whistle, No. 1 was there and then dubbed “The Tin Whistle,” and was known by that name rather then by her number, as long as she ran, creaking and screeching, up and down the riverside prairies of the Kettle River Valley.

All this civic jollification, the whistle blowing, the champagne and the speeches, ignored the ominous fact, that just twelve miles to the east, Jim Hill’s men were crossing the border into Canada and beginning to grade westward toward Grand Forks.   Jim Hill had announced that, he too, was building to Republic. It was not likely that the mighty “Empire Builder” would have any patience with a home grown railroad, its one engine and few hundred feet of track.   Holland, of course, knew Jim Hill was coming, knew his enormous power and influence.   Still, he resolved to take him on, head to head.   His silent ally was the CPR.   It had bought his bonds, and he counted on its continued assistance.   However, CPR support had its price.   At Cuprum, it did not permit the Hot Air to lay a diamond crossing of its tracks.   Instead, it required that the Hot Air trains switch onto its rails, run for a few yards on them, and then switch off to the south.   This ensured that the CPR could charge each Hot Air train crossing its rails, a switching fee, and as well it would get all the Republic ore to haul on its own rails the last few miles to the Granby smelter.

Holland had worked out a scheme to counter this.   The B.C. Government Mineral Reference Map No. 4A shows a Hot Air track diverging from the Republic line just 1/4 mile south of Cuprum and running east to cross the CPR and the Kettle River on a bridge to the east bank about where Johnnie’s Motel is today.   This was to be the Hot Air’s north line to Franklin Camp.   It would run up the east bank of the North Fork of the Kettle to the Granby smelter, and past it up the river to Franklin Camp.   This line was never built.   Perhaps Holland came to an agreement with the CPR about more modest switching fees to the smelter.   Behind the scenes, the CPR was definitely pulling the strings. When the first interest payment came due on the Hot Air bonds, Holland was obliged to borrow the money from the CPR to pay the interest due it. The relationship was clandestine, but essential to Holland and his railroad.

A photograph of Tracy Holland at this time shows a young man, smooth shaven, regarding the camera with steely eyes, a slightly amused expression, and wearing a slouch hat pushed well back on his forehead.   It is reminiscent of early photographs of Fritz Heinze, the same humorous and confident mouth, the same unwavering eyes, hinting at a willingness to take on any of the financial carnivores of the day.

Holland’s crews graded west from Cuprum to Carson and crossed the border.

At Danville they crossed the Kettle River with a two span Howe truss bridge, and a station was built just south of the present Lone Ranch Creek road.   The grade from Danville south is now State Highway 21.   Just a half mile north of the Curlew iron bridge, a rock cut to the west of the highway shows where the Hot Air grade gained elevation to recross the Kettle on another two span Howe truss bridge and a trestle across the low lying fields on the east bank of the river.

Behind Holland’s graders with their one, rickety steam shovel, came Jim Hill’s men with the finest equipment, first class engineering, and horses and scrapers hired from the Montana prairies.   To try to delay them, Holland and his backers fanned out through he Kettle Valley in Canada to persuade the farmers to refuse Hill and his VV&E permission to cross their lands. The VV&E charter, of course, gave Hill’s lawyers the right to expropriate a right of way across the lands of the uncooperative, but that entailed protracted court proceedings and long delay for every separate parcel of land.   Holland hoped that by delaying Jim Hill this way, he would get his line to Republic first and contract for the cream of the trade.

The Hot Air men dug industriously, the Tin Whistle bustled up and down the lengthening track, leaking steam at every joint, but bringing up ties and rails and trestle timbers.   Over their shoulders was always the shadow of Hill’s lawyers, working as speedily as the courts would permit, to acquire, farm by farm, the rights of way for their line to Grand Forks.   These lawyers in special trains hurried up and down the lines between Spokane and Grand Forks.   Deputies carried writs from American courts to Canadian courtrooms.   Canadian judges dismissed them as unenforceable in Canada, and issued their own writs, which were of course void in the U.S.A.   Judges in both countries chose to be insensible to the fact that their pronouncements had no effect in the other country, and continued to fire paper salvos at each other.   It was a grand game; the newspapers and the public loved it.   Deputy Bunce, or “Burns,” as the papers spelled his name, hustled the papers back and forth from one country to the other.   He was becoming an old hand at this business.

In spite of all the Hot Air Line’s haste, the promised completion date of January 1, 1902, came and went with the graders only at Curlew, half way to Republic.

Hill’s men were catching up.   Holland conferred with his lawyers, and new injunctions were showered on the VV&E.   One enjoined the VV&E from crossing the Hot Air’s tracks, which it would have to do if it were to enter Grand Forks.   A second prohibited the VV&E from trespassing on land owned by Tracy Holland and his friends.   As Holland was a principal in the Grand Forks Townsite Company, which owned the unsold lots, this effectively barred Jim Hill from entering Grand Forks.   The third action was a notice of a court application denying the legality of the VV&E charter.   This charter had lain dormant for five years before Hill bought it, with no construction of any kind except from some desultory grading down Penticton’s Main Street for the election of 1898.   It contained the standard phrase that, “…construction was to begin immediately and be prosecuted continuously.”   But the precise meanings of “Immediately” and “continuously” could become surprisingly elastic when the courts cogitated on them.   The lawyers for both sides saw real meat in the arguments, and settled in for a long winter of litigation, hurrying back and forth from Spokane to Grand Forks in their special trains.

The question of the validity of the VV&E charter was taken all the way to the Canadian parliament where its Railway Committee held up approval of the VV&E line until the matter could be settled. No railway line in Canada could be opened to the public until the Parliamentary Railway Inspector examined and approved it.   Hill continued to grade and lay tracks, but he was forbidden to operate trains for profit until the Inspector should authorize it.

It seemed that this charter dispute had Hill stuck, but he countered with an injunction prohibiting the Hot Air Line from crossing his right of way at Curlew where Holland’s line came off the bridge on a trestle and crossed over the W&GN line with another bridge to reach Curlew and compete for traffic there.   E. J. Delbridge, of the California mine, near Torboy, was already shipping ore by wagon to the end of the Hot Air track at Curlew for furtherance to the Granby smelter.   Three carloads, amounting to 105 tons, were the first of the Republic ores to reach the smelter, and returned $10,000 to the owners.   Other shipments followed.[v]   It was crucial to Holland to haul these ores and show some revenue for the new line.

A deputy (“Burns,” in the newspaper report, but possibly, “Bunce”) served Holland in his office with Jim Hill’s injunction forbidding the Hot Air to cross his line at Curlew.   Holland politely observed to Burns (or Bunce) that Hill’s injunction had been properly issued by a Canadian court, but Curlew was in Washington State, and no Canadian injunction could be enforced on American soil.   The deputy nodded.   The argument was familiar to him.   It was all beginning again.

For his part, Holland had his men work all night to bridge the W&GN grade at Curlew without physically touching it, and thus avoid a trespass.   At daylight the bridge was discovered, and the news went out to an angry J.J. Hill in St Paul.   Blunt instructions came back to Chief Engineer Kennedy.

On Sunday morning, January 5, 1902, when railroaders were darning their socks, playing cards, or tuning up their fiddles, a group of W&GN men were rounded up by their foreman and promised Sunday wages if they would walk over to the Hot Air’s bridge and tear it down.   The men harnessed a team of horses, put a chain on the bridge and tried to pull it over.   The bridge stood fast.   They then began making preparations to blow it up with gunpowder.   The noise of these efforts alerted the Hot Air construction camp nearby.   Putting down their socks and cards, the Canadians hurried to the site to repel Hill’s men and save their bridge.   A fight ensued with fists and clubs.   The Hot Air men were tenacious in defense of their bridge and gained the victory.   The Hill men were driven to some distance where they shouted insults and hurled rocks and bottles.   Tommy Hogan, timekeeper at the Hot Air camp, hurried to Danville to summon Tracy Holland.   Commandeering the leaky Tin Whistle, and with deputy Bunce at his side, Holland hurried to the scene.   He arrived to find his men still in possession of their bridge, and reached into his pocket for money to enable deputy Bunce, that experienced international enforcer, to hire armed guards to patrol the Hot Air bridge.

Lawyers swarmed eagerly on this legal tangle.   Holland’s men argued no trespass.   Though Mr. Hill might own his rails and ties and the soil they rested on, he did not own the air above them.   Mr. Hill could not forbid a bird to fly over his rails, nor could he forbid the trains of the Hot Air Line to pass harmlessly overhead.   Hill’s lawyers revived an ancient definition of private ownership, which stated that a man had exclusive use of his land, “down to the center of the earth and up to the sky.”

But now, with these weighty matters being chewed over in the courts, with Hill blocked at Grand Forks by Holland’s injunction, and Holland blocked at Curlew by Hill’s suit, all construction came to a halt.   The workmen gathered their effects and went home.   Only deputy Bunce and his hired bravos remained, huddled over a smoky fire in the January winds at the Hot Air bridge.

The situation alarmed those in Grand Forks who knew of Jim Hill’s stubborn and vengeful nature when crossed.   It occurred to them that if Hill were blocked out of Grand Forks, he might finish his line to Republic, which no injunction forbade, and ship Republic ore to the Northport smelter, all on his own rails, and leave Grand Forks out of the Republic boom altogether.   The Granby managers, Hodges and Jay Graves, found that an intolerable prospect.   They were eager for the Republic ores with their high silica and lime content which would flux the sulfurous Phoenix ores and reduce the amount of coal needed.   In an effort at a solution, Grand Forks mayor, James Anderson offered (or was persuaded) to step out of the 1902 mayoralty election and let Tracy Holland, the only other candidate, win by acclamation. But only if Holland allowed Hill’s railroad to lay tracks to the Granby smelter.   After a conference between Holland, Mayor Anderson, and J.H. Kennedy, chief engineer for the VV&E Railway, Tracy Holland signed an agreement.

“Grand Forks, B.C., Jan. 15, 1902  On behalf of the Grand Forks Townsite Company, I agree to allow the Vancouver,               Victoria & Eastern Railway and Navigation Company, possession of a strip of land one hundred feet wide, fifty feet on either side of their line as located across the lands of the Grand Forks Townsite Company for its spur to the land of the Granby smelter.   Said land to be paid for by the railway company, the price to be mutually agreed upon or decided by friendly arbitration in the same way as if expropriation proceedings were being undertaken, and the work of grading to be commenced by the said railway at once.“Tracy W. Holland, Managing Director, Grand Forks Townsite Company.”

It is not hard to see the hand of Jay Graves behind this agreement.   Graves had financial involvement in the Republic mines.   He was anxious that Hill’s tracks should reach Phoenix as soon as possible, so that competition between the two lines should reduce ore hauling rates, and allow Granby to ship lower grades of ore.   As well, Graves knew that Hill was buying Granby stock ever since Graves’ takeover proposal to him.   Soon J.J. Hill would have a seat on the Granby board; it was crucial to Graves to solidify his position with him since the New Yorkers who now owned Granby were ready to discard Jay Graves.

With the signing of the agreement, engineer Kennedy of the VV&E had his men begin bridging the Kettle River and scraping a grade into Grand Forks.   But if Jim Hill thought that he had disposed of the pestiferous Tracy Holland by elevating him to the Mayor’s chair, he was very wrong.   Although Holland no longer opposed VV&E construction through the Township Company’s lands to the smelter, there was still this pesky injunction forbidding VV&E rails to cross the Hot Air tracks south of town.   And there were still those stubborn farmers who continued to refuse to sell rights of way to Hill’s agents.   Tracy Holland was very sorry about these matters, he said, but he had no authority to dismiss them.   They would have to be resolved in the usual way, by application to the courts.

Hill was furious.   In St Paul he glared at his lawyers and demanded who was this gadfly, this nobody, this insignificant Canadian, standing in his way?   His lawyers argued for a more conciliatory policy.   Reasonable compromise might prove effective where intimidation had not.   Mr. Hill should try to win the sympathy of Grand Forks, not its hostility.   His real adversary was, after all, the monopolistic CPR, not this preposterous Tracy Holland.

Hill listened.   He called off his forces at Curlew, and let the Hot Air complete their bridge and enter the town. He permitted a second crossing, this time at grade, four miles south of Curlew at Pelham Flats.   Hill knew that no matter who got to Republic first, he had resources to beat the Hot Air in the end.   The important goal was to get those Phoenix ores.

The matter of dissolving that injunction against crossing the Hot Air tracks south of Grand Forks went to the B.C. Supreme Court on January 24, 1902.   Astonishingly, Holland, not in the least mollified by Jim Hill’s gesture at Curlew, succeeded in having the injunction upheld.   In fury, Hill thundered publicly on February 8, that he would give up the Boundary trade altogether and haul Republic ores only to the Northport smelter.   Grand Forks would not profit a nickel from any Great Northern connection.

Holland greeted Hill’s pronouncement with bland ingenuousness.   If Mr. Hill was truly abandoning his intention to enter Grand Forks, he told the press, then Mr. Hill could have no objection to the Hot Air Line beginning their new line east to Cascade by using Mr. Hill’s apparently now abandoned grade. Hill, of course, exploded in apoplectic rage at this.   He damned his lawyers gentle counsels and forthwith ordered his men back to the disputed line to claim it as their own.

Holland was having the time of his life.   His repeated tweaking of Jim Hill’s nose strikingly resembles Fritz Heinze’s amused twitting of the CPR’s directors in Montreal four year before.   Holland and Heinze were both young men with their own ideas, and like brash young men everywhere, delighted in having a run at the rich and powerful of their time.   Even Dan Corbin, though older and more conservative, seemed to have a zest for the game.   “I have had one satisfaction, in knowing that I gave the Canadian Pacific the toughest fight it ever had, and I am not through with it yet,” he said in 1898.

In the following months, a frustrated Jim Hill announced to the press this plan and that in continuing war of words.   He would bypass Grand Forks altogether, and build to Greenwood instead, to access the Phoenix ores from the west.   Or he would shift his line to the north bank of the Kettle and build into Grand Forks behind Holland’s line.   The CPR, which had its own line on the north bank, came to life at that , and told Mr. Hill, that, No, he would not do that under any circumstances.

Nothing that J.J. Hill could come up with budged Holland’s intransigence. Intimidation, brute force, political payoff, conciliation, all had failed.   At last he gave in. On April 5, 1902, he dissolved his expropriation proceedings against the Grand Forks farmers who stood in his way.   He paid their extortionate prices for a right of way.   Hill could afford the money, but the legal delays from January until April had given Holland’s men the time to run their track down the Curlew valley toward Republic well ahead of Hill’s forces, which had been unable to complete the grade from Cascade to Grand Forks. The Washington and Great Northern crews had been able to grade a line on American soil, down past Curlew, but since he had no right of way through Canada, engineer Kennedy had been unable to bring up ties or rails or bridge timbers to complete it.

From Curlew south, the two lines ran side by side, barely a hundred feet apart, their respective crews trading insults as to the character of each other’s work.   The fight at the Curlew bridge was not forgotten, and at the least provocation it broke out anew, just for the love of brawling.   At Curlew Lake, the W&GN grade followed the west shore of the lake, while the Hot Air grade climbed along the west slope to gain elevation.   Above Pollard’s it turned up Trout Creek for a mile to climb higher.   It then crossed Trout Creek on a high, curving trestle to reverse direction and skirt the lower slopes of Bald Mountain, still climbing.   Two miles on, it entered Barrett Creek, and four more miles brought it to the summit where it entered the drainage of Swamp Creek and reached the Tom Thumb mine.   The Tom Thumb was up on a granite bench just a few hundred feet south of the grade.   While it was not yet shipping ore, Holland rejoiced, believing he had “captured” the first of the Eureka Creek mines.

Skirting the swampy ground along Swamp Creek (North Fork of Granite Creek), the grade passed close by the Mountain Lion’s big mill.   The Mountain Lion had lots of ore stockpiled, awaiting the railway.   Holland was delighted; he had added a second mine, this one with hundreds of tons of ore to move.   All he needed now was rails to lay on his grade.   They were slow in coming.

Another 2-1/2 miles down Swamp Creek brought the graders to Granite Creek.   There, holding their elevation, they contoured around the slope on a level grade to be able to enter Eureka Creek a mile further on.   As they passed under Flag Hill, the line picked up a whole series of mines just above their right of way.   The El Caliph and Morning Glory were ready to ship as soon as the rails arrived and were spiked down under their ore bunkers.   Holland, desperately needing the revenue, ordered the track laying to begin, although the grade was not complete, either into Eureka Creek or to his proposed station in Republic.

Meanwhile the W&GN graders passed Curlew Lake and reached San Poil Lake at Torboy.   Ahead, they faced several miles of rock work to keep the grade on the rock bluffs above the San Poil River.   This slowed their progress.   They were well behind Holland’s men who had a far easier location with very little blasting required.   Still, Holland’s injunction held and no ties or rails could be forwarded past Grand Forks.   The W&GN line had a number of trestles across arms and bays of Curlew Lake still to build, but nothing could be sent up to build them with; this left three unfilled gaps in their grade.

On April 12, Holland, convinced he had won the race, declared the Republic and Grand Forks line completed.   Republic was hung with bunting, and the Hot Air got out locomotives No.2, and No.3, second hand ten wheelers, to run a special train with 300 passengers down to Republic for a “Calithumpian Celebration and Last Spike Ceremony.”

It was something of a surprise to the celebrants when the train came to a stop at the end of track, some five miles from Republic.   Well, yes, Holland admitted, the track was not yet quite complete.   But no matter. Stages were on hand to take everyone the few miles into town for the festivities.   And there, in Republic, in the middle of Clark Avenue, opposite the Delaware Hotel, were a pair of orphan rails mounted on twenty ties, ready for a final spike to be driven.

The crowd was in an optimistic and forgiving mood.   Yes, the tracks were five miles away, but here was the Grand Forks brass band rendering sweet sounds, and Lawyer Morris and Mayor Holland had a real gold spike and were about to drive it.   Why spoil a party, a barrel of free whiskey and a fine banquet with niggling details. Some allowance, they supposed, ought to be made for a homemade Hot Air Line.

So, the hoarse-throated orators pronounced, the bands played lustily, some fireworks were let off, and the crowds cheered.   The golden spike was hammered down, and everyone agreed that it was a dandy celebration, and exactly what they had come to expect from their own railroad.   And Tracy Holland, that nobody, from Grand Forks, Canada, had beaten — well, sort of — the great James Jerome Hill and his Great Northern Railway to Republic and the Eureka Creek mines.

One could believe it, perhaps, and toast the hometown boys while the fireworks and oratory lasted, and the free whiskey flowed.   But anyone who thought that J.J. Hill would accept second place in Republic, or anywhere else, was not thinking with a clear mind.

Jim Hill, that same April, ran out of patience with his lawyers.   They were costing him a fortune, and spending most of their time racing up and down the rails in special trains between the American and Canadian courts.   He now gave orders for his men to ignore the law, the Canadian courts, the several Grand Forks injunctions, and proceed regardless and with main force. The lawyers could deal with the consequences, if any. The VV&E workmen began to lay illegal rails toward Grand Forks. The lawyers assembled.   The special trains rolled and the matter entered the courts to wind its way slowly through endless legal cunctation.

Outside the courts, however, a real railroad was being spiked down, and on June 9, 1902, the Canadian Government’s Railway Inspector approved the 11 miles of VV&E railway in Canada, from Laurier to Carson, and ties, timbers and rails could now come forward to be spiked down on the grade to Republic.

During the April to June delay, Tracy Holland had found the rails he was missing and spiked them down.   The track was now complete, not to Clark Avenue in Republic, but to a station over on the west side of Eureka Creek above the present County Highway shops.   His track ran up the right (west) wall of Eureka Gulch as far as The Cove, with spurs down to the creek bottom and the mines along its course. To his consternation, Holland now found the mine owners unexpectedly coy about signing long term contracts for their ore.   They would ship a car at a time by the Hot Air, but for the rest, Jim Hill’s men were coming; they could hear their blasts echoing from the other side of Klondike Mountain.   The owners chose to wait and see what rates the competition would offer them.

This was ominous for the Hot Air.   Jim Hill’s tactic had always been to be the lowest cost competitor in any transportation market.   With his vast network of lines, he could underbid any short line in his way, and make good the loss by raising rates in markets where his was the only railroad.

Holland had done his best. He had run his rails up Eureka Gulch on a 2% grade, and dropped a switchback to the creek below to serve the Quilp, Black Tail, Lone Pine, Surprise, Pearl and Little Cove mines.   His main line ended at the San Poil mill in the Cove, the head of Eureka Creek.   For ore cars he bought or leased those home-made ore boxes on flat cars that the CPR had built in Trail in 1898 for use on the Rossland run.   It is not possible from the early photographs to tell whether they are still lettered for the CPR, or whether the Hot Air had ownership.

Holland had the Eureka Creek traffic to himself for just a few months.   By September, the W&GN had arrived.   They built a Republic station at the confluence of Granite Creek and the San Poil River, no nearer Clark Avenue than the Hot Air station over on Eureka Creek.   From their station, with its wye and water tower, the W&GN ran their tracks up the east side of Granite Creek, crossed it on a curving trestle that looped the line back on the opposite bank to climb to the Jim Blaine mine.   Here, the tail of a switchback ran to the mine, while the line reversed to climb upstream again, passing above the big Republic Mill and following the creek to a point opposite the Flag Hill mine.   At this point a high trestle looped over Granite Creek and brought their grade just beside that of the Hot Air at the entrance to Eureka Gulch.   As the Hot Air was already in place on the west wall of the gulch, the W&GN crossed the creek on a high trestle at the Quilp mine and ran up the east bank.   Coal and mine timbers were shot down a wooden chute from this trestle to the mine below.   Eureka Gulch was narrow.   Log cribs had to be built along both sides of the creek and filled with mine waste to hold the two sets of spur track that Hot Air and W&GN ran to each of the ten mines along the creek’s golden mile.   The four sets of tracks, the two main lines dug out of the canyon walls fifty feet above the creek, and the two sets of mine spurs, one on either side of the creek, filled the gulch completely.   There was scarcely enough room for the dirt road from town.   At The Cove, where the Hot Air line ended, the W&GN men threw a great, climbing loop around the perimeter of the meadow with a spur to the Knob Hill mine on the north.   It then crossed above the San Poil mill, and a switchback was laid to to reverse the line up to the top of The Cove past the Ben Hur mine.   Climbing out of the gulch, the grade skirted the south shore of Mud Lake, the source of Eureka Creek.   Past the lake, it entered the wide flat behind Knob Hill.   Here a wye was laid to turn the engines, with one leg running a half mile west to the Mountain Lion, and the other leg a mile north to the Tom Thumb.   Excepting the El Caliph, Morning Glory, and Flag Hill mines, Jim Hill had now run his own spur to every mine served by the Hot Air, and he was ready to underbid Holland for every shovelful of ore to be moved out of Republic.

There was still one problem.   The VV&E while complete from Laurier to Carson, had not yet been able to enter Grand Forks and run up to the Granby smelter. It was still fenced out by that injunction forbidding it to cross the Hot Air’s track.   Faced with hauling Republic ore 103 miles to the Northport smelter, as against the Hot Air’s 48 mile haul to the Granby smelter, Hill applied to the Railway Committee of the Canadian Parliament for permission to cross both the Hot Air and CPR tracks to enter Grand Forks.   He got parliamentary permission, but still the local injunction held against him.   Hill opted for main force, and so, after dark, on Sunday, November 9, 1902, his crews quietly laid a diamond crossing over the Hot Air tracks south of town.   Monday morning found the VV&E crews laying track across the bridge into town.   The Hot Air men responded by getting steam up in one of the Ten Wheelers and parking her squarely on the diamond, blocking the VV&E line.   Now the crews of both lines gathered at the obstruction, hefting pick handles, showing their teeth, and ready for a dandy fight.   Where was deputy Bunce?   Still guarding that Curlew bridge, apparently, twenty miles away.

As a crowd from town gathered around them,the VV&E men saw that the Hot Air had a large part of the citizenry behind it, and this was, after all, Canadian territory.   They considered the odds, and settled for packing their ties and rails around the obstructing locomotive by hand under the hostile scrutiny of the Hot Air men.

Chief Engineer Kennedy of the VV&E wired Hill in St Paul.   Hill wired back to Tracy Holland telling him that if he did not remove his locomotive forthwith, the blockage at the Curlew bridge would be revived.   A stalemate was not to the advantage of Holland now; he needed the revenue from the Eureka Creek ores he was hauling.   Reluctantly, he conceded.   The locomotive was removed, the VV&E entered Grand Forks, and proceeded to lay its own rails to the Granby smelter.

Hill, or his engineer, Kennedy, seemed to have learned one thing from this long standoff.   When his men were running their line to the downtown Grand Forks, and came to the CPR tracks, Hill did not attempt to have them force a crossing.   Although he had Parliamentary permission, the CPR was somewhat more powerful than that body.   Engineer Kennedy ended his track at the CPR rails and built his station there, at Boundary Road.   And again, when at Ward Lake, his smelter spur had to cross the CPR line, he chose to bridge it rather than rouse the Canadian Pacific to retaliation.   He crossed CPR rails once more at the North Fork dam on the smelter spur, where he threw a bridge across both the CPR line and the river in one leap.   These structures were costly, but Hill and Kennedy had learned something about Canadian stubbornness when aroused.

Now, with Hill’s line running direct to the Granby smelter, and his agents able to underbid the Hot Air for ore haulage from Republic, Holland seems to have chosen to retire from the fight.   He had beaten Jim Hill to Republic, but now the financial power of the Great Northern came into play against him.   The W&GN undercut his rates on Republic ores by dropping its charge to 75 cents per ton.   The Hot Air matched that.   Then Hill dropped his rate to 37-1/2 cents per ton.   Again, the Hot Air matched the rate.   Finally, Hill dropped his rate to 25 cents per ton.   That was below cost and unmatchable.   Moreover, Hill could move his cars direct to the smelter, while the Hot Air had to turn over its cars to the CPR at Cuprum and absorb the switching charge for moving the ore the last three miles to the smelter.   Hill gradually took away most of the ore business.   The Hot Air tried to stay alive by moving logs, lumber, sheep and whatever other traffic agent O.E. Fisher could scrape up.

The Hot Air had cost Holland and his backers $718,747 to build, and $43,190 to equip.   The Washington and Great Northern line, built to higher standards, had cost Hill $4,555,392 to build, equip, and defend in court.   Hill could not possibly recoup this expenditure by moving ore at 25 cents a ton, a mere $7.50 a carload.   But Hill could raise his rates on other lines to make up the loss. The Hot Air could not.   But by staying in business, however shakily, and moving small lots of ore at 37-1/2 cents, the Hot Air prevented Jim Hill for the next 18 years, from raising his rates to a profit making level.   The mine owners reaped the benefit, but it is not recorded that they manifested their gratitude to Tracy Holland in any tangible way.

Crushed by the ingratitude of the mine owners he had done so much to enrich, Tracy Holland resigned from the Kettle Valley Lines at the end of 1902.   His mayoralty was in trouble as well, A civic protest meeting was held to urge him to resign. He finished his term, but then, a defeated Tracy Holland left Grand Forks for Vancouver, to be heard of no more.   He had beaten Jim Hill, railroad Mogul, only to lose to Jim Hill, the financier.   His place at the Hot Air was taken by Republic lawyer, W.T. Beck.

Although Tracy Holland had departed, the Hot Air management was not ready to give up their dream of railroads running to the four points of the compass.   Hill’s VV&E, and the CPR had preempted the route east to Cascade, and the W&GN was beggaring the line to Republic with lower rates, but there still remained that projected line up the North Fork (Granby) to Franklin Camp and its gold mines, and an extension beyond to cross the Monashees and reach the Nicola Valley coal mines.   With coal in demand at the three Boundary smelters, such a line would seem to have an assured future.   A line was surveyed to Franklin Camp and grading was begun running north up Fourth Avenue from the Hot Air station.   Jim Hill made his enmity known at once.   He was still angry at the delays Holland had previously put in his path, and he would punish the Hot Air if he could.   Using the press, he announced that he would build a parallel line up the North Fork if the Hot Air dared to lay rails in that direction.   This was undoubtedly St Paul hot air, but no one could be sure.   Potential investors were scared off by Hill’s proclaimed opposition, and work was halted.

When the Canadian Government came through with a subsidy of $3200 per mile in 1906, work began again, and track was built up the North Fork.   But 18 miles from town, at Lynch Creek, the money ran out, and no more could be found.   There, the Hot Air stalled, until, some years later, under CPR management, it was extended another two miles to Archibald where a cable tram brought down fluorite from the Rock Candy mine to be used as flux in the Trail smelter.

The Hot Air made one more floundering attempt at their railroad empire.   Under the leadership of lawyer, W. T. Beck, of Republic, they renamed their line the “Spokane and British Columbia Railway, and projected an extension south from Republic to Spokane.   Jay Graves offered a loan of $50,000 from Granby to get the work started.   This extension, if built, would short-haul the Great Northern’s roundabout line to Republic, arousing Hill’s anger once more.   He sent his Spokane lawyers baying after the Spokane and B.C. like a pack of savage hounds and submerged the scheme in reams of litigation.   The Hot Air lawyers fought back.   Astonishingly, ten years later, they had won, but by that time the Spokane and B.C. was bankrupt.

The S&BC was the Hot Air’s last gasp.   Traffic on the Republic line had dwindled.   When the depression of 1907 hit the country, the Eureka Creek mines were unable to finance a needed conversion to low-grade ore mining and concentration.   Ore shipments to both railroads, which in 1903 amounted to 35,000 tons, with a value of $350,000, had declined by 1907 to a mere 195 tons with a value of $9,000.   In desperation, the Hot Air, using its CPR connections advertised a rate to the Chicago stockyards to attract local sheep men.   By using the CPR’s Soo Line to Chicago, the Hot Air would accept live sheep at Republic for delivery in Chicago at the rate of $1.00 per pound.   It was not enough.   Regular service was suspended in 1907, and maintenance could no longer be afforded.   The Hot Air would still run a train for any traffic that was offered, but that was all.

The CPR leased the Hot Air in 1908 for the sake of its charter, which still offered the right to build to the fourth point of the compass, west, to the Okanagan Valley and the Coast.   Using this Hot Air charter, and renaming the Hot Air once again, to “Kettle Valley Railway,” the CPR built from Midway through Penticton to Hope on the CPR main line.   Thus, by 1916, Volcanic Brown’s great dream was fulfilled.   Rail lines, though now, Canadian Pacific lines, were running in all the cardinal directions out of Grand Forks.   There was an irony in the CPR takeover, for, beginning in 1908, the Republic mines began to recover as concentrators were installed. The turnaround was dramatic.

From the 1907 low of 195 tons, the ore shipped rose to 584 tons in 1908, to 11,000 in 1909, and, by 1911, all previous records were bettered, with shipments of 44,000 tons, with a value of $868,000.   Still, this was split between the two railroads with Jim Hill’s W&GN getting much the larger share.

 

 

Frank Appleton – The Story about the Pioneer and Brewmaster of Canadian Craft Beer

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Brewing Revolution

Pioneering the Craft Beer Movement

 

This post is another addition to the growing list showcasing our local celebrities, who through their outstanding work within their own field of specialty have made invaluable contributions to our country. The following is the story of Frank Appleton.

“I was just one of the first to write an article that became a revolutionary pamphlet, it said something that many had thought—that good beer, flavorful and nutritious beer, had become debased. It had lost out to a mass-produced pale imitation of itself. The reaction was an idea whose time had come.”

THE INSPIRING STORY BEHIND TODAY’S CRAFT BEER revolution is the subject of this lively memoir by Frank Appleton, the English-trained brewmaster who is considered by many to be the father of Canada’s craft brewing movement. Appleton chronicles fifty years in the brewing business, from his early years working for one of the major breweries, to his part in establishing the first cottage brewery in Canada, to a forward look at the craft beer industry in an ever-more competitive market.

aPPLETON PHOTO

Frank Appleton

Disillusioned with the Canadian brewing scene in the early 1970s, where three huge companies controlled 90 percent of the market and marketers and accountants made the decisions on what products to make, not the brewmasters, Appleton decided to “drop out” and brew his own beer while homesteading in the interior of British Columbia. He made a meager living as a freelance writer and his article entitled “The Underground Brewmaster” sparked the interest of John Mitchell, co-founder of the Troller Pub in Horseshoe Bay, bc. Their partnership launched the Horseshoe Bay Brewery in June 1982, the first of its kind in the country, serving the iconic Bay Ale brewed from Appleton’s recipe.

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The entire Appleton family in Hoyne’s brewery, Victoria, BC

Covering a range of topics, such as the difficulty of steering beer drinkers away from the “Big Boys” breweries; and struggles with the bc Liquor Control Board, as well as brewing plant design and the complexities of the malting process, Brewing Revolution touches upon the foundation of what shaped the craft beer industry in Canada. Appleton’s passion and innovation opened the gates for the scores of brewpubs and microbreweries that were to follow in both Canada and the us, and his story is of interest to anyone excited by today’s craft beer revival.

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Frank Appleton and Sean Hoyne, one of Frank’s Protégés

FRANK APPLETON has been consultant brewmaster to twenty brewing operations, including consulting in brewery design, startup and brewer training. In 2009, Appleton received the Lifetime Achievement Award for Leadership in Craft Brewing from CAMRA Chapter Victoria. He lives in Edgewood, BC.

Edgewood local and craft beer pioneer Frank Appleton, author of Brewing Revolution: Pioneering the Craft Beer Movement (Harbour Publishing, 2016), is one of the front-runners for a prestigious national book award. Brewing Revolution is on the long list for the National Business Book Award, a $30,000 prize, which is given to the author of the most outstanding Canadian business-related book published in 2016.

Signed copies can be bought from the author for $25 plus $5 postage: Frank Appleton,’455 Robinson Road, R.R.#1, Edgewood BC V0G 1J0. The book is also available through the online bookstore amazon.ca.

 

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