SOFT RIOT / Brittania Beach

INDEXED IN «Brittania Beach»

18/08/10

Ocean Falls

It was almost a year ago that I scribbled out an ode to Sayward, this little spot of a town (village? clearing of trees with some houses?) that I lived in from when I was born until I was about two years old. At the time I was having some weird dreams about the place as I hadn’t been back there since I was, well, around the age that I left. The whole town had a vibe that can be best summed up as a Twin Peaks vibe; warm and friendly but surrounded by this beautiful yet unknown expanse of old, old wilderness.

This time around my prompt for writing is more physical; more tangible in nature — booking some autumnal flights back to the homeland for a visit with a non-Canadian visitor in tow. In anticipation of the trip the whole question of “what to do?” starts getting tossed around. How about seeing some crazy mountains? How about the cheap sushi? How about splitting a six-er of Kokanee? How about some gnarly old ghost towns? The first coming to mind being Brittania Beach, which is about a 30-45 minute drive north of Vancouver toward Squamish. Atmospheric could best describe the place, especially on a fog-laden day: the old mine (now a museum) looming over the town resembles a decaying staircase possibly used by ancient giants. In the foreground of this monstrosity is positioned what looks like a steroid-enhanced dump truck.

Brittania Beach

And what about other ghost towns? Some with stranger stories? As a young one I remember uncovering an old native village overgrown by moss in the rainforest and at the edge was a little mound that on top of it sat an ominous old well. Images of that and then looking down the bottomless well pop up in my mind from time to time, as well as rotting old mining foundations in the dark woods, passing by Haida burial grounds in the Queen Charlotte (Haida Gwaii) Islands, taking seaplane rides with my late father to random derelict forestry/fishing villages on the uninhabited west coast.

Until recently, I kept forgetting the name of this one town up far north; near Alaska — I remember seeing some amusing newcast about it years ago. “So, do you have two million dollars to buy a town?” was the snappy catch-line for this story followed by shots of a lone man riding a motorized lawn mower on some unkempt grass lining a street of houses that were totally empty. Then it cut to shots of the hotel, the shopping mall, the town hall, the grocery store — all empty. Everything looked “normal” except for the lack of people and the slight decay that was noticeable from the shots, but likely more decay would be evident upon closer inspection.

I’m not sure if two million was the exact figure but it looked like a good place to be to creep yourself out or to cut all ties from people.

From time to time I would humour myself and friends by saying some promoter with some money could drop a cool two million and buy the whole down and do some crusty, DIY music festival: the shopping mall could have the main stage and attendees could go from building to building to see a different show. The empty houses would be done up to house the festival goers or house some of the non-main stage events for the festival. Keeping the derelict look and feel somewhat intact for aesthetic reasons would make it all more chaotic. This all sounded like a good idea except for the two million dollars bit; that and it was only accessible by helicopter, small airplane, boat, or many hundreds of miles driving down a vomit-inducing gravel road.

What the hell was the name of this place? I found it recently. It’s called Kitsault (map location) and its history is interesting. It was built around 1979 or 1980 to provide housing for those employed at a molybdenum mine. The whole valley at the end of an inlet where the there was millions of tonnes of the stuff under the expansive old forest surrounding the settlement. The town at it’s height was about 1,500 people in population. A couple of years later, 1982 in fact, the stock prices on molybdenum crashed and the whole town picked up and moved and the town was abandoned. Unlike other BC towns that would demolish the houses and buildings before departure, this whole town was left intact.

And into the naughties the town was again in the spotlight, on sale again — no buyers the first time around — but this time for seven million. And to make things even more interesting it was bought by an Indian Canadian businessman/health care scientist called Krishnan Suthanthiran. His angle was to re-juvenate the town as a hot eco-tourism destination. Visiting the website, it seems like there’s an attempt to but a new-age meditation vibe into the town with its tagline “Heaven on Earth”, sections on “Wellness” and the managing body of the town named Chandra Krishnan Kitsault. Here are some photos (links from originating sites at bottom of this story) :

KITSAULT

Kitsault has an interesting history but Ocean Falls, in my opinion, looks for atmospheric and stunning. I’ve never been here before either although somewhat close passing by the remote island town of Bella Bella on a boat. Ocean Falls had a longer history; establishing itself in the early 1900s due to it’s hydro-electric potential being at a thin strip of land between two, totally separate inlets (map location). By the 1950s it got to it’s largest size, somewhere between 3500 and 5000 people and had one of the largest hotels in the province at the time. By 1970 the town started to decline and the town’s employer and owner started to pull out of the operation. By 1980 the mill had closed. Now the town has a few die-hard residents and from what I can find out has a max population of around 100 people or so — I’m guessing some of these residents are seasonal. Ocean Falls is only accessible by boat or seaplane. No roads — the town is tucked away in an endless expanse of formidable mountains.

Ocean Falls receives so much rain each year that residents are called “Rain People”.

Massive apartment complexes rotting away in the trees / Old mill floors covered in rust and eroded bits of metal / Paint peeling on the walls in dozens of buildings / Roots ripping apart foundations / White mist floating through the leaves and windows / Bears rifling through collapsing cupboards / The nearest town being many many miles away

There is a great atmosphere here — a great unshot photo essay — a great commentary on the industrial world forgetting a bit of itself and letting that bit get reclaimed by the remoteness of nature. There is one online presence for the town, a great archive, that gives the impression that it is a friendly and unforgettable place to visit, despite the eeriness the endless stockpile of photos — most of the following photos I have found from this particular site — would suggest.

OCEAN FALLS