"A pipe? Impossible! And in the middle of the carnival?" -Edgar Allen Poe, The Cask of Amontillado
During the summer months, the city of Niagara Falls, Canada, is nothing short of madness. Actually, it's pretty chaotic for most of the year, but in the Summer everything becomes amplified. The drunks are rowdier, the music is louder, the clothes are trashier, and everything else is just plain tackier. As Kowalski commented, it must drive the Americans nuts to have to look over across the river every night and witness the normally reserved Canadians out-Americanizing them on every level.
However, for all its manufactured delights, one is never more than a commemorative water bottle throw away from finding bona fide adventure. You just have to a) know where to look, and b) de-program the part of your brain that says "you can't go in there."
Providing the framework for fun are two decommissioned hydroelectric generating stations. Drawing power from the elevation difference provided by the Falls, The Toronto Power Company (found upstream from the cataract) and the Ontario Power Company (located near its base) are both now over a century old. At the time of their construction they were at the forefront of engineering, and even today they're probably the most impressive places I've been fortunate enough to be able to access.
Both stations are deceptive in appearances. Beneath the Toronto station lies an eight story deep pit allowed water from the river to drop down through the turbine blades below. Even deeper are two brick-lined tailrace tunnels that eventually meet to form a single 30 foot wide conduit, which discharged water out somewhere midway up the Horseshoe Falls.
On the other hand, the components of the Ontario station are spread out over a much wider area to the point where it's not at first obvious just how extensive this network really is. Some of the larger components (the station's main office and distribution house) have been demolished over the years to make way for things like casinos and who knows what else. Others remain intact or have been retro-fitted, most notably a large surge tank that now houses the large xenon bulbs illuminating the Falls.
Over the past year, I have been interested in three large distribution tunnels, the largest of which is 20 feet in diameter. Water entered these tunnels through a structure known as the gatehouse located upstream from the Falls, then traveled down a slight slope for about a two kilometers before dropping 200 feet through the penstocks and eventually reaching the station's turbines below.
The other weekend at the Falls, Teri and I were headed back to our car, when I noticed a couple of four foot high raised manhole shafts sitting right in the middle of the parking lot. One was used to hold a traffic sign but the other had a heavy lid with “OPGS” stamped on top. I was able to lift it an inch or so, just enough to know that it wasn't bolted or welded in place, while Teri gave me her disapproving "not now" face. My claim that "You could probably get into the tunnels through those things." didn't seem to help the situation any. We continued on back to the car.
After we got home, I emailed Kowalksi about the lids and he wrote me back:
“Regarding those raised shafts, I think we did lift one open slightly once and found that it had a second lid a few feet down. We determined it would be a serious operation to gain access through there, not exactly doable in a minute or two of frenzied action and far too visible to everything passing us on the parkway. The *better* possibility for getting into the intake tunnel would be to climb the larger of the two overflow tunnels that come out the front of the plant.”
But of course. And so it was last Saturday evening, after the long trek down, that Kowalksi, Dusty and I, found ourselves in front of the station in an attempt to climb these overflow pipes.
From the shoreline of the Niagara River, the view of the station together with the Falls is breathtaking. I’m sure the building was intended to look Romanesque, but there’s something about it that makes it seem more like an Egyptian temple. Compared to the more refined beauty of the Toronto station, this one always strikes me as being the hardened evil twin. It’s not something you can appreciate (let alone see) from the Canadian side until you’re right down there on the lap of its spillway.
Not wanting to waste any time, the three of us made our way over towards the outfall of the larger of the two overflow pipes, taking care not to slip on the rocky outcrops that we’d occasionally have to navigate. The vegetation here seemed unique; not surprising given the level of moisture that’s forever in the air as a result of the neighbouring falls. Some plants were thorny, others thick, rubbery and robust; a far cry from the tamer botanical offerings found at street level. It felt as though I was on another planet.
Overflow Pipe #1
After a short jump down a rounded concrete channel, we arrived at the entrance of the larger of the two overflows: a thick rusted 100 year old steel pipe, three meters wide with a small stream of water and strip of green grass growing out from the sediment in the middle.
Michael had been inside here before, but only went up part way. We knew that after ten meters or so of relative flatness, things would really start to angle upwards, somewhere between 45 and 50 degrees. Normally that sort of slope would present a challenge. Even the dinkiest little concrete incline in storm drains can cause one to fall ass over tea kettle if not careful. In the case of this particular pipe, though, the rusted steel provided a nice, evenly abrasive surface. So long as I kept my weight ahead of me a little and watched for sections where debris had collected, things were fine, even while carrying a fair amount of gear on my back.
175 feet upwards and two rests later, the pipe started turning right. Further up around the bend was Kowalksi who I heard ask “What the hell?” When I finally caught up with him I saw what was so confusing. The pipe gradually widened and changed into what was essentially a big square chamber with a divider running down its middle forming two channels. Looking up we could see the sky. We had no idea where we were. We later found out we were standing right underneath the middle of this building, the one that's currently used to light up the Falls.
Unfortunately that’s as far we were going to get though. The 90 degree walls had no ladders and were unscalable. Feeling slightly dejected Michael and I decided to take a few pictures looking back down through the anatomical looking conduit we were standing in. A few minutes later we started making our way back down: a bit trickier than the ascent, but still manageable so long as you took your time and watched your footing. Hiking boots: essential.
Overflow Pipe #2
After getting back to the outside world, we decided to take exterior shots of the station; not so easy given the Falls made it seem as though we were standing in a rain storm. I couldn’t keep my lens dry and had to settle for some rather sketchy looking photos that probably weren't quite the risk of getting spotted while essentially light-painting the entire front face of the building. Next time I think I'll heed Kowalksi's advice and take photos before they kill the lights on the Falls. Everyone loves pictures of the Falls. Even me, sometimes.
The second overflow pipe was roughly the same angle, but about a meter or two less in diameter. There was less air coming down through it which I took to mean that it wasn't going to be open at the top like the last one. I was hoping for something different than the last one. Pressing on up the incline, things started to get a bit complicated, when the pipe gradually became partially lined with concrete. There was only a small stream of water coming down through it, but it was enough to make things just a little bit too slippery. I had to get down on all fours to continue any further.
Eventually the pipe started opening up and curving to the right. At this point it was full-on concrete. Kowalski, who was squatted about 30 feet behind me, slipped a few feet then came to a stop. It was at this point that he decided to turn around, sensing that his treads boots weren't going to be enough to get him any further. I crawled up another dozen or so feet, just enough to catch a glimpse of where this particular pipe was leading: right into the big round surge tank.
There was a metal barricade cutting across the bottom, but it was high enough to climb over. I wanted in. Unfortunately, as things were getting a bit steeper, debris and my two year old boots were starting to get the better me. I started sliding, but managed to prevent myself from going any further by using the slight curve in the wall. I decided that I had officially reached my limit. I slowly baby-stepped my way back down the pipe and back out to the front of the station where Kowalksi and Dusty were waiting. We exchanged personal slipping stories and agreed that if we are ever able to get into that particular surge tank, we would have to go out and buy new boots.
We treked back out, up the long hill, past the entrance to the Maid of the Mist, back through the madness of Clifton Hill, made even madder by the number of drunks that were now busy poring out from the closing bars. We were filthy. We were covered in mud and rust and I felt like I just returned from fighting some sort of war: Man VS Engineering. We eventually found our way back to the car, drove off and by 5:00 AM, we were back in sleepy Toronto.
