The Greenbrier River Trail is a 78-mile-long rail trail following the Greenbrier River and the path of the Chesapeake and Ohio Railway’s Greenbrier Division from Cass to Caldwell, West Virginia. Sections north of Cass are still in stages of operation as part of the Durbin and Greenbrier Valley Railroad. The trail crosses 35 bridges and travels through two tunnels as it meanders through some of the most remote (and peaceful and breathtaking) places in West Virginia.
Bridge over Knapp Creek, heading south out of Marlinton.
The West Virginia Encyclopedia recognizes that the Greenbrier Division differed from most other railroads in West Virginia because rather than hauling the state’s most famous export, coal, the Greenbrier Division was built and operated to support the burgeoning timber business in this remote section of West Virginia. Through the early 1920s, business thrived along the line, but the resource was almost entirely gone by the 1920s and demand from timbering interests dropped off. Traffic slowly dropped off until when in 1975 the Chesapeake and Ohio Railroad requested permission to abandon the line.
Water Tower Park, heading north on the Greenbrier River Trail from downtown Marlinton.
Marlinton retains much of the character introduced by the railroad, with bridges and a watering hole for the trains, seemingly suspended in time until the next freight rolls through. Indeed, when things threaten their railway heritage, the folks in Marlinton fight for it. When destroyed by fire in 2008 the Chesapeake and Ohio Depot was replaced with a nearly perfect replica. Tourists would never know that the bright yellow depot building is not the original, but an expression of love for the community and civic pride.
Leaving Merritt we headed west through the Indian reservations and we took a side road to the location of the Craigmont Mine. My maternal grandfather worked at this mine that appeared to be coming back to life after being shuttered for some years. Also memorializing the mine is a geocache, hidden by a tourism organization intending to highlight the history of British Columbia’s Gold Country. I think it comes as a surprise to many how much mining has contributed to the development of British Columbia, even though it does not hold the same significance to locals as, say, coal mining is significant to West Virginians. I digress.
We continued on to Spence’s Bridge where we met up with the Trans-Canada Highway we left behind the day before near Shushwap Lake. From here we follow the last miles of the Thompson River into Lytton, where we stopped to observe the confluence of the Fraser and Thompson Rivers. Here the clear blue Thompson flows into the slower, muddier Fraser.
The blue water of the Thompson giving into the muddy water of the Fraser River
Beyond Lytton, the Trans-Canada embarks through the treacherous Fraser Canyon, so narrow at points that the highway had to be built in the river that carved out the narrow passage.
Somehow we largely managed to miss the most egregious tourist traps on this journey, but we made an exception at the Hell’s Gate Airtram. Here gondola cars transport tourists from one side of the Fraser to the other in a treacherous narrows defined by deadly rapids that had always been present, but were made worse due to some dynamite-happy railroad builders. A bridge near the bottom of the narrow gorge with an open-grate deck tests the fortitude of the strongest stomachs. No worry, the fudge shop sells plenty of sweets to ease the skittishness.
The Fraser River emerging from Hell's Gate
Only moments down the highway is the equally impressive but far less popular Alexandra Bridge. Here we left my parents at the parking area and Chris and I descended the narrow road, the road pre-dating the Trans-Canada, to the bridge built in 1926 that has sat quietly watching traffic on the bridge that replaced it in 1964.
Imagining travel on the Cariboo Road at Alexandra Road
In Hope we stopped for lunch and we planned our final stop, the Othello Tunnels. Access to the Othello Tunnels is off the new road between Hope and Merritt, the Coquihalla, it’s a modern, four-lane superhighway. For as long as I can remember, I had seen the signs for the tunnels at the exit. Finally, I had the opportunity to see them. Mom, Chris, and I made the short hike to the series of tunnels and bridges navigating the narrow canyon formed by the Coquihalla River. This would be the last time I would see that crystal turquoise water I had seen so much of during the previous few days.
The Othello Tunnels traversing the Coquihalla Canyon
From here, we followed the Lougheed Highway toward Coquitlam and watched as the narrow canyons and harsh rapids that had defined the Fraser River all day gave way to a broad, navigable river lined on both sides by agriculture. This part of the trip was quiet and it was beginning to sink in that the grand, wild road trip was over. We could sleep in tomorrow! Although we planned to stay put, Chris and I did have a surprised lined up. The end of the road trip did not mark the end of the vacation.
Rising early from Golden we set out for Merritt, where the three of us would rendezvous with my mother. Continuing the trend, we stopped at A&W for breakfast and began to geocache. Near Revelstoke we were going to seek a cache near a recently abandoned building. After successfully crossing the highway, Chris and I had to slink down an embankment. Chris made it gracefully, as he was about to warn me of some holes to be careful for, there was a loud thud. This noise was the wind being knocked out of me as my chest made contact with the ground. Ouch. After brushing myself off we successfully found the geocache, but it put a little damper on my excitement for further caching for the day.
The attraction that could not be sacrificed was visiting Craigellachie. The last spike of the Canadian Pacific Railroad was driven HERE. At locations like this there is an undeniable feeling of pride and accomplishment. Here is where people overcame geography, human challenges, political powers, and financial willingness to create something BIG. The feeling, I’m sure, is similar where the equivalent last spike was driven in Utah for the first transcontinental railroad in North America (one day I would love to visit). Sites like this make me feel good about being involved with civil engineering.
The focus was now on forward movement, though it was easy to forget this was the fastest route with the impressive views of Shushwap Lake from the Trans-Canada. Here I thought Lake Okanagan would be the crown jewel of the day. We continued forth to Vernon, where we stopped for lunch, and into Kelowna.
When I was young I visited Kelowna a few times. It looked like a small city with pretty well defined boundaries. The area around the City Park on Lake Okanagan was built up but was nothing too special. Mount Adams seemed a little removed from the rest of the town. This is not the Kelowna we arrived in! The sprawl was impressive and having not visited in several years, without referring to a map, I would have never believed this to be Kelowna, the pleasant little retiree village on the banks of the lake! Of course, another consequence of urbanization is traffic. We did some hard time stuck in traffic in the suburb of Westbank. Traffic was a concept we had all but forgotten since leaving Seattle.
The widened Highway 97C from Kelowna to Merritt still looked familiar. Even though I had not seen these perfect ranch lands in years, I knew this land. Without fear of missing anything, Chris and I each dosed as dad took us into Merritt. Merritt is a city that has changed little over the years, but the hill or “bench” has, this is where the Wal-Mart is! Growth on the bench has been fueled by the situation of numerous hotels and restaurants to serve travelers off of the Coquihalla Highway. In this sense, Merritt and Golden share a lot in common.
We settled into our hotel and picked up my mother. For dinner there was nowhere else to take Chris for dinner than the Coldwater Hotel, named for a nearby river, the Coldwater is an establishment. The copper turret atop the hotel can be seen for miles, it is how you know you’ve arrived in Merritt. Inside, the bar and restaurant have an unmistakable frontier or "wild west" feeling. Afterward my mother gave us a lifetime’s worth of memories in a guided tour of this small town, the crossroads of British Columbia ranching. We capped off the tour with a visit to my maternal grandmother’s grave. Off to one edge of the bench, past residents of Merritt silently watch over the town that was once their own from the cemetery.
There was only one day left on the road. We began in my mother’s home town and would end in my own. Rather than venture on the newer, four-lane (and recently paid off!) Coquihalla Highway, we would travel to Spence’s Bridge and follow the Trans-Canada Highway through the inhospitable, yet well-traveled, Fraser Canyon.
Radium Hot Springs is a hot springs complex with two pools. There is evidence that recreation and resorts have developed around natural springs for millennia. In fact, Chris and my favorite winter vacation spot is the Greenbrier Resort in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia. As I’m sure you can guess that resort originated because of the presence of the springs, thought to have medicinal/therapeutic benefit. Most striking about Radium is the name. Analysis of the waters found small amounts of radon, which is a product of the decay of radium. The amount of radon is considered inconsequential from a dose impact perspective so the waters are safe. Beyond the pools, the roads in the area immediately around the pools are also impressive, narrowly hemmed in by steep mountain cliffs on either side. Despite sufficient clearance for the two lanes through the area of the springs, it’s impossible not to feel a little claustrophobic heading northeast!
Just beyond the hustle of Radium Hot Springs we stopped at the striking Olive Lake. The water in this area was incandescent turquoise and perfectly still. We parked the car and took a short walk to the lake and truly felt as if we were in the wilderness. I wouldn’t have been surprised to encounter a bear. In fact, it turns out about a month earlier this serene recreation area had been closed because bears had taken up residence near the parking area and main trails.
The turquoise waters of Olive Lake
Right around noon we arrived in Banff. Of foremost interest was visiting the Banff Springs Hotel. Like the aforementioned Greenbrier, the Banff Springs Hotel is another grand railroad resort. The hotel retains many of the architectural elements and much of the charm from its 1911 construction, but it has aged well. Good taste is not always timeless, but it is here. What I enjoyed most was finding little reminders of the hotel’s history as part of the Canadian Pacific organization (it is now a Fairmont Hotel), including the stylized Canadian Pacific shields featuring their iconic beaver.
Banff Springs Hotel
On our way back to the car, past the Bow Falls, we encountered more marmots. These marmots were just as adorable as those from earlier, but these were far more used to interacting with people! As I kneeled on the grass more than one came right up to me to solicit food and several allowed me to pet them, one particularly ambitious marmot even ran between my legs. Awkward.
One of the marmots chirping outside the Banff Springs Hotel
The last place we wanted to visit was Tunnel Mountain. Chris can’t resist the allure of old railroad infrastructure and with a name like Tunnel Mountain he thought he had hit the jackpot. After following Tunnel Mountain Road up a hill to a gorgeous view of a mountain we learned that despite the name of the mountain ahead of us, there was no tunnel. There had been plans for the tunnel, but the alignment of the railroad was changed prior to construction, eliminating the need for the tunnel.
We hit the road for Lake Louise. After seeing Banff we weren’t sure if we really needed to see Lake Louise, but my dad insisted. Driving up the mountain to the resort and hotel we passed a picnic area. Dad said that when he was a kid he was camping with his parents. My grandmother was peeling potatoes when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She thought it was my grandfather being silly, when he didn’t respond after she said something she realized it wasn’t my grandfather. No, it was a bear. When I checked the validity of the story with my grandmother (93 and still quite able to recall the day she came very close to a bear!) she said that she sat still, stunned for a few seconds, and then slowly walked back to where there were other people until the bear went away. This is actually a more correct way to handle a bear encounter than screaming and quickly running, surprising a bear can increase your likelihood of getting mauled by a bear.
When we reached the lake itself we were stunned and speechless. Dad says that the glacier behind the lake was much more impressive when he was a boy, but it impressed Chris and me quite sufficiently. We took off our sandals and waded in the turquoise water. Despite the heat of the day the water was ice cold, we were shocked to see a woman swimming between all of the canoes across the lake. Looking out onto the canoes floating on the turquoise water framed by the mountains and glaciers it felt like a quintessential Canadian sight. It was absolutely breathtaking.
In front of Lake Louise, a true Canadian sight
From Lake Louise we headed back for British Columbia. After introducing Chris to two songs titled "Alberta Bound," one by Gordon Lightfoot and another by Paul Brandt, it was wonderful to finally take him to the mythical place and my dad's home province.
No matter where you venture throughout the entire state of West Virginia, you are never far from evidence that people have been there before you. One is hard pressed to find a hollow or a mountain without an old rail grade or Easter lilies. What isn’t a result of mining is the result of the booming logging business in West Virginia during the nineteenth century. Of course, back then there was no regard for ensuring there would be trees to log in five, ten, or fifteen years and by 1920 the virgin forest was entirely gone. It is difficult to imagine the scale and the methods required to log an entire state during the late nineteenth and earlier twentieth century, but there is still once place in West Virginia where people can learn: Cass Scenic Railroad State Park.
Cass Depot, July 2009
Cass is a remote town in Pocahontas County, WV, virtually impossible to accidentally come across due to its remote location. Chris and I, with my mother in tow, set out from Elkins, WV on a July morning to find Cass and a piece of West Virginia heritage. A fine mist hovered in the air as we traveled through mountains, farmland, and quaint little towns down US-250 and over to WV-92, passing through Durbin and by the National Radio Astronomy Observatory.
While founded as a company town for the West Virginia Pulp and Paper Company (now Mead Westvaco), Cass is now a state park, featuring a fully operational logging railroad as the cornerstone of the park. Prior to logging trucks, railroads were built to move logs down the mountain to the mill. The locomotive most capable of handling the steeper tracks and switchbacks was (and probably still is) the Shay, which are geared locomotives. Cass is home to the largest collection of surviving Shays, including the #5 which has been traveling up and down the mountain at Cass since 1905.
On this day we were going to take the train up to Bald Knob, the third highest point in West Virginia. As we waited on the platform at Cass, the train approached, filling the narrow valley along the Greenbrier River with the scent of burning coal. We boarded one of the rustic cars, a flat car with a canopy and wooden benches installed, and the journey began.
For the bulk of the excursion all you see are trees and sweeping vistas of the remote Pocahontas County. The guides on the train point out all of the places where there used to be life, but nature has seemingly reclaimed all of it, everywhere you look. Imagining that this place was ever devoid of trees is asking the impossible.
Once at Bald Knob the view of the state was stunningly beautiful, but there was a twist. For all of the history in the woods we climbed through, the most noticeable feature in the valley below are the telescopes for the National Radio Astronomy Observatory. Where once there was a rowdy logging operation, science has come to find peace and serenity.
View from Bald Knob, July 2009
Back at the Cass town site, the rusted skeleton of a paper mill is being overtaken by vegetation and the houses and town only still stand because the state stepped in to preserve them before all that remained was a patch of Easter lilies and a railroad grade along the Greenbrier River.
