The Railway Conquest of the World

by Frederick Arthur Ambrose Talbot

That the snow-fiend is no mean enemy was brought home forcibly some three years ago. While a snow, train was climbing up the western slope, clearing away the accumulated mass of snow and debris deposited by a slide upon the track, another avalanche swept down upon the little band working so desperately to cut a path for the mail. Over 100 men were on the train when the terror of the mountains struck them and swept the whole into the gulch below, the locomotives and plough weighing over 50 tons being bowled over and over like an india-rubber ball as they were hurtled down the steep slopes. Over fifty lives were lost in that catastrophe, and it was but one of many which have happened since the Selkirks were first gridironed by the railway.

But snow-shedding, while securing the safety of the line, has its drawbacks. If a structure is made too lengthy it becomes filled with suffocating smoke which obscures all signals, and deadens all sounds. In summer another danger exists. The district threaded is one ravaged heavily by forest fires, and the danger from this enemy was only too vividly apparent. At this juncture Mr. W. C. Van Horne came to the rescue of the engineers, as he had done on many previous occasions, to extricate them from their difficulty. He suggested that the maximum length of a single shed should be 3000 feet, and where the conditions demanded a long continuous length of this protection, that it should be broken up into units with wide, clear intervals of open line between.

To prevent these “breaks” becoming filled with debris he resorted to an ingenious expedient. Up on the mountain side he built what is known as a “split fence.” This is a triangular erection, with the apex pointing towards the mountain top, of heavy massive construction and filled and banked with masonry. The descending slide strikes this obstruction, becomes split in twain, one half is deflected so as to roll over the roof of the snow-shed on one side, and the other half caused to glance off in a similar manner on the other side. If one of these constructions did not secure the desired end, then another was planted above it higher up the mountain side. The success of this system has been remarkable, and it has enabled the company to reduce the lengths of the sheds very appreciably.

Shortly after the line was opened the protective handiwork of the engineers was subjected to trying tests. The winter of 1886–7 was one of excessive severity even for the Selkirks. In less than a week 8½ feet of snow fell, and the blizzard raged continuously for three weeks. Slides were of daily occurrence, the silence of the mountains being broken by the continuous roar of the avalanche. The snowfall on the summits exceeded 35 feet, and the white mantle was piled upon the roofs of the sheds to a depth of 50 feet. The slides were of terrific fury, some rattling down the slopes with such force and speed as to rebound 300 feet or so up the opposite mountain side. Thousands of tons of rock, some pieces as large as a small villa, were caught up in their frantic rushes, while tall, thick trees were snapped off like matches and tossed about like straws. Yet with one exception the sheds withstood the terrible bombardments to which they were subjected. The solitary case had the roof torn off completely to be thrown well above the track on the mountain side.

Mud-slides were another visitation which had to be respected, for time after time a cutting had to be cleared of a viscous mass which had slipped into the excavation. These movements are produced by a kind of sand, which, when it becomes saturated with water, slips and slides in all directions in an amazing manner, carrying everything with it. In winter, when under the grip of frost, the soil looks perfectly safe and stable, but when the weather breaks innumerable springs come to life, and in a short time the whole mass commences to move like a lava stream.

In addition to resorting to extreme protective measures against the avalanche where these could not be avoided, some magnificent pieces of bridge-work were carried out at other points to avoid them. In the first instance several were erected in wood to save time, to be replaced by permanent metal structures at a later date. In many cases, however, iron, and in others masonry, had to be adopted in the first instance.

There was one gully which perplexed the engineers sorely. It was just a cleft in the perpendicular mountain cliff. The engineers called it the “Jaws of Death,” and the name was appropriate. They had to cross this couloir, and a temporary timber bridge was built by dint of tremendous effort. The engineers congratulated themselves upon their success, but their gratification was short-lived. A constructional train ventured to cross and the structure collapsed under its weight. Here was a dilemma. Work was brought to a standstill and there was grave deliberation. Mr. Van Horne heard of the accident, and hurried to the front. He surveyed the gully, and there and then decided to throw an arched masonry bridge across the breach. It was built, and what was more to the point, it stood; the constructional gangs could get forward.

At Stoney Creek there was another trouble of a like nature. The V-shaped ravine was deep and wide, and it was recognised that something different from what had been done in bridge-building up to this point was imperative. Two wooden towers were built on either side to a height of 200 feet, and these supported a single span of 172 feet over the gulch, which was carried out in wood also. From end to end the bridge measured 490 feet, and for years it ranked as the highest wooden bridge on the continent. The timber structure, however, has long since made way for a noble arched steel bridge springing from the rocky sides of the gulch, and it constitutes one of the most graceful bridges on the whole of the system.

The descent from the Selkirk summit involved the execution of some startling pieces of engineering to gain the banks of the Illecillewaet River. The line makes its way down the mountain side in a series of steps or terraces connected at the ends by sharp loops, doubling and redoubling on itself to overcome a difference of 600 feet in altitude in the most extraordinary manner. The train is first running eastwards, disappears round the corner and then is making its way in the opposite direction a few feet below, to round another curve and once more steams eastwards, this alternate running backwards and forwards continuing until the valley of the Illecillewaet River is gained, by which time the train has travelled over 6 miles of metals to make an actual advance of only 2 miles.

Issuing from the Selkirks, another barrier, the Gold Range, had to be traversed, but this was a comparatively easy matter, as the Eagle Pass is a natural causeway among the peaks for the iron road, although its discovery taxed Walter Moberly to an extreme degree, as is narrated in another chapter. In this pass the engineers, driving the line from the east, met the forces advancing from the west. They shook hands at a point known as Craigellachie, where the connection between the two arms was made—where the “golden spike” was driven home—and the Pacific seaboard was brought into touch with the Atlantic through Canadian territory.