A beacon in the darkness

To power the Amphitrite Lighthouse, coal and supplies would be deposited in Spring Cove, loaded onto a wheelbarrow and pushed the one-kilometre distance along a boardwalk built upon a bog.

The coal was used to power the foghorn. The lighthouse keeper was required to crank the clockspring by hand every eight hours to turn the stainless steel mirrors that amplified the lighthouse’s kerosene lamp. Light the lamp at dusk, return at midnight to wind the crank, and then extinguish the lamp at dawn.

To miss a shift, to let the lamp go out, often meant shipwreck and death for the many sailors charting the waters west of Vancouver Island. The lighthouse was a lifeline for those sailing the area still known today as the Graveyard of the Pacific.

Even on a sunny, clear day the Pacific Ocean on Vancouver Island’s west coast can be deafening. Rogue waves can snatch people from the rocks, claiming them for the sea. Razor-sharp reefs offer no quarter to ships that sail off course.

More than 2,000 ships ran aground, floundered or sunk in the area from the Columbia Bar on the Oregon coast to Cape Scott on northern Vancouver Island, with 700 souls lost to those cold, Pacific waters.

After the destruction on Boxing Day in 1905 of the Pass of Melfort, a four-masted steel bark, in the waters near Ucluelet, B.C., the Amphitrite Lighthouse was built a year later. A telegraph line connected whaling stations for quicker marine response to nautical disasters.

In a testament to the unyielding power of Mother Nature, the original lighthouse was destroyed by waves in 1914. A year later, crews built its replacement ‘like a bunker’ to withstand the force of the seas. All of the materials to build the replacement were hauled over the boardwalk. It still stands today, although most lighthouses in Canada are now automated.

Shipwrecks declined considerably once Amphitrite and others began guiding sailors to safer shores. You can view Amphitrite Lighthouse, as well as remnants of the plank road that replaced the boardwalk, as part of the Wild Pacific Trail in Ucluelet.

Helmcken Alley

Helmcken Alley is everything you look for in a haunted alley.

It’s tucked away, giving it a sense of mystery. Old arching brickwork evokes a feeling of age and claustrophobia.

The alley shoots off Bastion Square in downtown Victoria, B.C., and runs alongside the site of the city’s original jail and gallows, built in the mid-1800s to play host to settlers caught gambling, fighting and/or drinking. Occasionally the jail saw more serious crimes. In total, 11 people were hung int he courtyard.

And then buried there.

Some of the graves were unearthed in the late 1800s during construction of the Provincial Court building (now former Maritime Museum & closed to the public). Some condemned men are still buried there, perhaps at least one not so peacefully.

People who walk down the alley, the same alley in which the condemned walked to the gallows, claim feeling pushed or shoved. Some heard chains rattling. According to legend, one of those dead men walking was beaten to death by the jail guard leading him to his execution.

In the summer, Bastion Square is alive with music and vendors selling produce, artwork and other goods. But we didn’t visit in summer; we went on a dark and stormy night.

It poured rain, obscuring any sound as subtle as rattling chains. I turned on the camera on my cellphone as we walked through the alley. On the way out, video captured a small light dancing in the rain. Look to the lower left of the screen at the 30-second mark.

Is it an orb? A wet bug? Trick of the light in the rain?

Check out the slideshow below for more photos.

The quiet of Killer Mountain

Its official name is Johnson Peak, but it’s more than earned its nickname of Killer Mountain, having claimed at least nine lives in two major disasters a little more than a year apart.

Four were killed in 1965 when the mountain unexpectedly crumbled, sending 47 million cubic tonnes of rock, forest and snow plummeting into the valley below. A year later, another five were killed in the crash of a routine training flight by Royal Canadian Air Force 442 Search and Rescue Squadron out of Comox, B.C.

Aside from the distant hum of traffic and the occasional tourist stretching their legs at the nearby rest stop, the valley is quiet. The occasional crow caws and flutters by. The forest is reclaiming this mountain, hiding its scars and the graves of those unlucky enough to catch Mother Nature in a foul mood.

Mary Kalmakoff just wanted to visit her sister. The 21-year-old from Shoreacres, near Castlegar, B.C., travelled with her friends Dennis Arlitt, 23, and Bernie Beck, 27, of Penticton, B.C. along Highway 3 toward her sister’s Agassiz home. In the early morning hours of January 9, 1965, Mary and her friends’ road trip came to a halt at the foot of an avalanche that buried the highway. Drivers of a hay truck and a tanker had also stopped.

Tanker driver Norman Stephanishin convinced an approaching Greyhound bus to return to the nearest lodge to call for help. That decision saved his life and the lives of those onboard the bus as soon after, the mountain came crashing down, burying Mary, Dennis, Bernie and hay truck driver Tom Starchuk in the debris.

Rock and snow buried the Nicolum Valley bottom more than 70 metres deep in places, obliterating Outram Lake in the process. Clay and water from the lake was thrown violently up the opposite mountain to a height of up to 60 metres. Three kilometres of the Hope-Princeton highway was washed out, cutting off the Lower Mainland from the rest of the province.

RCMP aided by volunteers from Hope, Princeton and Chilliwack searched the area, dodging rocks and boulders still careening down the mountain. All four left at the avalanche site were killed. Mary and Dennis were fated to remain buried in the rubble.

A year later, rescuers were back on the mountain.

On April 23, 1966, a six-man crew from Comox Air Force Base on Vancouver Island flew into the mountain, obscured by cloud and fog. An investigation was unable to determine why the crew flew so low that day.

The wreckage from the crash of the 442 Squadron remains on the mountain as well. Only one of six crew members survived the impact – recovering from burns over nearly 70 per cent of his body.

Experts and scientists can’t confirm what caused the mountain to slide in 1965, but they have theories. Initially, the cause was attributed to two small earthquakes in the early morning hours of January 9, but now scientists theorize the evidence of earthquakes was actually the force of the slide impacting the valley floor and the opposite mountain. Pre-existing faults and shear zones that slowly deteriorated over a period of time are the most likely cause. What triggered the landslide, if anything, remains a mystery .

The rest stop and lookout at the foot of the Hope Slide is 55 metres above the original valley floor. It’s unlikely that development will impede the reforestation of the land, allowing those nine unlucky souls to rest in peace in the quiet of the valley.

St. Andrew’s Cemetery

To really be remembered in human history, you must do extraordinary things: conquer the world, or save it.

Sadly, history misses the rich, vibrant stories of life all around us. The great tragedies of living and dying play out on a smaller scale, but no less important for those living them. All of us have a story. A life of joy and despair. To tell the story of St. Andrew’s Cemetery in Courtenay, B.C., I pulled a family name from a tombstone and discovered their tragedies.

John Fenton Taylor didn’t have roots in the Comox Valley until he married the daughter of farming pioneers, but it’s the place he chose for his final rest.

Fenton Taylor is buried with his wife, Sarah, and daughter, Mary Ann. Their graves are prominent, yet tucked away in at the edge of St. Andrew’s Church cemetery in Courtenay, B.C.

John and Sarah Ellen Lewis were married on New Year’s Day in 1902, with their daughter arriving about 18 months later. The family lived in Vancouver, where John was a successful furniture salesman.

Mary Ann Fenton Taylor was just seven years old when her mother died.

Sarah Ellen’s family in Courtenay owned land near the Courtenay Slough, an area where Puntledge, Courtenay and Tsolum rivers converge before draining into Comox Harbour. They were the first to bring Jersey cows to the area. Margaret, Sarah Ellen’s mother, was awarded for butter making during the 1893 inaugural agricultural fair in the community.

Although Sarah and John lived in Vancouver, after her death, Sarah returned to the Comox Valley.

Mary Ann attended school in Victoria at St. Ann’s Academy. She died at just 18 years old after a short illness. She was buried in the plot with her mother. John soon followed.

The Lewis family provided land to the City of Courtenay in 1928 to establish Lewis Park. It’s a vibrant social gathering spot, featuring Indigenous heritage prior to settlement by pioneers.

The parish at St. Andrew’s hosts an annual clean-up to ensure the graveyard is well tended, despite so many relatives leaving the area. The area and may not be as overgrown now, as my photos are from roughly 2002 when I lived in the area.

The House of Glass

For decades, David H. Brown stored tens of thousands of glass embalming-fluid bottles in the basements and garages of his friends and family. His intention was to create a retirement home by reusing glass bottles slated to be thrown out.

The Glass House sits atop bedrock on the eastern shore of Kootenay Lake, roughly 40 km from the ferry terminal near Crawford Bay. It would be easy to miss this roadside attraction, save for the windy two-lane road that necessitates a slower pace. The house is made up of roughly 500,000 (empty) square bottles, held in place by concrete. It gives the grey exterior a twinkle in the sunlight. The house is capped by red roofs that add to the charm.

The gnomes scattered throughout the gardens provide a fairy-tale like atmosphere that Walt Disney would appreciate.

Brown worked in the funeral business for more than 30 years and saw the thousands of glass embalming bottles tossed in the garbage every day. The bottles are about the size of bricks. I don’t know how many are needed to embalm an average human, but I expect it’s a few, making the waste generated significant. He collected them, intending to build his retirement home in a place with a mild climate, bedrock foundation (so the house wouldn’t shift) and gorgeous views. He found all that on Kootenay Lake.

Construction began in 1952 and Brown lived in the 1,200 square foot house for more than a decade. Relatives operate the house as a tourist attraction.

Getting there is half the adventure. I recommend taking the free Kootenay Lake ferry from Balfour to Crawford Bay. You’ll come across the house on Highway 3A. Admission includes a short, guided tour.

The old TB sanitarium

The sanitarium carried with it all the legendary stories of an abandoned mental hospital. Shadows in windows, movement just out of sight, and whispers in the night, in the dark, of the network of tunnels that connected dozens of buildings across the property.

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