At the mouth of Riviere St. Pierre during the early stages of Montreal in 1700.

In a golf course to the west of downtown Montreal, you’ll find the last remaining portion of Rivière Saint-Pierre that still exists above ground. 200 meters are all that are left of a river system that once flowed freely over the landscape. The rest of it’s been retrofitted into the city’s sewer system or lost entirely. This one brief open stretch is found at the river’s upper reaches, in the town of Montreal Ouest. If one were to follow the river’s original path downstream from here, fifteen kilometers later you’d find yourself standing at the tip of Pointe à Callière. It was here, where the river spilled out into the open waters of the St. Lawrence that the city of Montreal first began.

“Here I examined the country very carefully, but after looking everywhere found no spot more suitable than a little place to which pinnaces and shallops can ascend. And near this Place Royale, there is a small river, which leads to some distance into the interior, alongside which are more than sixty arpents of land, which have been cleared and are now like meadow, where one might sow grain and do gardening. [...] So, having examined very carefully and found this spot to be one of the finest on this river, I ordered the trees of the Place Royale to be cut down and cleared off, in order to level the ground and make it ready for building.”

- Samuel de Champlain, 1611

Much has already been written about the origins of Montreal so I won’t waste space explaining it in detail here. Here is the Coles Notes version: while native Indians had already made use of the land surrounding the mouth of Rivière St. Pierre for centuries, Samuel de Champlain was the first French explorer to take notice of the area’s potential for a permanent development. In 1611, he made note of the land and came to the conclusion that its conditions were favourable for establishing a fur trade outpost. By the year 1642 the village of Montreal was officially founded.

Rivière (and Lac) St-Pierre shown with proposed alterations, 1739.

Over the course of Montreal’s evolution, Rivière Saint-Pierre (or the Petite Rivière Saint-Pierre) has slowly been altered and effectively removed by man. By the early 1700s, attempts were already being made to rework the river, the goal being to create a passage to bypass the unnavigable waters of the Lachine rapids. Its plump middle stretch (often referred to as Lac Aux Loutres), would soon diminish in size, perhaps as a result of the Saint-Gabriel canal project which attempted to draw water from the lake to supply the town mill.

Approximate path of river, circa 1800. View Larger Map

The first phase of covering the river occurred in 1832 with the creation of the William Collector; a vaulted stone conduit that covered the initial 350 meters. The river had long been used as a convenient dumping ground for both human waste and anything else that needed to be disposed of. As a result its waters grew increasingly foul to the point where it eventually started to become an issue for public health. Covering this portion of the river was to be the beginning of an “of sight, out of mind” policy towards waste disposal that still exists today.

From there, the river’s westward portions would gradually suffer a similar fate, but not before further straightening, dredging or repositioning depending on what stood in its way. Following its course on maps is often confusing as its position changes frequently, often vanishing on one map, only to reappear later on another. Even more frustrating are the older maps, which are less than precise and display a certain amount of creative license (or guesswork) on behalf of their cartographers.

As the city became more industrialized during the mid to late 1800s, the river began to serve several functions. The city’s waterworks company created a tailrace for its wheelhouse using a portion of the river in Verdun, while further north, leather tanneries made use of its flow to help drive steam engines. More often than not, though, the river was quickly becoming integrated with the large-scale sewer system that was starting to be developed.

Expanding the riverbed to make way for twin collector sewers in Cote St. Paul (?), 1933

By the mid 1930s roughly a third of the river had now disappeared to the sewers system, much of that lost with the construction of the St-Pierre collectors. Today, these two 15’ and 17’ concrete conduits collect the majority of wastewater from Westmount to outlying communities as far west as Cote St Luc. The two sewers bring the flow towards a point in Verdun. From there everything is funneled down into the southeastern interceptor where it begins its long journey towards the island’s wastewater treatment plant at the East end of the island. Out of sight, out of mind.

Current and last stretch of Riviere St. Pierre cutting through the Meadowbrook Golf Course in Montreal Ouest.

Presently, only the 200 meters of river mentioned in the beginning of this entry remain visible. It makes a brief appearance in Montreal Ouest within the grounds of the Meadowbrook Golf Club. The water of the river (really more of a rivulet at this point) first sees daylight at the end of a four foot concrete pipe and by the time it reaches the edge of a Canadian Pacific Railway yard, it heads underground again. It was CPR that first owned this land and who later used it to establish a recreation club for its employees.

View Larger Map

It’s safe to assume that this one particular section of Rivière Saint-Pierre was spared only for the natural charm it helped give the golf course. Besides, what would Meadowbrook be without a brook? A bit west of this, on the same property, a trickle of water is all that remains of a former tributary. It barely registers as anything today, but the shape of its outer banks suggests a time when there was once something more substantial flowing through here.

The Meadowbrook Golf Club has been in the news recently. The present owner of the land wishes to sell a portion of it to developers who are eager to put up subdivisions. Not surprisingly, this has been fought tooth and nail on behalf of locals who see the golf course as a vital piece of green space for their neighbourhood. Three and a half centuries after Champlain first ordered the land surrounding the mouth of Rivière Saint-Pierre be “cleared off” and to be made “ready for building,” we arrive at the upstream end of this same river to find (not surprisingly), similar demands are still being made today.

The twin limestone channels through which the river makes its entrance into the sewer system.

So it’s from this point where we’ll follow the river underground; through the limestone infall found below the railway tracks. It doesn’t look like much, but it soon gets interesting once inside.

From a distance, the drain (which I’ve named Double Ducker) beginning at the edge of the Meadowbrook Country Club doesn’t really appear to be much. In fact, if it wasn’t for the old limestone construction of its inlet, then I wouldn’t have bothered looking at it more carefully in the first place. The two entry points are all of two feet high. Rarely does that sort of size suggest anything good lies beyond.

It wasn’t until I got closer that I realized that the two channels are actually double this height. Over the years, sediment and other debris has more or less created a dam of sorts, but beyond this it soon dips down and opens up to reveal the full height.

Four feet isn’t all that comfortable a height to walk through, but it’s better than two feet. So I slipped on my chest waders, squeezed through the left side and crouched through 75 feet or so of what appeared to be hastily cut limestone blocks.

I was now passing underneath the original mainline of the Canadian Pacific Railway built in 1886. It smelled less like a man made drain and more like an old cave.

Looking back through to the entrance inside one of the limestone channels.

When CPR built a rail yard parallel to the main set of tracks in the late 1940s, more of the river required covering.

Detail of 1952 map showing Riviere St. Pierre (and its tributaries) passing under CPR's rail yards.

By this time the construction material of choice wasn’t limestone, but concrete. So at this point, the two channels come to an end and a rather ruddy–looking concrete section in the shape of an arch begins; its floor looking as though it had been quickly slathered in place. At this point I could finally stand up. The smell of sanitary flow wafting in from up ahead gave a good indication as to where all this was heading.

At the end of the limestone section with a drillhole in the ceiling bringing in a touch of natural light.

A few feet further and the concrete arch suddenly increases in size with enough room to stand up in and then some.

Looking a little forlorn while standing inside the largest concrete arch section. (Note the imprints left from the wooden forms used during construction.)

Only to become slightly smaller again thirty feet later.

Looking through to the smaller stretch.

And then things get really small with the start of a section built using RCP less than four feet high. None of this really makes sense. Much like actual rivers, sewers have a tendency to get larger as you head downstream in order to accommodate the increasing amounts of water picked up along the way. This small > large > larger > small > smaller sequence is still a bit confusing.

Looking ahead (but not forward) to the upcoming stretch of small RCP.

So at this point, I had effectively crossed the width of the entire railway yard above me. The more refined looking section of pre-fabricated RCP that lay ahead was obviously added more recently. 1973 is the last map I have that shows the river flowing past this point. It was around this time when the city began to implement a more comprehensive wastewater management plan. This stretch was most buried as a part of that effort.

Shining my spotlight down the small pipe, I saw no end in sight, but could hear the rumble of water suggesting bigger (perhaps more interesting) things lay ahead.

I decided to keep going. Here, the concrete is smooth, almost polished. Combined with a fine layer of sanitary “scum” on its bottom and the slight downward slope, it was slippery enough for me to lose my footing a couple of times. After crouching through about 250 feet of this pipe, I eventually reached the source of the rumbling: a seven foot high slide.

Normally getting past something like this would be kid’s play. Even when civil engineers don’t thoughtfully add ladders or step-irons, you can often make your way down safely enough by keeping to the dryer edges. But here there’s no ladder, and given the slipperiness of things, I came to the conclusion that even if I could get down safely (and dryly), I might not be able to get back up so easily.

So I did what any prudent drainer would do: I decided to wait and come back another day, with a couple of friends, a bit of climbing gear and a length of rope.

Coming up in our next episode: Double Ducker meets Ovalflow. Stay tuned.