A rare view of Rivière St. Pierre, 1956, location unknown.

I recently stumbled across a peculiar old map for the island of Montreal showing a rather fantastic depiction of the island’s former creeks and lakes. It’s unlike any other map of the island I’ve ever come across. There’s no publication date printed on it, but given its author, Aristide Beaugrand-Champagne, it likely dates from the 1920s.

Beaugrand-Champagne was one of the city’s  architects and historians. He was also the originator of the idea that Jacques Cartier first arrived in Montreal from the north via Riviere Des Prairies rather than the South. Though it had its share of proponents, it was, and still is a controversial theory. This point of Cartier’s landing is highlighted on his map along the north shore, in Sault Au Ricollet.

During his studies, Beaugrand-Champagne paid special attention to the island’s former watercourses. In doing so, he came to the conclusion that the Iroquois village of Hochelaga was once situated in Outremont rather than in an area contained somewhere within the McGill University campus— another controversial theory for its time.

Anyway, with that mini-history lesson is out of the way. Here’s Monsieur Beaugrand-Champagne’s pièce de résistance. Clicking on the map for the larger view is recommended for this one.

Beaugrand-Champagne's map illustrating the island's topgography and hyrdrology between 1542 and 1642.

It’s hard to tell how much of this map is based on Beaugrand-Champagne’s knowledge of the island’s geography and how much of it is based on his imagination or even cultural bias. Any illustration attempting to show what the island looked like more than a couple of centuries ago is bound to have a certain degree of inaccuracy, and this one is no different.

Continue reading…

Montreal's aqueduct canal at the Crawford Street bridge in Verdun.

So far, most of my entries have dealt with Montreal’s sewers as its the one aspect of the underground that I’ve spent the most time exploring. During my time looking into that particular system it’s been hard to avoid the city’s waterworks, both during my time traveling around (and under) and at the City Archives. While the two systems serve entirely different purposes, they still share a few things in common and often intersect in a number of different ways.

While one can’t exactly travel through the waterworks system to the same extent that you can the sewers, there are still a number of different components that can be peered into and occasionally entered.

But before we do that, a little bit of history.

Continue reading…

Inside the Rockfield combined sewer overflow conduit

Picking up from where we last left off, this stretch takes us through the inside of the Cote-St-Luc collector sewer at the northern edge of Lachine. From here it snakes its way southwards towards the Lachine canal, never straying too far from the original course of Riviere St. Pierre. Approximate round-travel distance: 4 kilometers.

I never look forward to having to cover larger distances inside sewers here in Montreal. The depth will vary, but 2-3 feet tends to be the norm. That might not seem like a lot, but when you factor in the speed at which it’s flowing and the amount of gear these types of trips can entail, it doesn’t take long before it starts to feel like a solid cardiovascular workout. This is especially true when you’re walking against the flow.

Continue reading…

Picking up where we last left off, we eventually managed to find a safer way past the big slide where Controleman ended up taking a bit of a spill. A manhole in a relatively discreet area nearby allowed us to climb back down and continue further upstream. So without further adieu..

Standing below a bit of natural light pouring in from above a manhole shaft.

Judging by the pre-fabricated sections of reinforced concrete pipe, it looks as though this portion was constructed a bit more recently. Sometime around the 1970s, perfectly round RCP seemed to have become the standard material for sewers and storm drains in Montreal. It can make for somewhat dull underground experiences, especially when long stretches of the stuff are involved. Fortunately, this particular sewer ended up having a nice combination of other features to help break the monotony.

The visibility was fairly poor, which we’d later discover was the result of cold air blasting in through a little 6″ pipe. During the autumn and winter months, the air inside sewers stays a few degrees warmer relative to aboveground temperatures. When outside air finds a way in, it can can lead to somewhat unfavorable exploring conditions. In this case, a dense “fog” had filled the sewer. The lights of our headlamps only penetrated a few feet in front of us. Regardless, we began making our way northwards underneath Cote-St-Luc.

Continue reading…

Preparing the foundation for the Meilleur-Atlantique tributary sewer on north shore of Montreal. (Photo source: City of Montreal Archives)

How else dispose of an immortal force
No longer needed? Staunch it at its source
With cinder loads dumped down? The brook was thrown
Deep in a sewer dungeon under stone
In fetid darkness still to live and run –
And all for nothing it had ever done
Except forget to go in fear perhaps.
No one would know except for ancient maps
That such a brook ran water. But I wonder
If from its being kept forever under,
The thoughts may not have risen that so keep
This new-built city from both work and sleep.

- excerpt from A Brook in the City by Robert Frost, 1923

I’ve already written a bit about how most of Riviere St. Pierre has been lost, but it’s definitely not the only river or creek to have suffered this fate. Perhaps “lost” isn’t the best word to use. While the majority have been removed from both the landscape and our collective memory,  their waters can still be found beneath us, flowing through the island’s sewer system.

Continue reading…

Looking out into the Cote St-Luc collector's "shangri-la" chamber.

Picking up from the last entry, getting beyond the relatively small (yet steep and intimidating) slide of Double Ducker ended up requiring the use of some rope. It’s common for cities to add features like ladders, handrails or even stairs to allow workers to get up and down sloped sections like this, but I’ve yet to see anything like that here in Montreal.

So this time with nel58 and controleman along for the ride, we hammered a
steel piton into the gap where two sections of concrete pipe met, attached a knotted rope and made our way down. Easy peasy, quick and easy.

Continue reading…

The twin inlet channels leading to Double Ducker.

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.

Continue reading…

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

Continue reading…