Maintaining the wire: The story of a forgotten telegraph line

CPR consultant Sir Sandford Fleming once characterized the telegraph line as the “spinal cord” of the railway. In the early 20th century, railway linemen played a critical role in maintaining this vital communication network, replacing poles, restringing downed wire and ensuring that the line was operating efficiently at all times. 

It was a job performed mostly by hand, involving constant physical demands and significant risks, particularly when climbing poles and working at heights. When telegraph communications were severed due to broken wires, fallen poles, fires, landslides, snow, and so forth, the movement of railway traffic practically ceased, and railway linemen were then called upon to fix the problem, often working long hours under urgent time constraints. 

To fully appreciate the operational importance of the railway’s telegraph service, one only has to recall train dispatcher Vincent Coleman, who was tragically killed in the Halifax Explosion of 1917, but not before he heroically keyed a frantic warning to Rockingham station to stop an inbound train, thereby saving the lives of some 300 passengers.

In this photograph, the Nasookin has cleared the Outlet and is heading south towards Kootenay Landing. On the beach in front of the steamer, four telegraph poles are visible. (Michael Cone collection)

In the spring of 1898, when CPR construction crews were building the Crow’s Nest Pass railway, which, under its charter, was supposed to reach Nelson by 1900, however, tracklaying stopped near the south end of Kootenay Lake. The final 54 miles would have involved the immense costs of blasting and grading a roadbed north along Kootenay Lake’s rugged west shore and down the lake’s west arm.

Instead, the CPR decided to service this remaining “lake link” gap using a passenger steamer and a fleet of tugs and barges to move railcars back and forth to Nelson. This strategy, they claimed, would be “prompt, convenient and satisfactory” for the foreseeable future. [1] Accordingly, the new western terminus and transfer point for the Crow’s Nest mainline was located just inside the mouth of the Kootenay River and appropriately named Kootenay Landing.

However, without a rail line between Nelson and Kootenay Landing, the CPR had no direct communication between the two stations. Telegraph wires typically followed railways, but in this case, since there was no track, the CPR was free to route its telegraph line where it wanted, without regard to any future rail grade. The best plan, as the CPR saw it, was to string the line along the shoreline, above the high water mark. In places where sheer granite cliffs made this impossible, the line was rerouted to higher ground.

Using a shoreline to locate communication lines was not uncommon in those days. For example, the Kootenay Lake Telephone Co. ran a telephone line skirting the lake shore from Nelson to Ainsworth in 1891; later, the service would be extended north to Kaslo. The contract stipulated that the poles had to be 25 feet long and planted four feet in the ground. Contractors received $1.25 for each pole sited. [2]

The first mention of the CPR’s intention to string a telegraph line from Nelson to Kootenay Landing appeared in the Nelson Tribune on April 30, 1898. [3] This announcement was followed a week later by the rival Nelson paper, the Miner, who absurdly predicted that the line would be completed “in the course of a couple of weeks.” [4]

Running the wire along the south shore of the west arm was relatively easy compared to what crews faced on the final 34 miles of shoreline from the Outlet south to Kootenay Landing. This remote section was characterized by long stretches of steep, imposing cliffs with a scattering of sandy beaches. By positioning the poles close to shore, barges loaded with supplies and men could be landed, either on a beach or nudged against large rocks, at spots handy to where construction crews were working.

By mid-June, The Kaslo Morning News reported that the new line “was now in the course of construction” and that “wires have been strung for a distance of five miles south of the outlet (Procter) lighthouse.” [5] The editor went on to say that the work was being supervised by H. McIntyre, the CPR line inspector for Kootenay. [6] The new line was not completed until late October. On the 24th, the wire was tested for the first time with a message sent from Fort Macleod, Alberta, to Nelson. Coincidentally, the telegraph was picked up just minutes after the launching of the CPR’s new sternwheeler, the Moyie. [7]

In railway construction, temporary measures were sometimes necessary to get the line operational; later, crews would return to finish the work. This was also the case with telegraph lines, where the wire was sometimes attached to trees or other structures when installing a continuous line of poles wasn’t feasible. Generally, poles were sited at regular intervals and were firmly placed in deep holes. However, this was problematic due to the rocky shoreline, which made it difficult in spots to excavate deep holes. 

Alternatively, the base of the pole was wedged between large rocks, notching the pole as needed for a snug fit. Another option was to dig a hole as deep as possible and then stack a mound of rocks around the base of the pole. The wire used was likely copper, probably a single strand of No. 9 wire, or galvanized iron, and it was attached to glass or porcelain insulators positioned on top of the poles. Cross arms on the poles weren’t necessary on this particular line since it was a single wire. To cross the Kootenay River at Kootenay Landing the line was submerged.

The Cranbrook Herald noted that the responsibility for maintaining and repairing all 54 miles of telegraph line from Nelson to Kootenay Landing was the sole responsibility of a lineman stationed at Kootenay Landing. [8] Whereas most linemen used velocipedes and later motor cars to inspect and access telegraph lines, since there was no track this lineman had to use a rowboat or canoe to complete his patrol. The dangers of using a boat along this remote shoreline of Kootenay Lake’s south arm soon became apparent.   

Linemen repairing telephone connections on the west arm’s north shore during the high water of 1913. The lineman standing in the boat is Billy Mills. (Photograph courtesy of the Nelson Museum, Archives & Gallery)

In 1899, the first casualty on record was lineman Robert Fletcher, who ventured out in his canoe to inspect the line but didn’t return. A search party found his overturned canoe about six miles north of Kootenay Landing, but sadly, his body was never recovered. In reporting the tragedy, the Cranbrook Herald described the dangers of his job, noting that he surveyed “much of (the line) by travelling along in a boat … but at times he has to leave the boat and climb the hills.” [9]

In February 1901, the CPR partially shortened the “lake link” gap by completing a 20-mile spur line along the lake’s west arm from Nelson to the new townsite of Procter. There, a new railcar transfer slip was constructed to replace the facilities at Nelson. With this stretch of the old telegraph line now obsolete, presumably, the poles, wire and insulators were salvaged and used alongside the new track’s corridor.

Thereafter, the remaining gap in the line from Procter to Kootenay Landing would be patrolled by a lineman stationed at Procter.

To start his inspection, the Procter lineman left in his rowboat at daybreak. It likely took him two to three days to reach Kootenay Landing, depending on the weather and the number of stops. He probably hitched a ride home aboard one of the tugs. Then again, if the weather was bad or time was critical, he probably headed south aboard a tug or steamer and disembarked with his rowboat at a pre-determined spot.

From the water, a break in the line near shore could be pinpointed with relative ease, but damage obscured by trees above the shoreline was almost impossible to detect.

The vast expanse of the lake’s south arm is known for its sudden, violent storms and strong southerly winds. No doubt, a seasoned lineman was intimately familiar with every cove along the way and knew exactly where to go ashore to escape a brisk wind or an impending storm. In summer, when the sun was brightly shining and the lake was calm, his trip was enjoyable. One suspects he likely put out a fishing line occasionally and trolled for a spell. 

A newspaper clipping from the summer of 1911 mentioned that the Procter lineman Andrew Gallup caught 28 fish in one day while casting off the mouth of Midge Creek, which empties into the lake more than halfway down to Kootenay Landing. [10]

Kootenay historian Ted Affleck interviewed Gallup’s niece many years later, and she recalled the delightful trips she had with her uncle rowing along the lake’s secluded west shore as they headed for Kootenay Landing, and the frequent stops and hikes they made to check the telegraph line. [11] Andrew Gallup was the Procter lineman from 1900 until he retired at the age of 67 in 1920. [12]

The CPR tug Hosmer landing a barge along the west shore of Kootenay Lake during construction of the Procter-Kootenay Landing rail line in the late 1920s. Note the old telegraph poles circled. (Michael Cone collection)

While being a lineman on this route certainly had its benefits and pleasures, the trip could have significant challenges. This was especially true in winter, when rowing into a stiff, cold breeze was bone-chilling, and once ashore, climbing over slippery, icy rocks and sloughing through knee-deep snow was perilous. A case in point occurred farther west on the Columbia River in 1897 when two linemen tried to return home during a bad winter storm after purchasing supplies in Trail. 

Heading upstream, a strong headwind spraying water and snow in their faces forced them to beach their boat. They then attempted to drag their boat along the riverbank, wading in the ice-cold river. Soaked and completely exhausted, they eventually abandoned their boat and continued walking. When Harry Edwards couldn’t go any further, his partner carried on to the nearest siding. A search party later found Edward’s frozen corpse huddled in the trees above the beach. [13]

A lineman’s gear included climbing spurs, a rope, a tent, a lantern, and first aid supplies such as bandages and gauze. Among an assortment of small tools there would be a pocket telegraph key and sounder for testing the line while up the pole. He would probably have a shovel and grub hoe, and a packet of dry matches would be essential. These were needed to light his lantern or start his fire for the night and could also be used to set three fires spaced closely together, if necessary. This was widely known as an emergency signal, and with one steamer and two tugs passing by daily in each direction, there was a good chance a stranded lineman would be rescued. Moreover, station operators were apprised of the lineman’s intended movements, so if he was late in arriving home, captains were notified and instructed to be on the lookout for him.

An antique pocket-sized key and sounder and its carrying case. This is typical of the kind of instrument CPR linemen would have used around the turn of the 20th century to perform work out in the field up the pole. Photograph courtesy of J.H. Bunnell & Co.

Two linemen in particular, Andrew Gallup and Jeremiah (Jerry) Foy, patrolled the Procter-Kootenay Landing section during most of its existence. In all likelihood, one of these two men was the lineman involved in the following remarkable rescue story. On this particular day, the lineman was down the lake inspecting the line when he slipped on some jagged rocks and badly sprained his ankle. In agonizing pain, he struggled to return to and launch his rowboat.

In the growing dark, he intended to row out and signal a tug for help. He spotted the tug Hosmer coming from the south and positioned between the two loaded railcar barges she was pushing. The tug was dwarfed by the barge’s freeboard and the height of the boxcars, which towered 30 feet above the water. Silhouetted against the moonlit sky, the Hosmer and her loaded barges drew steadily closer. Meanwhile, a small light brightened the inside the Hosmer’s wheelhouse, where the Mate, who had been informed about the lineman’s absence, was keeping a sharp eye open for him.

It took the lineman longer than expected to reach and launch his boat, so he had to row hard and fast to get far enough out to be close to the Hosmer’s path. She was still off in the distance but closing fast. He reached into his safety pack and took out his matches. When the tug was close enough, he struck the first match, but it didn’t light. He tried a second time, with no better luck, and then a third.

Meanwhile, with the tug bearing down on him, he frantically struck another match, then another and another, all without success. Finally, with only one match left, he struck it, and it lit. He quickly lit the wick in the lantern, stood up and held the lantern high above his head, swinging it to and fro. Remarkably, the mate spotted the tiny glow moving in the darkness and rang for full stop. The lineman and his boat were taken aboard and brought to Procter, where he was transported to Nelson to be examined by a doctor. [14]

The unfinished gap in the rail line between Procter and Kootenay Landing had always been viewed as temporary, so it wasn’t surprising that the CPR finally went ahead and finished the long-awaited section in 1930 after three years of construction. This brought to an end the story of linemen braving the elements to service and repair the telegraph line by water over this remote 34-mile section. With the new line operational, the old telegraph equipment along the shoreline was dismantled, and new poles (with cross-arms) and more strands of wire were installed along the new section of track. 

The CPR tug Valhalla pushing two loaded railcar barges on her way to Procter. (Michael Cone collection)

From this time onward, linemen would whisk back and forth on handcars or speeders to perform their duties. Spotting breaks and performing repairs became easier and more efficient because of the proximity of the line to the track. Still, the danger was ever-present for those employed in the line trade; rockslides, pole failure, nighttime work, extreme weather conditions, wild animals, long hours, etc., tested the linemen’s mettle. Section houses at Blake, Drewry, and Tye offered them overnight refuge. In many respects, the requisites for line work never changed over the years; linemen still had to work alone, be resourceful, and be willing to be away from home for days.

Today, if you are out for a stroll on the beach or along a trail, you might, by chance, come across a jagged, broken-off stump of an old, weather-bleached telegraph pole, set among the rocks or leaning against a tree. You might even spot an old, rusty length of wire, tangled in tree branches. These historical relics of West Kootenay’s history remind us of a bygone era when telegraphy and telegraph lines followed the railway — the thin galvanized thread tracing the route above the earthbound ribbon of steel — were once the equivalent of today’s text messaging via cellular networks.  

Blasting a cut in the new rail bed between Kootenay Landing and Procter. Off to the left can be seen a couple of old telegraph poles. (Michael Cone collection)

NOTES

[1] Letter from CPR President Thomas Shaughnessy to Prime Minister Sir Wilfrid Laurier, 1908, author’s collection.

[2] The Miner (Nelson), May 23, 1891, 8

[3] The Tribune (Nelson), April 30, 1898, 4

[4] The Miner (Nelson), May 7, 1898, 8

[5] The Kaslo Morning News, June 14, 1898, 1

[6] Ibid.

[7] The Miner (Nelson), Oct. 24, 1898, 3

[8] The Cranbrook Herald, June 8, 1899, 1

[9] Ibid.

[10] The Daily News (Nelson), July 1, 1911, 8

[11] Kootenay Outlet Reflections, (Victoria, BC, Harrop-Procter Historical Book Committee) 1988, 212

[12] The Daily News (Nelson), Nov. 24, 1928, 2

[13] The Prospector (Fort Steele), Dec. 18, 1897, 3

[14] Story told to author by George Donaldson, fireman and later engineer on the Procter–Kootenay Landing tugs.