Niagara Falls, Ontario //
Into the belly of the beast
The William B. Rankine tailrace and all that came with it
Date October 2009
Posted January 2011
Posted January 2011
A quiet night off would not have been an unreasonable way to spend our second and final night in Niagara Falls. We had, after all, bagged the big one less than 24 hours earlier, and what could possibly top that? In search of an answer the six of us (Nel had returned home earlier that day) hopped a gate and followed a quiet road down towards the rivers' edge. Soon we cut off through dense overgrowth, following the dark shoreline upstream towards Horseshoe Falls.
After skirting around the long dark silhouette of the defunct Ontario Power Company plant (now a stripped-out shell) we spotted the outfall of the enormous William B. Rankine Generating Station tailrace tunnel. Similarly to the tunnel roped-into the night before, this one too was designed to return water from the power plant's turbines back into the river, albeit beside the falls this time, rather than behind them.
Essential to our passage into this tunnel was a vital piece of information which we carried with us: when the generating plants around the falls open their penstocks and allow water in to wind up their turbines, the flow over the falls is reduced. The lessened effect of the falls at such times was considered a threat to tourism and so the power plants only draw water late at night, when the populace are presumably more interested in the nasty arcades, bars and burger outlets that make up the non water-related complement of entertainment in Niagara Falls. This of course means that fewer people are on-hand to notice you down by the river, become concerned for your safety and call in the law. Far more importantly there's just enough rock exposed to permit the outfall to be reached.
For exactly this reason we were once more operating beneath the stars, and now with the frothy unsettled water bobbing just shy of the outfall it was almost time to go in.
At a staggering 19 ft wide and 25 ft tall this drainage tunnel would have been spectacular enough already without the added context of the falls and the hydroelectric power plant, the bowels of which the tailrace would lead us to. After an initial steep slipway (to stop high river levels washing all the way back to the plant) we were able to continue upstream using exposed rock on either side of the flow for a sure footing. The current was strong, especially given the fact that the station was no longer in operation. Mothballed since late 2005, the station's forebay reservoir had not been filled in and remains open to the river, the closed foregates down in the bowels of the station being relied upon to keep the turbines motionless and the tailrace flow minimal (compare with this photo).
Along the tunnel we passed various small side pipes and features along the tunnel's 2,200 ft length, arriving at last beneath the power plant itself. Here we could clearly see the extent of the water infiltration as it cascaded down from above, making us wonder just what the situation was up there. Presumably the gates aren't entirely tight and allow some water to pass.
A few minutes after arriving in this dangerous place I spotted an indicator that we could go further, maybe even reaching the coveted turbine hall of the power plant. By now siologen was taking the photos that you see here and I had begun to take on the semblance of a cat with sellotape wrapped round its tail, thrashing about with frustration and jabbering on to whoever would listen. For way up above it was possible to make out a faint orange glow: the lights of the power plant at the top of the wheelpit. And judging by the size of the shaft up there it could well be possible to reach the very top. Torchlight picked out a selection of rusty girders and stairways, none of which had the courtesy to reach down to us in the tailrace.
What rope kit we did have (a 30m line, a few slings and some ascending gear, brought with us 'just incase') was packed in Marshall's bag. Marshall, like Shane, was absent. Impatiently I stomped off down the tunnel to look for them, finding them back at the outfall. Photos quickly took a fall way down the list of priorities, for here was an opportunity to turn the Confluence methodology on its head and access the mothballed plant above us, something which few appear to have tried before.
Finally we stood in a circle below the orange light, glaring upwards. This was all about commitment: only an hour or so remained until the water level would rise again. Failing to find a way up could result in us being stranded for the following day. Once more I swung the end of the rope which was weighted with a bunch of carabiners and sent it up towards the metalwork above; once more it failed to establish an anchor and crashed back down into the flow. On perhaps the hundredth try the weight sailed over the top of a giant beam, smashed off the wall and dropped down behind it. Mike and loops pulled the line tight and secured it. Now the big question was: would the rusty beam sever the unprotected rope?
Slowly my ascent began, taking care not to shock the rope too much. By the halfway point I was soaked by water that was raining down from somewhere above. Upon reaching the top and hastily looping a sling around a pipe for 'safety', the source of this water became apparent. Horizontal jets of water were spraying out from beneath an inch-thick steel plate bolted to the main pipe above the tunnel (the giant one in the photo below), revealing the immense pressure of the water trapped within it.
After properly anchoring the rope I signalled for Mike to follow, and upon arrival on the little balcony where I stood he agreed with my assessment of the ladders and gantries: they were a complete death-trap. To mitigate the risk as much as possible we set about using the scant equipment we had between us to construct a via-ferrata up the three ladders we could see, all of which were being showered in water escaping from beneath the steel plate. The last of these reached out over the centre of the tunnel below, finishing 40ft above the stone floor below. The rungs held fast, a mortal wounding was stayed-off yet again and the line was complete.
Up here above the spray the metalwork still retained its protective greasing and was considerably safer. Now it was time to see if this route really did connect with the world above. By means of further ladders, steps and gantries I hauled myself further up the gullet of this giant mechanical beast, climbing countless storeys before finally reaching the basement of the plant which basks in the glow of the lights above. A vertical ladder took me up beneath a hinged steel lid, apparently devoid of locks: it was hardly surprising that the staff hadn't envisaged intruders entering by such elaborate means. Shoulder to the cool metalwork I pushed, swinging the grill upwards and then letting it fall open. Stepping upwards one last time I clambered out of the misty darkness and emerged onto the main turbine hall floor. The method had worked.
The generating floor at Rankine was an incredible sight, and in some way made up for the emptiness of the Toronto Power House. We had appeared at one end of a long line of brightly-painted generators, surrounded by various switching and control gear. All of it was perfectly preserved, but will most likely not see use again. There was a distant sound of some electrical equipment, a substation or something, but otherwise we seemed to be alone. Not wishing to explore the consequences of being caught here (we were, after all, due to check out of the hotel in about 4 hours' time) our perusal of the interior was relatively brief. By now the icy water of the Niagara River would be lapping at the outfall once again, and so our way out would have to be through one of the fire doors along the back wall.
Choosing one that seemed to be lacking any kind of alarm or locking mechanism, siologen proceeded to shove the crash-bar and we all bundled out into the night. Barely meters from the station we could already see the outline of the Dodge, conveniently parked in the plant's carpark. Engine gunned and a victory slide around the carpark complete, we blasted off to pick up the rest of our junk from the hotel. Toronto was calling.
Appreciation to the others involved for their drive to keep pushing it until the last. If you found this interesting then be sure to visit the websites of Kowalski and micro, both of whom explored these systems (and others) way before we turned up.
After skirting around the long dark silhouette of the defunct Ontario Power Company plant (now a stripped-out shell) we spotted the outfall of the enormous William B. Rankine Generating Station tailrace tunnel. Similarly to the tunnel roped-into the night before, this one too was designed to return water from the power plant's turbines back into the river, albeit beside the falls this time, rather than behind them.
Essential to our passage into this tunnel was a vital piece of information which we carried with us: when the generating plants around the falls open their penstocks and allow water in to wind up their turbines, the flow over the falls is reduced. The lessened effect of the falls at such times was considered a threat to tourism and so the power plants only draw water late at night, when the populace are presumably more interested in the nasty arcades, bars and burger outlets that make up the non water-related complement of entertainment in Niagara Falls. This of course means that fewer people are on-hand to notice you down by the river, become concerned for your safety and call in the law. Far more importantly there's just enough rock exposed to permit the outfall to be reached.
For exactly this reason we were once more operating beneath the stars, and now with the frothy unsettled water bobbing just shy of the outfall it was almost time to go in.
At a staggering 19 ft wide and 25 ft tall this drainage tunnel would have been spectacular enough already without the added context of the falls and the hydroelectric power plant, the bowels of which the tailrace would lead us to. After an initial steep slipway (to stop high river levels washing all the way back to the plant) we were able to continue upstream using exposed rock on either side of the flow for a sure footing. The current was strong, especially given the fact that the station was no longer in operation. Mothballed since late 2005, the station's forebay reservoir had not been filled in and remains open to the river, the closed foregates down in the bowels of the station being relied upon to keep the turbines motionless and the tailrace flow minimal (compare with this photo).
Along the tunnel we passed various small side pipes and features along the tunnel's 2,200 ft length, arriving at last beneath the power plant itself. Here we could clearly see the extent of the water infiltration as it cascaded down from above, making us wonder just what the situation was up there. Presumably the gates aren't entirely tight and allow some water to pass.
A few minutes after arriving in this dangerous place I spotted an indicator that we could go further, maybe even reaching the coveted turbine hall of the power plant. By now siologen was taking the photos that you see here and I had begun to take on the semblance of a cat with sellotape wrapped round its tail, thrashing about with frustration and jabbering on to whoever would listen. For way up above it was possible to make out a faint orange glow: the lights of the power plant at the top of the wheelpit. And judging by the size of the shaft up there it could well be possible to reach the very top. Torchlight picked out a selection of rusty girders and stairways, none of which had the courtesy to reach down to us in the tailrace.
What rope kit we did have (a 30m line, a few slings and some ascending gear, brought with us 'just incase') was packed in Marshall's bag. Marshall, like Shane, was absent. Impatiently I stomped off down the tunnel to look for them, finding them back at the outfall. Photos quickly took a fall way down the list of priorities, for here was an opportunity to turn the Confluence methodology on its head and access the mothballed plant above us, something which few appear to have tried before.
Finally we stood in a circle below the orange light, glaring upwards. This was all about commitment: only an hour or so remained until the water level would rise again. Failing to find a way up could result in us being stranded for the following day. Once more I swung the end of the rope which was weighted with a bunch of carabiners and sent it up towards the metalwork above; once more it failed to establish an anchor and crashed back down into the flow. On perhaps the hundredth try the weight sailed over the top of a giant beam, smashed off the wall and dropped down behind it. Mike and loops pulled the line tight and secured it. Now the big question was: would the rusty beam sever the unprotected rope?
Slowly my ascent began, taking care not to shock the rope too much. By the halfway point I was soaked by water that was raining down from somewhere above. Upon reaching the top and hastily looping a sling around a pipe for 'safety', the source of this water became apparent. Horizontal jets of water were spraying out from beneath an inch-thick steel plate bolted to the main pipe above the tunnel (the giant one in the photo below), revealing the immense pressure of the water trapped within it.
After properly anchoring the rope I signalled for Mike to follow, and upon arrival on the little balcony where I stood he agreed with my assessment of the ladders and gantries: they were a complete death-trap. To mitigate the risk as much as possible we set about using the scant equipment we had between us to construct a via-ferrata up the three ladders we could see, all of which were being showered in water escaping from beneath the steel plate. The last of these reached out over the centre of the tunnel below, finishing 40ft above the stone floor below. The rungs held fast, a mortal wounding was stayed-off yet again and the line was complete.
Up here above the spray the metalwork still retained its protective greasing and was considerably safer. Now it was time to see if this route really did connect with the world above. By means of further ladders, steps and gantries I hauled myself further up the gullet of this giant mechanical beast, climbing countless storeys before finally reaching the basement of the plant which basks in the glow of the lights above. A vertical ladder took me up beneath a hinged steel lid, apparently devoid of locks: it was hardly surprising that the staff hadn't envisaged intruders entering by such elaborate means. Shoulder to the cool metalwork I pushed, swinging the grill upwards and then letting it fall open. Stepping upwards one last time I clambered out of the misty darkness and emerged onto the main turbine hall floor. The method had worked.
The generating floor at Rankine was an incredible sight, and in some way made up for the emptiness of the Toronto Power House. We had appeared at one end of a long line of brightly-painted generators, surrounded by various switching and control gear. All of it was perfectly preserved, but will most likely not see use again. There was a distant sound of some electrical equipment, a substation or something, but otherwise we seemed to be alone. Not wishing to explore the consequences of being caught here (we were, after all, due to check out of the hotel in about 4 hours' time) our perusal of the interior was relatively brief. By now the icy water of the Niagara River would be lapping at the outfall once again, and so our way out would have to be through one of the fire doors along the back wall.
Choosing one that seemed to be lacking any kind of alarm or locking mechanism, siologen proceeded to shove the crash-bar and we all bundled out into the night. Barely meters from the station we could already see the outline of the Dodge, conveniently parked in the plant's carpark. Engine gunned and a victory slide around the carpark complete, we blasted off to pick up the rest of our junk from the hotel. Toronto was calling.
Appreciation to the others involved for their drive to keep pushing it until the last. If you found this interesting then be sure to visit the websites of Kowalski and micro, both of whom explored these systems (and others) way before we turned up.
