ODDS’N’SODS — Prospecting, 1990s style (1)

First, my old car of 11 years had to have an oil change, a new oil filter and gas fuel line. Then a train schedule had to be consulted to plan departure dates.

Maps, mainly geological, had to be readied, together with reports. A prospecting work schedule was drawn up and a search made for good campsites using a stereoscopic viewfinder on aerial photos. Since the average speed of the train was only 40 m.p.h. and the fare terribly expensive, I decided to drive to Capreol from Toronto and then go the last 24 miles by train, there being no good roads into the target area.

A 3-page list of equipment, food and supplies — everything needed to survive and work in the bush for 23 days — was prepared. It was starting to suggest Napoleon’s march on Moscow. Everything on the list was checked off and packed. There were nine items of baggage, mostly in cardboard boxes. Having taken three days to get ready, taking every possible contingency into consideration, I left at 10 a.m., Tuesday, May 4, 1993. The weather outlook was poor. Stopping for beer and sandwiches on the way, I reached Capreol at 4 p.m., and made arrangements with Canadian National Rail to be dropped off and picked up at my planned camp, 24 miles northwest near the railtracks. After I found I could leave my car in the station parking lot without much risk for 23 days, I unloaded my bags onto a platform trolley to await the train. Promptly at 8 p.m. a smart blue and yellow diesel-electric locomotive arrived, pulling seven stainless steel Pullman cars and a baggage car. I spoke to the engineer and the train conductor and the latter knew exactly where I wanted to get off, although it was right in the middle of the bush. He also carefully wrote down the date and time that I expected to be picked up: May 27 at 12.15 p.m. several miles northwest of Capreol (the site of the abandoned Raphoe railway station).

In this quaint little town with its French name, railway maintenance is the main occupation. The population is about 2,000. Like the nickel mining centre of Sudbury (population about 100,000), nearly half the people are French and conditions are those of a frontier town — on the edge of civilization, as the European sees it. The surroundings of the Canadian Shield (granite-volcanic rock plateau), with its tundra-like boreal coniferous forest, are rugged.

Most of the rail traffic is freight, and the passenger train (Toronto-Winnipeg-Vancouver) runs only on Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday. Its arrival at Capreol is a major social event for the townsfolk. They come to gawk at the passengers (a strange new species), bringing the kids along and taking pictures.

I got onto the baggage car to avoid losing my luggage, and with rain threatening, the train left at 8.20, close to sunset. The train didn’t make much noise. There was only one joint in the rails every quarter-mile and the ties were concrete. The track was well-maintained, but it was single track and the train’s speed must have depended upon that of the preceding freight train.

It rattled over the river a couple of times as it crossed steel trestle bridges, but mainly it followed the river valley past little settlements with funny names like Milnet and Anstice, where a few shacks or private cottages housed the local bushwhackers. On it went, through rocky cuttings, skirting muskegs, alder swamps, river bends, lakes, coniferous and poplar forests, as dusk descended.

My campsite was carefully chosen from a 1973 map which showed some shacks and a bridge across the river. (I needed that bridge to reach a suspected possible bedrock source of gold in the volcanics.)

The train stopped at the right spot, guided by the conductor, who got in touch with the locomotive engineer by walkie-talkie. He pointed out the old trail which led to the river bridge. I carefully climbed down the iron rungs and they quickly handed down my luggage.

— John Morgan, who lives in Scarborough, Ont., will conclude his story next week.