Murder in Midway

Lovely Midway.

 By Maryanna Gabriel 


Charles L. Thornet was shot here. 

The valley I am travelling through in the boundary area of southern British Columbia is lovely. The way the sun sets the golds and greens of the pastoral landscape alight, framed by undulating mountains, and where pine trees veer away from the Kettle River is post card perfect.

One sometimes bashes through places, clicking along as the kilometers whizz by unaware of the history but here I pause and walk. Today, about three hundred people live in Midway, so called, it is thought, because the town is midway between the Rockies and the Pacific. Midway seems a sleepy and serene place but it was not always. A deathbed confession adds further mystery to the unsolved murder of Charles L. Thornet.

In the 1890s cattle were being rustled across the line. Midway is close to the American boundary and unsavoury types were up to no good raiding the surrounding ranches. Charles Thornet was a tall, striking man - a crack-shot, and a good tracker, with the perfect resume. He was hired as the lawmen and he did a good job of it and as a consequence put a few people in jail.

Charles L. Thornet - a striking man. 

For some reason, there was a war in Midway. It had to do with two railroads. The owners were rivals and sworn enemies and right of way was contested. It led to a confrontation between hundreds of men armed with pickaxes and shovels who proceeded to bloody one another. The Midway War of 1905 made headlines across Canada and in the European papers. Thornet's job was to put a stop to it.

He did. A notable feat. Miraculously, no lives were lost, but a lot of men were put in lock up. 

Thornet went on to leave the job (gee, I wonder why) and bought the Midway Hotel. He was a good businessman, and the hotel thrived. In 1908, one hot August night at 7:00 pm, two men wearing masks entered the bar. They leveled their guns at Thornet. Thornet picked up his rifle from behind, fired off several rounds and wounded one of his assasins. Thornet, however, was mortally shot. The gun men jumped on their horses and galloped up the dirt street.

A few doors away, two men named Lou Salter and Bing The Chinese Cowboy were playing poker on the verandah of the Spokane Hotel. Someone yelled. 

"They've shot Thornet!" 

Lou reached behind for his twelve gauge and with a clear view took aim. As the gunmen approached, listing in the saddle, the masks fell away. Salter hesitated, lowered his gun, then raised it once more. He came to a decision and lowered his rifle one last time The men galloped away in a cloud of dust and rode over the line never to be heard or seen again.

In 1969, when Lou Salter was long gone, Bing The Chinese Cowboy lay dying in the Nelson Hospital. He told the tale of Salter's opprtunity and what he did. If Bing The Chinese Cowboy knew the identity of the galloping escapees it went with him to the grave. We can only speculate. Thomet's murderers remain a mystery to this day. 

Except for a small government sign, no trace of this exciting history remains. And that said she is that. 

And now I drive like the wind. 

Source: Bill Barlee (historian) "Gold Trails and Ghost Tales - Midway".

Grand Forks and a Woman Who Weeps

Later to become a superb restaurant which has since closed. 

By Maryanna Gabriel


Am passing the night in Grand Forks in Southern British Columbia. The pleasant tree lined streets reveal a history evidenced by turn of the century architecture. Here two rivers conjoin, the Kettle and the Granby, hence the town name. With the surrounding grassy pleateaus, the area is perfect for running cattle. 

Like other towns in lower British Columbia, ranching gave way to a new influx of settlers when rich ore and mineral deposits were discovered. A story caught my eye.

A dentist came to Grand Forks, Dr. C.W. Averill, to set up practice. He serviced the plethora of miners in the surrounding areas. They say he used to melt gold coins and use them in his dentistry. However, he had a problem. His wife did not want to live in Grand Forks. To compensate, he had a fine mansion built, high on a hill with sweeping views of the rivers as enticement. The Averill mansion had a turrett, stained glass windows, and a fine verandah. 

His wife may have been prescient. Hardship visited them. A son was lost and Dr. Averill became seriously ill. In the years that followed, a woman may be heard weeping from a bedroom on the top floor. They say the house is haunted. More than one person has verified this account. In conversation with a local today, many have also seen her. 

Averill Mansion built in 1895.

*Source: Bill Barlee (historian) "Gold Trails and Ghost Tales - Grand Forks".

Officer Report and Not a Bad Somewhere Else

 By Maryanna Gabriel 


By now I'm loading the car. As quickly as my compromised back will allow. 

The conversation with the conservation officer was not exactly reassuring. He could trap the bear "but there are so many cubs in the area" he might trap the wrong one and then the mother would tear the trap apart. Oh, and the 4-year-old should not be playing outside alone.

Then there was the final kick. Bears tore apart three cars last year in Nelson. Completely ruined them. I should empty mine. 

My precious car with nice smelly stuff? Like hand cream. Did I put the walnuts in? By the way, are those scratch marks on the drivers seat door handle from my keys? Or....

Upshot? Immediate plan change. Rearrangement of itinerary. Insomnia. Maybe forget stargazing.

I pack faster and madly cogitate, whilst fearfully looking over my shoulder. I jump at any movement and slight noise. Then I phone the man who is in charge of my domicile. He lives nearby. 

"The key is under the pansy pot," I say. I describe the cub. 

"I met that bear. He came into my house," he says. "Just walked right in. Ten in the morning. He was interested in the cat food dish. Fortunately, when I yelled he left." 

So, no window-gnawing then. We decided he went from my place to his within hours. Not sure why we all say "he" but we do. 

I spoke again to the mother of the four-year-old girl. They have lived in Nelson for ten years. The bears only started coming down from the mountains two or three years ago when it was so dry. Not before. It is a new bear movement. The cry around town is to preserve the bears and the conservation officers have new protocols to abide by. She tells me her backyard is almost fenced and smiles reassuringly, as though her daughter will be fine. I did not want to mention that bears climb fences. 

Whatever happens next on the bear front, I've now checked out. See you later. I'm all for preserving body and soul, thank you very much. And my car. 

Last night I slept like a lamb. Not a bad somewhere else. A pair of ospreys are circling the shore. 

Not a bad somewhere else. 

Bear and I

 By Maryanna Gabriel 


   Am madly packing. Close encounter. Oh, a wee cub… I’ll snap a picture, I say to myself and move slightly closer. So cute. Where's his mother, by the way?

 He charged. A beeline right for me.

"Where's my hotdog..."

   Human. Food. Like he was starving, and I'm going to hand him a free lunch. Maybe a hot dog in a nice bun. Startled, I duck behind the shrubberies and back up. I have a ground floor unit and I make it to the door and close it firmly behind me. He follows me and stands on his hind legs as I watch him through the window.

    I was worried about the four-year-old girl, a tiny thing who plays next door and after some time, when I thought when he had moved on, I brave the driveway, and leave a warning note on their door.



   Last night, he banged alongside my bedroom window. No more, Ms. Nice, it's my wall. Bug off. I decide it's time I scare him off. I flash the outdoor light and bang the front door as loudly as I can, a sure-fire technique. But no. Not so much. In his mind? Hotdogs. Maybe I look like one. I should check the mirror. 

   As before, he raced right to me, stood on his legs, and clawed at the front door while I quickly move inside. I peer at him through the side window. He sidles to same window and looks in as his little paw claws are poised against the glass. Gosh the claws are long. 

We were a foot apart...

That’s when he bares his little cub teeth and gnaws on the glass. Gnaws on the glass? I jerk myself out of his, now not-so- cute, line of vision.

   I’ve been thinking. He runs faster than I do.

   Conservation officer. First thing Monday morning.  

On Leaving Nelson

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Ferry to Harrop and Procter.

Church in Procter.

 
















  The ferry to Procter, a little community accessible by boat and only a few miles northward, is impressive. It makes the 180 meter crossing 24/7. Procter is a pretty place that used to be the epicenter for the paddlewheelers. Many of the buildings are turn of the century. 

   I’m happy to report that I am over halfway through my first draft. When it comes to writing, any distraction will do, and so I write in two-hour blocks, dominated by Nelson’s tooney-gobbling parking meters. The ticketing officers are most enthusiastic. Speaking of which, bylaw enforcement was on the street immediately the drug laws in British Columbia changed a short while ago. Now those that wish drugs wait on a lawn by the clinic below where I live and where heroin and meth are dispensed.

   It's just a little strange I can get a free hit of heroin should I choose, but if I want a doctor appointment I have to wait in the street outside a different clinic, enter one person at a time, Saturdays only, between the hours of 10 and 2, no advance appointments taken. If I don’t like this arrangement I am to contact my governing representative. There is a four-year waiting list in Nelson for a doctor.

   Medical system aside, as I leave this beautiful geography, there is much I will miss. The friendliness of the people; everyone says hi - even when they pass from behind. And they say there are more restaurants per capita of anywhere with the exception of San Francisco. The lovely Victorian architecture of the businesses is impressively maintained. The same may be said of the gracious homes with streets lined by enormous maple trees as I gawk at balustrades and porches of yesteryear and negotiate the undulating hillsides. My thanks goes to this special place and part of my heart will always remain. JK Rowling may have had Edinburgh for Harry Potter, but I had Nelson.

   I am forgetting how busy things are in the summer. I must have gotten the last room between here and Vancouver, but I did I luck out. Tally ho, and see you in the next chapter. 

SS Moyie In Kaslo

Shallow drafts made it easy to come close to shore. 

 By Maryanna Gabriel 

Given it is summer, the SS Moyie, a paddlewheerler that is located in Kaslo, BC,  is open. As a frequent flyer, BC-Ferry-person, it's fun to see how it all was in the year 1898. My friend and I went aboard. 

SS Moyie in Kaslo, BC commissioned by CPR Railway 1898.

Definitely more elegant than modern conveyances. What we loved the most was the Ladies Salon, a lacey wonder with touches of violet. Why? Not only was it a more gracious era, the times were affluent given Nelson and Kaslo had struck gold and it was the highway system for the towns, along this deep and beautiful waterway flanked by snow-capped mountains. It would chug along with two men feeding a huge boiler with masses of coal.
If one wanted to rent a sleeper cabin it was three dollars a night which included meals. There is even a smoking room with spittoons -  an acceptable practice. 

Pretty salon. A lacy violet wonder. Ladies only.

Smoking room with spittons. A nice feature.
The display case features antique rubbish that
passengers shoved down the window sills. 

Private birth for three dollars a night. 

At the very top of the ship was the wheelhouse. The ship's whistle has a nice breathy sound. There is a story about the whistle. The SS Moyie made her final voyage in 1957.  When it was docked in Proctor, it was vandalized. The whistle was stolen. Then in the 1960s the whistle was donated to the Nelson Museum and Archives. There is a story the whistle was "found" in the Nelson shipyards. Winston Barclay, a machinist for the CPR was instrumental in its restoration. 

The ships whistle. For a small donation one can make it sound. 

The wheelhouse. The wheel turns. 

Archival photo of the wheelhouse. 

After a good wander around Kaslo, my friend has departed. Soon so must I.
There is much I will miss about this area... it has been wonderful to explore. 

Toodling Along On Car 23

 By Maryanna Gabriel

Not a good day. Source: Nelson Archives

Recently, a friend and I got to toodling about town. Quite literally, we tooted our way along the lake side of Nelson on Car 23.

Nelson was the smallest city in Canada, to have the smallest tram system "in the British Empire", from 1899 to 1939. Trolley car 23 was built in Cleveland, Ohio. When times changed the tram became alternately: a gift shop, a tool shed, and a dog kennel.

In 1982 it was donated to Selkirk College where The Nelson Electric Tramway Society and the college restored it with fresh paint, metal sheeting, the replaced floor beams and roof. 

It really is the cutest thing, and Nelsonites are rightly proud of it. Why are trains so much fun?

Source: Nelson Archives