They’re toxic and deserted wastelands – but to those who once lived there, the remains of mining communities are worth holding onto.
In July Susan Mather packed her family into a motor home. She drove north from Calgary, four kilometres past Yellowknife, to a skeletal timber headframe so rickety that cranes can’t set demolition workers on top to assess just how rickety it is. At its base, a yellow-and black-painted board reads, “Giant Mines Yellowknife, Ltd. Last injury: May 1999.”
That was six months before the last gold brick was poured in Yellowknife, and three years after Mather left her first home. These days, when she wants to visit, she books in advance. A mine manager escorts the family through a line of buildings in various states of disrepair.
They’re given hardhats, safety glasses, reflective vests and a rundown of safety precautions, then asked to log in. When Susan fills out a single line on behalf of the whole family, her son Karl jokes, “This isn’t a guest book, mom, it’s a log. This is a worksite.”
Estimated to cost between $500 million and $1 billion, Giant Mine and the townsite it built to house its workers might be the single largest industrial cleanup in Canadian history.