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 | Scout trip Swede
entry by Papa Mario
11/13/2012 5:29 PM
| In an attempt to find on my own the entrance to a well observed and traveled underground river, entombed beneath the ancient lands of St. Paul marred by change, greed and disregard for nature, my adventure begins in the binary.
Accounts of the old river date back over one hundred years ago. The people who settled the lands after the natives but prior to St. Paul's industrial boom found residence by the river. The community boomed in light of the inexpensive cost of living for the area and its proximity to work (albeit the owners of the mills and breweries have become infamous for their cruel and unforgiving business, labor and personal practices). Soon enough the river by which these immigrants found home was targeted for development by the railway. The river was entombed from it's delta near the Mississippi, upwards and through a large area spanning toward the lake that gave it life.
The tunnel itself I found described to be a unique creature with oddly high walls and formations of many kinds. As mankind transformed its own perspective above ground to create and clean up green space, all accounts show that the underground river, though re-designated as a type of storm drain, remains the remnant of a cold industrial option to surpass the damp side-affects of an above ground river. Its sheer existence and slight transformations to forever mark the intent of an overpowered industry that leave in its wake the terror of forcible evictions, scorched homes and earth, displaced families and forever wounded though previously glorious nature.
I set out on foot from my place of work to indulge myself a bit in the call of exploration. An hour's time to be sufficient to see what I could see, I proceeded to the trail that now covers the area in the heart of an otherwise industrial or business sector. Upon reaching the mouth of the valley where the scorched homes once stood, I felt immensely small under the spiral stone arch that once housed safe passage for vehicles above and trains below. Two tunnels, side by side, the West now used for a foot path and the East just barren dirt and debris with often-enough used tire paths for vehicles: utility, law enforcement, maintenance, grounds or other.
Beneath the shelter of the spiraling arch I was protected from the slight rain about though the strained light through overcast skies seemed hardly diminished by it. The ends of the short tunnel, so massive to qualify as an enclosure is to misspeak, hardly prevent a breeze if there were one or create a wind tunnel. The arch, maybe by design, happen-stance or luck now stood imposing as if it were always there, unhindered by nature and no longer changing it itself. These aspects giving it the superfluous persona of being by nature itself, though by no means was it. The surrealism was remarkable and made striking by its size.
To the West, a large stone wall holds back the earth which supports the busy streets above. Old by my standards but still not remarkably so. With my knowledge fresh in my mind of the community that this area was pasted over I could not help but look to the East where the hill was more gradual up to the indistinct homes or business 75 yards up. Trails from game or wind or rain stained the incline with random bumps and odd shaped hills that only seduced my mind toward thoughts of burnt remains beneath. I chose against taking the Western route around the pond that now lay before me. The East intrigued me with the promise of some possible remains etched into the hillside.
My mind knew the odds were groundless to find any true remains of a Century lost community in the hillside of the park as the park itself was only created after the railway and the railway after the burning and the burning after the entombment of my prize. I gazed witlessly regardless.
The rush of water filled my ears now 60 yards beyond the breech of the pond. Just 50 feet to my West I could make out a trail to the stream's edge. Upon investigation, my heart leaped only to lose its footing when attempting to land. I thought I had found it! only to realize there was nothing truly there but an odd grate over small damp pit. It would have rather intrigued me toward further exploration if my mind not poisoned by the surety of something larger, more promising than a tiny sewer hatch.
Out of time. I would have to come back again. The time though was an oddity to me. I can take 35 minutes to wonder intently but absorbent-ly through a simple park entrance and around a bend when the travel back time is merely 12. Another time. Little did I know what I would find the day after; little did I expect it to intrigue me despite its relative lack of importance, complexity or size, and last of all, for it to pull my attention away from the underground river I sought.
[last edit 11/13/2012 5:38 PM by Papa Mario - edited 1 times]
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