Searching for The French Mine

If the Mascot Mine hangs “up there” clinging to the mountainside like a distant but visual beacon begging for exploration, then the French Mine seems to be a whole other world away. The French Mine could be considered the lesser known step-sister, quietly churning out that most lusted after commodity as her more famous sibling basked in the glory of that time. As the crow fly’s, the two are separated by no more than a mile, yet the French Mine is hidden, tucked into the bosom of the mountains, yearning for only the more adventurous and curious to seek her history out.

Locating the French mine would be first foray into the local wilderness for the combination of my Wife, the pooch, and our recently acquired “search and expedition” vehicle….the little red Jeep.
Armed with my trusty gps, a well abused map book, and recently gleaned knowledge from the ever-informative “world wide web”, we set out on a perfect October morning to find, explore, and examine what the French Mine had to offer. On this inaugural trip I decided to bring along Brent and Jodie, good friends of ours who jumped at the chance to accompany us on this episode of our search for the unexpected. Unaware that I had absolutely no real clue where we were headed, exactly how we were going to “get there”, what if anything of interest we would actually find, and most importantly..... if we would complete our exploration with a safe return home……they followed along willingly, smiles in hand.

As it turns out, locating the mine site herself was relatively easy and straightforward process. Fortunately though, not easy and straightforward enough to encourage the rest of society to venture off the paved path to locate, explore, and as so often witnessed before..…to destroy. We ascended from the Similkameen Valley below; following what can only be described as a paper thin road cut along the path of a mountain goat with obvious attention deficit tendencies. Once we located the mine site we eagerly geared up (gearing up meaning grabbing a flashlight, the camera, and attaching the bear bell to the dog) and headed for the nearest willing and accessible portal.

The French Mine was laboured upon between 1950 and 1960 and in total she yielded 77000 tonnes of ore. Approximately 21 grams of gold per tonne of ore was recovered from the underground workings. I have conversed with a gentleman who like me is burdened with this sickness to search out and explore places like the French Mine. Both his experiance and experiences have allowed him to navigate the many miles of tunnels, portals, and shafts all branching off from the few remaining entrances to this fantastic and complex subterranean structure. For now, my cravings for exploration seem to be satisfied with forays of no more than a few hundred feet through the open portal and into the darkness of the Mine’s belly herself.

Sensory depravation is a strange beast. With a few solitary steps one can be transported from the brightness of the real world, back into a pitch blackness that holds the past. A flashlight is your best friend in times like these, and a simple flick of the switch leaves you standing there in a vast solitude, suffering the temporary and absolute blindness that can not be experienced above ground. While hovering as little as 50 feet from the safety of the light and warmth of the sun, you can almost feel as if you have been taken to a nether world, and that at any moment Gollum himself will tug on the rear of your jacket and pull you into the depths of the mountain…….never to be heard from or seen again.

Our adventure was completed with a well deserved picnic at the French Mine. We perched ourselves atop the boulders, rocks, and rubble that were once part of the body of the mountain…all excavated in search of that elusive 21 grams of preciousness per tonne.
We dined on fresh made sandwiches with aged white cheddar, devilled egg, and roasted red peppers, and snacked on homemade apple pie with whipped cream. We sat and devoured, and conversed of the destination for the next chapter in this journey….all while looking down at the Similkameen River winding through the Valley far below, a perfection of a picture postcard view if one their ever was.