When you think of urban adventurers, Jeremy Kai does not leap to mind. The 24-year-old OCAD graduate is skinny, mild-mannered, and his glasses have a way of being askew. But beneath Kai’s low-key demeanour lies an exploratory spirit, and he finds an outlet underneath Toronto’s streets, parks and ravines in its underground river tunnel system.
This sense of discovery has led him to learn about, discover and document the tunnels in which Toronto’s rivers are buried, and recently he took me on a tour.
As Kai and I enter the tunnel, we illuminate the brick and cement walls with flashlights. Beyond the tunnel opening, the graffiti disappears and as we straddle the water running beneath our legs, Kai delves into the layers of history that provide the place its character and meaning.
He points out a series of bricks in one wall that he estimates to be from the 1880s. The structure here is drab and dull but surprisingly strong and well put together, especially compared to the more recent additions in the tunnel. This tunnel segment also evokes a portion of Toronto’s past that was defined by bad long-term decision making and poor public health.
In the late 1800s, water was more often considered a threat than something to be cherished. Cholera outbreaks were common and journals of the day refer to the incredible stench caused from polluted water and poor waste management. As a result, the city decided to bury its various creeks (Taddle Creek and Garrison Creek, among others) at different points in time. These creeks are now crucial waterways for the city’s infrastructure, providing natural pathways for storm water runoff, sometimes mixed with sewage.
The system has its limits. City engineers advised against merging storm and sanitary sewers in the late 19th century, but politicians who wanted a cheaper option won the day. The impacts of decision continue today, with flooding problems when there is heavy rainfall; Kai keenly reads rain forecasts before going exploring to ensure he won’t be in danger.
High volumes of water cause pollutants and waste to spill over into the lake or a stream, increases the likelihood of flooded basements and closes down beaches in the summer months. But today, we’re lucky. In addition to there being a lack of odour, the water that rushes beneath us is as clear as tap water, surprising Kai. “Normally it’s a bit murky or off, but this is good.”
The city is doing its part to improve the situation, including a 25-year, $1 billion Wet Weather Flow Master Plan. Its aim is to improve water quality, habitats and infrastructure through a combination of planning, construction and public programs such as mandatory downspout disconnection, which redirects residential water to lawns and gardens rather than storm grates.
Independently, public education has been furthered by citizen groups such as the Human River campaign, Jane’s Walks and Lost Rivers group, which informs people about and celebrates Toronto’s rivers and creeks with tours and information.
These are things that Kai values, but he prefers his own twist to highlight Toronto’s forgotten rivers and the accompanying information. “I like to approach the city from a romantic point of view,” he says in a midtown tunnel halfway through our three hour tour as cars rumble above on Yonge Street. “I want something that’s meaningful that’s not the CN Tower.” Celebrated local publisher Annie Koyama shares Kai’s sensibility, and published a book of his photography on the subject last month, Rivers Forgotten.
The photographs echo his approach to the tunnels, as subtle shades of brown and gray on brick walls are illuminated by his lighting and guide the eye along the curves to appreciate both the vital function and aesthetic. What Shawn Micallef’s Stroll does to bring to light the details of above ground Toronto, Kai’s wordless book does for the unseen and hidden portion of city’s water underground.
This balance of illumination and mystery creates a mythology that merges the dry didacticism of Wet Weather Flow Master Plans and a mystique of history and possibilities. “Those white marks are ghost slime,” he jokes as he points to inch-thick chalk-like calcium deposits that encircle a tunnel wall less than two metres in diameter. He also points out vestiges of the past, like a splintered piece of wood that has provided support for 80* years, or announcing the depths at which we are underground. “Maybe about 3* metres at this point, I think,” he says as we waddle through one tunnel that’s buried beneath another one.
As we leave the tunnel with its clean stream of water and sediments of history and turn off our flashlights, Kai speaks wistfully for the relationship that major European cities have with their tunnels. Places where urban explorer conventions are held, youth gather and authors from Neil Gaiman to Umberto Eco unleash uninhibited imagination in London and Paris tunnels in books such as Neverwhere and Foucault’s Pendulum.
But for that, more history has to be understood, stories shared and light shed.
Rivers Forgotten is available at Chapters at John and Richmond, The Beguiling at 601 Markham St. and through Kai’s website www.riversforgotten.com.
* CORRECTION DECEMBER 27: An earlier version of this story described the splintered support beam as 125 years old, and estimated the depth of the river tunnel as 30 metres underground. OpenFile regrets the error.
