Expecting a ‘Yehaa!’ or a ‘Howdy’?  No, ‘sut mae’ would be more appropriate.  This isn’t north western Canada but it is north west Wales, the land of Welsh speakers and slate mines.  Except that Klondike Mill is a lead processing plant.  

We have been walking in the woods above Betws-y-Coed in an area which I later discover is called the Gwydir Forest Park.  This appears to be a Natural Resources Wales (NRW) non statuatory designation, big on access – the walking, riding and cycling variety – and light touch tourism.  The NRW website says that the Park covers an area of 72 sq km, and that ‘Since Victorian times, generations of visitors have walked the woodland paths’.  https://naturalresources.wales/days-out/places-to-visit/north-west-wales/sawbench/?lang=en

Indeed, the forest area is riddled with tracks, the sort the Ordnance Survey (OS) describes ominously as ‘Other road, drive or track’, so lowly that they have not been attributed with any colour coding at all, and which my father, a petrol head in love with our first car (an early and second hand Austen A40), would absolutely refuse to drive down.  The threat of reaching our destination by a ‘white road’ became a standard family joke. 

Although much of Gwydir forest appears to be coniferous (the map is speckled with those iconic, but totally unrealistic, miniature Christmas tree pictograms) our way is through deciduous woodland, twisted, gnarled and dripping with moss. Sessile oak, silver birch, the occasional rowan, and teasing glimpses of other worlds below or beyond us. So far so wonderful.

But on breaking through the tree line to admire a view we come across an example of the other great feature of the Gwydir forests.  The NRW website continues, ‘Today, waymarked walking trails allow visitors to explore this landscape of lakes, forests and mountains and learn about its mining history’ … ‘Between 1850 and 1919, lead and zinc mining dominated the area. The legacy of old engine-houses, waste tips and reservoirs are characteristic features of the forest landscape today.’  Forget the ‘generations of visitors’, welcome to the tracks and paths of the miners and mineral workers.  Welcome to Klondike Mill!  Klondike?  Really?  Read on.

The Mill was built in 1899 and contributed to an already semi industrialised landscape.   A fascinating and detailed Wikipedia article tells its story, one of technological ambition, the economic frailty of mineral extraction and processing, and of subsequent financial and business intrigue.  I would add that it is also a story of landscape and environmental impact.  

In 1899, it seems that a company called the Welsh Crown Spelter Company (supported by an English company of similar name), purchased and worked a number of lead mines in the area.  With expansion in mind, a new and large ‘dressing mill’ was planned for the valley below us. Ore was to be transported to the enormous mill building from the nearby Pandora mine (another great name) by a 2 mile tramway and delivered to the upper storey of the mill by an aerial runway.  I can feel the bills mounting as I write. 

Power was to be provided by state of the art electricity thanks to Llyn Geirionydd, a nearby lake which had already been conscripted to serve the local mining industry by providing a water supply and power for a generator.  A pipeline was now constructed from Llyn Geirionydd to bring water to a tank above the mill, the flow from which powered the mill’s turbine room.  The company built a new road, installed the necessary equipment, built enormous shallow holding tanks for effluent and even opened a new mine, next to the mill.  Between 100 and 150 staff were employed.

The company’s consulting engineer assured shareholders that ‘the future was bright’, but no ore was processed until the latter part of 1902.  Inevitably, debts were enormous, the price of ore was dropping and the mine never returned a profit.  The Company went into voluntary liquidation in 1905, although the mill staggered on until 1911.    

My thanks to https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Klondyke_mill for so much detail on this fascinating industrial landscape.  What the website isn’t able to tell is the tale of the people who worked there, the conditions of the industry, nor the hardship which must have occurred as a result of this story. 

But there is more: it appears that the name ‘Klondike Mill’ only came about due to a gold rush style scam operated in the 1920s.  An article published in the Mining Journal in May 1920 implied that the local silver-lead mines had struck a rich lode, and one Joseph Aspinall spent much time and money enticing would be investors.  The perpetrator is thought to have been rumbled, however, by another local mine owner, and was imprisoned.  But the name of Klondike stuck.

How long does it take for an abandoned industrial site to become a piece of archaeology, a piece of heritage and a tourist asset, rather than a blemish or an intrusion?  The mill building is now a Scheduled Monument in the care of Cadw.  The ruins are stunning, eerie and well worth a visit.  The site is rich in industrial archaeology and a wonderland for landscape detectives, but sadly, still a silent witness to its social history.  Over 100 years later, the waste heaps below the mill remain bare and sterile, presumably due to lead contamination.  A quick search of the internet still hints at water pollution in the local streams and rivers from the zinc and lead mines; I would be grateful for any further information on this.