
Deep in Slocan Lake there is a fortune in lost silver bars.
At its peak the silver-rich country around New Denver boasted population of 12,000 men directly involved in mining operations alone, plus citizens of other occupations. The CPR, with its sternwheeler and barge system, ferried the silver ore from the mine-head to the railhead, at Slocan City.
Romantic paddle-wheelers such as the S.S. Slocan shunted their unwieldy cargo. This system worked well enough until, during a storm, a railway car laden with silver ingots was lost over the side. As the winds buffeted the barge, the car, rolling with the motion of the waves, began to advance along its rails. At the edge of the barge it crashed through the guardrails and vanished into the dark waters.
Soundings indicated that the boxcar was resting on a steep slope in less than 100 feet of water. This, however, was subject to change should currents or salvage attempts dislodge the car from its perch. Prompted by fears that the bullion might slip deeper into the murky depths, the company had professional “hard-hat” divers survey the situation. These experts assured the railway company that recovery operations should be quite straightforward.
After several reconnaissance dives the salvors decided that, rather than risk losing the car, which was lying on its side, by trying to remove its cargo, it would be best to raise the boxcar and bullion intact. All went according to plan, the divers successfully rigging the car to a barge by cables. Then, at a signal, crewmen began winching in the cables. The winches steadily drew in the slack, slowly, the cables were coiled about their drums aboard the salvage barge. Finally, a swirling of green water indicated that the boxcar was just inches from the surface.

Moments later, as the salvors cheered, the bullion car broke the surface. Water and mud poured from its undercarriage as it swayed beneath the derrick. The victory cheers turned to cries of dismay when, as they were manoeuvring a second barge under the car, a cable, stretched to its breaking point, let go with a loud crack. The boxcar plunged onto the barge’s bow, ruptured, then vanished in a swirl of white foam. When divers again descended to the Slocan’s muddy bottom they reported that the boxcar, now broken in half, much of its cargo undoubtedly buried in the silt, had come to rest at a greater depth than before.
Not until 30 years after, during the Depression, did another diving firm, also from Vancouver, make a serious attempt to salvage the lost bullion. For the second time in three decades a diver, ungainly in hardhat, air hose and suit, clambered over the side of a barge and vanished beneath the lake’s cold surface.
Armed with explicit instructions as to the boxcar’s location, he found it with little difficulty, and apparently undisturbed. After gingerly exploring its ghostly remains the diver concluded that the silver, rather than having been split in two, remained intact, in one-half of the car.
His hunch proved correct when, groping through the silt, the diver felt a jumble of solid objects. Working blindly in the murk, he dragged one of the lumps from its location and secured it to a hawser. At his signal the invisible object glided upward. Minutes after, his surface crew jubilantly reported that it was a silver ingot.
Encouraged, the diver proceeded to remove one bar after another, relying upon his sense of touch to find the unseen treasure. Making his difficult task almost impossible was the overwhelming knowledge that the shattered freight car could roll at any moment. Even if he escaped being crushed he knew that his lifeline could not fail to be entangled or cut. If the car should decide to continue its descent along the sloping lake bottom, he knew, he was a dead man.
