Their hearts brimmed with equal measures of excitement and anxiousness in attempting what less than a fistful before them had achieved.   Thus it was scribed: the abridged tale of how JonDoe, Stoop and dsankt laid their bold plans to conquer the mighty Confluence, infamous tailrace tunnel of Niagara.

 

  

tailrace tunnel during construction. Source Niagara Falls Public Library
 
Before this adventurous tale begins - a quick primer upon the workings of a hydroelectric powerstation and the need for such a behemoth tunnel.   Don't skip this or I'll have the student teacher spank you.   Externally the building appears little more than an ornately built 2 story box.   Peek through the windows though and you'll see a long hall populated by large blue cylindrical generators.   This is but a fraction of the building which extends another 10 stories below.
 

 

this is important! diagram modification by JonDoe
 
Referring to diagram above: the water from the Niagara river enters the penstock which is a massive vertically aligned iron pipe descending into the wheelpit cavity below the generator hall.   Layers of catwalks encircle the penstock to allow workers/ninjas access to the turbines.   Inside the penstock our torrent of water plummets 8 stories, gaining speed until it reaches the turbines.   The water furiously spins the turbines and in turn the generators above to create electricity.   This type of operation takes huge quantities of water which now robbed of their usefulness must be expelled from the turbines and back into the falls.   The tailrace tunnels carry this water from the turbine exhausts out behind the waterfall.   The construction of this tunnel was a momentous task. …
 
Night 1
One does not simply walk into Confluence or lightly consider rappelling into the bowels of a crumbling powerstation to give a … to a hundred year old, 9 meter tall brick tunnel.   This is no Saturday afternoon poke around your local abandoned house or haunted barn.   We trimmed out kit to the essentials below and rolled out.
 

 

pic by Jon Doe
 
I must admit those sub-urban chaps are organised.   They prepared groove inspiring mix cd for the road trip which, to my displeasure, gave me a soft spot for that hag Madonna's song Hung Up.   Being noble and honorable I suffered in silence while contemplating the feasibility of using their entrails as rappelling rope.   We rolled slowly into Niagara with an elitist smirk before the spectacle of lights, people and water.   It is to be blunt: tourist xxx central. …
 
2100
… our faces were stuck, er stickily, to the car windows. Mouths agape the scene unfolded in the glory (read: horror) of Hollywood slow motion.   The powerstation and its surrounds were a conflagration of temporary fences, cars, halogen floodlights and workmen.   Stoop turned with a pained look upon his face, we were being rectally reamed by Murphy and his goddamn law.   All our plans concerned physical access to the tunnel not dodging workers in the abandoned (?!?!) powerstation.
 
We set off on foot for a closer inspection, looking a strange procession indeed: me in all black sporting a ninja mask, tabi and a tanto; the dapper English chaps in galoshes, overcoats and those silly Sherlock Holmes hats.   We are the consummate professionals.   The jackhammers echoed loudly from within the plant, what the xxx could they be doing there so late?   JonDoe and I observed the situation from afar while Stoop took the social engineer's approach.
 
Stoop ambled casually towards the main gate, stepped into the brightly lit yard and approached a worker.   After a brief discussion he slouched right back out.   His body language spoke volumes, his words merely confirmed it.   "I'm gutted - 24 hour works, two teams inside - one working till 3am the other until 7am.   The horrendous racket is jackhammers splitting open the concrete generator shells".   This put a certain crimp on our plans.
 
2200
I dozed erratically, assaulted by disjointed dreams of brick and waterfalls.   I woke to Stoop and JD talking quietly.   A live infiltration merely added to the challenge - it would not stop the parachuting juggernaut.   To absorb a few hours we trudged around another powerstation though to be honest none of our hearts were in it.   It was a poor substitute to the dreams I'd just enjoyed.
 
0230
Four and a half hours later we resumed surveillance upon our quarry.   Shortly after three am a pack of workers left and It Was Showtime.   Jon Doe volunteered for the initial recon, wired up a small radio, adjusted his lip mic and slipped out the car.   Stoop and I watched him scamper the road and dissolve between the trees.   The radios proved useful, though inconsistent and patchy.   We sat tensely, the waiting on edge like this with radio clutched firmly in hand was the worst.   The ability to hear the action, but have no way to affect the outcome is frustrating.   JD radioed in that all was clear, he'd found a small entrance into the PS and sighted a few workers still moving around.   Semi-active or not, we had a xxxx entrance.
 

looking into the generator hall, courtesy of Jannx
 
0330
A blind run lugging all our gear was akin to painting a bullseye on our foreheads.   We didn't even know how to get into the wheelpit! … - we'd scour the entire region and poke at anything that looks suspicious.   Social engineer Stoop primed his best British accent, tourist photographer pose then slipped back into the building with a camera in hand.   If he encountered workers he'd play dumb, lost and British with the accent for the win.   Excuse me I'm just looking for the bathroom.
 
0400
I passed the time of Stoop's absence by imagining what had befallen our companion.   I ran through the possibilities over and over, failing to construct some kind of plausible excuse for all gear if the need arose.   We'd seen a few police cars pass, probably just doing the border patrol thing.   None paid us any mind, that at least was a reassuring sign.   A figure leapt into view like a man who escaped the encumbering shackles of gravity by some arcane magic.   With a positive bound in his step and a grin upon his face Stoop raced through his sentences like a madman, sans punctuation, breathing or pause - "Saw nobody heard workers outside none in generator hall got halfway through gen hall found steps heading down think found way to wheelpit found another entrance we xxx good lets go".   A pot o' tea whack to the dome slowed him enough to reparse his sentences to Proper English and decipher that he'd found a good way to get under the generator hall and probably access the wheelpit.   I was bursting inside, but reserved any celebrations.   These endeavors have a nasty habit of being more difficult than they first appear.
 

 

 the lower generator hall
 
We'd made it, but far too late that night.   We turned away.   Shortly after 0500 we reboarded the Durango.   It was a solemn drive, a flatline end to the emotional rollercoaster of the night.   We were beaten, battered and exhausted but we gained invaluable information. We vowed to return the following night.
 
 
Night 2
… we parked the car and settled in for surveillance.   Like the cops in a cheesy movie we ate donuts and told lame jokes.   Externally little had changed so we locked and loaded.
 
Packed up like posse of hunchbacks we scooted into the station.   The jackhammers echoed, intermittently pausing to yelling voices and a flurry of worker activity.   We watched briefly then quietly descended into the lower generator hall.   The concrete superstructure of the hall supports the massive turbines above and provides maintenance access to their lower sides.
 
Team Conf snapped into action.   JD peeked cautiously down the hall while Stoop and I took to accessing the wheelpit.   We lent our weight to the task, straining to exhaustion and pushing hard enough to slide back across the rough floor.   It was fruitless.   JD ran over and the three of us heaved in unison to create a small, but usable entrance.   Light beamed through the scant opening to illuminate a rusty mud covered spiral staircase.   I exhaled completely and forcefully squeezed into the top of the damp humid wheelpit.   I was sweating like a slave.   Through matted hair and sweat Stoop's and Jon Doe's dirt smeared faces grinned at me, no doubt a reflection of my own.   It had taken two nights but we'd finally passed the generator hall.   I cursed the lack of save points.
 

 inside the beast
 
The descent of the wheelpit has been likened by others to a journey into the depths of hell.   Our headlamps valiantly fought the encroaching darkness, cutting wide shallow arcs that seemed to evaporate as quickly as they formed.   The thick humidity lingered over us constantly and I could almost taste rust in my mouth.   The jackhammers above shrunk to a dull monotonous clank to be overrun by the dripping of water.   Like a vicious poison it seeped through the walls and over the past century bit deeply into every metal surface.   We stood above an 8 story drop supported on a pestilence riddled skeleton of steel.   Whole sheets of steel mesh had cracked and fallen to leave jagged rusty teeth which cut indiscriminately at all within range.
 
We descended by reams of bright yellow caution tape.   In future emblazon it with 'I Dare You'.   Our spindly staircase stretched downward in this massive void, the torchlight barely reached the next landing.   I looked down at my palms to see them covered with chunks of rust as the top layers of the handrails were literally disintegrating in my fingers.
 

 descending the wheelpit. capture by Stoop
 
I estimate we dropped 6 or so stories including one tightly caged ladder bolted to the outside of the penstock.   Upon reaching the base of the ladder we encountered a level which appeared to stretch the length of the hall.   The vapor laden air impeded our vision and even the 3 million candle supertorch failed against it.   The floor is constructed of metal I beams upon which sheets of thick mesh were laid to allow traversal.   Devoured voraciously by the atmosphere the mesh hangs in various states of decay.   Workers reinforced some sections with wooden planks but they do little to aid any progress across this minefield of pitfalls.   We peered through the gaping mouth like holes at the fetid water and the distorted metal shapes within it.   Turbines, pipes and cogs poke through the surface like the ribcage of an ancient dinosaur partially exposed above the desert sands.   There were no floors between us and the flooded wheelpit, we desperately hoped the tunnel access to be on this level.
 

 the flooded turbines. capture by Stoop
 
Stoop tentatively began towards the upstream end of the powerstation across what is surely the most dangerous floor I have ever seen.   I do not embellish its condition in saying it's urbex nightmare material.   With each step slabs of rusty metal broke free, fell for a brief moment then crashed loudly into the water.   A fall from that height wouldn't kill him unless he skewered upon the assorted pungi rust sticks below.   He clambered across the edge of the walkway taking what scant purchase he could.   I worked the other way from the ladder heading downstream into a sturdy concrete area.   Every few moments I'd hear splashes as Stoop moved further away, I dreaded the one to accompany a scream.
 

 worst floors ever. capture by Stoop
 
Through the haze I noticed a redbrick wall and I homed in like Inspector Gadget.   I was on it.   A once staunch iron door guards a 7ft brick corridor but today it sags lazily open upon its hinges.   As I passed through the corridor I was engulfed by a howling wind pulling me inwards.   My heartbeat ratcheted up a notch, could this be it?   I found myself inside a tall arched brick room along whose upstream edge ran an 80cm slot cordoned off by a rusting metal guard rail.   I pushed lightly on the guard rail and it snapped in my hand.   A section of rail the length of my forearm clattered through the slot, banged against the insides, then splashed into shallow water a second and a half later.   I caught my breath as it hit me.   Below was the monster.
 
Others had stood upon the brink of the void above the roaring beast below and in a moment of clarity walked away.   We held their hopes with us as we peered into the hazy depths of the tunnel as they had done.   The narrow slot yielded a glimpse of ankle deep water rushing past and the noisy crash of the falls.   I buzzed inside like never before. …
 
All celebrations yielded to business as we prepared for our rappel.   Stoop whipped out the drill like a goddamn gunslinger and went to work.   The first anchor was bolted slightly shallow which rendered it unsafe.   An anchor not flush mounted to the surface will improperly load.   JD muttered uneasily as he drilled the remaining two anchors marginally deeper.   The Brits finger primed the holes, eased in the virgin bolts, then punched them home with a hammer.
 

drilling the first anchor
 
Resident rope man JonDoe set the ropes and I checked and dressed the knots.   We bunny eared the anchors then tied the tail to the only backup we had - the rusty xxx base of the guard rail.   The same guard rail that broke when I leaned on it.   The base seemed somewhat sturdier though and we straight Mr T'd that xxx without any breakage.   With a glowing confidence we examined our handiwork.   Our single rope access to the tunnel was literally a lifeline.   The only other exit from the tunnel is to brave a plunge into the backside of the falls.   If the anchors or rope failed we'd be xxx.
 

 tying the backup anchor
 
Stoop demanded to go first as he was familiar with doing a mid-rope change over (descending to ascending) so if things went bad he could come straight back up.   He donned the harness and slid over the edge.   The rope drew tight, creaked softly and held.   I looked down at the tiny silver plates bolted into the ground and smiled, brilliant.   Stoop's headlamp faded into the hazy 50ft abyss.   A few tense moments later a great whooping and cheering echoed up the slot.   Stoop's maglite beamed towards us victoriously.   I jumped into the harness, breathed deeply and succumbed to the beast.   JonDoe followed quickly thereafter.
 

 JonDoe in the slot, amongst the mist. capture by Stoop
 
Affixed to the spot with mouths agape like a line of circus clowns we stood.   Small driblets of saliva mixed with the water and rushed away to be consumed by the raging falls.   I felt like a tomb raider standing amongst the piles of riches in a pharaohs burial chamber…   The attention to detail present in such an isolated place is a testament to the construction quality of generations past.   Rough cut granite blocks trimmed the edge of the tunnel downstream of the slot running part-circumference of the tunnel.   Their bluey grey colour and rugged texture contrasted against the smooth redbrick construction of the tunnel itself.   Just upstream from our position was the underwater outlet of the subtunnel which joins the tailrace to the turbine exhausts (see diagram top).
 

 the left hand tailrace before the junction
 
Once again we cursed the lack of pack midgets (and lack of midgets in general) and began downstream.   Large sections of the brick lined ceiling littered the tunnel floor in shards of brick and mortar.   This was an ominous sign. Then we caught sight of the falls.   …   The coloured spotlights on the bank shone through the thick waterfall in a mesmerising rainbow like display.   Over the years the mouth of the tunnel has filled with eroded rock creating a picturesque lake the end of the tunnel.   A kaleidoscope of colours dance across its surface and the siren nymphs of the shiny thing beckoned.   We obliged.   The chilly water crept slowly up our bodies as we inched along the very edge of the tunnel probing with our toes for any sudden drops.   The roar grew louder and filled our ears as the falls loomed upon us.
 
We forwarded the nipple-deep lake and scrambled up the pile of rocks and rubble at the tunnel mouth.   I stood tall in the maelstrom of water and wind, like a xxx kungfu master weathering the storm upon the mountain top.   I was Pei Mei.   I was Milamber of the Assembly.   The water pelted me from all sides stinging my naked torso.   Gusts of furious wind battered me to and fro inside this elemental cauldron.   I yelled in unashamed triumph from the depths of my chest for every drop of Niagara's … that stung my face and trickled down my cheeks.   The tunnel plays upon a very primal instinct.
 

Stoop right behind the waterfall. photo by JonDoe
 
Stoop returned to the rock pile to get some extra footage when suddenly the sound of crashing rocks filled the tunnel.   Something began to collapse at the falls.   This colossal tumbling and breaking drowned even the sound of the falls and reverberated throughout the tunnel.   Stoop frantically scrambled down the rock pile and leapt into the water.   If the rock wall collapsed all the water backed up in the tunnel would suck us over the falls.   JD and Stoop pushed valiantly through the water making little progress.   It appeared to be composed of molasses they seemed to move so slowly towards me.   They were pale faced and exhausted; shivering, shaking and breathing hard.
 

 getting fresh with Niagara. capture by Stoop
 
The junction is an immense underground space, I've never been anywhere like it.   Again the details are striking - acutely angled steel plates layer over the brick wedge where the tunnels merge.   Metal supports hang from the ceiling which appear to have originally suspended a walkway.   Having seen the walkways above the wheel pit I'm scared at the mere thought of one in the tailrace.   I'll let the pictures describe the hallowed space in ways that I cannot.
 

 heaven
 

and how!
 
JD scooted up through the slot and left me under the instruction of Stoop to learn the art of ascending (good place to learn eh!).   We snapped a Charlie’s angels type shot, stowed and stashed our gear, bid the tunnel goodbye and began the dodgy catwalk ascent.   After a brief pause in the wheelpit and with no discernible guests around we exited into the lower hall.   All traces of our visit were removed and at 0330 we slipped quietly out of the powerstation.
 

…
 
I've little left to say really - Stoop and JonDoe are ridiculously hardcore and incredibly dedicated.   With any one of us absent the trip may never have happened.   We had a rough plan, and good info from K... and S...   We chose to go it alone without any of the locals which caused some friction but overall made the adventure more exciting and well, adventurous.   We wanted the full Confluence experience without a guide and got it.
 
The tailrace is the most incredible underground space I've ever seen.   It surpasses everything, even the Labyrinth. ….   Any super villain of suitably ill repute would be proud to call it home.   I hope we did it justice.
 
…