Champion Mine

By the end of the nineteenth century, copper mining along the Keweenaw had come of age. No longer a rugged and remote frontier spotted by temporary mining camps, the Copper Country had matured into a civilized and highly prosperous land. The struggling boom or bust mining companies of the past had been replaced by stable, productive, and dominant players like C&H and Quincy who had great sway over its workforce and communities. But these civilized lands and the copper mines that controlled them were concentrated north of the Portage canal; to the south lay relatively untapped (and highly rich in copper) resources. But by 1901 this southern range would give birth to another great copper mine – the Copper Range.

Before the advent of air-powered drills, mining was a much more laborious and physically demanding job. (although even with the modern drills it was no walk in the park). Using heavy sledgehammers, two-person mining teams would take turns banging away at bits held by hand. By the end of a shift these workers would be dripping in sweat, and their clothes would be completely soaked.

It was an amazing site – that first glimpse of the dry house sitting up on the hillside. Mostly engulfed by trees and brush, its striking front entrance quickly garnered our attention. It looked rather stately, given it has outlived its usefulness by a good half century. Like some Inca ruin deep in the South American jungle – this shadow of industrial America serves to remind those who stumble upon it that a thriving civilization once existed here. A civilization built not with 1’s and 0’s but with sweat and blood of men.

Sitting just outside of “C” shaft along a overgrown ridge lies this interesting discovery. It looked to be a large pipe suspended up in the air by a series of metal frames. Upon closer inspection we found out that it was in fact two pipes (a large one and a smaller one running alongside) and that the pipes exited the hillside through a small concrete tunnel. After running only a short distance up in the air, the pipes then take a sharp turn straight down into the ground where they disappear.

Leaving the steam pipes behind and walking out of the trees we found ourselves standing below the high tower of another shaft – this one the “C” shaft. Identical to “B” shaft in life, she is also identical in death. The same sandstone foundation capped by the same four story concrete pillar. Unlike “B” shaft however, this ruin appeared to be much more overgrown and is tough to find when your not right on top of it.

Today’s Copper Country relies on the highway to connect it to the outside world and to supply it with goods and services. But the Coppper Country of the Champion’s time relied on the railroad. Almost every community up and down the peninsula had its own rail station at one time, and each of those towns was in turn directly connected to the civilized world beyond. With the development of the Baltic lode at the turn of the century, a branch line of the Copper Range railroad was built to service the newly formed Baltic, Trimountain and Champion mines. With the completion of the line came a series of depots at those locations, and with that mine locations were quickly transformed into vibrant villages and tow

Lately I have had a strange sense of familiarity fall over me during my excursions. Hoist foundations, old buildings, shafts; they have all started to look the same to me as if I’m just finding the same ruin over and over again. Sometimes thats just my imagination (and probably the heat) but here at Champion it turns out I was seeing the same thing over and over again. If you’ve seen B shaft and C shaft, then D shaft should be no surprise to anyone.

Once she was one of dozens, scattered up and down the spine of the Keweenaw. They were symbols of a prosperous land, tamed and civilized by its industrious hand. They represented the great copper empire that ruled this land for over a century. But now she is only one, the last of her kind. As mine after mine closed and these great monuments fell with them, she became more and more isolated. More and more alone. As the Copper Empire died, and the cities and towns under its dominion faded to dust, she alone remained. One last torch bearer, one last monument to a dead civilization.

The “E” shaft was built originally in 1902, making it the oldest shaft house still standing in the Keweenaw beating the Quincy #2’s steel shafthouse by five years. But unlike Quincy which saw steadied improvements in technology and procedure over the years, the Champion #4 is still much the same as it was a century ago. While Quincy had multiple dumps along the skip road that served multiple purposes (one for tools, one for poor rock, and one for copper rock), the Champion had only one that served all purposes. And while Quincy relied on high tech sorting devices such as grizzlies to sort rock coming up from the mine, the Champion relied on men to do the sorting by hand.

The Champion Mine, and specifically the No. 4, was Copper Range’s last hope. As the other mines in the companies arsenal closed one by one and the shafts of the Champion started closing as well – only the No. 4 remained. While profitable for a time, the mine at Champion became less so year after year. The start of the Korean war offered new hope, however, as large government contracts at controlled prices offered a temporary boom for the mine. But the Korean war also sealed the No. 4’s fate, as it also meant that Copper Range was given millions in government loans to develop the White Pine mine near Ontonagon. B