‘‘When I see the smoke stack 20 miles out of town on my way here,” renowned songstress and former Flin Flonner Jennifer Hanson once said, “I’m beside myself with joy.”
She’s not alone. For past and present residents alike, Hudbay’s monstrous chimney – “the stack,” as it’s known – is as much a part of Flin Flon as long winters, rock murals and ground rumbles.
This year marks the 40th anniversary of the stack, an opportunity to reflect on the origins, peculiarities and future of one of Canada’s tallest structures.
Colossal
It was back in April 1973 that HBMS, now part of Hudbay, unveiled plans for a single, colossal new industrial smoke stack that would overlook Flin Flon from the company’s metallurgical complex.
Awarded the $6-million construction contract, not surprisingly, was Custodis (now Hamon Custodis), a US-based outfit still recognized as the world’s premier industrial chimney company.
The new stack’s purpose was strictly environmental: it would spew sulphur dioxide and other toxic copper smelter emissions from a much higher altitude than its twin predecessors, known as the “short stacks.”
The added height, it was anticipated, would carry emissions over the community and dispersed to the point where they would be less of an environmental concern.
Standing 750 feet tall, the new stack would double the combined elevation of its forerunners, one of which measured 225 feet, the other 150 feet.
That was the plan, anyway. Taking a better-safe-than-sorry approach, HBMS opted to add an extra 75 feet, just in case its calculations on the befitting height were off.
At 825 feet, the stack would give Flin Flon Canada’s third-tallest free-standing structure. At the time, only Toronto’s CN Tower (1,815 feet) and the Inco’ mining company’s “superstack” in Sudbury, Ont. (1,247 feet) scraped the sky closer.
Construction began in earnest, with the key being Custodis’s colossal ring-shaped mould. It was filled with concrete and gradually raised on support rods as the liquid building material below it hardened.
Of course not just any concrete would do. This concrete had to be sturdy – really sturdy – and set in under 24 hours to keep the crew climbing toward the heavens.
So sophisticated was this aspect of the endeavor that a consultant was brought on board. A consultant with a Ph.D. in concrete (yes, such a degree exists). His name was Dr. Block (no, we’re not making this up).
Today a company would ply lasers to ensure a perfectly upright construction of the stack. That wasn’t an option back then, so workers turned to wartime technology: a bombsight, a device used to assist military pilots in bombing targets on the ground.
One of the most photographed northern Manitoba undertakings of the 1970s, the stack construction was a slow, meticulous process. Finally in November 1974, the massive flue was connected to the smelter. Operations commenced in December.
The stack’s completion was greeted with much fanfare. It was symbolic not only of a cleaner age, but also of a more optimistic one. Given its $6-million budget, the project signalled a strong commitment to the future from the area’s largest employer.
New era
Wayne Fraser remembers the arrival of the one-stack era well. And so he should. As environmental superintendent for HBMS in the early ’70s, he spent the better part of a year devoted to the stack’s construction.
He worked with the designers, helped determine the right height, visited smoke stacks in the US and opened his ears to what the relevant experts of the day had to say.
“It was a fairly significant investment at the time and we wanted to make sure it would do exactly what we wanted it to do, and I believe it delivered on that,” Fraser told The Reminder in 2009.
Fraser, who was later elevated to environmental director at HBMS, is full of interesting morsels revolving around that big cigar along the skyline.
The thought of the stack having mobility may sound impossible, if not frightening. But Fraser notes its top portion can sway as much as half of a metre in high winds. If it didn’t have that give, its structural integrity would be questionable.
Fraser points out there are a couple of ways to reach the apex. The preferred option is a claustrophobic elevator ride of eight minutes, which ends with a 30-foot ladder climb to the very tip. Since the stack grows progressively narrow with height, there is only so far the elevator can go.
Then there’s the old-fashioned method of climbing the entire elevation via a metal ladder, a feat Fraser never managed in all his years at HBMS.
The stack features a series of doors out which workers service the blinking bulbs that warn oncoming aircraft to steer clear. Within the cap is a trap door through which Fraser loved gazing out at the city.
“It’s amazing,” he said of the view.
It may represent how far mankind has come in architecture, but the stack remains at the mercy of nature. Lightning strikes are not uncommon as the electrified bolts seek out the shortest path to the ground.
“I’ve seen some brilliant displays where lightning has hit the stack probably half a dozen times within 10 or 15 minutes,” Fraser said.
A more well-known factoid is that the stack is structurally imperfect. Look at it from the south and about 50 feet down from the tip is a slight dent.
Fraser recalls the day Custodis’s ring-shaped mould began to drift in the wind because the concrete was not fully dry.
“So the stack isn’t perfectly straight,” he noted.
And what about those dark rings encircling parts of the edifice? Fraser says they were left behind when the construction crew restarted work following a day off. They mark the points where the ceiling of the stack-in-progress was allowed to completely dry.
Evolutions
While mining and construction technology has advanced greatly since the early ’70s, the stack has generally stood static – but with a few evolutions here and there.
In 2004, the heavy black paint coating the upper portion was extended downward about 100 feet, guarding more of the concrete against corrosion from emissions.
The following year, the stack began moonlighting for MTS when cellular antennae were attached to its side at the 600-foot level.
But the biggest transformation came on June 11, 2010 when the last puff of smoke spewed from the tip, marking the closure of the heavy-polluting copper smelter that was the stack’s raison d’être.
By now the stack had become a lightning rod for environmental-driven criticism both within and outside of Flin Flon’s borders. The Winnipeg Free Press deemed Flin Flon “toxic town” on account of the pollution and an increasing number of residents were asking questions about all of those invisible metal particles raining down on their community.
Indicative of just how worrisome the pollution had become during the final months of the smelter, one political candidate actually endorsed the shuttering of the decades-old complex.
Wally Daudrich, then the Conservative MP hopeful for the Churchill riding, said in early 2010 that the smelter is “polluting, it’s sending off heavy metals into the community and nobody wants that facility.”
Daudrich’s comments would have been unthinkable just a decade or two earlier, when residents seemed more willing to shrug off the toxic smoke in exchange for all of those high-paying jobs.
Sealed
Not long after the smelter closure, HBMS sealed off the top of the stack with a layer of stainless steel, a measure to shield the structure from the elements.
Today the stack, now the nation’s 10th tallest freestanding structure, stands silent, its warning lights still blinking, its sheer grandeur still the backdrop for tourist selfies.
Residents often wonder whether the stack will join other obsolete facets of Hudbay’s business – such as the North Main and South Main head frames – into the demolition pile of history.
But the company doesn’t plan to tear down the industrial chimney until – or rather if – the entire Flin Flon metallurgical complex shuts down.
“Demolition is part of the final closure plan for the metallurgical complex,” said Rob Winton, vice-president, Manitoba Business Unit for Hudbay.
Winton said Hudbay continues to monitor the integrity of the structure. In addition, the province inspects the elevator once a year and an independent company examines the stack and its liner every three years.
It’s also not quite accurate to say the stack no longer serves a function, as Winton noted the edifice is home to many communication services – and will remain so for the foreseeable future.
No matter its contemporary purpose, the stack will always remain a Flin Flon icon in the hearts and minds of those who lived in its hulking shadow.
