A Creek Runs Under It

A Mystery Solved

I never know where my urban explorations will take me. Several years ago, one took me to the basement of a bank in the University District in search of a stream. I had been led there by the following sentence in a HistoryLink article. “The source of that pioneer creek can still be found beneath a trapdoor in the basement of the Wells Fargo Bank at the northeast corner of the intersection [45th and the Ave].”

Piqued by this curious statement, I knew that the best way to get to the truth was to go to the source. I began by roping in my pal Laura Phillips, Archaeology Collections Manager at the Burke Museum, figuring her credentials were more impressive than mine—“Curious Urban Writer Guy.” Fortunately, the bank’s branch manager was excited about what little we knew. What kind of branch manager wouldn’t be intrigued by a secret stream under a secret trap door under her bank?

She asked around but no one associated with the bank could provide any information and “couldn’t think of where that trap door could be if true.” Despite this, she agreed to let us visit the basement. To get there we descended a flight of stairs into a storage room containing old file cabinets and a heavy metal safe. No trap door was immediately visible but moving an item or two around we discovered what looked like a water meter cover with a short rope extending out of a fingerhole.

Laura, being braver and not holding our documentary camera, pulled up the lid, which revealed a brick enclosed space crossed by a six-inch wide metal pipe. Below it, slightly milky water trickled out of a hole in the wall. We had found the legendary, historic creek. Much rejoicing ensued!

After concluding that an outlet must exist, or the basement would have been flooded, we collected a small jar of water—after all I am a diligent urban sleuth—which I sent to someone I knew at Seattle Public Utilities. He told me that it had different chemistry than Seattle’s drinking water so it couldn’t be city water, meaning it had to be from a spring or seep. I later learned that the water had been tested and found potable in the 1950s, as part of a never-completed plan to build a bomb shelter in the building.

At the time of our thrilling discovery, bank officials asked me not to publicize what lurked beneath the bank’s bowels. Apparently they didn’t “want to give anyone any ideas.” Such as surreptitiously digging under the bank, tunneling into the stream, following it to the brick hole, and popping out and robbing the place? Since the bank no longer exists at the location, I figured it was okay to finally share this daring tale of urban exploration.

I have never located any maps that show a stream at this location but I do know that hundreds of seeps and springs formerly watered the landscape and created many, many creeks, most of which disappeared under concrete. But geology doesn’t stop for urban development; those seeps keep on flowing and keep on appearing at the surface, and in some cases, under old bank buildings.

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Last Sunday, the Seattle Times ran an excerpt from Homewaters in their Sunday magazine. I think they did a great job on the layout and design.

Tonight is my last book-related interview for awhile. I’ll be speaking with my pal Liz Stenning of the Downtown Everett Association through the auspices of the Everett Public Library.