Ghost Town Donald, BC


Forlorn and forgotten, but not forsaken. While many wooden headstones at Donald have succumbed to time and weather, sporadic upkeep suggests that dedicated individuals are determined not to let this legacy vanish into the undergrowth.

The headboards offer glimpses into the lives and times of the people buried here, with their inscriptions, symbols, and carvings reflecting culture, faith, and family connections.

I’ll never forget the moment I discovered my great-grandparents’ names for the first time, engraved on a granite spire in Ontario. It was a discovery no one in my family had made, revealing where our ancestors came from and where they now rest. I even have a photo of myself embracing their gravestone, overcome by a profound sense of connection to people I’d previously known only through genealogical research.

Though Sir Smith isn’t buried here, I feel a personal connection to this remarkable man.

My passion for railway history has similarly drawn me to Donald, a former Canadian Pacific Railway (now CPKC) divisional point. Donald was named for Sir Donald Smith, the Scottish financier who famously drove the Last Spike at Craigellachie, BC. Smith was instrumental in the CPR’s early success, and Mount Sir Donald, towering over nearby Glacier National Park, also bears his name.

Though Sir Smith isn’t buried here, I feel a personal connection to this remarkable man—he once owned Colonsay, the Hebridean island from which my ancestors left for Canada in 1859.

After the railway’s completion in 1885, CPR crews running east from Revelstoke would stop at Donald before picking up another train for the return west. Today, those same crews continue past Donald to Field, deep in the Rockies.

In its heyday, Donald was home to 500 residents.

This shift underscores the challenges of railway operations in the late 19th century. Back then, crews could manage only 79 miles (127 kilometres) in a day, labouring over steep grades, precarious track conditions, and with regular stops to refuel their steam engines with wood or coal, plus water.

In its heyday, Donald was home to 500 residents. While many lived in CPR housing, the town also supported mining and lumbering. Substantial buildings, including a station, locomotive roundhouse, school, courthouse, three churches, four hotels, and significant residences, made up this lively community.

The cemetery, located on the edge of town along the railway tracks and overlooking the Columbia River, was as serene a spot as one might find in those days, with the forest still encroaching on the settlement. A great-uncle of mine operated a sawmill here at the start of World War II but was defeated by the heavy snow and, ultimately, his untimely death. Today, little remains of his operations—or of the townsite itself.

Years ago, the Golden Historical Society took on the cemetery as a project, clearing trails and installing a large sign detailing the names of those buried here. Even then, trees were reclaiming the site, and today it has nearly returned to nature.

In 1899, the CPR closed its Donald operations and moved everyone.

Among the native flora, one can find lily-of-the-valley—a fragrant white flower with symbolic roots in the Victorian era. Introduced intentionally, it was meant to signal the Second Coming and a symbol of hope for a better world. For the grieving, it provided comfort—a gentle reminder of life’s enduring connection to eternity.

In 1899, the CPR closed its Donald operations and moved everyone, including personal homes, the courthouse, and two churches, wherever people needed them. It was at this time the famous incident of the “stolen church” occurred, but that’s a story for another time.

Most CPR employees ended up in Field and Revelstoke. The town was at its lowest ebb at this time. Let’s now look at a few former inhabitants:

Corrigan’s burial is recorded at Donald, but no trace of his grave remains—perhaps he was too poor to afford a marker. After the CPR moved its operations to Revelstoke, some older and displaced men found refuge in the remnants of the town, living frugally and often in isolation.

A railway acquaintance of mine once visited an old squatter in his shack during the mid-1950s. Curious about the contents of a pot boiling on a battered tin stove, he lifted the lid—then quickly slapped it back. Supper was two gophers, fur still on, simmering away!

Not all stories of Donald are so somber. Personalities were larger-than-life in those days, and several CPR men have had their names immortalized—not in the cemetery, but across the landscape. Sheriff Stephen Redgrave ensured order in a bustling railway town—to the extent he put his own son, a constable, in the clink for murder.

CPR superintendent Richard Marpole had a Vancouver neighbourhood named for him, and CPR civil engineer John Griffith must have been well-liked by the local editor:

Although a sign on Highway #1 (west side of the Columbia River bridge) marks the turnoff to Donald cemetery, it’s not a tourist attraction. Next time you pass by, take an hour to deke into Donald. There you’ll find a poignant reminder of the railway’s impact on western Canada.

Whether educating children about our shared history or simply reflecting on the lives of those who came before, you may leave with a deeper appreciation for the society we enjoy today—and for the people who built it.