From canal to trail: Running through 71 miles that shaped Denver

I spend a lot of my work contemplating the future of infrastructure—what will transportation electrification look like? How will distributed energy shape our lives? Often organizations are considering things like this 3, 5, 10 years out. The reality, however, is that things we work on today with infrastructure will have much longer impacts. What we build today, what could it mean in 137 years? I learned about that timeframe running the High Line Canal in Denver, Colorado this fall. 

I've always been fascinated with infrastructure that has far outlived its intended use. They are reminders about the long-lasting impacts of our actions. This fall I dove deep into an old piece of infrastructure in Denver: the High Line Canal. This 71-mile irrigation canal—built in 1883 to divert water from the South Platte River out to Denver's southeastern hinterlands—had 165 headgates irrigating 20,000 acres of land for agriculture and communities. Now, long after the water that flowed through it has largely gone away, much of the High Line Canal and its trail are wrapped up in Denver's southern and eastern suburbs where they continue to shape the development of neighborhoods today. 

The High Line Canal cuts through an apartment complex, or rather an apartment complex wraps around the canal.

Sidetrack: Why run along a canal?

Before we get to how the High Line Canal shapes Denver today as an urban trail, with my odd adventures like this I'm often asked: Uh, why are you doing this? It's funny how ideas work their way into your brain, hibernate and find just the right time to start growing. The High Line Canal seed planted itself 10 years ago when I researched Northwest Aurora and the Fan Fair building, a potentially historic 1960s parabolic concrete structure abandoned for over 30 years.

One of my research books was Thunder Tree by naturalist Robert Michael Pyle. I mostly scoured the book for information about Northwest Aurora, but I also got snippets of Pyle's experience growing up by the High Line Canal. He wondered how far the canal stretched and how it connected to his little world in Aurora. In college he hiked the trail, which seemed like such an epic, slightly mundane adventure—just my kind of journey. And so the High Line Canal hike was archived in my brain's seed catalogue. The time for it to sprout was 2020.

I didn't realize the canal ran a mile south of my house until we started "hiking" southeast Denver to get outside in early pandemic days. No water ran through canal, so I started wondering if water ever did? If so, did anyone still use the water? And, where did it go from my little neck of the woods? Like Pyle, I started to hike nearby lengths and found myself drawn to go a bit farther each time, just to see around the next curve.

At the same time, a few months of pandemic eating inspired me to train for a run. The concept of "virtual" runs, however, did not excite me. A key benefit of organized races is moving uninterrupted—cruising through major intersections and making cars wait for you for once. The High Line Canal could provide a precious 71-mile stretch of uninterrupted running.

So, I ran the High Line Canal. If Pyle could hike it, I could certainly run it. Although rereading Thunder Tree now, I realized he didn't actually hike its entire length during his ambitious college trip. Pyle packed it in for a cold beer with his buddy after a bit. I ran the trail in half-marathon segments, with a friend driving my support vehicle and buying me breakfast—and a breakfast beer (I'll claim was in honor of Pyle)—after each run not unlike a real race.  

Me pointing at the starting point of the High Line Canal after I completed the series of runs.

The canal creeps though Denver, and yet sweeps the city up in its curves

Robert Michael Pyle was fascinated with the nature created along the canal. I became fascinated with the civilization shaped along it.

The High Line Canal creeps through Denver, quietly shaping the neighborhoods at its banks. I never realized the canal passed right under roads I've traversed for more than 20 years and through places I experience every day. The canal's trail guided me under nearly every major Denver highway like the north-south Interstate 25, the southeastern Interstate 225, and C470 in southwest Denver. It amazed me that these major thoroughfares accommodated something barely used today for its original purpose. Even though the High Line Canal was built in the 1880s, it has very junior water rights in Colorado and flows infrequently to its few remaining customers like Denver's famed Fairmount Cemetery. 

The High Line Canal slips under Interstate 25. 

At the same time, my fantasies of uninterrupted jogging were sometimes dashed—trying to jog across Interstate 70 on the far flung eastern plains of Denver took me on an incredibly windy overpass instead of along the canal. I also darted across the bustling Broadway—twice—or under Santa Fe Drive which was the original southern highway into Denver.

High Line Canal trail doesn't cross under Interstate 70, yet.

The High Line Canal Conservancy, an advocacy group for the canal's preservation, is fixing these issues. For example, at the time of my jog, I couldn't cover a section in the Fairmount Cemetery because of crews installing a canal underpass across the southeast Denver arterial of Parker Road/Highway 83. When I ran near that section they had six lanes shut down at 7 am on Sunday morning to put in the pedestrian underpass. It made me smile—it was almost like those race crews stopping traffic for me.

Water flows downhill—and around hills

The High Line Canal ushers water across the city from Waterton Canyon in Denver's southwest foothills to the northeast plains by Denver International Airport. Like most human creations, the High Line Canal defies nature by moving water northeast counter to the natural northwest flow of water across the hilly terrain. The idea of a "high line" canal means that the water drops just a few feet every mile to encourage the right flow. To keep that right elevation drop, unless you want to build expensive tunnels or pumps, then you have to move water around hills instead of over or through them.

If you traversed a straight line between the canal's origins in Waterton Canyon and the end of the High Line Canal you'd cover 29.1 miles. Driving is 44.6 miles on the distal 470 highway loop, or 42.2 miles if you brave the interstates through the heart of Denver. Say you want to go by canal? You guessed it, 71 miles. That long distance is due to the fact that to get by those pesky hills, the canal must essentially wrap around them. This means you encounter hairpin turns as you cut across the face of hills and then cover the valleys between them. The map below from the High Line Canal Conservancy shows some of those curves of the canal.

Southwestern section of the High Line Canal. Source: High Line Canal Conservancy

What I found fascinating about these curves is how the canal sweeps civilization up in them. These urban spaces would not have existed without the canal, even though the canal is largely dry now. For example, this small neighborhood in the map below is nestled into one of the canal's curves near the end of the canal. To the north of it is open space, to its south is light industrial. The canal provides just a enough of a barrier to provide a break between the noisy car repair work I heard on the Sunday morning I jogged through and the quiet homes just starting to wake up. I also saw my first bald eagle in Colorado on one of the canal's many cottonwood trees just north of the neighborhood in the open space. Nature and civilization coexisted quite well in this curve.

Source: Google Maps

In many instances, when the canal curved down to the southeast it meant that the area encompassed in the curve was likely a gully or low-lying area. These curves created natural parks and open spaces for neighborhoods like the Marjorie Perry Nature Preserve where the houses press neatly up to the canal's edge for a view down into the wild gully.  

Source: Google Maps

And even more recent developments are still being shaped by the 137-year-old canal. Here are two examples in southwest Denver near C470 and Santa Fe Drive. The first map shows a set of homes perched along the canal's "high" side where residents have incredible views looking to the north of the Denver basin and the mountains. The second map shows how the canal bisected a multi-family complex under development. There was also significant skywalk for residents to cross the canal (you can see the skywalk in the first picture of this article).

Source: Google Maps

What does it mean for us today as we look to build the future? Just a reminder of the power, the permanence and the lasting impact of what we build and what it can mean for our communities. Those folks who built the High Line Canal likely did not anticipate it would become an urban trail that would shape the communities of more than 350,000 people who live near the canal. What we build and create, whatever its original purpose, will likely still persist and shape our communities and world for decades to come. 

HCR