The best ghost towns offer more than just rusted ruins and cracked foundations. Humans are intrigued by abandoned settlements and visit them to learn about forgotten worlds, rediscover aspects of our personal history, or take striking photographs. Northern B.C. has several great examples, including Anyox, Alice Arm and Cassiar, but they’re not easy to get to.

In the case of Kitsault, a visit warrants a six-hour return journey on a butt-rattling dirt road from Terrace, or longer if you plan to get there by boat. I was fortunate to land a seat in a chartered helicopter, enjoying long transit hours turn into minutes, and memorable minutes at that. 

Crammed into the compartment of a Bell 206, we soar over mountains, rivers and glaciers, and gaze across a sprawling lava field. It’s the remnants of a massive volcano that erupted back in 1700, killing thousands of people from the Nisga’a Nation. Today, the scarred landscape forms part of Nisga’a Memorial Lava Bed Provincial Park.

Over the years, Kitsault has drawn its fair share of curious visitors, including dedicated fans of ghost towns and fishing enthusiasts, tempted by the world-class steelhead fishing along the Skeena River and the region’s stunning natural beauty.

Abandoned with no interested buyers, Kitsault languished for several decades, escaping vandalism thanks to its remote isolation. In 2005, an Indian-Canadian medical equipment mogul, Krishnan Suthanthiran, bought the town at an online auction, sight unseen, for $5.7 million USD. Employing a small maintenance crew to look after things in the summer (and turn on heat over winter), Suthanthiran reportedly invests more than $2 million each year to maintain Kitsault. There was talk of transforming the town into a think-tank centre, a tourist resort, a liquid natural gas port, and a film set.

While Kitsault remains closed to the general public, Suthanthiran continues to have big dreams, and his investment ensures the town’s houses, apartments, medical, administrative and recreational facilities remain in an impressively pristine state.

Inside the community centre, I wipe my finger on surfaces, expecting to find a thick layer of dust. Instead, the polished floors, cabinets and tables testify to a distinct lack of dead skin cells, and what must be a very impressive cleaning crew. I grab a 40-year-old basketball to throw a few hoops, and the ball still has air in it.

Daycare toys from the 1980s are in immaculate condition, and further down the hall is a library with thousands of books and magazines. Some publications date back to the early 20th century, but all abruptly halt in 1983. Along with the tidy gymnasium, nothing would look out of place in any small-town rural community centre today.

I am asked to remove my shoes before exploring indoors. Mud or dirt from the modern world might disturb the spotless spirits.

It all feels like the set of a small-town Stephen King adaptation, perhaps explaining Kitsault’s appearance in international film location databases. The town also feels like a quick, if eccentric, solution to transplant thousands of political or climate refugees. If you don’t mind Kitsault’s isolation, retro architecture and dreadfully long winters, it could welcome a move-in-ready community. 

I wave to a maintenance worker outside the town’s recreation centre. This building saw activity for several years, and while it feels more lived in, I’m once again struck by how clean and tidy it is, all dressed up with nobody to party. The pub has shields on the walls representing Canada’s provinces and sits adjacent to a large curling rink with dozens of stones stacked to the side. All it needs is ice. Downstairs is an old theatre that doubled as a venue for church services, and down the corridor, I turn on the lights in two racquetball courts. You could eat off the clean wooden floors, and there are no ball marks on the walls, because ghosts play a clean game.

Kitsault’s enigmatic owner, Krishnan Suthanthiran, was born in India and educated at Ottawa’s Carleton University. He made his medical fortune in the U.S., and currently runs an assortment of companies and foundations with an affinity for ‘Best’ in their titles. His flowery Team Best biography reveals a rags-to-riches story, but doesn’t explain his obvious obsession with the abandoned mining town in northern B.C. It does, however, contain proverbs and quotes, including this one from Albert Einstein: “If at first the idea is not absurd, then there is no hope for it.”