At the remains of what was once the grand entrance gate to Craigdarroch, I declared—arms spread wide like a low-budget Disney princess:
“I’m going to see a castle!”
Cue every Canadian, tourist, and possibly the squirrel perched on a nearby cedar going, “Well, technically…”
Apparently, the entire population of the Western Hemisphere has been to Europe and now feels personally responsible for reminding others that real castles come with turrets, tapestries, and at least one vengeful ghost. Even the server at the Empress Hotel audibly sighed when I called Craigdarroch a castle. “It’s more of a mansion, really,” he said, dashing my fairytale moment with the efficiency of a TSA agent.
But here’s the thing: even Wikipedia gets passive-aggressive about it, putting “castle” in quotes like it’s cosplaying nobility at a Ren Faire. And yeah, okay, fine—it may not be a “real” castle. But what it lacks in battlements and dragon sightings, it more than makes up for in pure, unapologetic Victorian drama.
Once Upon a Time in British Columbia…
Let’s talk about the man who built this quasi-castle monstrosity: Robert Dunsmuir. Coal baron. Industrialist. Owner of a dome so powerful it could probably sign contracts on its own. He arrived in British Columbia from Scotland in the mid-1800s, made an absolutely ungodly amount of money in coal mining, and decided he needed a house that screamed, “I am wealthy and I want the neighbors to cry about it.”
Construction of Craigdarroch (which means “rocky oak place” in Scottish Gaelic, and yes, that’s as extra as it sounds) began in 1887. But like all great gothic stories, there’s a twist: Robert died before it was finished. The house passed into the hands of his wife Joan, who managed to finish the build and move in with their ten—yes, TEN—children.
Nothing says “Victorian restraint” like building a literal fortress to contain your reproductive legacy.
Not Just a Pretty Face
Here’s where Craigdarroch becomes more than just rich-people square footage. Over the next century, this four-story, 39-room beast went through more reincarnations than Madonna.
- After the Dunsmuir family left, it became a military hospital for veterans of World War I. Imagine recovering from trench foot beneath stained-glass skylights.
- Then it was a college—because what better setting for your gender studies class than a room with hand-carved mahogany fireplaces?
- It served time as office space, a conservatory of music, and now stands as a museum—the final form for all buildings that survive rich white people and wars.
You could say Craigdarroch is British Columbia’s very own real estate shapeshifter.
Let’s Talk About the Climb
You will, and I cannot stress this enough, climb four floors of stairs. There is no elevator. This is cardio disguised as sightseeing.
But every room is worth the quad burn. The woodwork is outrageous. The stained glass? Like walking inside a kaleidoscope. And the decorative choices will make you question if anyone actually lived here, or if it was all a long con by the furniture industry.
Seriously—imagine raising ten children in this house. Ten! If I’d grown up here, the amount of damage I would have inflicted with a Sharpie and a sugar high is unspeakable. My initials would be carved into every bannister. Every “heirloom” would become a cautionary tale. My parents would have spent entire decades saying, “This is why we can’t have nice things.”
Oh, the Drama
In one room, there are dancing cards on display. DANCING. CARDS. Like in Jane Austen novels, where you pencil in who you’ll waltz with at the next ball. Can you imagine this at a high school dance?
“Hi, you’re eighth on my card right after Josh and just before Connor, unless Connor bails again, in which case you move up. Cool?”
Honestly, the emotional landmines in that system make Snapchat look tame.
Magic or Myth?
When I announced I was visiting a “castle,” I wanted to be enchanted. I wanted mystery and grandeur and maybe a low-level haunting. And to be fair, Craigdarroch delivered—just not in the way I expected.
It’s less a fairytale and more a Victorian fever dream. A place where wealth and family legacy collided with civic duty and post-war repurposing. Where stained glass met stethoscopes. Where kids probably did terrible things behind velvet drapes. And where visitors today can still sense the layers of history beneath the polish.
So no, it may not be a “real” castle. But it’s definitely not just a house.
It’s a place that’s been everything—home, hospital, school, office, museum. That kind of transformation doesn’t require magic. Just time, money, and a little coal dust in your veins.
TL;DR
Call it a mansion. Call it a museum. Call it “technically not a castle.” But visit it anyway. Craigdarroch is a time capsule wrapped in woodwork and ambition. Just wear comfy shoes, and maybe don’t mention Europe.
*This is a rewrite of a previous post
