If you grew up in Tenino, you know the Quarry Pool isn’t just a swimming hole.
It’s a place where local legends are born — whispered by teens sneaking up to the top of the waterfall and diving off the sandstone ledges, debated in coffee shops and passed down on playgrounds like folklore. Stories swirl about its depth, the creatures that might lurk within, and what secrets lie hidden at the bottom. Some even believe someone — or something — might still be down there waiting to be found.
Some say it’s bottomless. Others believe it connects to underground rivers. A couple of people even claim there’s a stolen 1990’s Tenino Police Department bicycle down there.
For decades, the truth was as murky as the water itself.
So, in 2017, I decided to dive in — literally. Not just for answers, but to reignite the community’s imagination, stoke curiosity and give a new generation something to wonder about. And sure, to promote tourism while we were at it.
The Quarry Pool began its journey in 1888, when the VanTine Stone Company — later the Tenino Stone Company — discovered rich sandstone deposits near the northern terminus of the railroad. Travelers to the Pacific Northwest stepped off the train at the Tenino Depot for various reasons but a few were immigrant stone masons from the Old World, and they spotted sandstone outcroppings in the hills, and set to work carving a future from the earth.
The beautiful, workable stone found here helped build cities across the West.
When quarry operations ceased, the pit slowly filled with water. In 1946, the City of Tenino purchased the site for $1,500 and transformed it into a public pool — and a living memorial to those who served in World War II. It became a treasured community space, a backdrop for summer memories and the centerpiece of local lore.
But despite nearly a century of use, no one had truly explored the bottom.
Until Aug. 17, 2017.
I assembled a dive team led by fellow firefighter and master diver Clay Farrer. King 5 Evening News and other outlets were on hand. Paramedics stood by. Before the dive we used sonar to sweep the water to identify any spots of interest. Hundreds of spectators lined the rocks and fences, eager to learn what was down there — and just how deep it went.
The dive team — including me — suited up and descended into the dark, cold water. Beyond 20 feet, the visibility dropped to zero, and the temperature plummeted. My lips stung with cold. I could barely see more than 6 inches in front of my face. The water, anoxic and undisturbed for generations, was a thick tea of fallen leaves and other undecomposed organic matter. You could only feel your way down and keep hold of your tagline.
We moved carefully, straight up and down, cautious not to drift horizontally into trees, wires, or debris and become entangled. As we stirred the sediment, strange shapes loomed. Tree limbs brushed against us. And then, we found something.
At about 100 feet deep, I reached out and felt a massive, metallic object. It wasn’t random debris. This was history.
Later, using historical records and old photographs, we confirmed what we’d found: a steam channeler — a locomotive-like machine used to cut giant blocks of stone during the quarry’s industrial heyday. Nearby were lengths of cable and other remnants of Tenino’s working past.
We even brought up a few old glass bottles, including one bearing the iconic shape of an Olympia Beer stubby. No gold. No monsters. But proof that the myths weren’t all fiction.
