Northword 2015--08

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August / September 2015

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Bears

in the backyard

Wolves on the beach

Salmon

in the smokehouse

Frogs

in the cow field

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Wasps in the weeds

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story page 33

story page 26

s t o r y p a g e 16

s t o r y p a g e 14

story page 12

Co ver Photo

2015

issue no. 59

Find yourself up a creek without a paddle? Kick off your shoes and enjoy the float. Photo of kayaking on Kloya Bay near Prince Rupert by Amanda Follett Hosgood

Fea tures 8 10 12 14 16

Backyard Bears

By Jane Stevenson

27 29

Relax by Rail

Travels through the North by train and ferry

By Hilary Crowley

Smokin’ Good Fish

Many ways to smoke a salmon

By Emily Bulmer

28

Cows versus Frogs

Fort Fraser ranch promotes amphibian biodiversity

By Norma Kerby

Grand Entrances

Northerners and the long drive home

By Norma Kerby

33

Seaton Ridge Trail

A high lookout upon many ranges.

Map and trail guide

By Morgan Hite

Camping with Wolves On Porcher Island

By Keith Billington

In Search of the Strange A tour of the odder side of northern BC

By Matt J. Simmons

Depa rtm en ts 7

26

contents

s t o r y p a g e 10

Au gus t / Sep tember

In Other Words

Editorial and cartoon from the seasoned and the silly

On the Fly

Fishing in northern BC with Brian Smith

31 34

Resource Directory

Services and products listed by category

The Barometer

A seasonal reading of the Northwest

by Char Toews

Top Culture

Explore the rural route to northern culture with UNBC’s Rob Budde

Story Comm en ts?

Tell us what you’re thinkin’. Comment on any story at www.northword.ca

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Joanne Campbell

PUBLISHER/ADVERTISING SALES MANAGER

contributors

joanne@northword.ca t: 250.847.4600 f: 847.4668 toll free: 1.866.632.7688

Paul Glover EDITOR

paul@northword.ca

ADVERTISING REPRESENTATIVE

shannon@northword.ca

Sandra Smith

LAYOUT DESIGN, NATIONAL ADVERTISING REPRESENTATIVE

sandra@northword.ca

Brian Smith is a writer and

Morgan Hite has lived in Smithers for 20 years, makes maps, goes hiking, gets lost, writes articles, reads things and dreams about travel.

Telkwa’s Jane Stevenson is the author of two historical books. Her fiction has appeared in journals across Canada. Jane is forever grateful to Northword, the first magazine to ever say “yes”.

Charlynn Toews has published

in daily and weekly newspapers, national magazines, and loves a good regional. She writes a regular column for Northword from her home in Terrace.

Hans Saefkow is an awardwinning editorial cartoonist, illustrator and set designer. If you see this man, do not approach him, feed him, or listen to his idle chatter. It is simply best not to encourage him.

Emily Bulmer is a longtime Smithereen who enjoys subjecting herself to unscientific experiments in living. She occasionally records her findings and reports positive results most of the time.

Keith Billington, a Registered Nurse from England, emigrated to Canada and worked in the Canadian Arctic for six years. Since retiring, Keith and his wife Muriel travel in winter by ski and snowmobile, and in summer find adventure in their sea-going kayak.

Rob Budde teaches creative writing and critical theory at the University of Northern British Columbia. He has published seven books (poetry, novels, interviews, and prose poems). His most recent book is Finding Ft. George from Caitlin Press.

photographer who has fly-fished BC’s waters for over 45 years. He recently published his second book, Seasons of a Fly Fisher, and lives with his wife Lois in Prince George.

NORTHWORD MAGAZINE Northword Magazine is the only independent, regional magazine that covers northern BC from border to sea. Our goal is to connect northern communities and promote northern culture; we put a vibrant, human face on northern life with great articles and stunning images. Northword Magazine—BC’s top read, for a reason.

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Shannon Antoniak

www.n orthword.ca

Hilary Crowley is a freelance writer living at Summit Lake. Her nature and outdoor adventure columns have appeared in the Prince George Citizen.

She also writes about her experiences in India, Bhutan and Tibet.

Norma Kerby is a Terrace-based writer and environmental consultant.

Her passions include amphibians, natural ecosystems, sustainable living and adaptations of wildlife and people to northern British Columbia.

She occasionally writes poetry about the North’s uncertain future.

Matt J Simmons is a writer based

in Smithers. His love of literary adventure continually compels him to climb mountains, wander old overgrown paths, and explore BC’s lesser-known routes, ever in search of a unique and memorable experience.

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editorial

In Other Words

Zombie fighters grow here

by Joa n n e C a mpb el l

I’d been feeling rather grumpy about the world.

My latest codger complaint: humans are becoming connected to a hive mind through communication facilitated by e-media and are disconnected from the natural world. We’ve created a virtual zoo where we can see our neighbours but can’t touch them. We pace the Internet like bored animals, hardly able to recall what it is to be free of our electronic cages.

Yes, I think like that sometimes, and sometimes I even say it aloud. Not in public, but to my children—poor children.

I was thinking about this virtual zoo one morning as I was driving my 14-year-old daughter to town. We were sharing the special silence only possible with a teen who’d been fully asleep just 10 minutes earlier. Suddenly she said, “Some of my friends think a nuclear apocalypse would be cool.”

The virtual zoo slid away, replaced by radioactive wastelands. Cool? Cool? What part of this scenario would be “cool”?

After determining the extent of this “cool” apocalypse (utter devastation, a world-wide retaliatory response), I launched into lecture mode.

“Surviving a nuclear apocalypse wouldn’t be the same as surviving an asteroid impact—you couldn’t just come out of your bomb shelter in a year and go find something to eat. If you could come out in a million years, you’d look around and see if a) anything had survived at all and, if so, b) what it evolved into. The world wouldn’t be the world you know now, with cell phones and grocery stores.”

“Exactly!” She clarified: “Maybe it’s not so much a nuclear apocalypse that would be interesting… maybe it’s more of a zombie-type thing.” Ah, that’s good—physical destruction of the natural world isn’t what she and her friends want; cultural obliteration would do the trick. A zombie apocalypse. And I thought I was grumpy.

And the reason why…would be…??

“There’d be no more politics, or terrorism, or worry about climate change or pipelines. No more worrying about who’s liking us on Facebook, or whether we’ve got the right clothes or right music.”

Warming to the topic, she threw out more words, trying to explain: “There’s something missing...

We want something real, concrete...”

“Something satisfying, authentic....”

“Yeah, we don’t want superficial, we want to be connected, and creative, and not always told what to think.”

“You want to experience life as it really is, not a virtual model?”

“Yeah!”

“You want to be animals.”

“Pretty much. Zombie-slaying human animals!”

hans s aef ko w

ed i tor ial@no rt hwo rd. c a

And I laughed. Hahaha—what a glorious day! My feelings of disconnection were being validated by someone at the other end of the generational divide. I wasn’t just an old fogey cranking on about society going to hell.

Young people were feeling it too.

We’re asking the same questions about the superficiality of our lives, the disconnect with our physical-not-virtual community, asking about what really matters in this one life of ours.

You know, the things people talk about over breakfast, or on the drive into town.

Like zombies and stuff.

This summer, my 22-year-old son—who is not a zombie—took a couple of months to travel across Canada in his car. No agenda; he just wanted to taste the air, swat the bugs, see what people see in other parts of our country. When he left, he said he’d be open to staying somewhere long-

term if he found it to his liking, but expected to come home to Smithers because this is where his family is; this is where his friends are. And come home he did.

Some of us were jealous—not of sleeping in a car so much (although kind of), but of his being able to ship anchor any time he wanted. No pressure, no deadlines, no structure save that of the highway. And no data plan on his phone. He talked via text only. He saw icebergs. Farley Mowat’s grave. Scary drivers.

Scarier mosquitoes. Real lobster.

Real hospitality. He was a creature exploring the physical, not pacing the Internet in a virtual zoo.

Maybe it’s the air, or the mountains. Or the people we share our watersheds with. Whatever it is about where we live here in the North, it’s good for our kids and, therefore, good for our world.

Zombie-fighters grow here.

N

I wasn’t just an old fogey cranking on about society going to hell. Young people were feeling it too.

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Bears Backyard

lo v e r paul g

by Ja n e S teve ns o n

A bear w al k i n g dow n th e dr i v ew a y i s n o t a n u n c o m m o n s i g h t i n o u r r u r a l a re a s .

cobwebresearch@gm a i l . c om

Our home, just outside of Telkwa, is nestled on the edge of 40 acres of rolling wilderness next to a provincial park. I see the first bears of the spring just as the aspens are leafing out. The mama bears show up first, passing through with their one or two or three black cubs. I’ve learned to glance up aspens for the danger sign of cubs clinging to the tree. Treed cubs mean a grumpy mama bear might be nearby and it is best to go away—and quickly.

The solitary male bears or young bears traveling alone can be glimpsed all summer, eating at ant piles or stalking along the backyard wilderness trails or skirting the edge of the hay field. If I see the bears before the bears see me I clap my hands or call out and I go the opposite way from wherever they are headed. The bear usually saunters away and you just catch a glimpse of its round black bum disappearing into the undergrowth.

Autumn is positively thick with bears; the saskatoon bushes shake with feasting bears and there are piles of bear poop everywhere. With so

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many bears around I’ve had to adjust my awareness and my habits.

Making a racket Our family has adapted to living in this bear-filled wilderness. Our children were trained to call “Go Home, Bear!” when they leave the house for the yard. The thought was that the bears would hear the racket of my babies dashing outside and would turn away and lumber into the woods. Following the same thought I also clipped bear bells to diaper covers, made jingly bell anklets, and taped cardstock to the spokes of the double stroller so the thwacking would let the bears know us annoying humans were out and about.

My husband cut back the brush around the backyard swing-set because, let me tell you, it is positively unnerving to wake up at dawn, look outside sleepily to see a large black bear casually push past the swings and rub it’s enormous furry back against the kids’ yellow slide.

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When my girls were really young, some genius invented these children’s shoes that had little squeakers built into their heels. Every step of the child would produce a squawk or honk. I’m sure that when these shoes were first pitched in a marketing boardroom they thought of how charming the noise-making shoes would be in an air-conditioned mall or a tiled airport waiting room. What I’m sure they didn’t consider was the potential selling power of built-in, bear-scaring squeakers. I bought them up and the kids honked around the yard all summer, scaring bears away with every step. We all made noise and lots of it.

We did other things too. We follow the recommendations of WildSafeBC and try to make our yard as un-inviting to a bear as possible. We reduced or eliminated bear attractants. We always keep our garbage in the garage and we take it to the transfer station frequently so the bears don’t get tempted to test the garage doors. Our dog is fed outside but his food and empty dish are kept

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Trying the trap We’ve been here 10 years and this last spring was the first time we’ve had to call the conservation officer (CO) for advice. A mama bear and two cubs were persistently sticking close to the yard and not scaring away. And a solitary male bear was always a half day behind them, nose to the ground, oblivious to our noises—from clapping to bear bangers.

This large male rounded the property and then the house in ever-constricting circles after the female bear. The COs responded to our call and cautiously walked the yard and assessed the property for bear attractants. I lamented our duck loss and described the bears that had been stalking around the property and the house. I described them as nonreactive bears, to the point that I wondered aloud if they could have been deaf. The CO explained that a male bear sometimes attempts to kill the cubs in an effort to mate with the female. Our noisy yard with annoying humans and a barking dog were a safe haven for the mama bear protecting her cubs.

The CO service is a public safety provider and they are there to help prevent and respond to wildlife/human conflicts, like we had with this bear courtship going on around our home. They are experienced and empathetic professionals.

In this case, they put a bear trap in our back-

pa ul g lo ve r

inside. We stopped composting our fruit and veggie waste after the first spring here, when a mama bear brought her cubs by daily like a drivethrough.

We had pigs for a few summers and electrified the fence so they wouldn’t push out. We stopped raising hogs when a bear somehow managed to get into the electrified pig pasture and was furious it couldn’t leave without a zap. We had that angry bear inside the electric fence with our hogs for a very long afternoon before disconnecting the power to the fence to let the bear climb out. We spent the next months worrying that the bear was still skulking around the undergrowth carrying a grizzly-sized grudge.

Two years ago a bear clawed up the chicken coop door and cleverly yanked a window right out to maraud all of our chickens in one night.

This spring, the ducks were feasted on. So now we will have no more fowl. There’s also no more fish fertilizer in the greenhouse, and we shake all the apples off the trees. Even the songbirds have to fend for themselves because we’ve turned into real hardasses and no longer feed the birds because bears like birdseed too.

C o n s e r v a t i o n o ff i c e r s a re ke p t b u s y i n t h e spring, summer and fall dealing with bear/ human conflicts.

H e re , a C O c a r r i e s a t r a n q u i l i ze d b e a r c u b that had been feeding at a garbage can with its mother and siblings.

yard between the swing-set and the empty duck house. The trap was baited with smelly sardines and oats with a good measure of molasses.

Then we waited. Nothing. The COs came a few days later and removed the empty trap.

One for the bear A solitary bear showed up down by the greenhouse when I was weeding later that day. I looked at the bear and the bear looked at me. I clapped my hands and yelled, “Go Home, Bear!” The bear sauntered off slowly into the saskatoon bushes, stopped to

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look back at me and seemed to say with tiny bear eyes, “No, you go home.” So I did.

I went inside the house to discover that the family dog had eaten the sardines that had dropped out of the departing bear trap and was puking them all over our home. The bear clearly won this round.

I’ll be even more bear-smart next year and offer no ducks as midnight snacks. Hopefully the courting bears will just pass on by our home and carry on their lovers’ spat way out in the wild back forty.

The bear clearly won this round.

For more information or to purchase your book contact Estelle at the BV CDC

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Smithers | 250.847.0318 Michael Nelligan www.horncraft.ca | michael@horncraft.ca

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AUG/SEPT ‘15

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Many ways to smoke a salmon S pl i t w hole sa lmon and salm o n strips hang in a s m ok eh ou s e.

pat moss

Smokin’ good fish

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A slight breeze rustles the aspen leaves, and on it drifts the distinct scent of a northern summer. It could be a campfire or a Bar-B-Q, but when the days are long and when the salmon are running, the smell of smoke carries with it the flavour of curing fish and the promise of good eating throughout the winter.

Smoking salmon is a tradition many northerners can relate to and every person adds their own individual touch. Home-fashioned drying racks, fillet knives, cutting boards, coolers and ‘secret recipes’ are lined up like lucky charms at a bingo night. Everyone has their own ‘right’ way of doing things. However, whether you are in your town backyard using an electric smoker, at a family smokehouse on reserve, or out on the land using a tarp and pine poles, the method isn’t as important as the end result.

Rita George, or Gallaghun, is from House Keyikh Winits of the Gidimt’en Clan, Wet’suwet’en Nation. She laughs as she recalls her first attempt, many years ago, at smoking fish by herself. “I didn’t realize that the fish had to be dried first for a few days. My father-in-law looked in the smokehouse and the fish all looked like footballs! My mother-in-law helped me out; she explained that the fish has to be cleaned very, very thoroughly. Cut it in half and keep a tiny smoke under it—it is left for a few days until the skin is really firm. This is called tlhkanil’dez. That is the first step.”

George explains that the next step is to butterfly the fish so the inside flesh is exposed to the small amount of smoke and allowed to dry for another one or two days. “When the fish is firm on the outside and on the inside, we start cutting the

strips. The easiest way is to make an A-Frame and put a salmon on it and split it in half and it just sits on there. You then cut the flesh off really thin and make strips out of it.” The A-frame cutting board is called a bik’its lhk’ec’init’as. It looks like a sandwich-board sign and keeps the fish in a position that allows very thin strips to be cut off the fish without wasting anything.”

Don’t overcook “If the strips are too thick, they can spoil from the inside,” warns George. The strips are hung in the smokehouse for further drying. “You put the pieces in the smokehouse for a couple of days and then you have hayu’tseh—half-dried fish.” George demonstrates how to prepare hayu’tseh by putting a piece in a pot of boiling water until it is no longer frozen. “OK, you don’t want to overcook it,” she says as she drains it through a strainer in the sink.

“We would eat hayu’tseh with wild rice(root). All the elders used to go to Hungry Hill to dig wildrice.”

She continues to explain the next steps. “If you keep the strips in the smokehouse for a few more days, you make b’eh. This is the food that the trappers would take out on the territory.” B’eh is very dry and has the texture of jerky. “Some people like to put brown sugar on the fish, but I don’t like that. I just like a little salt and pepper.”

George describes how much work it takes to smoke fish the traditional way. “When I have my smokehouse going at Broman Lake, I get up every day at four in the morning to make sure the fire

Hands-off approach “I layer the fish in the bottom of a container that isn’t going to corrode. Now you make sure there’s brine mixture into every cut. Don’t be chintzy— before I put the next layer on I cover up the fish with the brine mixture so you pretty much can’t see the fish. Everything’s always skin down.” He describes repeating the process, layer upon layer until all the fish is used up. Keeping things cool is also very important. “You can put it in a big cooler with some ice packs for about 9-10 hours—after a certain point, the meat is saturated, so it doesn’t make a difference if you add more time.”

Schultze likes the hands-off approach to getting the fish ready. “I put it in the brine in the morning for eight or nine hours and in the evening I open it up. It is floating in a soupy liquid. I then take each piece and rinse it off and take off any slime.

I put it meat-side down in a clean sink so it can drain a bit. Then I put it in the smoker.”

Schultze’s smoker is a large piece of corrugated culvert wrapped in indoor-outdoor carpet.

Several racks are stacked inside and a simple electric hotplate sits at the bottom. He gets the smoker going by cutting red alder into small slabs and stacking them on top of the hotplate. “I put the fish in, put on the wood and close the door.

It isn’t very high-tech.” He smiles and pulls the rubber bungee cords to latch the door shut. “It takes about an hour to get going and once it starts smoking profusely, I unplug the element and go to bed. In the morning the fish is ready. By then, it has cooled a bit and the fish has stiffened up which makes it much easier to handle.”

Both Schultze and George package their fish the modern way in vacuum seal bags, plastic bags or Saran wrap and put it in the deep-freeze.

Although their approaches are different, they are both tried and tested with many years of successfully creating food that their friends and family are happy to share.

N

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emily bulme r

A b ack yard sm o k er can be as e la b ora t e , o r basic, as o ne desires.

G e orge Schultze stands by his smoke r ma d e f ro m co rrug ated culvert, c a rp e t , and an electric ho t-plate.

is going. This way you don’t get flies or insects on the fish. I like to use poplar wood—every Nation uses a different wood and it makes the fish taste slightly different. You don’t want to use a very pitchy wood, because it imparts that flavour into the fish and doesn’t taste very good. You also have to keep everything very clean.” Now a respected elder and expert fish smoker, George has passed the tradition to her children, who help her with the process.

Smithers resident George Schultze is known among his friends as making some of the best smoked salmon around. “My philosophy is to keep it simple,” he says. “I’ve been using the same recipe since 1978—it was one of the better recipes I found and I’ve been using it ever since.”

“For good-quality smoked fish, start with highquality fish. Some people see an old, spawnedout fish and they say ‘Oh, that’s a good smoker.’”

Schultze wrinkles his nose at the idea. “You can tell if the fish is old, even when you smoke it.”

He continues, “I debone them completely and remove all the pinbones by cutting them out with a knife. The brine has to penetrate into the meat, so I make cuts in the fish so there’s no more than half an inch of flesh from a cut. Then I rinse off all the pieces so there’s no slime.” Schultze uses a dry brine: one part salt and four parts brown sugar mixed thoroughly in a bowl.

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By Quesnel and Terrace campuses Ask about the BA, BScN, BEd, BComm, MBA programs. *Course delivery and availability is subject to sufficient enrollment and instructor availability. Courses available by audio / video in most communities. Check our World Wide Web course offerings ...and more!

Ap

Now! y l p

Terrace Campus

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Grand Entrances northerners & the Pick a number: F i v e re s i d e n c e s — o n e l o n g d r i v e w a y.

by Nor ma Kerby nkerby@t elus.net

“Map says it’s public right-of-way.”

Ken and I are conducting a survey of agricultural use in the Greater Terrace Area, which involves driving down every publicly accessible road, sub-road and trail looking for greenhouses, fruit trees and farm animals to get an indication

of commercial and non-commercial farming in the area.

This particular driveway stretches down a public right-of-way, then disappears around the corner into thick hemlock trees.

“They certainly put up enough signs,” I mutter.

From the “Do Not Trespass,” “No Entry” and

“Beware of Dog” signs to the heavy-gauge chain across the road, there’s no mistaking either the message or the annexation of public property. As four large dogs come barrelling toward us, we quickly decide this lot will be marked “unknown.”

For the rest of the day, as we continue the survey, long driveways are the point of discussion. Many

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BRITISH COLUMBIA

12 | AUG/SEPT ‘15 |

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no rma ke rby

long drive home

EDUCATION

The Key to your Future no rma ke rby

T here’s no seco nd - guessi ng the message behi nd these d ri vew ay si gns.

properties we view have the sort of access road that, if there were a long, snowy winter, would be very difficult to keep open.

Access granted Access is a major challenge in northern BC’s rural living. Unlike urban driveways, which meet streets in a matter of meters, many rural dwellers have driveways that are 100 metres, if not hundreds of meters, long. Long driveways seem to be the mark of the rural northern lifestyle and reasons for having them can be enlightening.

Some are the product of historic land development and the continued importance of agriculture in the North. In many farming regions, such as the Fort St. James and Vanderhoof areas, rural land is divided into sections and portions of sections, 640 acres being a full section.

Secondary roads follow property lines and the farmhouse is often strategically located where water can be reached by either well or surface pump. View over the farm property is also an important consideration, as is location on a warm, south-facing slope or in a sheltered site away from ferocious winter winds.

With readily available equipment to maintain and plow the driveway, its length is not a major factor compared to a good location for farm buildings. These are friendly driveways, with a smile and piece of pie waiting at the end.

Ranchers often have a different set of criteria for driveways. Ranches might be located on less arable, more challenging ground and access into properties may be at a significant distance from a major road. Branching off from industrial logging or mining roads, their driveways assume that visitors have a four-wheel-drive truck. I don’t, making some journeys an exercise in steel nerves, especially when it rains heavily. One must always be convinced that there is a road somewhere underneath the thick, silty surface soup as the vehicle slides toward the ranch house.

When questioned why they didn’t build closer to the road, the common explanation from people with livestock is that, one, they built their ranch buildings in a location that was best for water and winter stock pens and, two, vandalism, theft and rustling are less likely when access is more challenging. The third reason is straightforward: with so little traffic able to make it to their driveway, let alone down the driveway, there’s lots of warning about an approaching visitor.

Farmers and ranchers have working driveways, designed for moving equipment and livestock.

These driveways have few frills, except perhaps a sign stating the property number, a message box and sometimes a gate. Their driveways are access to the home place, with no further need for explanation.

In comparison, driveways into rural residential properties often provide bold statements about their owners. Whether it is a pink plastic flamingo, an old wagon wheel or a pile of rocks,

rural residents have imaginative ways of identifying their driveways. With the advent of 911 service into rural areas, most driveways now have house numbers at the front end, but the special tokens remain. Directions to someone’s place can run something like, “Turn right at the community mail boxes and we are the third driveway to the left with the old tractor next to the cattle guard.”

2015

Keyholes to gargoyles CAREER & UNIVERSITY TRANSFER PROGRAMS Long driveways into rural residential lots can arise from the need to avoid dust or noise spilling over • ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT CERTIFICATE from a main road, placing distance between a busy (34 wks) – Sep 8 road and children or animals in the yard, or just • NEW – HEALTH CARE ASSISTANT plain control over privacy. It is always assumed (32 wks) Nov 2 that the next-door neighbour will have a shortcut through the back if they need to borrow something.

UNIVERSITY/COLLEGE For some, privacy is taken to a much higher level. As we travel throughout northwest BC, ONLINE CREDIT COURSES 2015 we are surprised at the lengths to which some residents conceal their homes. Sometimes there Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD) are no indications of the driveway except for a • FASD 305 – FASD BRAIN & BEHAVIOUR – Sept 30 branchy hole in the bushes that disappears into • FASD 301 – FUNDAMENTALS AND the forest. This type of driveway is betrayed only PROFESSIONAL IMPLICATIONS – Oct 7 by a weekly garbage can placed at the roadside or • FASD 260 OVERVIEW OF FASD – Oct 7 a bit of flagging tape left to direct a visitor. One can only imagine what lies beyond.

Other driveways are grand entrances to privacy.

ADULT EDUCATION CENTRES Stone pillars topped by plaster lions and thick • UPGRADING & EMPLOYMENT READINESS steel gates are only a hint of the luxury and display waiting at the end. These are a strange Ongoing Registration contradiction between the need for privacy and Burns Lake, CNC the urge for conspicuous display.

• SUMMER HOURS: Some of my favourite driveways are on Haida July 7 to Aug 26, Tues & Wed, 9-3 Gwaii. Decorated with unusual driftwood and large • FALL 2015/SPRING 2016 plastic floats, they are a splash of colour amongst the greens and mist, winding between trees to Sep 8 to May 27, Mon-Fri, 9-3 hand-built houses. When we first travelled to the Southside, Grassy Plains School islands, we wondered why so many driveways • SEP 10: Thurs & Fri, 9-2 stretched to houses located away from the seashore on higher ground. Having heard stories about FOCUS Employment Program, Burns Lake back-to-the-landers who once lived next to the • SEP 8: Tues/Wed 9am to 3pm, Thurs, 9-12 waves before Naikoon Provincial Park was established, this was a puzzle. It wasn’t until talking to TRADES one farmer selling fresh eggs that we realized the wisdom of his long driveway away from the shore• *INDUSTRIAL MECHANIC (MILLWRIGHT)/ line’s storm winds and tsunami hazards.

MACHINIST (22 wks) – Feb. 15, 2016 Long driveways are like a security blanket to maintain a time and place, factors that seem to *CTC Eligible program: (Programs that can be be disappearing from the lives of many. At the accessed by high school students for dual credit) end of the driveway, rural northerners plant their gardens, split wood for winter, let chickens run Need safety training? Check out Continuing Education at loose before the fox shows up, and leave their www.cnc.bc.ca/lakesdistrict snowmobiles in unlocked sheds.

It must be a deep, soul-shattering shock for some rural residents to realize that their long driveways cannot insulate them against the surge of linear industrial development scheduled to pass over or next to their properties. For the residents Ph: 250-692-1700 • Fax: 250-692-1750 of such special environments as the Kispiox and Toll Free: 1-866-692-1943 Nass valleys, the attention of the world on the 545 Hwy 16 West, Box 5000, Burns Lake, BC V0J 1E0 • lksdist@cnc.bc.ca economic opportunities of the North Coast is invalidating the security once offered by their long driveways.

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Camping with

pat su ter

Wolves

A w o l f c a r r i e s a f re s h - c a u g h t f i s h t o f e e d i t s f a m i l y.

by Keit h B i l l i ng t o n ke it h.billingt o n@te l u s. n e t

“Wolves? Yes, we have them, but they leave us alone and we leave them alone.” Sage information and advice from Mike Lemon of Oona River.

Seals, salmon, eagles, ravens and seagulls are all common enough on any kayak trip on BC’s west coast, but tucked away on a remote bay on Porcher Island we had the greatest surprise when, after

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setting up our tent, we were visited by a family of wolves. Yes, wolves! These coastal wolves were curious enough to bring their pups onto the beach to do a bit of human-watching.

We had travelled from Prince Rupert to Oona River on Porcher Island in relative comfort aboard the passenger ferry Tsimshian Storm. The ferry makes the 90-minute run to Kitkatla on Dolphin Island several times a week with a stop at Oona River.

Jan and Mike Lemon’s B&B at Oona River is an oasis, with delightful home-cooked meals and a hot tub to relax in after hours. Jan is the prime organizer of the Oona River salmon hatchery, and Mike is a fisher (“Jan breeds ’em, I kill ’em!”).

Mike has all the information on tides and currents, prevailing winds, sheltered harbours, and even the best place to catch crabs. His comment about Porcher Island’s wolves: “They are very shy. Not many people see them but some have heard them howling in the distance.”

Setting out As we paddled along the shore, bald eagles left their lofty perches and glided to another viewpoint,

&

usually a tall tree with long branches overhanging the water. Large salmon jumped provocatively close to our double kayak, but with a four-hour paddle ahead of us, I left my fishing rod tucked behind me.

Three hours later, at Sparrowhawk Point, we turned west into Gasboat Passage, intent on reaching Billy Bay where we planned to camp. We paddled around Billy Bay looking at the abandoned site where a Japanese homesteader known only as “Billy” had lived. Billy was taken to the BC Interior during the Last War and never returned, but he gave his name to the bay.

We left Billy Bay the next morning and paddled through Freeman Passage into Hecate Strait where the heavy ocean swells became noticeable, rolling in toward us over large kelp beds, then breaking gently on the barnacle-covered rocks. Although the surface of the sea was calm, with no breaking waves, the Fir Bell Buoy, moored at the entrance to Freeman Passage, tolled warningly in the swell as we turned north looking once again for a sandy beach.

We soon saw a nice beach, landed in the small surf and scouted for a suitable campsite. We saw

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that wolf prints covered the beach but I assured my wife that wolves were not known to attack humans.

So with excitement tinged with anxiety she reluctantly agreed to share this beach with our invisible neighbours.

Both wolves followed us as we walked, keeping about 20 metres behind.

Who’s watching whom?

Early next morning I caught some movement at the far end of the beach. Wolves! They were running and jumping over the driftwood, their tawny coats giving them quite a bronzed look in the morning sun, and we were both awestruck at the sight of them. We counted four before they disappeared into the undergrowth. We could hardly believe that we had seen them. “Well,” I said, “they’ll probably go away now they’ve seen us.” How wrong I was!

As we sat eating breakfast the wolves reappeared and our meal was pushed aside. Two large wolves with two half-grown pups came down off the driftwood onto the beach, then hesitated. The larger wolf trotted to the water’s edge, picked up a fish, carried it back to the pups and dropped it behind a big driftwood log, then walked back onto the beach. After turning around several times he sat down, looking over at us and then toward his family. Slowly he raised his nose high in the air and gave a long, hair-raising howl. He got up, went to his family (who had now devoured the fish) and led them back into the bush.

Whenever the wolves appeared we watched them. Or were they watching us? During the afternoon, my wife was sitting down in the sand when an inquisitive wolf wandered along the shore and came within three metres of her.

This made her a little concerned, so she yelled “Go away!” The wolf stopped, seeming a bit confused, but turned and trotted obediently away to the other end of the beach. The wolf gave a long mournful howl.

Answering howls from at least six wolves came from the salal bushes in the bay behind us, and I could feel the hair on my neck standing up with a combination of delight and fear.

The wolves were wary of us and we enjoyed seeing them, but we were also wary of them.

To the north of us there was a shipwreck and I decided to walk to it, aware that this was wolf territory. As I approached the wreck, one of the larger wolves came out onto the beach and gave a series of low barks ending in a howl. Was he warning me, or his friends in the bush? The other wolves obviously heard and all of them gave short answering howls, but they were all hidden behind the shoreline. Discretion being the better part of valour, I retreated and left the beach to them.

Final encounters The morning we planned to leave dawned clear and calm, with very little surf, and we decided

to walk together to the shipwreck. As we started back, two wolves suddenly appeared over the driftwood, running fast and coming up behind us. We both stopped and turned around and the wolves immediately ran behind some rocks. Were they testing us? We walked on, frequently glancing over our shoulders.

Is it true that animals can sense fear? Both wolves followed us as we walked away, keeping about 20 metres behind, but running and hiding behind rocks whenever we stopped. We were sure that they were stalking us, but at last we got to where our camp was, when it seemed that both wolves lost interest and loped away back to the driftwood. We were thankful to reach camp, but kept our eyes open and senses alert as we loaded the kayak. It had been a remarkable experience but in some ways it was a relief to be on our way again.

On our return to Oona River, the tide had turned and we faced a nor’easter, but as we entered the estuary we were suddenly picked up by one big wave and unexpectedly surfed into the harbour! Thankfully Jan was prepared for us at the B&B and after a shower, a soak in the hot tub, and a steak supper we sat and relaxed.

We talked about the wolves and the excitement we had felt when we shared their beach, and we promised that we would come back to explore more of Porcher Island. Who knows—it may be that we will camp with wolves again.

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simon ratcliffe - ch an n el collective

NORTHERN BRITISH COLUMBIA

In Search of the

STRANGE

A tour of the odder side of northern BC M a c ke n zi e ’s h u m o n g o u s t re e crusher turned out to be too heavy t o o p e r a t e w i t h o u t g e t t i n g s t u c k.

by Mat t J S i m mo ns th ewrit er@mat t jsim m on s. c om

When the huge machine arrived, it was sent out to start work and immediately got stuck.

Once upon a time there was a young, ordinary man, in search of the extraordinary experience his life had thus far kept hidden. Growing up in a suburban neighbourhood surrounded by kind, friendly people, he constantly bore the niggling feeling that something was missing. What was it?

What could be absent from such a simple and happy life?

He had family, he had friends. He had enough to eat, he had small luxuries. He had even grown up making plenty of lasting memories: trips to the lake, hikes in the woods, and days spent idly walking endless sandy beaches. So, what was it, he asked himself? What single memory stood out? It was the hockey stick.

As far back as he could remember, the man—just a boy then—had periodically found himself in the back seat of an ancient and massive blue car, the bench seats stained with age and the floor emanating a musty smell. The car would take him northwards, away from home and suburban serenity, on a short trip that seemed interminable to his young mind.

And every time he squirmed uncomfortably on those tired seats time would stretch into infinity, but for one single moment: whenever the stick was near.

The car would slow down and cross a couple of bridges, the grated metal humming in his backside. That’s when he knew it was close. After a few stoplights it would suddenly present itself, practically filling the entire window: the World’s Largest Hockey Stick. His face would light up in wonder and incredulity, his mind spinning questions that he never voiced out loud, nor ever found answers to. Why was it there? What was the point of it? Indeed, it was the mystery of the stick that kept him longing for its sight. As they passed, he’d turn around and watch it through the rear window until it disap16 | AUG/SEPT ‘15 |

www.n orthword.ca

peared from view, and he’d sigh and settle back into the seat.

The car never stopped, he never talked about it, and the boy was happy.

When the boy became a young man and he tracked through his memories trying to find that missing something, the stick finally hove into his consciousness, long forgotten, and he knew what he needed to do. He had to go in search of the strange. He had to seek out the unusual and quirky things the road has to offer. He had to find more hockey sticks. And it was worth the trip.

This, then, is an article about the unusual; an attempt to find for you those weird and wonderful experiences that linger in your mind, right here in northern BC. You might never talk about them, you may dismiss them initially as unnecessarily odd, maybe even pointless…but you will undoubtedly remember them forever.

Chetwynd Back in the 1990s, the northern town of Chetwynd was looking for something to showcase to travellers passing through on the Alaska Highway. As a logging community, it wasn’t a stretch to think of such things as chainsaws and bears.

The first chainsaw carving the town commissioned, a welcome sign and scene of three bears standing on their hind legs, has since spawned a movement that firmly places Chetwynd among those roadside stops that linger in your mind.

Every year the town hosts the “Chetwynd International Chainsaw Carving Championship Invitational” in early June, and the carvings around the town— now well over 100—have become more intricate and detailed as the event attracts carvers from around the world. Over the years they’ve also become more bizarre. Giant preying mantis? Yup, got that! ... continued on Page 18

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matt j simmon s

P r i n ce George’s fam ou s , i con i c Mr P G l ook s l i k e h e’s th e r i gh t s i z e to u s e H ou s ton ’s gi an t fl y rod, D u n can ’s gi an t h ock ey s ti ck , an d dr i v e th e tree-cr u s h er.

F o r a re a l old -fa shio ned experience, s pe nd a nigh t in t he o ld Hudso n’s B ay C o m p a n y fort a t Fort Saint J am es. ... continued from Page 16

Prince George You can’t visit Prince George without paying a visit to Mr. PG. At about 10 metres tall, the goofy monument was built back in 1960 and he’s travelled to Kelowna, Vancouver, and Smithers. You can find him at the junction of Highways 97 and 16, waving his flag with a giant grin on his face. ... continued on Page 20

18 / JULY‘15 ‘15| 18 | |JUNE AUG/SEPT

andres es parza

Mackenzie In the 1960s, the planned forestry town of Mackenzie was taking shape. As forestry and hydroelectric projects in the area boomed with unprecedented growth, the industrial community responded in kind. Commissioning the construction of the world’s largest self-powered tree-crushing machine, Mackenzie introduced to its young community the G175 Tree Crusher.

When the huge machine arrived—in pieces, taking four days to assemble— it was sent out to start work and immediately got stuck. It was too big and too heavy. Winter arrived and the Tree Crusher was abandoned until the next summer. The beast managed to move the next year, albeit with plenty of problems, and it actually did some of the work it was built for. But by the end of that season, spending a good chunk of its time stuck in the mud, the Tree Crusher’s time had come. For the next 20 years it sat in the bush until the municipality decided to bring it back into town as a monument. And since 1984, every person who enters Mackenzie drives right past the World’s Largest Tree Crusher. Got your camera ready?

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m a rc u s

B u r ns La ke h ost s an unusually strenuo us m o un tai n -bi k e r ac e e a c h ye a r on the trails just o utside to wn

ri g a

... continued from Page 18

Burns Lake This one we include because its sheer insanity puts it up there with the strangest things you can do in northern BC. Every year, the Burns Lake Mountain Bike Association hosts the Big Pig Mountain Biking Festival. This year it’s from August 14-16. On the Sunday, riders with a penchant for masochistic behaviour start a mind-bogglingly painful endurance race. Starting at 8 am (I’m cringing already) riders set out on a 10-km course, riding as many laps as possible until 11 am, when they switch to the “Burnt Bike Challenge” (BBC), a 30-km loop that kicks off with an 18-km uphill slog. Once competitors finish the BBC, they hop back onto the first trail and continue riding until they complete eight laps for a total of 110 km. Strange? More like crazy. ... continued on Page 22

20 | JUNE / JULY ‘15

kris can n

Fort St. James Have you ever wondered what it’s like to travel back in time? The National Historic Site at Fort St. James has a pretty odd accommodation opportunity that comes close. You can stay in the heritage building, having the entire site to yourself for the night, by booking into their bed-and-breakfast program. You get the full experience: artifacts in the room, original bedding, sheep clomping around outside, a rooster crowing, not to mention the costumed interpreters who cook for you. Bill and Ted, move over! It’s time for a new generation to take an excellent adventure back to another age.

Th e w or l d’s l arges t h oc ke y s t i c k, o n t h e C o w i c h a n C o m m u n i t y C e n t re i n D u n can , i n s pi red th e au t h o r t o s e a rc h f o r t h e u n u s u a l t h i n g s i n l i f e .

NORTHERN BRITISH COLUMBIA

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alison w atson

Mou n tai n bi k er O ren MacD ou gal l j u m ps ov er th e ai r pl an e th at cr as h e d i n t h e w o o d s h i gh on th e s l opes of H u d s o n B a y M o u n t a i n .

... continued from Page 20

Houston The world’s largest fly rod: enough said.

hous ton & d ist rict cham ber of com merce

Smithers “I found it with a buddy, randomly, when we were out flagging a bike trail.”

Brian Shorter, a Smithers-based mountain-bike trail builder, stumbled on the crash site of a downed plane on the steep slopes of Hudson Bay Mountain in the early 2000s. He asked his mom—a member of the Bulkley Valley Search and Rescue—for the story and she could only tell him snippets. “I think she said the guy was skiing,” says Shorter. “He’d flown in, skied for the day, and then was flying home when he caught a downdraft or something and crashed into the trees. He actually lived, from what I heard.”

Naturally, when the trail-builders found the crashed plane—a Piper, a small plane often used by semi-amateur pilots or for bush work—they opted to build the trail featuring the crash. They even named the trail in its honour: Piper Down. Now, mountain bikers can either check out the plane as they ride past on the single-track downhill or—experienced bikers only, please— jump right over it. According to Shorter, if you want to find out more, get in touch with the BV Air Search and Rescue.

Built in Hou sto n in 1989, the wo rld’s larges t fl y rod i s 1 8 me t re s long and weig hs 360 k g .

22 | JUNE / JULY ‘15

... continued on Page 24

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m at t j sim m on s

B o t h sp ooky a nd intrig uing , the Do cto r’s Ho us e o n Digb y I sla n d is tem pting to explo re.

... continued from Page 22

There’s no question it sounds like aliens playing synthesizers...

Terrace UFO conspiracy theorists ready? Terrace is the home of some seriously strange sounds that have perplexed the town’s residents a few times over the past couple of years and caught the attention of national media outlets. Several newspapers, radio stations, and online magazines carried the stories and the YouTube videos are admittedly pretty creepy. When the recorded sounds first hit the internet back in 2013, the town claimed it was a bizarre effect created by a grader blade.

Whatever causes the aural effect, there’s no question it sounds like aliens playing synthesizers…at pretty high volume. So if you’re on the hunt for a weird experience, head to Terrace, camp out, and keep an ear open in the early morning. Who knows, maybe you’ll solve the mystery…

Prince Rupert/Dodge Cove Ever since I first laid eyes on the place, I wanted to spend a night in it. The old doctor’s house on Digby Island, across the harbour from Prince Rupert, is a compelling place. Surrounded and overgrown by the bush, the derelict building still exudes charm and character and seems like it has a story to tell. While unlikely to be a sanctioned thing, sleeping in that building would be a bizarre and amazing experience.

Anytime you find yourself bored in northern BC (however unlikely that is), remember you’ve got plenty of opportunities for seeking out the stranger side of life while on the road. Sometimes it’s just a frame of mind.

Grab your binoculars and camera (but make sure you put some kind of fuzzy filter on first) and try to find the elusive Sasquatch. Complement your outings with a wacky wardrobe. Buy a unicycle and ride it at every rest stop on the highway. Strange is a state of mind, and life can be a lot more fun when you let it get a little weird.

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24 | JUNE / JULY ‘15

NORTHERN BRITISH COLUMBIA

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Relax by Rail

T h e h i s t o r i c W h i t e P a s s Yu k o n Railway operates today as a tourist attraction.

hila ry c ro wle y

Travels through the North by train and ferry

by H i l a r y C r ow ley hcrowley@mag- ne t . c om

I recently travelled by rail from Prince George to Prince Rupert, a journey that should have taken 12 hours. The purpose of this journey was to reach Prince Rupert and from there take the Alaska ferry up to Skagway to catch the narrowgauge White Pass & Yukon Railroad towards Whitehorse.

One of the highlights of this trip was chatting with other passengers. One young enthusiast explained what each of the signals meant and received information through his radio concerning oncoming freights so he could predict each

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of our stops. He was from the States and was in the process of riding all the unique and threatened rail routes in the world.

A bearded passenger boarded in Smithers. He was a prospector and had a claim further along the line. Somewhere between Terrace and Prince Rupert, the train slowed to a halt and let this gentleman off. There wasn’t a building or any sign of civilisation in sight. As soon as he alighted from the train, he stepped off the tracks and disappeared into the forest. Within a few minutes we crossed a sparkling creek, presumably where he panned for gold and drew his water.

My travelling companions were my sister Helen and brother-in-law Peter from England. We took advantage of the observation car, enjoying views of numerous lakes as well as bears and deer. Further west, snow-clad peaks rose to the sky and salmon rivers gushed beside us. “Surely we have time to connect to the 11pm ferry tonight,” said Peter. We were due in at 8pm.

But we were glad we had heeded advice to spend a couple of days in Prince Rupert when our train arrived three hours late, after the ferry had left. The only problem with passenger rail today is that it has to give priority to freight trains, making it difficult to keep to schedule.

A grizzly visit Prince Rupert is well worth a visit in its own right and a trip to the Khutzeymateen Grizzly Bear Sanctuary is not to be missed. Our Khutzeymateen tour cost $200 and took six hours. The weather was spectacular with clear skies and sun.

This turned out to be one of the major highlights of our trip. If you are ever in Prince Rupert, don’t hesitate to splurge and join one of these spectacular tours.

We travelled in comfort by catamaran, travelling north through Chatham Sound then up the Work Channel. This is a prime whale-viewing area and excited shouts went up as we saw a humpback whale breach in front of us.

We watched it surface several times before it dove deep, showing its massive tail flukes. The guide explained, “They surface five times before diving and stay under for about 10-20 minutes, then surface again, repeating the show.”

We observed this at close quarters while eagles soared overhead. We then ... continued on Page 32

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T he W hi te P ass Yukon t r a i n makes a l unch stop at B ennett Lake, w i th en o u g h ti me f o r p asseng ers to exp l o re the surroundi n g s .

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column

On the Fly The Blackwater River

by B r i a n S mit h

The Blackwater, or West Road River, is not only one of our Canadian heritage rivers, but is also a world-class trout fishery. It also has a connection to Alexander Mackenzie, the first European explorer to enter the Interior Plateau of present-day British Columbia and the first European to discover a route to the Pacific Ocean. In 1793, aided by Carrier First Nations guides, Mackenzie travelled the “Grease Trail,” a 400-km trading route, from the Blackwater River’s mouth at the Fraser River overland to its terminus at present-day Bella Coola.

The Alexander Mackenzie Heritage Trail still exists today, and though you should be fit and hardy to attempt it, Mackenzie’s epic journey can still be made.

The Blackwater River can be accessed from two directions: west from Quesnel via the Nazko or Blackwater Roads, and south from Prince George via the Blackwater Road. There are several Forest Service campsites on the river: at the Blackwater Crossing Rec Site south of Prince George; at the West Road River Rec Site on the Nazko Road at Nazko Bridge; and finally at the Batnuni Bridge location on Batnuni Road. There are fly-in lodges situated on remote lakes in the upper reaches of the Blackwater, but for the most part this is a wilderness river that receives little fishing pressure because the access roads do not follow the river.

If you enjoy exploring and have a short wheelbase vehicle you don’t mind getting wet, muddy or dinged a little, there are horse trails and fire access roads along the river that will lead you into some lonely and remote trout-fishing locations on the river. Pick up a Backroads Mapbook—Chilcotin and you’ll see many of these trails leading to the upper Blackwater country that is laden with fishing that begs to be discovered.

If you like to drift rivers, the Blackwater provides several opportunities that are best challenged by experienced persons with pontoon boats or inflat-

submitte d

fl yfi shing nut 47 @g mai l . c om

Th i gh -deep i n th e B l ack w ater R i v er, th e au th or di s pl ay s a f re s h - c a u g h t t ro u t .

able rafts: from Nazko Bridge to Gillies Crossing (14 km); Gillies Crossing to Batnuni Bridge (6 km); and from Batnuni Bridge to the Blackwater Crossing (20 km). The river system is Class 1 to Class 4 water, the last two drifts having some short canyon sections that usually require portages. I recommend hiring a guide or at the very least scout ahead and float with a buddy—rivers can change dramatically with each season.

Blackwater trout are not wary or leader-shy and love dry flies—the bushier the better: stimulators, orange and yellow; caddis flies tan, yellow and insect green; and mayflies, like the Adams in grey

and tan shades. Nymph-fishing with stonefly or mayfly nymphs is always excellent, but I prefer the floating flies as the river is also chock-full of Rocky Mountain Whitefish and the odd sucker and I prefer to catch trout—although whitefish rising to dry flies is considered fair game. You might also run into the odd bull trout of 4-5 kilograms, so do streamerfish the deep holes on the river.

The Blackwater system is Classified Water, requiring a CW license. It opens to fishing June 14th, is fly-fishing only, restricted to electric motors, and has a 1-fish limit. Enjoy the river—it’s special and will always be that way.

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Cows vs. Frogs

no rma ke rby

n orma kerby

Wa y ne R ay s tan ds at t he na t ura l sh o re l i ne of a s m al l pot hole la k e p re se r v ed from dam age by t he r a nc h ’s cattl e h erd.

I n o rd e r t o p re s e r v e a p o n d ’s s h o re l i n e , f e n c i n g i s u s e d t o ke e p c a t t l e o u t . A s o l a r- p o w e re d p u m p d e l i v e r s w a t e r t o a p o r t a b l e t ro u g h .

Fort Fraser ranch promotes amphibian biodiversity

by No r ma Ke rby n k e r b y @ t e lu s . n e t

“Here’s something worthwhile. A rancher in the Fort Fraser area wants to monitor for us. He says that they have lots of amphibians and snakes on their ranch—at least five different species.”

We were in the process of selecting long-term monitoring sites for the Northwest BC Reptile and Amphibian Monitoring Program (NWBC RAMP).

Fort Fraser does not have the reputation of being a frog hotspot, but—if the contact was correct— there had to be something special about this ranch to have such strong amphibian populations.

That summer, as field assistant Ken Adair and I installed monitoring sites at Smith Creek Farms, 20 kilometres south of Fort Fraser, we soon discovered one of the areas of richest biodiversity of anywhere we’d been in Northwest BC. This striking biological complexity appears to be the product of the area’s diverse geography combined with special management practices by the ranch’s owners.

Frog-friendly fencing Wayne and Cathy Ray started their family-run cattle and hay operation in 1990, building their property holdings to 900 hectares of productive land located on the ancient glacial lake sediments of the Nechako drainage. These poorly drained clay soils are covered with a wealth of water bodies. On Smith Creek Farms alone there are 32 small ponds, four large wetland complexes, seven lakes and three year-round streams. This amazing diversity of aquatic habitats is one of the major factors that attract so many amphibian species to the property.

28 | AUG/SEPT ‘15 |

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Each pond on the ranch has its own unique qualities. “Now this one,” Wayne says, as he stops his four-wheel-drive truck next to a small pothole in a grove of aspen, “has lots of reeds and fallen trees. Every year there are breeding wood frogs here even when it is mostly covered with ice. I’ve never seen red-legged Columbia spotted frogs at this pond, though. They seem to like the larger ponds with more open water.”

From the fencing around this pothole, it’s obvious that cattle are not allowed close to the shoreline. In 2004, worried about damage to the sensitive riparian vegetation around their lakes and ponds, Wayne and Cathy purchased a mobile pump powered by solar panels. This pump is used to fill large portable drinking troughs. As the cattle move through 10 different grazing pastures over the summer, the pump moves with them, limiting the impact of trampling in the ponds and allowing the most sensitive wetlands to be fenced.

“If we don’t need the water, or can use the solar pump instead, we fence off our smaller pools,” he explains. “It stops the cows from wrecking the shoreline and fouling the water. If we want the water as a back-up, then by putting a trough of water closer to the grazing area most of the cattle will drink from the trough and not go to the pond.” ... continued on Page 30

Respecting Nonhuman Beings

column

Top Culture

by Rob Budde rb ud de@shaw.ca

In the late 1990s, Cree elder David Bird visited my Aboriginal Literature class at the University of Winnipeg. Bird spoke of many things during the class, all in an unassuming voice and a polite, almost shy demeanor. One part of his talk especially sticks with me today: he spoke about his role as a hunter and stated that the greatest attribute of a good hunter was being “piteous”; the hunter must thank the animal for taking pity on the hunter and allowing itself to be caught. The deer permitted the piteous hunter to find its tracks and to shoot it, if and only if the hunter was respectful.

I have been pondering this for decades. I am decidedly not a hunter and have been a pescetarian (eating local fish) for over 20 years. But Mr. Bird’s statements have resonated with me, not in terms of how to hunt properly, but his very non-European sense of what animals are and the agency they have.

The concept of a closer relationship among the various beings on the planet is not uncommon and there are various versions of it in many First

Nations’ traditions. Ethnobotanist Charles HillTout noted that the Salish people believe(d) that when we eat another creature it has been “voluntarily and compassionately placed in [our] hands by the goodwill and consent” of the creature.

This consent is contingent on the person meeting certain conditions of “respect and reverent care” before the honour is bestowed.

This way of relating to nonhuman creatures seems to me foundational to any humanled recovery of some sense of planetary ecological stability.

A profound respect for the nonhuman would necessitate a more sustainable and healthier ecology and economy. It would not mean ceasing to eat plants and animals, but it would mean that these interactions are placed in a larger context of relationships. Dr. Enrique Salmón, a Raramuri, believes this relationship should be what he calls “kincentric”—all creatures are related and equal. The measure of how we consume would radically change because it affects our relatives.

Why would this value not apply to all creatures?

For those of you who know an animal well—a family pet or domesticated creature—you know full well that the being in front of you has agency, thought, pain, communication—all the conditions of a fully sentient being. You also know that the “value” of that life is quite high for you, and that you are affected by its happiness or despair. Why would this value not apply to all creatures?

In Haida traditional thinking, the concept of yah’guudang governs the interactions between human creatures and non-human creatures. The term yah’guudang means “respect” for land and all living things, and seems related to the UNBC Dakelh motto en cha huna: “respect for all living things.”

I would not define myself as a religious person, and this all might seem a bit “spiritual” to you. It might be, but it is more about seeing beyond how we have been trained to think about other beings on the planet: seeing plants and animals in a different way; seeing how there might be another way. The new way of seeing has something to do with respect, something to do with our own sense of ourselves, something to do with being on the planet together collectively.

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... continued from Page 28

Some of the ranch’s ponds have also been deepened to ensure that there is sufficient water during the driest part of the summer. In addition, dugouts have been constructed along ditch lines and in damp hollows. These all appear to have helped the amphibian populations.

Contributing to science “Look at all of those tadpoles and larvae!” Ken leans over the water edge, trying to get a count along a section of the pond. An amazing number of toad tadpoles and long-toed salamander larvae are swimming across the shallow end of the dugout. To maximize amphibian habitat, Wayne constructs his dugouts in steps, with a shallow end for egg-laying activities and habitat for young tadpoles and the deeper end to ensure that there is water for both his cattle and frogs in the hottest part of summer.

Wayne also leaves pieces of wood around the periphery of ponds and dugouts to provide shelter for long-toed salamanders. “I’ve found them frozen early in the spring under the wood,” he says, lifting up a log to see if any salamanders are there. “A couple weeks later, nothing is under the wood and the salamanders are breeding in the pond.”

As we drive around the maze of fields and aspen groves, Wayne describes how the ranch has deliberately retained patches of forest and shrubby wetlands. “We don’t cut all of the trees. Years ago, when I talked to the old-timers, they said that

IntegrIty

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before the government started controlling forest species records inventory through the Northwest fires the land around here had lots of natural BC Reptile and Amphibian Monitoring Program. meadows. We’ve tried to clear our land to what it would have been when those meadows were Biodiversity meets productivity still here. The forested areas are on the poorer Does accommodating natural biodiversity allow soils and the grazing areas a ranch in northern BC to be and hayfields are on the better, economically viable? According flatter ground. The forests keep to Wayne and Cathy, the the ground moist and prevent productivity of their land has erosion on the slopes.” From been maintained, and erosion the number of tracks and dropand land degradation have been pings, the forests also keep a prevented by their ecologically sensitive management high diversity of wildlife species techniques. At their average on the property, as well as a cattle density of 150 breeding rich array of native plants and cows, and by rotating grazing insects. fields throughout the summer, In their 2005 Environmental they are able to keep their farm Farm Plan, Wayne and Cathy productive and their land base were able to document over stable. The high biodiversity 800 plant and animal species levels have also led to another that use the ranch lands for all Wayne Ray form of income for the ranch— or a portion of the year. These wildlife and nature photos species range from nesting through a nature photography sandhill cranes and sharpbusiness. shinned hawks to a Mexican caracara eagle that But ranching is not easy. Severely hit by made a surprise visit to the ranch in 2008. This market impacts from BSE (mad cow disease) striking biodiversity is important for species in 2003, followed closely by woodlot revenue records in BC. Since 2011, Wayne and Cathy have losses from the mountain pine beetle infestacollected insects and spiders for the Royal BC tion, ranching has struggled economically along Museum. They have also accommodated research the Highway 16 corridor. Even with last year’s projects from the UNBC and recorded amphibian higher beef prices, it is often a luxury to be able and garter snake sightings for the provincial to afford to protect wildlife habitat on a ranch. In the balance between maintaining pasture and water for higher densities of cattle, and habitat for amphibian species, the Rays have made a deliberate decision to preserve the frogs, snakes and salamanders that live on their farm.

Ask Wayne what worries him most about the prolific amphibians on his property and he doesn’t hesitate: “The toads,” he says. “At night there can be 50 of them sitting on the road into the ranch. It is very slow driving trying to miss them.” orking Despite being a blue-listed threatened species, the western toads at Smith Creek Farms are thriving in a location where they and their habitat are considered important additions to the value of ommunity a cattle ranch.

If we don’t need the water, or can use the solar pump instead, we fence off our smaller pools.

for W

C

SuCCeSS.

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... continued from Page 26

Thousands of men and women risked their lives in hopes of finding their fortune.

left Work Channel and carried on north to the Khutzeymateen.

This is a long fjord where about 50 grizzly bears find sanctuary. The grizzlies come down to feed on the sedge grass. We observed a total of seven bears but the best sighting of all was a sow with two young cubs. They seemed totally unconcerned about us. One of the cubs came down to the shore in front of us for a drink. After a while the sow climbed up onto a rock, turned her back to us, and defecated over the edge. After finishing her business, she squatted down on the rock and wiped her buttocks on the surface before climbing down and continuing to feed with her cubs.

On the way back we saw two pods of orcas as well as sea-lions and more eagles. We returned to Rupert with life-long memories and stories to tell.

North to Alaska Next day we caught an early-morning ferry north to Juneau, spending one night on board and one in Juneau. The ferry arrived at Skagway in the late afternoon. This is a charming heritage town with saloons and Victorian facades down the main street. The main attraction is the Whitepass-Yukon Railroad, which crosses the main street close to the harbour. Skagway bustles with activity. Our choice of hotel was the Skagway Inn which was a brothel in its heyday. I had Alice’s room.

We were excited to board the Klondike Railway next morning and settle into our gold and green Victorian-style coach. Sun was shining on the Coast Mountains as we hung out on the small platform behind the coach snapping pictures of the unfolding rugged scenery, including trees stunted by the harsh climate. We travelled through snow in June. The route climbs 20 miles from sea level to 873 m at White Pass Summit, crossing canyons on high trestles, clinging to cliffs around bends and tunnelling through mountains.

It climbs up the Coast Mountains to reach the summit before the gradual descent to Bennett Lake and Carcross. At Bennett station passengers are treated to a hearty lunch and have enough time to explore and climb to the terminus of the Chilkoot Trail.

The railroad was built to serve the Klondike gold rush. Gold was found where the Yukon and Klondike rivers meet in 1896. The Tlingit Nation controlled the Chilkoot Pass trade route from the ocean at Skagway over

the Coast Mountains and into the interior. This 33-mile trail links tidewater at Skagway to the headwaters of the Yukon River at Summit and Bennett Lakes, from where the prospectors could navigate to Dawson City. The longer but less steep route was the 45-mile White Pass Trail, which enabled the use of pack animals.

This is the route the railroad took the following year. Thousands of men and women risked their lives to trek north over these trails in hopes of finding their fortune.

Over the Pass The sea voyage to Skagway was the easy part before carrying tons of supplies on their backs up the gruelling Chilkoot Pass, which often required 20 trips or more. On arrival at Bennett Lake, the next task was to build boats to carry people and gear down the Yukon River. Bennett became a tent city with 10,000 people camped there in the winter of 1897-98. Over 7,000 boats were built but before reaching Dawson they had to navigate the Whitehorse rapids. Several boats were crushed there. By the time these hungry and worn-out prospectors reached Dawson City most of the claims had already been staked by earlier settlers. Many of these disillusioned stampeders sold their gear to raise enough money to take the next steamer home.

Construction on the White Pass Yukon Railroad began in May 1898 and took 26 months to complete. The rails reached Bennett Lake in 1899 and Whitehorse in 1900. By then the height of the gold-rush had passed. During World War Two the railway carried supplies for the Alaska Highway construction. The railroad was operated by steam until 1954. In 1982 metal prices dropped, causing mines to close, and rail traffic ceased. In 1998 the railroad re-opened as a heritage tourist attraction.

The White Pass summit marks the US/Canadian border. Next is Summit Lake and from there the tracks gradually descend to Fraser, BC, and on to Bennett Lake. Partway along the lakeshore we cross into the Yukon Territory.

At Carcross, a bus takes us the last 43 miles to Whitehorse.

Our journey had begun at Summit Lake, north of Prince George, and continued by rail past the Summit Lake at the summit of White Pass, and eventually took us to yet another Summit Lake, north of Fort Nelson, on our return journey.

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Seaton Ridge trail:

A high lookout upon many ranges Th e S eaton R i d g e Tr a i l i s n o t d i ff i c u l t t o f i n d a n d l e a d s t o s p e c t a c u l a r v i s t a s i n re l a t i v e l y s h o r t t i m e .

by Morga n H it e morganjh@bulkley.ne t • m ore m a ps a t bvt ra i l m a ps. c a

As you drive into Moricetown from the south you can’t help but notice the prominent peak that seems to stand just behind the town. It received the “official” name of Mount Seaton in the 1950s, in connection with a small CNR station named “Seaton” below it—but surely it had an older, Wet’suwet’en name. At 2,036 m, it offers superb views down into the Seaton Basin behind it, out to local ranges (Rocher Deboule, Hudson Bay, Telkwa, Babine, Goat and Blunt) and beyond to distant peaks like the Hogem Range 100 km to the east, and Paleo Peak 50 km to the west, with the massive Mt. Sir Robert looming behind.

The Seaton Ridge trail will not get you to the summit of Seaton itself, but to an adjacent peak just to the east, at 1,994m. Below, I’ll get into what happens if you want to make the final traverse to the peak with the name.

Finding the trailhead is straightforward, but don’t expect signs leading the way. Begin by turning onto the Telkwa High Road at Moricetown, crossing the bridge over the Bulkey and wending your way to the top of the hill. Here, bear left on the Blunt Creek Forest Service Road, and drive 18 kilometres. The turn that you want off the Blunt Creek FSR is a side road to the left, unsigned, coming just after the 18 km marker (“2018”). This road is in good shape and does not require a high-clearance vehicle.

The parking area (also unsigned) is about 3.5 km along this road, where the road abruptly stops at the first of a series of de-activation ditches.

(When driving in, turn left at the only significant fork, after about 1.5 km.) Have faith, park, and continue along the road on foot. After about 600m there is a sign, “Trail,” directing you right at a fork. Where the track reaches the far side of the cutblock there is another sign (“Mount Seaton”) and now the trail turns straight uphill, paralleling a small stream.

At treeline, after about 90 minutes of steady climbing, the trail turns west to run along the top of the ridge. There’s a lot to see, both north into Seaton Basin and south to the Babines. The ridge rises gently for the first kilometre, and then steeply for the second, bringing you to the top of the unnamed prominence (1,994m) with a superb panorama. Along this last kilometre are a few rocky knobs which can sometimes be passed on the south slope, but do not attempt to by-pass the final prominence unless you want to get into some very dicey rock.

Mount Seaton proper is yet one more kilometre along the ridge, but getting there is fairly challenging. The tricky bits are the steep, scree-filled gullies and sharp fins of really rotten rock at the low point connecting the two. They are harrowing to negotiate. If the phrase “sketchy 3rd classing through lousy rock with significant rockfall hazard” doesn’t mean much to you, this is probably not where you want to go.

Allow about 3 hours up and 2 hours down. After the trail wanders away from the small stream near the cutblock, there’s no reliable water.

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Trail Map sponsored by Valhalla Smithers

www.valhallasmithers.com

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column

Ba rom eter

Wasps be like…

by C h a rlyn n To ews edit or ial@no rt hwo rd. c a

Our good friend, my godson, has his birthday in August. Birthday parties involving wiener-roasts often happened at Kleanza Creek just west of Terrace, a shaded area beside cool running water in a lovely setting.

His mother and I were acquaintances, then we had boy babies six months apart, then we had coffee while the babies socialized, then we became friends.

At first the babies nicely ignored each other, plunked on the floor with an assortment of baby toys, playing in a parallel but independent way.

Then, a few months later, they noticed each other and began to grab whatever toy (or any object!) the other had, and we were forced to interrupt our fascinating conversation to intervene.

Next, as toddlers, they got up to mischief. My kid was a slim shrimp at 18 months, while my godson, at two years of age, was tall and strong.

All our coffee is freshly roasted on site, certified organic & 100% Fair Trade

I suppose they became bored with indoor play or the cartoon ended, because they decided to go outside. Godson opened the front door all by himself, and the two of them walked out into the world. We grabbed them before they got off the front porch.

My kid was 10, hers was turning 11, when we went to Kleanza Creek for another birthday party.

My kid started whining and crying and I said, more or less, Calm down, What’s your problem, There are no bees on you, like that.

We left the perfectly FINE birthday party, and on the way back to Terrace I stopped the car to discover not one or two but FOUR August wasps UNDER his shirt. He was stung so thoroughly we stopped

by Emergency and were prescribed Benadryl.

What’s with wasps in August? All spring and early summer we ignored each other in a parallel playtime, wasps doing their thing, we humans doing ours.

Wasps are social creatures, busy spending their days taking care of each other. The workers wasps cannot breed, so they help the Queen expand the nest and raise more young. They find soft-bodied invertebrates, chew them up and feed the developing larvae. Adult wasps cannot digest the food they catch because their gut is constricted by their thin ‘wasp waists’. In return the larvae produce a

sugar-rich spit the workers drink.

Later in summer, as part of their colony’s cycle, the queen stops laying: no more larvae, no more sugar spit. That’s the time of year I once observed a wasp land on my plate and start carving up a bit of my sweetly sauced barbeque chicken. “Help yourself, I guess,” I said. He noticed my food and made a grab for it.

At this turn in the cycle, the hormone that maintains colony cohesion is no longer produced.

The worker wasps are disoriented and search for sweet foods like soft drinks or jam—putting themselves directly in people’s way. In August and September, it is the worker wasps that sting.

They are bored, with no work to do, and so wander around eating rotting fruit and tree sap.

And because fermenting fruit contains alcohol, wasps become intoxicated and irritating.

When yellowjackets sting they leave behind a chemical marker that identifies you as an enemy of the nest. That explains the four of them ganging up on my kid!

Kids can’t stay babies any more than wasps can stay busy. There comes a time when they notice others, try to take their stuff, and get bored.

Irritating, hurtful, even dangerous: but I am glad to report that small children, and eventually even teenagers, usually grow out of this.

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Feel good.

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