Namu-Photo-Essay-C3-0001

After the salmon

Abandoned Namu, B.C., tells the tale of lost abundance

For the first time in 11,000 years there’s nobody living in Namu, British Columbia.

But when Heiltsuk hereditary chief Harvey Humchitt steps ashore, he’s greeted within a minute by a hardhat-wearing site supervisor.

“Did you see the sign?” he asks the group, haughtily. Visitors are prohibited due to safety concerns, and large signs warning trespassers away loom over the landing sites.

Chief Humchitt simply smiles genially as he is introduced to the man — this is, after all, his traditional territory. He is free to do as he pleases here, a site where he grew up as his father fished the waters nearby.

Located on British Columbia’s central coast about 35 kilometres southeast of Bella Bella, in the Great Bear Rainforest, Namu has been a place of cultural significance for local First Nations people for as long as records, memories and oral histories reach back.

But now Namu sits abandoned with buildings full of asbestos sagging, rusting fuel tanks sitting askew on rotting plank floors, old batteries and engine parts spilling out of an engineering shed into the water below.

The first fish cannery opened in Namu in 1893. By 1923 the facility had been purchased by B.C. Packers, one of the most dominant fishing companies in the province, and Namu was transformed into a complex of salmon and herring processing plants, warehouses, a power plant and three distinct camps dividing Indigenous, white and Japanese workers and their families.

Men, women and children navigated the maze of structures along boardwalks interconnecting daily life with one of B.C.s most bustling aquaculture hubs.

Diminishing salmon stocks led to the Namu cannery being closed in 1970 and the remote town has long since fallen into disrepair. Yet a more proactive approach to revitalizing salmon runs has renewed interest in Namu and what can be done to eliminate the hazardous waste that sits at the mouth of a productive salmon spawning river.

Humchitt worked in Namu in the 1960s alongside many other Heiltsuk people and today, he and his nation are working with the provincial and federal governments to clean up Namu and re-establish a community there.  

Humchitt said Namu, left in the wake of a boom and bust mentality, contains a lesson.

“Any type of developments that take place should include local people, he said, and it should be in a sustainable manner. That way it would ensure that the community of a place like Namu would be revitalized and it would ensure continuous community development.”

All photos by Taylor Roades / Canada C3

Like a kid in a candy store
When those boxes of heavily redacted documents start to pile in, reporters at The Narwhal waste no time in looking for kernels of news that matter the most. Just ask our Prairies reporter Drew Anderson, who gleefully scanned through freedom of information files like a kid in a candy store, leading to pretty damning revelations in Alberta. Long story short: the government wasn’t being forthright when it claimed its pause on new renewable energy projects wasn’t political. Just like that, our small team was again leading the charge on a pretty big story

In an oil-rich province like Alberta, that kind of reporting is crucial. But look at our investigative work on TC Energy’s Coastal GasLink pipeline to the west, or our Greenbelt reporting out in Ontario. They all highlight one thing: those with power over our shared natural world don’t want you to know how — or why — they call the shots. And we try to disrupt that.

Our journalism is powered by people just like you. We never take corporate ad dollars, or put this public-interest information behind a paywall. Will you join the pod of Narwhals that make a difference by helping us uncover some of the most important stories of our time?
Like a kid in a candy store
When those boxes of heavily redacted documents start to pile in, reporters at The Narwhal waste no time in looking for kernels of news that matter the most. Just ask our Prairies reporter Drew Anderson, who gleefully scanned through freedom of information files like a kid in a candy store, leading to pretty damning revelations in Alberta. Long story short: the government wasn’t being forthright when it claimed its pause on new renewable energy projects wasn’t political. Just like that, our small team was again leading the charge on a pretty big story

In an oil-rich province like Alberta, that kind of reporting is crucial. But look at our investigative work on TC Energy’s Coastal GasLink pipeline to the west, or our Greenbelt reporting out in Ontario. They all highlight one thing: those with power over our shared natural world don’t want you to know how — or why — they call the shots. And we try to disrupt that.

Our journalism is powered by people just like you. We never take corporate ad dollars, or put this public-interest information behind a paywall. Will you join the pod of Narwhals that make a difference by helping us uncover some of the most important stories of our time?

Our newsletter subscribers are the first to find out when we break a big story. Sign up for free →
An illustration, in yellow, of a computer, with an open envelope inside it with letter reading 'Breaking news.'
Your access to our journalism is free — always. Sign up for our weekly newsletter for investigative reporting on the natural world in Canada you won’t find anywhere else.
'This is not a paywall' text illustration, in a reddish-pink font colour
Your access to our journalism is free — always. Sign up for our weekly newsletter for investigative reporting on the natural world in Canada you won’t find anywhere else.
'This is not a paywall' text illustration, in a reddish-pink font colour