“If you’re in Vancouver this is way out in the middle of nowhere, but way out in the middle of nowhere is our backyard.”

Those are the words of Frederick Otilius Olsen Jr., the tribal president of a traditional Haida village on Prince of Wales Island, Alaska.

When I met him, he had travelled to Ketchikan, Alaska, to meet with officials about the risk posed by the mining boom across the border in British Columbia.

He stood on the boardwalk overlooking Ketchikan’s fishing fleet and waved his hands animatedly while he told me about how his culture — and southern Alaska’s economy — depends on salmon.

The week before, I’d spent several hours flying in a small fixed-wing plane over B.C.’s mining boom to capture never before seen images of the province’s largest and most remote mines.

Door removed, I captured hundreds of frames as we passed over the Red Chris copper and gold mine, which began operation in late 2014. Its tailings pond and dam rises impossible and angular out of a soft, sloping valley.

Set within the vast and largely intact headwaters of northwestern B.C.’s greatest wild salmon rivers, the Red Chris mine is just one of 10 mines either in operation, in development or in advanced exploration stages in this region.

It is owned and operated by Imperial Metals, the company responsible for the Mount Polley mine disaster in central B.C. If the name seems familiar, it’s because in 2014, a tailings dam at Mount Polley collapsed, resulting in one of the worst environmental disasters in Canadian history. All told, 24 million cubic metres of contaminated mining waste flooded into a lake —  a source of drinking water and salmon-spawning ground that feeds the Fraser River.

A new study from the United Nations Environment Programme notes Canada has had seven known mine tailings spills in the last decade, only one less than China, which tops the list.

“The increasing number and size of tailings dams around the globe magnifies the potential environmental, social and economic cost of catastrophic failure impact and the risks and costs of perpetual management,” says the report.

A view from the sky gives perspective on both the enormity of the mines but also their proximity to Alaskans who, living downstream, fear they may unfairly suffer the consequences of another Mount Polley style accident.

“This is our Amazon right here and they’re not making any more of it,” Olsen Jr. said.

The following photo essay was made possible by 103 readers, who donated more than $10,000 to bring this unprecedented assignment to life.

B.C. and Alaska share some of the world’s most productive salmon rivers. However, the region is also home to some of the largest untapped gold and copper reserves in the world. Gold is mined primarily for use in jewelry, while copper conducts both heat and electricity well, so has many uses, including in electrical equipment such as wiring, motors and solar panels.

The Todagin Plateau on the edge of Imperial Metals’ Red Chris mine is thought to have the world’s highest density of stone sheep. It is the traditional Tahltan hunting grounds for moose, sheep, goats and caribou.

The wall of the Red Chris tailings dam is 105 metres high, about the height of a 35-storey building. Tailings are the byproducts left over from mining and include finely ground rock particles, chemicals and water. The rock particles and other chemicals sometimes undergo chemical reactions during storage that generate additional byproducts, such as acid, that can more easily leach into waterways.

In recent years, B.C. has experienced an explosion in mine growth on the Alaska border. Red Chris and Brucejack mines are now in operation, while KSM and Galore Creek have the required approvals and are in development. Schaft Creek is currently under review and four more mines are in the advanced exploration stages. Unlike Mount Polley, much of the waste in these transboundary projects will be potentially acid generating, making it much more toxic.*

The Red Chris tailings pond is an unlined, earthen centre-line type tailings dam — the same design Imperial Metals used at the ill-fated Mount Polley mine. An independent panel that reviewed the Mount Polley spill predicted two additional tailings dam failures could occur every 10 years in British Columbia if mine waste disposal practices aren’t improved. One of the panel’s key recommendations was for B.C. to move away from allowing liquid tailings ponds. There are currently more than 120 tailings dams across British Columbia.

When the Red Chris gold and copper mine opened in late 2014, it became the first mine of its type to operate in the transboundary region. The Narwhal (formerly DeSmog Canada) requested a tour of the Red Chris mine but was told by an official that Red Chris does not provide “unsolicited tours.” Red Chris is owned by Imperial Metals, the same company responsible for Mount Polley. The largest Imperial Metals shareholder is oilsands billionaire and Calgary Flames co-owner Murray Edwards, who organized a $1-million Calgary fundraising dinner for former B.C. premier Christy Clark’s 2013 re-election campaign.

The Mount Polley mine had a total tailings storage volume of 44 million cubic metres. B.C.’s massive transboundary mines require much higher volumes of waste storage. The tailings facility at Red Chris can store up to 305 million cubic metres of mine waste. Galore Creek will have a storage volume of 424 million cubic metres, Shaft Creek of 588 million cubic metres and KSM a staggering 1,213 million cubic metres.

Frederick Otilius Olsen Jr. is the Haida Tribal President of the Organized Village of Kasaan and chair of the Southeast Alaska Indigenous Transboundary Commission. “We have been trying for years to get the B.C. government to adequately address our interests and concerns, but other than nice words and vague promises, we seem to be getting nowhere,” Olsen Jr. said. “It takes a little wisdom, but sometimes to do something different, you have to do something you never did.”

The tailings pond at the Red Chris mine has a capacity of 305 million cubic metres — seven times more than the Mount Polley tailings dam, which collapsed three years ago. In the case of Mount Polley, British Columbian taxpayers ended up on the hook for $40 million of cleanup costs. No fines were levied and no charges have been laid against Mount Polley.

The Red Chris mine has an expected daily throughput of 30,000 tonnes of ore for the 25-year lifespan of the project. The Canadian government did not conduct a comprehensive assessment of the environmental impacts of the project, a process that would have opened the mine proposal to public input.

This is the view northeast across Todagin Creek, wetlands and Tatogga Lake with the road to Red Chris mine on the right. If any tailings escaped from the south dam of the Red Chris tailings pond, this is the point where the tailings would enter the Iskut river system.**

Melanie Brown, left, is a fourth generation commercial fisherman in Bristol Bay, Alaska. Heather Hardcastle, right, is director of the conservation organization Salmon Beyond Borders and a commercial fisherman in Juneau, Alaska. “We share these waters and we share these fish. There has to be an international solution,” Hardcastle said.

Massive braiding and bars from glacial sediment inputs on the Iskut river. Alluvial flood planes such as this are highly vulnerable to disruption.

A view of what is called the “Grand Canyon” of the Stikine River. Considered one of the last truly wild rivers in British Columbia, its 600-kilometre length encompasses mountain peaks and glaciers and supports some of the continent’s richest salmon habitat and wildlife populations.

If you look closely at this photo, you’ll see the drill pads perched on the mountainside (low centre right) and camp (centre left) of the Spectrum GJ gold-copper project, located 30 kilometres west of the Red Chris mine. It is just one of many examples of the lengths mining companies are going to open new mines in the isolated region.

A helicopter nearly disappears in the expanse of this glacier near the Brucejack gold mine. B.C.’s glaciers lose an estimated 22 billion cubic metres of water every year, feeding the province’s rich river systems.

A view east across Brucejack mine site and Brucejack Lake. Brucejack is an underground gold and silver mine. It will create 300 permanent jobs during its 22-year life. Owner Pretium has taken steps to minimize tailings risks by backfilling about half its mine waste in a paste mixed with cement in the underground mine. The other half will be stored in Brucejack Lake.

The Brucejack mine required the construction of an 11-kilometre glacial highway up the centreline of Knipple Glacier. The glacier retreated 300 metres between 2000 and 2011.

The Brucejack mine encampment. Potentially acid generating waste rock from the mine is stored underwater in Brucejack lake.

Joe Williams is a member of the Tlingit and former mayor of Ketchikan Borough, Alaska. He is also the owner and guide of Where the Eagle Walks, a walking tour business. Williams worries mining in the region has affected the health of oolichan populations. “The Department of Fish and Game say we can’t fish it anymore, even when it is out in the bay. It’s a sad thing. Now none of my kids know how to make oolichan oil and we can’t get it for me to teach them.”

Red Chris Mine went ahead after Imperial Metals’ largest shareholder Murray Edwards helped arrange $150 million in loans and crown corporation BC Hydro paid most of the costs for the $746-million Northwest Transmission Line into the region.

The proposed KSM mine site is in the foreground with Brucejack gold mine in the background. KSM sits atop one of the world’s largest undeveloped gold reserves. Once built, it will become one of the largest gold and copper mine in North America, with three open pits and two underground mines. The project initially entailed mining under an active glacier, but that glacier has now retreated. The project will require the construction of two 23-kilometre-long tunnels to deposit mine waste into a tailings impoundment. At 239 metres tall, the tailings dam wall for KSM will be higher than the Shangri-La, the tallest building in Vancouver and the tailings pond will hold 27 times more waste than was held in the Mount Polley tailings dam.*** 

The Tulsequah Chief mine, a zinc and copper mine close to the Alaska border, has been leaking acid mine drainage into the Tulsequah River since it was first shut down in 1957. Attempts to re-open the mine have failed, along with several promises to clean up the site.

Other jurisdictions, such as Alaska and Quebec, demand large financial securities, paid up front to ensure companies are held responsible for any damage.

“If we were to put the bar higher and require payment of financial securities ahead of permitting and ahead of mining, this would be one one way to get rid of the mines that would be marginal and you would end up with the mines that are safest,” Ugo LaPointe of MiningWatch Canada told The Narwhal.

Although most of the mines in this region have a life expectancy of 20 to 50 years, their toxic legacy continues far beyond. This contaminated tailings pond of the Premier gold mine in the Salmon Valley is one example. Originally built in 1910, it operated steadily for 50 years and sporadically for a few years after that. It opened again in 1989 to close once again in 1996. This toxic tailings pound is currently being upgraded to today’s standards so it can be reopened in the future.

A grizzly bear fishes for salmon in Fish Creek, Alaska, just downstream of the Premier gold mine.

Ketchikan, Alaska, just across the border from British Columbia has dubbed itself the “salmon capital of the world.” Ketchikan’s economy is based upon government services, tourism and commercial fishing.

The last catch of the season is offloaded and processed at Alaska General Seafoods in Ketchikan. Alaska’s fishing industry employs nearly 60,000 workers, of which nearly half are fishermen.

Salmon canning at Alaska General Seafoods processing plant in Ketchikan, Alaska.

The initial mechanical processing and canning of salmon at Alaska General Seafoods in Ketchikan, Alaska.

Chief Shakes Tribal House in Wrangell, Alaska. Coastal indigenous cultures are closely tied to salmon and have flourished here for more than 10,000 years.

Brenda Schwartz-Yeager is a fourth generation Wrangell-based Alaskan. As the owner and operator of Alaska Charters and Adventures, Schwartz-Yeager is a confident navigator of the ever-changing Stikine River. “What makes the Stikine so special and unique is its vast wildness,” she said. “We just don’t have many places of this size, and scope, and wildness left on the earth.”

Icebergs and Castle Mountain as seen from Shakes Lake, which feeds the Stikine River in Alaska. Traveling the lower Stikine in 1879, American conservationist John Muir called it “a Yosemite 100 miles long.”

— With files and additional reporting from Emma Gilchrist and Carol Linnitt

This photo essay was funded by The Narwhal readers like you. Want more journalism like this? Become a member today.

Updated on Oct. 30, 2017, at 7:05 p.m. PST. The transboundary map in this article was updated to reflect the fact that the Galore Creek mine is in the development stage, rather than operational as previously stated.

Updated on Nov. 2, 2017, at 10 a.m. PST to correct the lake in the photo to Tattoga Lake, not Todagin Lake. Thank you to the reader with the sharp eye who pointed this out to us.

Updated on Oct. 31, 2017, at 10:45 a.m. PST. The article was updated to reflect the fact that the KSM mine will no longer require mining under an active glacier, as that glacier has now retreated from the proposed pit area. The description of of KSM has also been corrected to refer to the project as one of the largest undeveloped gold and copper mines in North America, rather than the largest undeveloped open-pit gold and copper mine in North America.

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Dr. Robin Crump had a front row seat to one of the world’s worst oil spills.

Twenty years ago, on Feb. 15, 1996, the Sea Empress oil tanker ran aground on mid-channel rocks in Pembrokeshire Coast National Park in Wales.

Over the course of the following week, the Sea Empress spilled almost 18 million gallons — 80 million litres — of crude oil, making it Britain’s third largest oil spill and the world’s 12th largest at the time.

Beaches were coated in a thick brown chocolate mousse of petroleum. Thousands of birds and other creatures perished. The rare species, Asterina Phylactica, first discovered by Dr. Crump, was reduced to a handful of individuals. Thanks in large part to Crump’s efforts, the species was well on the road to recovery within six months.

A temporary fishing ban was installed due to the unknown effects of toxic poisoning. This of course lead to job losses in the industry with some fishing companies reporting the impacts took up to six years to recover from.

Sea Empress oil spill, 1996. Photo: Wales Online

Cleanup crews work to contain oil on the beach. Photo: Wales Online

“There are huge problems with pipelines in remote locations,” says Crump, a retired biologist.

I am here on the coast of Wales at the invitation of the British artist, Abigail Sidebotham, who is curating a year-long project commemorating the 20th anniversary of the Sea Empress oil spill.

I have come to Pembrokeshire to give a presentation on Canada’s oilsands, but more importantly, I am here to try and learn from the experience of the oil spill here and gain a sense of what increased tanker traffic could mean for Canada’s coastal ecology and economy.

Much like parts of Canada’s east and west coasts, there is a tension between the scenic beauty and ecology — the basis of a successful tourism and fishing economy — and the demands of industry.

An oil tanker approaches the entrance to Milford Haven where the Sea Empress ran aground. The marker in the foreground indicates the submerged rocks which caused the accident. Photo: Garth Lenz/DeSmog

Oil tanker entering Milford Haven with the Valero oil refinery in the background. Photo: Garth Lenz/DeSmog

The beach and dunes at Freshwater West. Located very close to the scenes of the spill, this was one of the hardest hit beaches. Fans of the Harry Potter movies may also recognize it has the scene “Shell Cottage” and Dobby’s death and burial. Photo: Garth Lenz/DeSmog

A 2015 report from Pembrokeshire County Council states that the region’s strengths include renewable energy, sustainable tourism and the rural economy.

But the deep-water port of Milford Haven, scene of the Sea Empress oil spill, hosts an oil refinery (which was the destination of the Sea Empress, two liquefied natural gas plants, a gas-fired power station and a high-voltage national grid transmission line, which could service the region’s burgeoning wind, tidal, wave and solar energy industries.)

A section of Milford Haven and the Valero oil refinery — formerly Texaco — which was the destination of the Sea Empress. Photo: Garth Lenz/DeSmog

Comparisons to the Canadian ports of Kitimat, St. John, Burnaby and Prince Rupert spring to mind when looking at the economic potential and challenges of Pembrokeshire.

When I ask Crump specifically about Canada’s current debate regarding oilsands pipelines and tanker traffic, he responds, “It depends how much you value your wildlife, as a country, as a people and as a government.”

Oil-Covered Hail

Retired farmer and author of  “Farming for Better Profitability,” John Davies, had a farm eleven miles — 18 kilometres — inland at the time of the Sea Empress oil spill.

Sitting in the kitchen of his cottage, he reflects on the events that day.

Shortly after the spill, as the oil was coming ashore, a strong storm and high winds caused a deluge of black hail stones leaving a 2.5 inch deposit on Davies’ fields and porch.

He filled a three-gallon bucket with the hail stones. A few hours later, the hail had melted, but left behind a gallon of thick black and yellow oil.

It was “a phenomenon I had never seen before and never want to see again,” Davies said.

There were big agricultural losses after the Sea Empress spill. The chemical dispersants that were used at sea after the oil spill damaged about 15 square miles of crops, as they were blown onto the land. Like Davies, other farmers’ fields were covered with oil. This had grave results, as some drinking water was contaminated and may have caused health problems in cattle and sheep.

Although an oil spill is a dramatic and (thankfully) rare event, I am reminded of the research by retired University of Alberta professor David Schindler. Schindler found that the greatest concentrations of toxic contaminants downstream from the tar sands occurred during the spring thaw, indicating that the toxins spewing from the smokestacks and rising from the tailings ponds concentrated in the atmosphere and rained back down on us as precipitation.

This sobering thought came to mind several times as I photographed the juxtaposition of the Valero oil refinery with the agricultural land that surrounds it.

Valero oil refinery and surrounding agricultural land. Photo: Garth Lenz/DeSmog

During my stay in Pembrokeshire, I was based in the picturesque coastal village of Tenby, located along a 186-mile coastal path, regularly rated among the planet’s Top 10 walks.

South Beach and the picturesque town of Tenby as seen from a section of the Pembrokeshire Coast Path. Photo: Garth Lenz/DeSmog

Tenby. Photo: Garth Lenz/DeSmog

St. Catherine’s Island along the shore of Tenby. Photo: Garth Lenz/DeSmog

The path passes vast sand beaches, dramatic bluffs, intimate coves, sea stacks and pastoral grazing fields — interrupted every few miles by charming villages with castles, quaint inns and pubs.

It’s little wonder that National Geographic named Tenby the second best coastal destination in the world.

A small section of the Pembrokeshire Coast Path. Photo: Garth Lenz/DeSmog

A section of the rugged coastline along the Pembrokeshire Coast Path. Photo: Garth Lenz/DeSmog

There I met with Chris Osbourne, owner and manager of the Fourcroft Hotel.

He recalled the smell of oil that permeated the community for several hours after the Sea Empress spill as the community realized that not only their quality of life was threatened, but so were their businesses.

The area was cosmetically cleaned up fairly quickly, but there were still significant losses.

“Many coach trips and individuals canceled” Osbourne said, adding he and others “lost a lot of money.”

Yet it could have been far, far worse.

The vast majority of the 72,000 tonnes of crude that spilled was very thin North Sea crude. Only about 480 tonnes of heavier crude was spilled — that’s the kind of stuff that would likely sink to the sea bed and smother it, potentially inflicting damage for up to a hundred years or more, biologist Crump said.

Crude produced in the Alberta oilsands, called bitumen, is among the heaviest forms of oil.

The Alberta tar sands, also call oilsands. Multiple pipeline proposals to tidewater, and the recent election of Donald Trump who supports the proposed Keystone pipeline, make tar sands tankers of the coasts of Canada and Europe an increasingly likely scenario in the near future. Photo: Garth Lenz

Cut with highly toxic natural gas condensate, the type of bitumen Canada wants to export would very likely sink, making it next to impossible to clean up. Recent research by Canadian and U.S. scientists found there are major knowledge gaps when it comes to the effects of bitumen on marine environments.

“If mistakes happen, and mistakes do happen, the consequences can be catastrophic,” Osbourne said.

Keep in mind that modern super tankers can have greater than triple the carrying capacity of the Sea Empress.

Canada’s coastal communities are far more dependent on the fishing industry than Wales. Wildlife populations are far greater, particularly on the West Coast. And the region is much more remote, making a large-scale clean up effort that much more difficult.

While I was in Wales, I learned about the Nathan E. Stewart, the tug that had run aground and sunk in the Great Bear Rainforest, discharging an estimated 100,000 litres of diesel. Three weeks later, the relatively small spill still had not been contained, devastating the Heiltsuk Nation.

Mistakes do indeed happen. Lead image: An oil tanker traverses Milford Haven. Photo: Garth Lenz/DeSmog

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It was a little over a year since I had been in the Peace River Valley. Back in June 2014, I visited the region to take photographs and to produce a film on the land, farms and wildlife that would be forever altered, or completely destroyed, to make way for the biggest and most expensive mega-project in the province’s history.

At that time it all seemed so distant and abstract. Would we really flood more than 100 kilometres of some the richest agricultural land in the north and destroy farms that date back to the first non-native settlers in the region? Were we really willing to clearcut and flood key habitat for a wide range of wildlife? Were we really willing to turn our back on the rights of First Nations who have called this valley home for perhaps 10,000 years? These questions were answered for me in the most brutal fashion when I returned this past November.

In just a few short months, the forests, islands and grazing lands of the proposed dam site were completely eradicated. Beautiful forests with massive cottonwood trees I had walked through had been reduced to clearcuts and slash piles. Machines dredged the river as bulldozers pushed debris and soil into it. When I took to the air, the true scale of the devastation could be seen clearly and extended far beyond the banks of the river.

When I returned home, I sifted though my images from 2014 to find comparative views from before construction began. It was a more challenging task than I had assumed as virtually all points of reference had been completely obliterated.

When I managed to find “before” images, the difference was stark and sobering. The fact that this had all happened in just a few months was both awe inspiring and horrifying. Then the reality sunk in that this destruction that had occurred in just a few months and over a few kilometers is to be extended over a decade and will encompass over 100 kilometres of this remarkable river. I imagined what this process would look like as those many kilometers of forests, islands, wildlife habitat and farms I have photographed would be transformed to the same kinds of scenes.

One day while photographing one of the clearcut islands in the middle of the river, I was visited by representatives of one of the Alberta-based contractors for the project. Despite the fact there were no machines, other people or any industrial activity on the island, I was told I would have to leave. When I asked why, I was told, “This is a hazardous zone.” I couldn’t agree more.

Editor’s Note: First Nations are still challenging the Site C dam in court, as well as meeting with the new federal government about pressing pause on the project. Learn more in our series on the Site C dam.

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