A massive data centre proposed for the town of Olds, Alta., has been rejected by the provincial utilities regulator. 

Synapse Data Centre’s project would have been the largest of its kind in Canada, consuming as much power in a day as the entire city of Edmonton, fed by a 1.4 gigawatt natural gas power plant built to fuel the centre.  

The Alberta Utilities Commission, which regulates power plants in the province, denied the company’s application, citing missing information and a lack of public consultation. 

“The deficiencies include, but are not limited to, errors, insufficient or incomplete information and internal inconsistency among the application documents,” reads the decision, issued on March 6. “Collectively, the deficiencies create a significant lack of clarity as to whether application requirements have been met.”

Residents of Olds expressed concern over the project, worried about a massive power plant and data centre located across the street from homes, as well as the agricultural college and its wetlands and fields. 

Those concerns were not sufficiently addressed, according to the commission. 

It notes the public consultation process started 14 days before the application was submitted for approval, and says information packages lacked details. The company’s application didn’t include key concerns raised by residents or identify how it attempted to mitigate them, for example. 

Environmental impact evaluations were also a concern for the regulator. 

“The environmental evaluation is a draft document with missing information, including incomplete citations, missing figures and document mark-ups including highlighted text,” according to the decision. 

It says environmental evaluations were based on “preliminary desktop data” and “conclusions relating to wildlife and wetlands are made from incomplete field studies conducted during the winter.”

The application further neglected to account for potential noise impacts on residents, including the use of backup diesel generators. 

“Given the number and significance of deficiencies, the commission has concluded that it cannot process the application with the current information in the application, particularly because of the deficiencies in the participant involvement program requirements,” the regulator said.

Synapse, however, can reapply for approval once it has addressed the commission’s concerns. 

The company did not immediately respond to an interview request, so it’s not known if this spells the end of the controversial project. Synapse previously said it wanted to start construction as early as this month. 

Janae Johnson is part of a group of residents who banded together to oppose the Synapse project and another data centre proposed for the town by Data District Inc. She told The Narwhal she’s happy about the decision, but she’s not letting her guard down. 

“We are still concerned about Data District Inc, and also know full well that Synapse can reapply once they fulfilled all recommendations from the [Alberta Utilities Commission],”  she said by email. “We are watching closely.” 

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The U.K.-based company, Real Ice, is wrapping up its second season of tests outside the Arctic community, which lies on the coast of Victoria Island alongside the Northwest Passage. Its experimental approach involves drilling holes through the ice to pump water to the surface during the coldest months of winter, where it quickly solidifies in the freezing air.

Ice thickening is an example of a category of highly controversial interventions aimed at modifying the climate to combat warming. Real Ice has drawn sharp criticism from scientists, who question the environmental impacts of the company’s experimental efforts and the feasibility of scaling up. 

But unlike many geoengineering projects, Real Ice’s experiments have garnered local support so far. According to the Nunavut Impact Review Board, the work to date is unlikely to cause adverse environmental impacts. Although not all Cambridge Bay residents are aware of the project, those who have heard about it tend to be on board with the initiative.

The community—known as Ikaluktutiak in Inuinnaqtun, which is often translated as “place of many fish”—is home to nearly 1,800 residents, roughly 80 per cent of whom are Inuit. Located on Victoria Island in the Kitikmeot Region of Nunavut, Cambridge Bay sits above the Arctic Circle and serves as a hub for the western Arctic. Sea ice forms the backdrop of life for much of the year. As the climate warms, residents have been witnessing drastic changes.

For some, the goal of saving sea ice resonates because it supports the continuation of cultural and traditional practices. Others see applications for sea ice thickening besides fighting climate change. At a smaller scale, it could be useful for building roads, reinforcing snowmobile routes or supporting fish and wildlife populations.

Five Cambridge Bay residents tell us what sea ice means to them, as well as how they see their home changing and, if they have heard about Real Ice, what they think about the effort.

The following interviews have been edited for length and clarity.

Talia Maksagak, executive director of the Kitikmeot Chamber of Commerce, born and raised in Cambridge Bay

There’s a lot of things that the sea ice provides to our communities. People travel on the ice to harvest on the mainland, a.k.a. Canada. People travel from Cambridge Bay to Kugluktuk on the sea ice, too. My sister is one of them. They camp along the way, so they go for about a week. It’s better than spending so much money on airline tickets.

Here in the bay, the ice is all smooth. But once you get out into the ocean, to the actual sea ice, it’s like all of these boulders. The way that the ice freezes and moves, you have to really be careful where you drive your Ski-Doo. Cracks in the ice happen earlier and in different areas than they used to be. It’s terrifying because there’s fresh snow that covers the cracks so you can’t always see them.

What we were taught as kids growing up is that there’s a sea ice monster called the Qalupalik who will steal you and take you under the ice forever and eat you. We teach our kids that because we don’t want them to get into dangerous situations. The Qalupalik have really long, stringy hair and really long hands.

I don’t remember the other sea ice legends, but that’s one of the ones where it’s like, ‘Do not go near black ice. Do not go near ice cracks because they’re gonna steal you.’ Terrifying — especially as a little kid.

I was part of some of Real Ice’s engagements. I also put them in touch with my grandfather, and we had a separate meeting. He was sharing cool stories about how they used to sell ice to Japan. They would go out to lakes and harvest all this ice and ship it by cargo to Japan for a special drink they had there. This was in the 1970s. He had some really good stories to share that I honestly don’t think I would have ever heard if Real Ice hadn’t been doing engagements.

We have a bunch of Elders who tell us stories about when they used to go on the ice. From their time to our time, we can’t go at the same time. I’m hoping that when I tell my kids stories, that they can have a similar experience and it’s not drastically changed. I’m very supportive of the Real Ice project because I do have a legacy and a family. I would like them to experience sea ice. But who knows how much it’ll change between now and then.

Henry Ohoilak, a Cambridge Bay Elder who was born in Igloolik

Long ago, we used to live in tents or snow houses in the winter. That’s how I grew up. I was mostly out on the land until I was 14. I would go into town only to resupply. We would fish, hunt, do chores. I was never bored and never lonely. You always have something to do when you’re out on the land.

One of the best parts was when my parents would bring a sled-load of fish to the co-op in Paulatuk. We would make an ice house to keep the fish in. We would build ice walls and then cover the top with plywood, so no animals could get in. Once in a while, we would go out in the ocean and go seal hunting.

We would go by dog team and see what kind of animals we could see. Dogs, they can find where the seal area is. When you find that area, you make the dogs go away a little bit and stand there really quiet, until you hear breathing. When the water comes up, you harpoon. The last time I went seal hunting like that was around 2003. I miss being out on the land.

The weather’s been changing quite a bit. The decreasing ice is kind of hard to detect with snowmobiles, but with dog teams it’s okay. Snowmobiles, you can’t hear the ice cracking, but dog teams know which way to go. They know when the ice is too thin. They just feel it. I grew up using dog teams, then I tried snow machines, and I don’t like machines. There was a dog slaughter, so the dogs are just coming back slowly.

I worry about melting sea ice for the younger people. It doesn’t matter to me because I can’t go out anymore. I worry about how the younger people are going to survive. Most of them are only playing with their phone, not paying attention to who’s teaching them. I feel sorry for the generation to come. When we’re gone and they want to do something for themselves, who’s going to teach them?

I only heard about Real Ice for the first time recently. That could be a good idea, but I don’t know. They can try. If the youth can learn about ice, it could be good for the future.

Navalik Helen Tologanak, a journalist and Elder in Cambridge Bay

I was born in that time before Cambridge Bay was ever built, or when it was just being built. It was quiet back then. Less people, there were no vehicles, barely any snowmobiles. No housing. Planes once a month. I was just a young girl, so I never really knew the difference, but now I know the difference, that it was very quiet and peaceful.

I went to school from kindergarten to grade three by dog team. We would travel across the bay to the federal day school. By that time, we all had to go to school as little kids. Then I was forced to go to residential school and move away from my family and my grandparents and my Elders, my community.

I’m not a hunter, but I’ve seen changes on the land. We don’t have any caribou anymore. I used to sit and watch caribou go by, heading from the ocean up towards the calving grounds. You don’t see that anymore. Muskox used to be everywhere. When you drive out onto the roads or out to the ocean, you could see muskox grazing everywhere. Not anymore.

We’re finding more grizzly bears coming to the island. They live more in the tree line area, but now they’re coming further north because it’s warming up. We never had that before. The grizzlies are very wild. They’re starting to wreck tents and cabins and look for food.

I went on a cruise ship a few years ago. What I saw really saddened me. The ice breaker was crushing the ice to make a trail for the fancy cruise ships coming through the Northwest Passage. That’s not right, that’s too much noise and pollution. It’s scaring all the animals away. I was at a hamlet meeting yesterday with the manager there, and he said we had 14 ships here last summer. That’s a lot.

I haven’t heard about Real Ice. But the changes make me sad. Breaks my heart. I miss the good old days. Life has changed here. But at same time, there’s lots of good things too.

Brent Nakashook, board member of the Ekaluktutiak Hunters & Trappers Organization and general manager of Kitikmeot Foods

Seeing if you can thicken ice from the bottom by flooding the top, that’s something that’s definitely interesting. There’s a project that’s proposing a road from Yellowknife right to the Northwest Passage, which potentially could connect us to the mainland by road. I think this project may play a role in that. There’s a lot of funding that’s been committed to the road project. They’ve been coming to the community. I actually asked one of the representatives jokingly, ‘When’s the earliest I’ll be able to drive from here to Las Vegas?’ Having something other than access by air would definitely help us as far as cost of living.

Having ice around longer could help our fish stocks too. The best fishing happens when the ice is melting and still there. The invertebrates that localize under the ice feed on the bugs that die on top the ice, and then the whole chain starts basically with ice.

There was a project that I took part in that took climate change into consideration and actually measured the biodiversity that’s happening from it. They said that there’s more life happening because of the warmer temperatures.

The polar bears are doing better. Grizzly bears are obviously doing better. The only things that are struggling are the herds of muskox and caribou, which seem to be, for the most part, struggling because there are more wolves and grizzly bears. And I guess humans play a role, too. But I think the more active environment might have a little more pressure on them because they’re not used to having all these other animals in their environment. That’s something that I’ve noticed personally. 

The ocean seems to be having more life right from the bottom up. So that’s something that needs to also be considered. Everyone wants to jump on the bandwagon and paint everything grim. I’m not saying it’s a great thing happening. I’m just saying there are some winners in this and there’s losers.

Jim MacEachern, chief administrative officer of the Municipality of Cambridge Bay

I’ve been with the municipality since 2010. I also help coordinate with search and rescue. The ice melts sooner and it freezes up later in the year, which for travellers out on the land causes life and safety issues. When individuals are travelling, whether it’s on the ocean or across a lake, if the ice is not as thick as it should be at that time of the year, there’s more of a chance that the traveller is going to go through the ice. We’ve had that happen several times now in the past four or five years.

It takes a significant toll on the community, especially on the search and rescue crews. It’s challenging for them. It’s not easy work. And it takes an emotional toll as well. Almost everybody is related in one way, shape or form. When they’re out there, they’re rescuing their family members, their relatives.

Real Ice did a presentation up at the Canadian High Arctic Research Station. They explained a little bit about what they were looking for, and they were taking feedback on who they should engage with and who they should talk to.

My initial thinking about the project, and it’s still the same [now]: Anything that we can do to improve the safety and the ability for the Inuit to get out on land, anything we can do to improve that, the better. One hundred per cent.

This story was supported by a field reporting grant from the Institute for Journalism and Natural Resources. As per The Narwhal’s editorial independence policy, funders have no editorial input.

The Narwhal’s reporters are telling environment stories you won’t read about anywhere else. Stay in the loop by signing up for our free weekly dose of independent journalism.

The races are part of Umingmak Frolics, the community’s annual spring festival, and take place on top of the frozen ocean that surrounds Victoria Island. Alongside the track, a crowd of roughly 200 has gathered to watch. The yearly festival also features traditional games, a parade, a fishing derby and a baby crawl contest. The sun won’t set until almost midnight, although this time of year it never gets completely dark.

For much of the year, life in this Inuit community revolves around — or happens on — sea ice. It not only serves as a venue for snowmobile races, but also a platform for fishing, hunting, accessing other communities, transporting goods and simply getting around town. But as the Arctic rapidly warms, residents are witnessing the effects of dwindling ice. They’re also on the frontlines of an effort to save it.

About seven kilometres farther off the coast, researchers from the U.K. company Real Ice have been testing an approach to thicken sea ice so that it lasts longer into the summer. Their experimental method involves drilling holes through the ice and pumping seawater to the surface during the coldest months of winter. In the frigid air, the water quickly freezes, adding to the ice below. This past winter, the team pumped water in December, January and February. In May, they returned to the community to check on the thickened spots.  

So far, the researchers have tested their approach over small areas, but their vision is to eventually refreeze one million square kilometres of the Arctic using underwater drones and hydrogen-powered pumps. The goal is to prevent — and potentially reverse — sea ice loss to help keep the planet cool.

Real Ice is wrapping up its second winter of experiments outside of Cambridge Bay, with backing from the University of Cambridge and the U.K. government. The project falls under the umbrella of geoengineering, a controversial category of climate-modifying interventions that includes tactics such as spraying reflective particles into the stratosphere to dim the sun, building giant underwater curtains to prevent ice sheets from melting and fertilizing the ocean to enhance its ability to absorb planet-warming carbon dioxide.

Despite their noble ambitions, geoengineering experiments have often been met with public opposition. In 2024, a Harvard-led project aimed at measuring the behaviour of reflective, sun-dimming particles in the stratosphere was abandoned after an initial test flight set to take place in Sweden drew backlash from a local Indigenous organization and environmentalists. In Alaska, a project proposing to spread tiny synthetic glass beads over sea ice was criticized by locals and cancelled due to potential risks to both wildlife and humans. Mexico is moving to ban solar forms of geoengineering, as are a growing number of U.S. states. Closer to home, a rogue ocean fertilization experiment off the coast of British Columbia in 2012 was condemned nationally and internationally.

Geoengineering is divisive among academics, too. While a growing number of scientists see geoengineering as a necessary form of climate action, others say such interventions are impractical, risky and a dangerous distraction from critical efforts to reduce emissions. Climate-modifying technologies also raise ethical issues. In the Arctic, attempts to fix the climate — often proposed by outsiders — have the potential to put northern communities at disproportionate risk while attempting to solve a problem that largely isn’t of their making.

But in Cambridge Bay — a hamlet of roughly 1,800 residents, most of whom are Inuit — people are largely supportive of the Real Ice project.

“I think almost everybody’s in agreement,” Jim MacEachern, chief administrative officer for the Municipality of Cambridge Bay, says. The more informed the community is about changes in sea ice and tools to mitigate those changes, the better, he says.

Project tackles the looming threat of an ice-free Arctic summer

The idea behind the Real Ice project has its roots in a place entirely unlike the Arctic: Arizona.

In a 2017 paper, researchers from Arizona State University proposed the notion of artificially thickening sea ice using wind-powered pumps.

“The Arctic is really the critical piece,” Steve Desch, a professor of astrophysics and the paper’s lead author, says. Desch typically studies ice in space. But after becoming disillusioned with the slow pace of climate action, he started looking for solutions to buy humanity time, turning his attention to the icy North.

Arctic sea ice regulates global temperatures by reflecting sunlight back out to space. As sea ice melts, it gives way to open water, which absorbs solar radiation instead of bouncing it back. Though some level of Arctic ice contraction in summer is historically normal, the self-reinforcing cycle of warming and melting has become extreme.

In recent decades, the extent and thickness of sea ice has been rapidly shrinking. Since 1979, the volume of ice that survives the melt season has declined by roughly 70 per cent.

A future where the Arctic is mostly ice-free in summer has become almost inevitable. Researchers predict this situation could arise as soon as the 2030s, even if nations cut emissions faster than they currently are. An ice-free Arctic could raise global temperatures by an extra 0.19 C — roughly equivalent to a decade’s worth of warming.

But if sea ice were thicker, it might survive the summer, according to Desch’s research.

In 2019, Desch’s paper caught the eye of Cían Sherwin, then a graduate student at Bangor University in Wales. At the time, Sherwin was volunteering on a project looking into ecosystem restoration technologies, including ways to counteract sea ice loss.

In 2022, Sherwin co-founded Real Ice to further investigate the idea of ice thickening. The team conducted an initial demonstration in Nome, Alaska in 2023. In early 2024, they relocated to Cambridge Bay, drawn to the community’s long-lasting sea ice and cutting-edge research facility, the Canadian High Arctic Research Station.

In 2024, the team pumped water onto an area roughly the size of a U.K. football pitch. They also conducted initial tests of a custom-built hydrogen-powered water pump. This past winter, using battery-powered pumps for the sake of efficiency, they re-iced an area of roughly 200,000 square metres — about four times the size of Toronto’s Rogers Centre.

Preliminary results are promising. In the winter of 2024, the ice in the test area was an average of 25 centimetres thicker than a nearby control area. This winter’s data has yet to be analyzed, but as of May, re-iced areas were nearly half a metre thicker on average than control areas, the researchers say. Re-iced areas are also thickening from the bottom, suggesting the approach stimulates natural ice growth by reducing the insulating layer of snow.

Residents want to protect sea ice, and the cultural traditions that go with it

According to Sherwin, the team’s relationship with the community of Cambridge Bay has also been positive. “We’ve been welcomed really well here,” he says.

Talia Maksagak was born and raised in Cambridge Bay. When she first heard about the project, she says the goal of saving sea ice immediately resonated.

“I’ve experienced a lot of changes in the climate in my 30 years,” Maksagak says. As the executive director of the Kitikmeot Chamber of Commerce, she helped the Real Ice team organize consultations when they first started working in the community.

“We used to see muskox right on the street and the roads, and caribou very close. My children don’t get to experience that because of how much it’s changed,” she says.

In Cambridge Bay, residents are experiencing the impacts of warming in other ways, too. Ice melts weeks earlier in spring and freezes months later in fall. Animals’ movements across the ice — including caribou’s twice-yearly migration to and from the mainland — are impeded, with some breaking through thin ice and drowning. Changes in the ice also put people at risk. Dangerous ice cracks show up in unexpected places, and in recent years, several people have fallen through thin ice.

Even the community’s spring festival has not been spared. For the past few years, organizers have had to schedule Umingmak Frolics a week early. This past winter was so mild it was unclear if the snowmobile races would happen at all.

If the community starts working toward saving sea ice now, Maksagak says, maybe local cultural practices and stories tied to the ice can continue for longer.

Henry Ohoilak, an Elder in the community, echoed Maksagak, saying he hopes future generations have the same opportunities he did. Ohoilak grew up on the land until he was 14, living in tents or snow houses, depending on the season, and travelling by dog team.

“I feel sorry for the generation to come,” he says, adding that Real Ice might help get the youth off their phones and out learning about ice.

Not everyone in Cambridge Bay knows about the project yet. Sherwin and his colleagues have conducted five public consultations since January 2024, which drew 50 participants. The community and its environment are constantly being studied by researchers drawn to the Canadian High Arctic Research Station, however, causing some residents to disengage.

“There’s just a small group of people that show interest in this stuff,” Brent Nakashook, a board member of the local hunters and trappers’ organization and general manager of the community’s fish and meat processing plant, says. Nakashook has also served as a local guide for the Real Ice team.

He described the community’s approach to new projects as welcoming, as long as they don’t pose a risk to natural resources. Many projects do: a pre-print co-authored by 42 scientists warns that geoengineering in the Arctic could cause “severe environmental damage and comes with the possibility of grave unforeseen consequences.” Injecting aerosols into the stratosphere, for instance, could alter global climate patterns, reducing rainfall in some regions, and underwater curtains could act as a barrier to marine life. In comparison, critics say thickening sea ice poses less of an inherent risk to the environment, although it is not entirely risk-free. 

Some Cambridge Bay residents have raised concerns about possible impacts to wildlife. For now, Nakashook thinks the research is unlikely to cause environmental harm. The Nunavut Impact Review Board, through which the team applied for research permits, also concluded the work to date is unlikely to cause adverse environmental or social impacts.

“We’re in the early stages, and we’ll see where it goes from here,” Nakashook says. The project is expected to undergo an environmental assessment as the research continues.

If negative effects arise, Nakashook says the project will be required to stop. 

He added, “It’s still interesting that somebody is giving it a shot.”

Research team focuses on community relationships

On an overcast morning, Sherwin and his colleagues mount snowmobiles and head to their research site to take final measurements of the re-iced areas. They bump across the ice in pairs behind Nakashook, who is the researchers’ guide for the week. Eventually, they reach one of the re-iced spots, which looks indistinguishable from the surrounding environment. Hardened, wind-swept snow stretches across the horizon, blurring into a sky of nearly identical white.

The team swiftly gets to work, drilling cores and measuring the thickness of snow and ice. The ice cores will be used to check that the new ice isn’t unnaturally salty, which could make it melt more easily in the spring. So far, the researchers say the ice seems to be rejecting brine quite well. 

As they work, the team chats and jokes around. It’s an unlikely mix of personalities. Along with Sherwin and Nakashook, Desch and another co-author of the 2017 paper are in the field, as are two doctoral students from the University of Cambridge. One student, Jacob Pantling, an engineer with a British accent, is the subject of much teasing from Nakashook, a skilled hunter and casual jokester.

When Nakashook offers everyone pieces of dried or smoked char as a mid-morning snack, he tells Pantling: “Have some fish, Jake. You need to build some muscle.”

“What are you saying? I’m not muscly enough as it is?” Pantling responds, laughing.  

The community’s relationship with the Real Ice team was described by one resident as “comfortable.” That hasn’t happened by chance.

Sherwin is mindful of avoiding the extractive dynamic that has often characterized Arctic research. He’s also careful to learn from the mistakes made by other geoengineering experiments. According to Sherwin, the ultimate downfall of projects such as the sun-dimming experiment in Sweden and the effort to spread glass beads on ice in Alaska was a lack of public consultation.

“The technology, obviously, is one part of it, but I think the engagement was the ultimate kind of nail in the coffin,” he says.

From the early stages of the project, Sherwin has sought to understand what northerners think about ice thickening. He initially travelled to Iqaluit to gauge interest in the technology. Since starting work in Cambridge Bay, the team has spoken with Elders, held a demonstration for middle schoolers and consulted with local organizations to select a site that wouldn’t disturb hunting or fishing activities. The researchers have also been hiring community members to work on the project and hope it will eventually be largely locally owned and operated.

Still, the team is conscious of not imposing their ideas or making assumptions about what residents want. They acknowledge that there may be certain benefits to declining sea ice.

“There are reasons to recognize that there is a give and take about the changing Arctic,” says Hilairy Hartnett, director of the School of Oceanography at the University of Washington and a co-author of the 2017 paper. Both Desch and Hartnett are now science advisors with Real Ice.

Some scientists skeptical of ice thickening at scale — but it could make a local impact

Compared to other types of geoengineering, the technology itself is somewhat familiar to people, Sherwin notes. A similar approach is already used to build ice roads and skating rinks.

In fact, Sherwin sees ice thickening as closer to ecosystem preservation than geoengineering. Because it enables a natural process, he says, restoring sea ice is akin to saving rainforests, peat bogs or coastal sand dunes.

Not everyone agrees. Outside of Cambridge Bay, some scientists warn that pumping water on top of ice could alter the region’s ecosystem. There have also been serious doubts about the feasibility of scaling up to a meaningful extent. The project’s ultimate goal, which would involve re-icing large swaths of the Arctic much further north than Cambridge Bay, would require an estimated 500,000 drones and cost $10 billion per year. And as sea ice drifts between international boundaries, ice thickening projects may face jurisdictional barriers.  

The fundamental issue, however, is that ice thickening does not address the root cause of sea ice loss, according to Mark Serreze, director of the National Snow and Ice Data Center at the University of Colorado Boulder, who is not involved in the project.

“This is a Band-Aid,” he says.

Nonetheless, Serreze thinks there may be a role for the approach at a smaller scale to improve ice conditions for Arctic communities.

That’s what Cambridge Bay residents see in the project, too.

Sea ice thickening could be used to build a road to the mainland in winter, according to Nakashook. Already, a project has been proposed to build an all-season road from Yellowknife to Grays Bay at the edge of the Northwest Passage, just south of Victoria Island. An ice road across the passage could provide the final stretch.

Thickening snowmobile routes could also help keep residents safe, according to MacEachern.

Sherwin and his colleagues plan to continue working toward a larger-scale demonstration, with the goal of re-icing a 100-square-kilometre area three winters from now, likely somewhere farther away from the community.

But even if ice thickening were only ever used locally, Sherwin says he would be satisfied. The project would still have succeeded in providing residents with a means of addressing some of the problems they face, he says.

For MacEachern, combatting climate change is not top of mind.

“Anything we can do to improve the overall climate, great,” he says. “But the local impacts are the number one priority.”

This story was supported by a field reporting grant from the Institute for Journalism and Natural Resources. As per The Narwhal’s editorial independence policy, funders have no editorial input.

The Narwhal’s reporters are telling environment stories you won’t read about anywhere else. Stay in the loop by signing up for our free weekly dose of independent journalism.