Nine-year-old John Smithers cradles a tiny burrowing owl in his hands, preparing to release it into the grasslands of Upper Nicola Band territory.

Like other young syilx people, he’s grown up hearing stories about the small birds of prey that have nearly disappeared from his Thompson-Okanagan homelands in the last century or so.

The owls – known in syilx culture as guardians, guides or messengers – were “once a common element” in landscapes stretching from the southern Interior of B.C. all the way to Manitoba, according to Canada’s Committee on the Status of Endangered Wildlife. 

Now, burrowing owl sightings are rare. In 2003, the Government of Canada listed the burrowing owl as endangered under the federal Species At Risk Act. According to the Burrowing Owl Alliance, the bird’s population in the country has declined by over 96 per cent since 1987. Experts link the bird’s decline to the gradual loss of its grassland habitats over the last century. 

“Lots of animals can come and get them,” Smithers said about the lack of protective habitat for the burrowing owl. 

John Smithers, a nine-year-old student from Upper Nicola Band’s N’kwala School, prepares to release a captive-born burrowing owl down an artificial nesting burrow and into the wild.

Aware of the owls’ importance and decline, earlier this year Smithers became N’kwala School’s annual student ambassador to a regional burrowing owl recovery program that’s being led by the First Nation. 

As ambassador, he was invited to be the first person of the year to release a captive-born burrowing owl into the wild on April 22, in his home community of spax̌mn (Douglas Lake) in B.C.’s Nicola Valley.

The release, which coincided with Earth Day, marked 10 years since Upper Nicola Band began releasing captive-born burrowing owls onto their homelands.

In return, those captive-raised owls have produced 125 “wild-born” baby owls — or fledglings — since being released from the community’s restoration site.  

Despite high winds and the risk of ticks, dozens of excited people from all age groups turned out in high spirits for the release. 

Students, nature enthusiasts and Elders alike shared laughs and smiles at the sight of the precious birds, with their round heads, short stature and long legs.

Upper Nicola Band Elder Howard (Howie) Holmes prepares to release a captive-born burrowing owl down an artificial nesting burrow. 

Framed by grassy hills, Smithers released the owl under the warm sunshine with the help of Dawn Brodie, one of the main field technicians who has been involved in the program since its inception.

The nervous bird nearly escaped from his grasp and into the open air. But thanks to the quick reflexes of the adults around him, helping hands connect the captive-born owl back to the land and down an artificial nesting burrow that had been prepared by the Upper Nicola Band stewardship department.

“Soft” is the word Smithers used to describe the feeling of holding the owl. 

Soon after, several guests in attendance – from program partners to youth and Elders – were invited by the field technicians to release an owl down different burrows that were created by the recovery program and its partners.

Some of the owls wore amusingly bewildered expressions as they waited in the gentle grasp of human hands before being placed into a burrow.

A captive-born burrowing owl prior to being released into an artificial nesting burrow. Some attendees were amused by the owls’ bewildered facial expressions.

In total, 11 captive-born owls — six males and five females — were released into five of the site’s 35 artificial burrows that day. They are all just under one year old.

“The program has exceeded all our expectations,” Loretta Holmes, an Upper Nicola Band member and senior resource technician with the band’s stewardship department, said.

“The owls, which we call sq̓əq̓axʷ, have responded better than we dared to hope ten years ago. And community interest and involvement has been strong since the start.”

Owls released into artificial burrows filled with frozen mice

The tiny burrows are connected through a network of underground tunnels hidden under the grassland hills above spax̌mn. 

Each artificial burrow consists of a small, corrugated tube in the ground that serves as its entrance, which feeds into the larger network of tunnels. The entry points are camouflaged in the field by grass and large rocks. 

Artificial nesting burrows are scattered throughout the grassland hills above Upper Nicola Band, at the community’s burrowing owl restoration program site in spax̌mn (Douglas Lake). The decline in badgers on the territory has led to a decline in natural burrows.

Before any captive-raised owls are released, handfuls of frozen mice are inserted into the burrows and tunnels.

“That helps them not have to go as far to hunt as often. It encourages them to lay more eggs, and helps them rear their young ones when they’re hatched,” Holmes said.

Once released, the burrow entrances are closed off for a few days, explained Chris Gill, a project biologist with the band’s Species-At-Risk program.

“It’s to let them acclimatize and calm down, basically. And potentially bond with the mate that’s in there,” Gill said.

Breeding gets underway as soon as two owls choose each other as mates, and Gill said that eggs are laid in June.

The burrow tunnels, which protect the owls from predators, are connected to a nest box. The nest box has an opening at ground level, allowing technicians to observe how many eggs have been laid and monitor activity. 

Frozen mice are placed into the artificial burrows to fuel the owls as they adjust to the wild, and encourage them to lay more eggs.

Technicians also attach leg bands to the newly-hatched birds here, to track future migration.

Mice are also delivered to the burrows two to three times a week. Holmes said that this type of care results in nests that carry nine to 10 eggs — more than the average of six to eight laid by burrowing owls in the wild.

The mice are “giving them a big head start and maximizing the chances of producing healthy fledglings, and healthy parents as well,” Gill said.

The owls stay in the site’s burrow network anywhere from four days to up to a week, depending on weather conditions, and are then free to fly around in the open air.

“They mostly stick at the site, even after you release them out of the burrow, because they’re now used to the site,” Gill said.

“They may have paired up, or they may choose another mate from the site.”

Chris Gill, a project biologist with the Upper Nicola Band’s Species-At-Risk program, addresses attendees of the release event at the playground of N’kwala School in in spax̌mn (Douglas Lake).

By July, fledglings will start to emerge from the burrows, and the owls usually start to migrate south in September and October. They’ll return to the breeding sites next April.

Tracked migration data from burrowing owls who left the site in previous years revealed that the birds travel as far as San Jose, California.

“It’s just so amazing that they went all the way somewhere, wintered in those conditions and came back,” Holmes said. 

“It’s wonderful.”

Owl recovery “one piece of a larger puzzle” in restoring ecosystem health

In the last decade, more than 100 burrowing owls have been raised in captivity at the Kamloops Wildlife Park by the Burrowing Owl Conservation Society, before being released at spax̌mn. There’s a site in Oliver that supports the program as well.

The captive-raised owls all come with identification tags on their legs, which are documented by field technicians before they are released into the burrows.

Two captive-born burrowing owls from the Kamloops Wildlife Park — one female and one male — are transported to their artificial burrow for release. Soon after release, the owls will choose a mate and begin to lay eggs.

Many of the 120-plus wild-born owls have left the Upper Nicola Band site and returned, including four who came back this spring; two males and two females, three of which were born at the site last year.

While the conservation efforts are helping to re-populate the burrowing owl species in this part of the country, Upper Nicola Band views this work as only one piece of the larger puzzle of how to protect the community’s rare and sensitive grassland ecosystem habitats. 

By stewarding these ecosystems — and restoring and supporting the biodiversity that has been depleted — it’s also an act by the band to protect their cultural identity and fulfill generational responsibilities around caring for the land and for all living things.

“Conserving a species at risk, like a burrowing owl, it’s about far more than a single bird or species. It’s about upholding relationships, responsibilities and balance with the living world,” Holmes said.

Animals like the burrowing owl are part of an interconnected system that has sustained Indigenous Peoples for generations, she said.

Loretta Holmes, an Upper Nicola Band member and senior resource technician with the band’s stewardship department, wears owl-themed earrings made by a Kamloops-based Indigenous artist.

“If one species declines, it signals that the relationship between people and the land is out of balance. Conservation becomes an act of restoring harmony and respect in that system,” she said.

“Protecting species at risk aligns with Indigenous laws that emphasize caretaking. Conservation efforts honour the principle that decisions made today must ensure the healthy lands and wildlife for our relatives yet to come.”

It’s just one of many projects under the community’s stewardship department’s larger Species-At-Risk program, which is designed to protect and restore endangered species populations on their lands.

The program also looks at restoration efforts for species including the American badger, Lewis’s woodpecker and Great Basin spadefoot — all of which have been federally recognized as threatened or at-risk. 

Penticton Indian Band — a fellow syilx community that’s under the Okanagan Nation Alliance (ONA) along with Upper Nicola Band — also released burrowing owls through their own similar program that same week.

“In British Columbia, burrowing owls are extirpated. That means that they’re not actually existing on the landscape without reintroduction programs, like the Upper Nicola Band’s,” Gill said. 

A captive-born burrowing owl is released into an artificial nesting burrow. The burrows will be sealed for a few days, to give the owls a chance to acclimate (and dine on frozen mice).

But Traditional Ecological Knowledge gathered from Elders and advisors confirmed that burrowing owls historically existed on the spax̌mn landscape.

In 2015, a year before the burrowing owl recovery program launched, the Species-At-Risk team conducted surveys on reserve lands to determine a suitable habitat for the birds. 

They settled on the grasslands above the Upper Nicola Band community as the reintroduction program’s site.

“We found suitable habitat for burrowing owls — but no burrowing owls present,” said Gill.

The grassland ecosystem landscape above the Upper Nicola Band community is the site of their burrowing owl restoration program. Grassland ecosystems are critically endangered, covering only around one per cent of B.C. — and only a small fraction of those are protected.

The birds traditionally nested in the underground burrows that were dug and abandoned by different animals, from badgers to marmots and coyotes, he said.

But because of a lack of badgers, there weren’t any natural burrows out on the land.

“That’s why the Upper Nicola Band put in these artificial burrows,” he said.

“There are actually badgers on that reserve, but there are very few — and far in-between — so we can’t rely on a burrowing owl finding a badger burrow.”

According to the province, “several small” burrowing owl nesting sites were identified in the Okanagan and Thompson valleys from 1900 to 1928. 

Historical nesting areas include Osoyoos, Oliver, Penticton, White Lake, Lower Similkameen Valley, Vernon, Kamloops and Douglas Lake.

Artificial nesting burrows are scattered throughout the grassland hills above Upper Nicola Band.

But between 1928 and 1980, only four nesting sites were recorded.

The federal government attributed the “conversion of grassland to cropland” as the “ultimate factor responsible for the decline in burrowing owls.” It estimates that the species experienced a 90 per cent population decline from 1990 to 2000.

Also contributing to the owl’s population decline is the “gauntlet” of issues they face on their migration route, Holmes said.

This includes fatalities occurring from collisions with wind turbine farms and motor vehicles. Pesticides targeting insects and rodents that the birds feed upon indirectly poison them as well. 

In 2004, the estimated population of burrowing owls in Canada was recorded at 795 mature individuals. In 2015, it had plunged to approximately 270. 

Burrowing owl populations are “in a nose dive,” Gill said.

He called the burrowing owl “a canary in a coal mine” in measuring the state of ecosystem health.

“A badger, a burrowing owl — those species are the indicator species. If they’re not doing well, then that’s a sign of something bigger that’s not doing well,” he said.

Upper Nicola Band’s grassland ecosystem is “incredibly resilient,” but grasslands across Canada are critically endangered 

Along with Holmes and Brodie, Gill helped initiate the burrowing owl reintroduction program 10 years ago. He called the two women “the work horses” of the program.

“We monitor the owls, and write really good data collection on it,” said Brodie, a veterinary technician who supports the program as a burrowing owl consultant.

The program has been a success, Gill said, not just because of the region’s “great grasslands.”

“But it’s also the stewardship that’s going on with these owls,” he said.

“It’s one of the most productive sites in B.C. for releasing our fledging owls.”

In the wild, burrowing owls can live anywhere from four to six years, according to Lauren Meads, the executive director of the Burrowing Owl Conservation Society of BC. 

Meads, who was joined at the release event by the society’s 11-year-old educational burrowing owl, Pluto, added that in captivity they can live up to 15 years.

A student from N’kwala School in spax̌mn (Douglas Lake), B.C., pets Pluto, an 11-year-old educational burrowing owl with the Burrowing Owl Conservation Society of BC, at the school gym. In captivity, burrowing owls can live up to 15 years.

According to the Government of B.C., grasslands made up less than one percent of the province’s land area in 2004, adding that “only a small percentage of our grasslands are protected.”

But grasslands surrounding the Upper Nicola landscape are “some of the most intact and incredibly resilient grasslands” Gill has observed, he said.

“Grasslands are one of the most endangered ecosystems in Canada. … They’re very, very rare. It looks like we have a lot, but this is one little spot,” he said.

Holmes added that protecting grasslands also protects the burrowing owls. 

“That’s their home. It works hand-in-hand,” she said.

Community members walk toward an artificial nesting burrow at the Upper Nicola Band’s burrowing owl restoration site. The release event drew community members of all ages to celebrate the tiny owls and their release.

Owl conservation, protection is a cultural responsibility 

Holmes said that the burrowing owl’s population decline and status as an endangered species is not just an ecological matter, but a cultural issue as well. 

sq̓əq̓axʷ are a “symbol of our cultural identity,” she said.

“Owls can be messengers, teachers or indicators in an Indigenous knowledge system. They’re often associated with observation, protections and indicators of change.”

The loss of burrowing owls “erodes the stories, the teachings and our ways of understanding the land that has been passed down through generations,” she added.

Upper Nicola Band Elders Howard (Howie) Holmes, pictured here with Linda Intalin Holmes, released one of the 11 captive-born owls.

Upper Nicola Chief Dan Manuel said in a statement that burrowing owls are deeply woven into syilx culture.

“For our people, the cultural, spiritual and environmental importance of sq̓əq̓axʷ are one,” Manuel said.

“Our culture is rooted in co-existence with the world around us. We have a responsibility to care for the land and the beings on it. We must help rebuild what has been lost, and it will continue to support us.”

Dawn Brodie, one of the main field technicians who has been involved in Upper Nicola Band’s burrowing owl restoration program since its inception, leads the release event of 11 captive-born owls.

Holmes said that having a dedicated conservation program fulfills those duties that are owed to the land and to all living beings. 

“It treats our relatives with respect,” she said.

“The land, the animals, the plants — everything that’s there — provides us with sustenance. So it’s our responsibility to take care of them as well. We see all those things as our relatives.”

She emphasized that Indigenous Peoples have inherent responsibilities as stewards of their territories — responsibilities that originate in syilx laws, teachings and oral traditions, also known as captikʷł. 

“That predates colonial conservation frameworks,” she said.

Upper Nicola Band Elder Casey Holmes speaks at the playground of N’kwala School, prior to the release event for 11 captive-born owls into the community’s burrowing owl restoration site in spax̌mn (Douglas Lake) on April 22, 2026. 

Upper Nicola Band Elder Casey Holmes thanked all the staff and volunteers involved in the community’s stewardship program, especially for their work in supporting the restoration of the burrowing owl population.

“People are making a difference. Even if it doesn’t look like a difference, they made a difference today, to make this a success – to make this a part of history that we’re not losing,” said Casey.

When the community loses a tmixʷ (all living things) relative, Casey said that “we lose a part of history.”

“Bringing back this, is regaining back that history,” he said.

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.

Summary

• The Ontario government intended to move radioactive waste from the shore of Lake Nipissing to a former mine site outside Sudbury, Ont.
• A lack of consultation around the new location led to strong local opposition, and delayed the remediation project conducted by Nipissing First Nation.
• The waste has now been moved to a disposal site outside Sarnia, Ont., and Aamjiwnaang First Nation, where emissions from the industrial area known as Chemical Valley have affected local air quality.

For decades, radioactive waste sat near the shore of Lake Nipissing. It looked like an innocuous pile of gravel in what was otherwise a stretch of forest. People began using it to backfill lots, fill spaces under decks and build fire pits. In the 1970s and ’80s, Nipissing First Nation began using it to build roads. 

It wasn’t normal gravel, though. It was mine tailings, containing the metal niobium, left there when the Nova Beaucage mine shuttered in 1956 after just seven months of operation. 

“The company just walked away and left it with no remediation at all,” Geneviève Couchie, business operations manager at Nipissing First Nation, said. Couchie led a project to clean up the tailings, which first started in 2019. After being interrupted by COVID-19 shutdowns, the remediation resumed in spring 2024 and lasted almost two years.

In the meantime, Couchie told The Narwhal, she fielded concerns about groundwater and lake contamination from residents living close to the site or to a nearby property owned by Ontario’s Ministry of Transportation that also stored the low-level radioactive tailings. Couchie said she struggled to get satisfactory answers from government agencies.

“The workers wore hazmat suits, and I remember saying from the beginning, ‘How can I tell people they have nothing to worry about when these guys are in full on suits?’ They’re literally 20 feet from someone’s window,” Couchie said. The majority of the workers remediating the site were from the nation, and dressed in protective gear so as not to carry radioactive dust home on their clothes. 

“We just wanted to see this material moved off [Nipissing First Nation] lands,” Geneviève Couchie, business operations manager at Nipissing First Nation, said. But the remediation was first interrupted by the COVID-19 pandemic and then by the Ontario government’s attempt to relocate the waste without consulting the community meant to receive it. Photos: Supplied by Nipissing First Nation.

The plan was to load the waste into trucks to be transported to a tailings management area at Agnew Lake, in Sudbury District. It is the decommissioned site of a former mine, near the Township of Nairn and Hyman, and about 150 kilometres from Nipissing First Nation. The nation first had to excavate nearly 50,000 metric tonnes of the radioactive material — enough to build the Statue of Liberty, twice.

But the project faced another unexpected delay. The province had attempted to relocate the waste without consulting the Nairn community, sparking public outcry. Locals organized public meetings to raise awareness and ultimately stop the transfer. 

Eventually, in July 2025 — after nearly a year of advocacy in Nairn, and delay for Nipissing First Nation — the province capitulated, finding another place for the waste to go. This was welcome news for Nipissing First Nation, which is now hoping to transform the scarred land into a lakeside green space for the community to enjoy after years of worry.

“We just wanted to see this material moved off [Nipissing First Nation] lands, and so it was an unexpected disappointment that things were delayed like they were,” Couchie said. “We were pleased that they did end up finding another disposal site.”

“But,” Couchie said, it was “eye opening as well, that there was only one other facility in Ontario that was prepared to accept this.”

That facility is close to another Indigenous community — Aamjiwnaang First Nation, in the Sarnia region, where emissions from refineries and petrochemical plants have earned the area the moniker “Chemical Valley.” 

Sarnia facility accepting radioactive waste from Nipissing

The new destination for the radioactive tailings is Clean Harbors, a hazardous waste facility in Corunna, Ont. — 645 kilometres from its original dumping ground. It’s close to both Aamjiwnaang and Sarnia, which have experienced persistent air quality issues related to nearby industry.

Clean Harbors is the only government-licensed hazardous waste management complex in Ontario, and is “uniquely positioned,” its website reads, to offer safe disposal of naturally occurring radioactive material like the niobium tailings. 

But the facility’s history is dotted with dust-ups over environmental safety. In 2013, neighbours of the Clean Harbors site won a civil lawsuit over the impact of the waste facility’s emissions on their health and daily lives.

In 2019 the company was fined $100,000 for discharging contaminated smoke after a filter cloth soaked with coolant, oils and metal particles caught fire.

When the province conducted a study on environmental stressors in the Sarnia area in 2023, it found that while the majority of the 870 reports from residents about industrial pollution were related to petrochemical industries and refineries, a significant minority — 219 — were “related to the waste incineration facility in the area (Clean Harbors).”

And in 2025, the Ministry of Environment fined Clean Harbors $100,000 for failing to comply with an equipment requirement for monitoring the excavation of a waste-holding basin. 

Clean Harbors did not respond to The Narwhal’s questions about these claims and findings.

In a section of their 2025 annual report on legal, environmental and regulatory compliance risks, Clean Harbors asserted: “We are now, and may in the future be, a defendant in lawsuits brought by parties alleging environmental damage, personal injury and/or property damage, which may result in our payment of significant amounts.”

Aamjiwnaang First Nation Chief Janelle Nahmabin told The Narwhal she had not received any information about the niobium waste that was trucked to Clean Harbors nearly a year ago. Other environmental groups The Narwhal reached out to, including Climate Action Sarnia-Lambton, had not heard of this waste transfer, either.

“The plan now has been executed in a very different way,” said Brennain Lloyd, project coordinator at Northwatch, a northeastern Ontario environmental advocacy group. “It’s moving the waste into the territory of another First Nation that is already heavily impacted by all of the industrial activities.”

When the province conducted a study on environmental stressors in the Sarnia area in 2023, it found that while the majority of the reports from residents about industrial pollution were related to petrochemical industries and refineries, a significant minority were related to the waste incineration facility Clean Harbors. Photo: Carlos Osorio / The Narwhal

‘Under a real nuclear shadow’: radioactive waste in northern Ontario

The company behind the Nova Beaucage mine was looking for much-desired uranium in the early days of the Cold War. 

It found trace amounts of it on a small island in Lake Nipissing, along with niobium, a naturally occurring mineral used to strengthen and lighten steel, which is useful when building electronics, cars, bridges and pipelines. After excavating, the company barged the ore across the lake to a mill they established on shore, on Nipissing First Nation territory.

“In northeastern Ontario, we live under a real nuclear shadow,” Lloyd said.

Nipissing First Nation residents were concerned about potential groundwater and lake contamination from the former Nova Beaucage mill site and the nearby property owned by Ontario’s Ministry of Transportation, which also stored the low-level radioactive tailings. Photo: Leah Borts-Kuperman / The Narwhal

In a letter to the federal Impact Assessment Agency in February 2026, the Anishinabek Nation cited the Nova Beaucage tailings as an example of the legacy of contamination that First Nations have been disproportionately impacted by due to poor government diligence. The letter puts the “toxic cocktail from Sarnia chemical valley” near Aamjiwnaang First Nation in the same category.

It was written in response to the proposal by the federally mandated Nuclear Waste Management Organization to store radioactive waste from nuclear power plants outside Ignace, Ont., a northern township between Thunder Bay and the Manitoba border. This waste has been temporarily stored in safe, but impermanent, containers for decades and finding a permanent solution has become an increasingly pressing issue — one that has only grown as Ontario ramps up nuclear power generation with small modular reactors in Bowmanville and a proposed full-scale nuclear facility in Port Hope. 

From First Nations in the Ignace area to those along the Ottawa River, concerned by leaks from a nuclear laboratory in 2024, communities have been pressing for better consultation when big radioactive waste decisions are made. The case of the Township of Nairn and Hyman illustrates why.

In June 2024, a Nairn and Hyman town councillor happened upon the planned dumping site for the niobium waste while out riding an all-terrain vehicle, or ATV, said Belinda Ketchabaw, the chief administrative officer of the township of less than 500 people. According to the township’s website, the councillor saw roadwork being done to facilitate the transportation of material the Ministry of Mines later told residents was naturally occurring radioactive material. Before that, residents say they had no idea about the relocation plan.

“We were aware that [the Agnew Lake] site was within our township. It’s been there for many, many years,” Ketchabaw told The Narwhal. “What we weren’t aware of is that the cover over the existing tailing site had depleted, through either people going across it on ATVs, or just rainwater eroding the cover.”

The Agnew Lake site already needed remediation, after uranium mining and milling operations ceased there in 1983. Tests from 2023 by the Ministry of Mines found uranium, radium, arsenic and more at the site. In a letter sent to the federal nuclear safety commission in the months after the councillor’s discovery, the township argued the arrival of niobium waste introduced “additional risks to an already precarious situation.” 

The province’s idea, according to an undated letter from the Ministry of Transportation, was for the niobium gravel to help provide an additional, less radioactive groundcover for the existing materials.

Nipissing First Nation had to excavate nearly 50,000 metric tonnes of the radioactive material from this site — enough to build the Statue of Liberty, twice. Photo: Supplied by Nipissing First Nation

“I guess what they were trying to do is, for lack of a better word, kill two birds with one stone,” Ketchabaw said. She made it her personal mission to get answers about the waste disposal that she said were not provided by the province — although the Transportation Ministry letter, uploaded to the Nipissing First Nation website, says the site was identified by the Ministry of Mines as a potential disposal location in 2016. This same letter explained that studies done by the ministry in 2012 determined the potential “risks of the tailings to human health were low.”

Ontario’s Ministry of Energy and Mines did not respond to The Narwhal’s questions, including around its protocol for informing communities about plans to store radioactive waste nearby.

“Ministries that are doing this type of work have to have advanced and meaningful consultation with municipalities, First Nations and residents,” Ketchabaw said. Agnew Lake is a source of drinking water for the Nairn and Hyman communities. She said they were given no assurances the environment and health of the community would be protected with this disposal.

“We weren’t consulted at all in this project. We came upon it by mistake,” Ketchabaw said. “It really felt like they were hiding this, like they were just kind of trying to sneak it in the back door.”

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 average home in British Columbia uses around 10,000 kilowatt hours of electricity per year.

There are approximately 2.2 million homes in B.C. This means the province needs to make sure the grid has enough energy to supply about 22 billion kilowatt hours every year to keep those homes warm and the lights on.

And that’s just for homes. It doesn’t include all the electricity needed for industry, businesses and a rapidly expanding electric-vehicle market.

In B.C., the average resident pays around $100 a month for electricity, roughly $1,200 per year for those 10,000 kilowatt hours.

Residential rates just went up on April 1, when BC Hydro increased its rates by 3.75 per cent. That’s partly to start paying off some of the sunk costs the government has already invested in building new power infrastructure. 

Electricity demand is only going to rise over the coming decades, as B.C. tries to reduce its use of fossil fuels while also bringing a whole lot of industrial projects onto the grid.

So where will all this energy come from, where is it going — and who will pay for it? There’s much we don’t know (yet) but here’s what we do.

First, let’s clear up a couple of things about the units of measurement — because utility companies use a variety of terms to describe electricity generation, output and consumption.

Kilowatts, megawatts and gigawatts represent an amount of power, at a single point in time. 

1,000 kilowatts is one megawatt. And 1,000 megawatts is one gigawatt.

Add the word “hours” to the end of any of those units and it describes how much of that power gets used up (or is generated) over time. Kilowatt hours is the unit most British Columbians will encounter, on their monthly bills, so while the others are useful to know we’ll stick to that measurement as much as possible.

Take a fridge, for example. If yours sucks up about 200 watts per hour (a large, older fridge might use twice as much) that means you’ll use around 1,750 kilowatt hours per year to keep the milk fresh. To meet the demand of millions of fridges, power producers need to make sure they have enough capacity to send all that electricity across the province every day. 

Ensuring there’s enough electricity to go around is getting expensive for the B.C. government — and the taxpayers that fund it.

B.C.’s newest source of hydroelectricity, the Site C dam, produces about 5,100 gigawatt hours (GWh) per year, or 5.7 billion kilowatt hours. It added about eight per cent more power to the province’s existing grid.

Site C cost around $16 billion.

Site C added about eight per cent more power generation, or 5,100 gigawatt hours (GWh), to the provincial grid. Graph: Shawn Parkinson / The Narwhal

BC Hydro doesn’t expect to pay off the costs of building Site C until 2094, 70 years after the project began producing electricity.

Now, the province is planning to invest at least $6 billion to build the first two phases of the North Coast Transmission Line, a network of around 450 kilometres of high-voltage power lines spanning the northwest. The B.C. government says it is building the line to “enable development” of mining and LNG projects. A third phase is proposed, for power lines heading north to service mines and Ksi Lisims LNG. If that happens, the final cost for the transmission network could rival Site C.

LNG Canada, under construction in Kitimat, B.C., in 2023. Photo: Marty Clemens / The Narwhal

To state the obvious: this is a lot of public money. It’s hard to grasp just how big these numbers are. Understanding the difference between one million and one billion, expressed in time, might help. 

One million seconds is about 11.5 days. One billion seconds is more than 30 years.

So when the estimated cost of the first two phases of the North Coast Transmission Line doubled from $3 billion to $6 billion in 2025, that’s like jumping from 90 years to 180 years.

On top of infrastructure investments like Site C and the transmission lines, B.C. spends public money enticing private companies to build big industrial projects. Those subsidies are eventually reflected in residential utility bills — and in other ways across the economy. 

Take the push to grow the province’s LNG industry. Last year, the B.C. government coughed up $200 million to connect Cedar LNG, a liquefaction and export facility being built in Kitimat, to the grid.

Or take LNG Canada, the country’s first major liquefaction and export facility, also in Kitimat. It received a suite of subsidies, including reduced rates for the small amount of hydroelectricity it uses, as well as tax credits and an exemption from B.C.’s industrial carbon tax for the first two years of operations. Between the provincial and federal governments, public investments in LNG Canada are estimated to be almost $4 billion.

In the years ahead, homes and businesses in B.C. are going to need more power. BC Hydro predicts annual demand for electricity is likely to climb from 58,400 gigawatt hours in 2025 to more than 87,600 gigawatt hours by 2050. These amounts are way too big to wrap your head around if we convert them to kilowatt hours, but let’s just say it’s a lot.

BC Hydro predicts annual demand will rise by around 50 per cent over the next two decades. Graph: Shawn Parkinson / The Narwhal

The more things we need to plug into the grid, the more power the grid needs to be able to deliver. The sooner we plug things in, the faster BC Hydro has to find ways to meet that demand.

Electricity demand in B.C. could rise even faster if the province prioritizes providing power to industries, which are eager to portray their products as “clean” or “green” in an increasingly climate-conscious market. LNG facilities that plan to power their operations with B.C.’s electricity are already advertising their products as “low carbon” and “net zero.”

B.C.’s history of abundant, cheap and low-emission electricity has been hailed as one reason the province is well-positioned to supply LNG to countries like South Korea and Japan.

But liquefying natural gas requires an enormous amount of energy. As a liquid, methane takes up a fraction of the space that it does as a gas, making it viable for transport overseas. That process requires not just chilling the gas, but supercooling it, which LNG Canada does by burning gas to power massive turbines. But other approved facilities, like Ksi Lisims LNG and the aforementioned Cedar LNG, want to use electricity instead. Hence, the new power line with a multi-billion dollar price tag.

So how much power does all this industrial infrastructure need?Well, Ksi Lisims, a floating LNG facility proposed for B.C.’s North Coast requested the equivalent of around 5,200 gigawatt hours, or 5.2 billion kilowatt hours, from BC Hydro.

That’s more than the electricity output of the Site C dam potentially going to power just one project.

The Site C dam near Fort St. John, B.C. Photo: Amber Bracken / The Narwhal

Cedar LNG expects to use up to 1,800 gigawatt hours, or 1.8 billion kilowatt hours.

Powering just those two LNG projects could use up to the equivalent electricity that would keep power flowing to 700,000 homes.

Providing electricity to just two LNG projects would use up all of Site C’s power, or more than the equivalent energy used by more than 500,000 average homes. Graph: Shawn Parkinson / The Narwhal

All that electricity isn’t free, of course. But it is cheaper for industrial users. Residential customers currently pay $118.70 for the first 670 kilowatt hours they use in a month.

That climbs to around $140 for each additional 1,000 kilowatt hours. Small businesses pay about the same as heavy-use households. 

But for larger businesses it’s the opposite: the more they use, the less they pay.

Large industrial customers — consumers that use more than 550,000 kilowatt hours of electricity per year — pay $67.90 per 1,000 kilowatt hours, slightly over half the residential rate.

So what does all this mean for the average British Columbian?

Well, to keep the lights on in homes across the province over the coming decades, B.C. will continue to build out more power capacity. It will also keep trying to find ways to use industrial revenues to balance the government’s budget, so homeowners don’t have to pay (much) more per kilowatt hour consumed. But the province is up against the clock — and a moving target. 

Less than six months after releasing a new forecast for electricity demand, BC Hydro now anticipates needing to supply an additional 2.7 billion kilowatt hours to its customers. The LNG industry is identified as a driving force behind that increase.

A flare stack at the LNG Canada facility in Kitimat, B.C. Photo: Marty Clemens / The Narwhal

Because B.C. relies heavily on hydroelectric dams, the province’s ability to meet demand with power produced domestically is subject to droughts. When this happens, the province imports electricity from its neighbours, including Alberta.

Whether on monthly bills or in other ways spread out across the economy, taxpayers are paying for provincial support of massive industrial projects, including the push to get those projects on the grid. Those hidden costs could eventually surface on utility bills or through cuts to other government services.

Either way, future British Columbians will pay for decisions made today about how to make sure all that electricity keeps flowing through the wires.

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.

Avi Bryant grew up in a middle-class neighbourhood in Vancouver. By the time he was 30, he was well on his way to becoming a millionaire. 

He calls his path “sheer luck” — but it’s more nuanced than that. Bryant got lucky, sure, meeting the right kinds of friends and acquaintances (executives at Twitter, for example) at the right times. He also made good business and financial choices, including taking stock options in lieu of some of his pay while at Stripe, that eventually propelled him into the so-called one per cent.

Now, instead of kicking back and sipping martinis with the economic elite, he’s joined a growing chorus of wealthy individuals calling for nations to stop catering to the ultra-rich. In fact, he says, Canada needs to tax the rich more — a lot more.

Doing so could change the lives of all Canadians, he says, and help the country accelerate its transition away from fossil fuels. With more tax dollars at its disposal, the federal government would be in a position to make major investments in electrification, solar projects and more. 

Enter the Patriotic Millionaires, a newly registered federal lobbying group that Bryant belongs to, which is advocating for changes to the country’s tax regime. 

From his home on Galiano Island, B.C., Bryant told The Narwhal why he believes Canada needs to target its wealthiest citizens, and some of what it can do with the proceeds.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Can you tell us about yourself? Did you grow up wealthy?

We were kind of typical middle class. I certainly did not grow up in a wealthy household. At the same time, I grew up in what felt like a very privileged household where there was lots of education, lots of books around, lots of support, a very safe neighbourhood with lots of resources. I didn’t grow up in anything that felt like poverty or lack of privilege, but it certainly was not wealth. 

I ended up doing a computer science degree at [the University of British Columbia] and got into the tech world after graduating, starting a small company in Vancouver. We’re talking early 2000s, kind of post dot-com bust. I made a lot of connections with a lot of people who turned out to be useful people to know. In 2010, we ended up selling the company to Twitter, which was starting out at that time. That considerably changed our financial situation. It also meant that we moved down to San Francisco for a couple of years and made a lot more connections.

Avi Bryant made millions as an early investor and employee at Stripe. Now, he lives near Vancouver and advocates for higher taxes on high earners and people with wealth. That extra revenue could help drive a transition to clean energy, he argues. Photo: Amber Bracken / The Narwhal

Someone who I had met in Vancouver, in those early startup days, I got to know a lot better when we were in San Francisco: Patrick Collison, who started a company called Stripe. I joined Stripe in early 2013, when that company was still, again, very small. I mean, it was 40 people or something at that point. That company then grew to be thousands of people and worth hundreds of billions of dollars. As an early employee, I had effectively been an early investor and that was just sheer luck. There was no way to predict that my tiny percentage of Stripe was going to end up being worth a large amount of money. 

I left Stripe in 2019, feeling like [my wife and I] had this responsibility to do something with our time and resources that was not just motivated by profit and commerce, that was more about having an impact on the world.

Why do you want to be taxed more?

Society is better off if everyone has their basic needs met and I see that as a function of government. Obviously, Canada has lots of social services … but I believe the government can and should be doing more — and that’s going to require more money. I think the obvious place to get that money is from taxing people who have a lot of it. 

[It’s] about the marginal utility of money: if you’re living on $20,000 a year and you lose 10 per cent of that, you’re losing $2,000 — that’s a big deal. If you’re living on $3 million a year and you lose 10 per cent of that, you’re down $300,000. So what? It’s not going to change your lifestyle. 

We do have progressive taxation. We increase the percentage you’re taxed as you make more, but the top bracket starts at around $260,000. So we don’t distinguish between someone who’s making a quarter-million a year and someone making $2.5 million a year, or $25 million a year. Those situations are very different.

From my point of view, there’s an obvious opportunity to increase taxes on the people who are making millions of dollars a year. There’s also an opportunity to increase taxes on people who hold scarce, valuable resources. Land is the obvious one here. If we’re using land so someone can have a beautiful, 200-acre waterfront estate … I mean, fine, but let’s tax the shit out of it.

I think we have an opportunity to do that without particularly changing people’s lifestyles. It’s not going to make them move out of the country. That’s just not going to happen. They’re here because they want to be here. I’m here because I want to be here. I can afford to pay a lot more in tax than I do without changing my lifestyle and that money can be used to improve the lives of other Canadians.

You touched on the typical argument against this idea: if Canada puts those things into place — vacation home taxes and other types of taxes targeting the wealthy — then those people will just take their money and go elsewhere. What would you say to that?

The only other thing I would say is good riddance. Ultimately, for the handful of people who’d say, “If you raise taxes on the wealthy, I’m going to move to Barbados,” — it’s like, okay, fine. Like: bye Felicia.

Bryant dismisses the argument that wealthy people will leave Canada if taxes go higher. Canada “is the best place to be living,” he says. “And that’s true whatever the tax rate is.” Photo: Tim Smith / The Narwhal

Canada is a wonderful place to live. I could live anywhere I want. This is where my family chooses to live, because we truly believe that this is the best place to be living. And that’s true whatever the tax rate is.

Do you think this proposition, that the government adjust its tax systems, would create benefits for climate and ecosystem health?

One of the functions of government is to do large-scale investment, often infrastructure investment. I think climate is one area we can and should be making large-scale investments. We should be taking a page from China’s book and building very large-scale solar power plants to shift load away from fossil fuel plants. We should be investing in more efficient transportation, like train networks. We should be electrifying as quickly as we can — because we have to.

“Electric cars have been successful,” Bryant says. “But trucking, marine, aviation … These are all things that currently depend heavily on fossil fuels.” Photo: Jimmy Jeong / The Narwhal

The key climate fight here is we know how to transition our electrical production off of fossil fuels. But we also need to shift the demand for things that are currently not electric to electric — and transportation is a big piece of that. Obviously, electric cars have been successful. But trucking, marine, aviation … These are all things that currently depend heavily on fossil fuels. I very much see that as a government function, making investments in shifting those loads from fossil fuel to electricity.

So by taxing the rich, you add more money into the government’s capability to invest in infrastructure — which it can allocate as subsidies and investments to support climate mitigation projects?

Exactly. I think we should be taxing the rich and we should be using that money to invest in, broadly speaking, electrification projects. From a climate point of view, I think that’s the best thing we can be doing — and just doing everything we can to move off of oil. Alberta is going to fight us tooth and nail, but let’s find a way to transition that economy to a renewable economy. If we have to sink a lot of federal money into it, that’s worth doing, because our dependence on fossil fuels is bad for everyone.

In 2025, renewable energy met 9.7 per cent of Canada’s total electricity demand, according to the Canadian Renewable Energy Association. Photo: Aaron Hemens / The Narwhal

Do you think philanthropy plays a role in solving these bigger existential problems?

I do. With the government, we’re kind of entrusting all of our collective money and the government, as a result, tends to be quite risk-averse. The government doesn’t want to put a lot of capital into something that might fail and they get blamed and they won’t get re-elected or whatever. I think that caution is actually quite appropriate with public money, but at the same time when they do decide it’s worth doing something, they can do it on a very large scale. 

I think philanthropy can be the other side of that coin, which is to say individual philanthropists can take risks with their money and explore ideas that are not as proven. And then, hopefully, having proved some of them right, the government can come in and scale that up. So I think that’s worthwhile. That said, does that philanthropy need to be tax deductible? I don’t really think so.

Who are the Patriotic Millionaires?

Patriotic Millionaires is an organization that began in the U.S. It’s a very focused advocacy organization of people who have wealth who are asking for higher taxes on people who are wealthy. [They] opened a sort of sister organization in the U.K. and last year opened a Patriotic Millionaires in Canada. My wife and I are both members and she is now on the board.

I can see some opposition from powerful minorities, but I think most people can get behind the idea of everyone paying a fair share.

And yet the capital gains exclusion that was on the table for former prime minister Justin Trudeau came off with Prime Minister Mark Carney. Speaking for myself, not the organization, we need to understand why that is. It seems to me the loud minority won that fight. I don’t understand the politics there, but I think that in order to figure out what to do next, we need to understand.

Prime Minister Mark Carney backpedalled on his predecessor’s proposal to increase the capital gains inclusion rate, arguing that Canada needed to incentivize business investment and ensure entrepreneurs are rewarded for taking risks. Photo: Kamara Morozuk / The Narwhal

I was listening to a podcast on fashion, of all things, about tariffs and the economy and this idea that we need to tax the wealthy more. They put it in this framing of “join us.” 

Like, “You guys are off in this little corner and having to hide your money and put it in all these different places and do these different things to avoid being like the rest of us. Come be like the rest of us; join us.” I’m curious for your thoughts on that.

One part of our story is that wealth was a relatively new thing for us and there was a period of a few years where we were really trying to hide from our friends and neighbours how wealthy we were. There’s kind of a social norm there, right? You don’t talk about money. And the dissonance there was so hard.

It feels so much better to be much more open about this with people — and, yeah, to join them. We live on Galiano Island: it’s a small community, it’s a tight community. It’s much better to have those close relationships with people in honesty and solidarity.

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.

An investigation by The Narwhal published earlier this week details how the Alberta government allows millions of dollars of taxpayer money to wind up in the hands of ranchers grazing cattle on public land. 

It’s a complicated issue, involving ranchers, oil and gas companies, a broken regulatory system and — in many cases — taxpayers. 

Here’s the gist. In Alberta, ranchers can lease public land at below-market rates to graze their cattle. At the same time, oil and gas companies with wells on that public land must pay for yearly compensation for loss of the land and impacts from their operations. The catch? In Alberta, that money doesn’t go to the provincial government, which owns the public land, but to the rancher who leases it. 

There’s no cap on how much ranchers can receive in this way, and some receive compensation for hundreds of oil and gas wells. That means some ranchers are making a windfall — and not from raising cattle.

Ranchers say it’s fair compensation for the hassles of wells in a grazing area. But as the auditor general put it back in 2015, “current legislation allows an unquantified amount of personal financial benefit to some leaseholders over and above the benefits of grazing livestock on public land.” Some dubbed this “cowboy welfare,” when the report came out.

We set out to quantify it — and, crucially, to pinpoint how often taxpayers foot the bill.

You can read the full investigation here, but in the meantime here are five key takeaways about the broken regulatory system a former environment minister described as a “free-for-all.”

1. Ranchers leasing public land to graze cattle can earn six figures in compensation from oil and gas companies — every year

There are approximately 5,700 grazing leases across Alberta, covering roughly 5.2 million acres, or about five per cent of the province’s land base. 

The Narwhal drew on estimates and data gathered from public sources to estimate both the cost of leasing land to graze cattle and the amount ranchers are paid per oil and gas well on the public land where they graze.

The Narwhal’s analysis found some ranchers are earning well over $100,000 per year from oil and gas payments. 

According to The Narwhal’s analysis, one leaseholder with 233 wells spread across a grazing area is earning $349,500 each year in oil and gas leases alone. Another rancher, with 164 oil and gas wells, is earning $250,000.

2. $5 million in taxpayer money has been paid to grazing leaseholders in one region of Alberta — on behalf of delinquent oil and gas companies

Albertans cannot refuse oil and gas wells when a company comes knocking. In return, they’re owed compensation from the oil and gas company for the hassle. And — crucially — if the oil and gas company fails to pay, the Alberta government foots the bill on its behalf.

To get a clearer picture of the issues in 2026, The Narwhal focused on Cypress County, the County of Newell and the Special Areas in southeastern Alberta, sourcing public records, including leaseholder maps and government payments to landowners when oil and gas companies fail to pay what’s owed.

Ranchers and grazing associations operating in Alberta’s Newell County, Cypress County and Special Areas 2, 3 and 4 have received $5 million in taxpayer money for oil and gas operations on public land since 2021, according to data from the Land and Property Rights Tribunal. Map: Shawn Parkinson / The Narwhal

Data from the Land and Property Rights Tribunal, a government body that directs tax dollars to landowners and leaseholders when oil and gas companies don’t pay their rent, found that since 2021, $5 million in taxpayer money has been paid to grazing leaseholders in the region to cover company debts.

The Narwhal found one leaseholder received almost $600,000 in tribunal payments over that period. One grazing association was paid almost $1 million — all taxpayer money.

The government is supposed to recoup those funds from delinquent companies, but previous reporting from The Narwhal shows only a small fraction of tribunal payments, less than one per cent, is ever recovered.

3. For decades, the government has been called on to fix the system

Though successive governments have long known of the multi-million-dollar issue, none have acted to stop it. 

An auditor general report in 2015 castigated the province for allowing ranchers to earn undue profit off of public land. “Personal financial benefits are being derived from public assets,” the auditor general wrote.

In the report, the auditor general pointed to examples of ranchers receiving five times more oil and gas compensation than what they paid in rent.

Critics of Alberta’s grazing lease system have long called for a cap on the revenue leaseholders can collect from oil and gas companies operating on public lands. But successive Alberta governments have tried and failed to deliver reforms. Photo: Todd Korol / The Narwhal

In other jurisdictions, like Saskatchewan, compensation from oil and gas companies does not go to ranchers using public land to graze cattle. It goes to the government.

For decades, critics have called on the government to at least cap the revenue leaseholders can collect in compensation from oil and gas wells on public land. 

It has not.

4. Ranching associations have long argued against reforming the system

The issue of oil and gas compensation for grazing leaseholders has been controversial for decades, and includes a failed attempt by the Ralph Klein government to cap payments in the 1990s. 

That legislation was never proclaimed into law after intense backlash from ranchers and advocacy organizations. Among them was the Alberta Grazing Leaseholders Association.

Lindsye Murfin, with the Alberta Grazing Leaseholders Association, as well as the Western Stock Grower’s Association, told The Narwhal she takes issue with the idea that leaseholders are unduly benefiting from the current system.

When asked about leases where the density of wells would seem to make it impossible to actually ranch, Murfin said that just makes the job of the leaseholder more challenging and that compensation should be paid.

Compensation from oil and gas companies covers the hassle of oil and gas wells, including everything from chasing cattle after gates are left open, to weed control, loss of access to land as well as pollution and noise.

5. Alberta’s finance minister is among the recipients of taxpayer funds for compensation to his ranching on public land

Among the recipients of six-figure oil and gas compensation payments for grazing on public land is Alberta Finance Minister Nate Horner. 

His ranching business receives between $100,000 to $124,000 per year through contracts with oil and gas companies that operate on public land which he leases to graze his cattle, according to estimates by The Narwhal. 

And, as The Narwhal reported this week, when those companies fail to pay their bills, taxpayers have been paying the finance minister on the delinquent companies’ behalf.

Data from the Land and Property Rights Tribunal, which pays landowners — and ranchers who lease government land —  when companies fail to do so, shows Horner has received $87,246  in compensation from the province since 2021 for wells on his private property and on grazing leases. Of that, $47,200 was paid for sites on his grazing leases — in other words, he’s receiving public money for oil and gas wells on public land. 

The payments to Horner are all legal under current Alberta legislation and his press secretary, Marisa Warner, said Horner’s compensation is above board. 

“All of Minister Horner’s agricultural business holdings have been put in a blind trust since entering cabinet,” she told The Narwhal.

Updated on Apr. 30, 2026, at 10:32 a.m MT: This story has been updated to reflect that Lindsye Murfin is both the general manager of the Western Stock Growers’ Association as well as the manager of the Alberta Grazing Leaseholders Association.

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.

Summary

• With the climate changing and energy demands increasing, many cities set out energy efficiency and other green requirements for new builds.
• Across Ontario, cities have also created grants and other programs to help home and business owners retrofit older buildings with things like heat pumps or insulation.
• The Ford government’s Bill 98 will prevent municipalities from requiring new builds to be green, meaning a whole new generation of buildings could be added to the retrofit backlog.

Over the past decade, Ontario municipalities — and the taxpayers who foot their bills — have spent tens of millions of dollars retrofitting buildings to stave off the worst effects of climate change.

Local governments across southern Ontario have given homeowners grants to transition houses away from natural gas, protect them from extreme temperatures and safeguard their basements from flooding. Businesses have used such funds to cut office energy consumption, reduce the risk of birds crashing into their windows and increase access to nature around their buildings. 

For cities, the idea was simple: fortify structures built before the climate emergency and create rules that ensure new development is prepared for it to worsen. 

At the local level, there’s been broad demand for the initiatives, and positive outcomes as a result. 

In Kingston, Ont., one homeowner lowered the annual emissions of their 1,500-square-foot semi-detached house by 91 per cent by replacing windows, installing a heat pump and insulating the attic, basement and exterior walls. And that translates directly to lower energy bills.

In Toronto, more than 4,000 development projects have met the city’s green standards, which have been in place since 2010. These rules mandate that each building has shared outdoor spaces that aren’t covered by concrete or asphalt, but permeable coverings that absorb stormwater to prevent flooding, among other eco-friendly features. 

Buildings are the source of nearly a quarter of Ontario’s total emissions. As the province pushes for more construction to meet the demands of a growing population, the Ford government’s Bill 98 could limit developers to a decade-old rulebook on green building standards. Photo: Lars Hagberg / The Canadian Press

Yet despite the climate imperative and public interest, the ability of cities to incentivize greener builds like these is about to get a lot more complicated — and costly in the long run.

Earlier this month, the Doug Ford government introduced new legislation that would block municipalities from taking action to ensure future development is sustainable. The government’s Bill 98, the Building Homes and Improving Transportation Infrastructure Act, prevents Ontario cities from requiring developers to include electric-vehicle parking spots or bird-friendly windows, among other things. If the majority Progressive Conservative government passes this bill, local governments won’t even be able to require trees on residential properties.

The Narwhal spoke to four officials who serve in the planning or environment departments of Ontario cities, all of whom asked for confidentiality as they weren’t authorized to speak on the issue. All four said their teams are still analyzing the impacts of Bill 98 to properly respond to the government’s proposal, but that ultimately, they expect local budgets to absorb the likely higher — and unavoidable — costs of deep retrofits. 

“Anything that we require as a standard to protect the environment or reduce emissions through the planning process, we could no longer do if this bill passes as is — including requiring developers to make sure there’s a tree in every yard,” one rural Ontario official said in an interview. “That essentially means that we can’t hold developers accountable, and we’ll have to spend money ourselves to fix what they don’t do. So brace for impact, I guess.” 

Municipal green standards developed in place of scant provincial requirements for building efficiency

For more than a decade, green standards were adopted in either mandatory or voluntary forms by Ontario cities including Toronto, Mississauga, Halton Hills, Markham, Vaughan and Richmond Hill. 

Cities across Durham Region, including Whitby, Ajax and Pickering, for example, have standards for private development that promote green roofs, urban forest protection, stormwater management, renewable energy systems and green spaces. These have been implemented as Durham as a whole develops a green development program for new builds, in an effort to have 100 per cent of new housing achieve net-zero emissions by 2030. 

These cities introduced their standards in part because the provincial building code hasn’t been updated since 2017 and makes no mention of eco-friendly features. It came under scrutiny from the provincial auditor general in 2020 for not being strong enough to substantively reduce greenhouse gas emissions. 

Buildings are the source of 24 per cent of Ontario’s emissions, mainly from the use of fossil fuels like natural gas for heating. And these emissions are likely to increase as the province encourages faster construction to support a rapidly growing population, without requiring energy efficiency. 

If Bill 98 passes, developers would only be held to that now decade-old rulebook on building standards. Municipalities would be thwarted in their efforts to keep new building emissions down. The province recognized this in its own analysis of the changes, stating that ending green standards will result in not just “shifting burden from the development sector to municipalities for sustainability measures” but “unintended environmental impacts.”

“Unfortunately, right now, the only way that municipalities can really afford to build those kinds of infrastructure projects is by borrowing money, incurring debt and then paying it over time … or through development charges,” Markham Mayor Frank Scarpitti said last week, explaining why he opposed the bill’s provisions on green standards. 

“We do not have to turn our back on environmental standards,” Scarpitti said. “The environmental standards can actually be set, and then those projects will meet them.” 

Ontario municipalities including Hamilton, seen here, Ottawa, Waterloo Region, Guelph, Clarington and Oshawa are developing green building standards, but have put them on pause since the introduction of Bill 98. Photo: Carlos Osorio / The Narwhal

Cities have already been trying to soften the blow of energy efficiency costs on developers. Local green standards are often tied with financial incentives to urge developers to make the shift to greener construction. In 2021, the City of Kingston created a program that offers property tax rebates to builders and private developers who voluntarily construct buildings that strive for net-zero emissions. 

Toronto’s green standards offer a partial refund on development charges for buildings that meet their rules. The more rules a building meets, the higher the refund. Since its inception, this scheme has delivered almost $120 million in refunds to developers.

The success of these programs has inspired other Ontario municipalities to begin working on their own green standards. That includes Hamilton, Ottawa, Waterloo Region, Guelph, Clarington and Oshawa. But their efforts have been paused since Bill 98 was proposed, because it makes building green more complicated.

Ottawa officials, for example, have noted the bill would prevent municipalities from even asking developers to include electric-vehicle spaces in their buildings, even though a process for putting them in place has already been developed.

In an April 8 memorandum, Marcia Wallace, general manager of planning, development and building services for the City of Ottawa, said staff would explore “enabling approaches” like partnerships with the private sector and financial incentives. It did not note whether those incentives could come from taxpayers’ dollars.

Axing green standards means Ontario municipalities have to spend more taxpayer money on building retrofits 

It’s difficult to quantify the cost of building sustainably from the get-go, which depends on size, location and other factors. One study from The Atmospheric Fund in 2012 and another from City of Toronto staff in 2017 suggest the cost of construction would increase by two to four per cent, depending on the building type and community. 

What’s more certain is that retrofitting existing buildings to both lower emissions and withstand some of the symptoms of climate change is a lot more expensive than building green from the start. One Canadian green homebuilder says retrofits can be 50 per cent more expensive. A 2023 study by United Way Greater Toronto estimates a deep energy retrofit of an existing apartment building in Toronto would cost $200,000 per unit.

And all of that is cheaper than leaving homeowners to rebuild after severe flooding. Flood insurance premiums in Ontario have jumped up to 26 per cent in the last two years, according to a new report by a Canadian real estate firm and insurance-rate aggregator.

Many Ontario municipalities are already spending millions to retrofit public buildings and incentivize companies and homeowners to do the same. Now, rather than being able to shrink that budget over time as modern buildings are made more resilient, cities are looking at an exponential growth in cost. 

Guelph and Kingston, for example, have robust home retrofit programs that have been financed to the tune of millions of dollars with support from the federal government. Residents have been eager to take them up on it. 

One Ontario green builder estimates the cost of retrofitting is 50 per cent more expensive than building with energy efficiency in mind from the start. Photo: Lars Hagberg / The Canadian Press

In April 2022, Kingston’s local retrofit program had to be paused due to “overwhelming interest” resulting in a lengthy waitlist. As of October 2024, it had supported 250 projects. These programs, and several others aimed at lowering greenhouse gas emissions, fall under the city’s climate leadership division, which in 2025 had a budget of more than $800,000. That works out to $11 on the average tax bill, according to the budget. For a city of 130,000 people, with a limited tax base, that investment is paying off. 

In Guelph, 637 households have registered for this kind of funding and 448 have either completed their retrofits or are currently doing so.  

In Durham Region, more than 1,600 residents have signed up to lower energy consumption and reduce emissions. By 2023, almost 200 retrofits had been completed. In 2024, the region expanded the program to include commercial buildings. 

One Greater Toronto Area official said they expect demand for retrofits to increase if Bill 98 passes: “If there’s no way for us to ensure development is done according to the needs of the climate emergency, I imagine we’ll have more buildings to retrofit than we can handle in the very near future.”

The costs of doing so will ultimately be borne by taxpayers, especially as the province is still in the process of amending its own building code to acknowledge the realities of how climate change will affect buildings across Ontario.

“The building code will be updated. We’re going to go through it section by section,” Ontario Housing Minister Rob Flack told The Narwhal last week. “With respect to green standards, we’ve asked various stakeholders to be part of the process. … They’ll be involved in the process of redefining the building code.”

When pressed on the timeline of this process, Flack said, “ASAP.”

“We’ve started the process of getting people in place,” he said. “It’s going to take a while. It’s a big document.” 

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.

Summary

• British Columbia is home to the country’s longest-standing Indigenous Guardian program, the Haida Gwaii Watchmen, founded in 1982, and the province leads leads the way for national investment.
• Indigenous Guardian programs support conservation targets, create jobs in rural areas and have a high return on investment. 
• While programs across the country are seeing budgets slashed, Indigenous Guardians received an unexpected $230M investment by the federal government in March — but questions remain.

Ida Peter knew she had to apply to protect mule deer populations in Tsal’alh traditional territory, located in B.C.’s Central Interior, when B.C. first announced $8.9 million for Indigenous Guardians programs in 2023. 

“We have a really big concern about [them] in our territory because traditionally we’re known as the deer people,” Peter said. 

“I would say in the last 50 years the population of deer has declined drastically. Where we used to see hundreds of deer, now we’re lucky to see in those same areas maybe 10 or 20,” she said.

Mule deer are a significant species of concern in the Southern Interior region of the province, which means they are at risk of being endangered because of wildfires, resource extraction and human development.

Peter is an elected councillor in her nation, and manages the culture and heritage department. The Tsal’alh Guardians were born out of Peter’s proposal and are a small but mighty team of three who steward the territory.

It’s one of over 240 Indigenous Guardian initiatives that have been implemented across the country with the support of federal funding: an initial investment of $25 million to pilot Indigenous Guardians programs in 2018-2022 which was bolstered by an additional $100 million announced in 2021. But with both B.C. and federal guardian funding streams set to expire in 2026, Indigenous Guardians across the country were bracing for major cuts. 

That was until an announcement on Mar. 31. 

Katzie Territorial Guardian Mike Leon closes the gate at the entrance to Katzie territory and the Alouette River system, part of their nation’s traditional territory. The guardians work with BC Hydro on habitat enhancement for the river system. Photo: Isabella Falsetti / The Narwhal

To the surprise of many First Nations, Prime Minister Mark Carney’s government committed an additional $230 million into Indigenous Guardian programming, including for the creation of a new Arctic Indigenous Guardians Program. 

Though the announcement was welcomed by Indigenous communities, many are still wondering when those funds will begin flowing — and who will benefit from them.

Funding will be administered over the next five years, Emily Jackson from Environment and Climate Change Canada confirmed in an email to the Narwhal.

“Information on Indigenous priorities, including initiatives, eligibility, and timelines, will be shared as it becomes available.”

The Indigenous Guardian movement has deep roots in B.C.

Indigenous Guardians in British Columbia have led the way, implementing the longest-standing program in the country, which has been in operation since 1982: the Haida Gwaii Watchmen, established by volunteers.

Before B.C. or Canada began investing in these programs, Haida people took it upon themselves to steward their homelands. The goal was to preserve Gwaii Haanas village sites, according to the nation’s website. 

Indigenous Guardians Tim Lezard and Weston Roberds look off into sylix mountains in Penticton, B.C. Photo: kelsie kilawna / The Narwhal

“It was very common for looters to come to these sites and take artifacts that were very important to the living culture of the Haida Nation, the work done by these volunteers was incredibly important in preserving the village sites that are now protected,” it reads.

Now the Watchmen are funded by Parks Canada, one of four programs the department is supporting across Canada, with three of those programs based in B.C. The province is also home to the highest number of guardian programs funded last year.  

According to an economic analysis from Makeway, a national charity that supports conservation, and the CoEvaluation Lab, a Canadian organization that provides reporting and research support, Indigenous Guardian programs put between $1.43 to $5.37 back into the economy for every dollar invested. 

Another analysis by Social Ventures Australia, which examined a different selection of Indigenous Guardian programs in Canada, had similar findings. For every dollar invested, approximately $2.50 was generated for stakeholders. 

Those returns on investment come from employment outcomes, improved health and wellness, increased tax revenues and benefits to the environment.

For Dallas Smith, president of Nanwakolas Council, the thinking behind the programs has evolved.

“First it was about having eyes, ears and boots on the ground out there. But as we’ve started trying to build a conservation economy in the Great Bear Rainforest, we realized that there were other returns to be made, not only in helping us balance our conservation vision, but also [to] build sustainable economic development visions,” he told The Narwhal.

The council supports six member nations on B.C.’s South Coast and Vancouver Island in negotiations with government and industry. 

“Having the guardians in place whether we protect something or develop something has been monumental,” Smith said. 

While the $230 million announcement came as a welcome surprise, with no clear guidelines about where the funding is going, and with B.C.’s funding still set to expire, staff at some programs are concerned.

“Some [guardian programs] have models that have trust funds … where we’re able to back the guardian program up with some foundational funding that we’re able to live off the interest of,” Smith said. 

“For some of the other guardian programs that are in development … I bet there’s definitely some concern out there about where the next set of funding comes from to get through the next season.” 

Meanwhile, the federal government and various provinces, including B.C. and Ontario, passed bills that faced First Nation opposition last year, among them Bills 14 and 15 in B.C., Bill 5 in Ontario and federal Bill C-5, all of which critics have said privilege industry over Indigenous rights and consultation.

Tla-o-qui-aht First Nation guardian Joe Louie-Elley on the Big Tree Trail on Meares Island, near Tofino in 2021. Photo: Melissa Renwick / The Narwhal

Long term funded is needed to sustain programs

Indigenous Guardians protect the land and natural resources across Canada, maintaining the ecosystem for everyone, while contributing to local economies, businesses and relationships that allow industry into Indigenous territory. 

“The people of this territory would like to see the environment better protected for future generations, so that in generations to come, they’re able to go out and harvest berries and get the meat and fish they need,” Peter said. 

In her nation, interest in becoming a guardian is growing, with renewed funding needed to continue the program. 

“Long-term funding makes it all happen. It takes away the anxiety of chasing grant after grant … being able to secure long term stable funding gives you the ability to plan around it and invest in it,” Smith said. 

Funding gaps, even temporary ones, could undermine the investment and benefits in guardian programs.

And while loss of employment is a huge harm, disruptions in Indigenous Guardian funding can have deadly consequences for the environment.

For example, programs like the Wuikinuxv Guardian Watchmen monitor coastal waters for spills, mitigating risk from industry and acting as a first responder for the environment. 

“Too many people want First Nations to either protect everything or develop everything, they don’t understand the balance we’re trying to reach. The guardians are a living example of creating balance,” said Smith.

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.

Summary

• Ranchers in some parts of Alberta can earn six figures from oil and gas sites on public land they lease from the government for below-market value — and when companies don’t pay, taxpayers foot the bill.
• The system is legal, but has been criticized by the auditor general, who called on the province in 2015 to stop allowing “personal financial benefit” from leasing public land.
• An investigation by The Narwhal reveals that one of those ranchers is Alberta Finance Minister Nate Horner, whose family has a long history in politics — and in lobbying against reforms to the grazing lease system.

Alberta Finance Minister Nate Horner’s ranching business likely receives between $100,000 to $124,000 per year through contracts with oil and gas companies that operate on public land which he leases to graze his cattle, according to estimates compiled by The Narwhal. 

And when those oil and gas companies fail to pay their bills, taxpayers have been paying the finance minister on the delinquent companies’ behalf, The Narwhal has learned.

Data from the Land and Property Rights Tribunal, which pays landowners — and ranchers who lease government land — when companies fail to do so, shows Horner’s ranching business has received $87,246 in compensation from the province since 2021 for wells on his private property and on grazing leases, according to The Narwhal’s analysis. Of that, $47,200 was paid for oil and gas sites on his grazing leases — in other words, he’s receiving public money for oil and gas wells on public land. 

The payments to Horner’s ranching business are all legal under current Alberta legislation, but the ability of ranchers leasing land from the government to collect all of the oil and gas compensation was criticized by the auditor general in 2015.

Nate Horner Ranches Ltd., located east of Calgary, holds vast stretches of grazing leases — public land that is rented to ranchers for what critics say are bargain prices. Horner’s family has operated in the area, and leased land from the province, for generations. 

The family is also a political dynasty, counting MPs and MLAs — including both provincial and federal cabinet ministers — in its tree. His cousin, Doug Horner, is a former provincial finance minister.

In Alberta, oil and gas companies must compensate landowners for the adverse impacts of their activity. The province’s current rules also allow leaseholders to retain all such money companies pay to operate on those publicly owned grazing leases.

It’s a controversial framework that, in 2015, the auditor general said was allowing some ranchers to derive undue “personal financial benefit” off public land.

The Narwhal set out to understand the scope of the problem, focusing on three regions east of Calgary with many ranchers grazing their cattle on public land. The Narwhal’s analysis found taxpayers have footed the bill for millions of dollars in payments on behalf of oil and gas companies to ranchers leasing public land at below-market rates. 

And one of the recipients of those payments is the finance minister’s ranching business.

His press secretary, Marisa Warner, said Horner’s compensation is above board. 

“All of Minister Horner’s agricultural business holdings have been put in a blind trust since entering cabinet,” she said by email, adding the “minister’s assets, property and business holdings have all been properly disclosed, and placed in a management arrangement, approved by the ethics commissioner.”

Each oil and gas well brings in an estimated $1,856. Horner’s business has 67

The Narwhal estimated how much Minister Horner’s ranching business receives from oil and gas companies by looking at property maps that list both grazing leaseholders and oil and gas sites and counting the number of oil and gas sites on leases he holds. Nate Horner Ranches Ltd. had 67 sites.

That number was multiplied by $1,500, a per site figure cited by the auditor general in 2015 as an average compensation amount. By this calculation, Nate Horner Ranches Ltd. could receive an estimated $100,500 per year.

Figures from Land and Property Rights compensation decisions, however, show that Horner’s ranching business might receive a higher price. Based on the 21 claims he has filed since 2021 for unpaid compensation, the average cost per site is $1,856, meaning he could be earning as much as $124,386.

In 2015, Alberta’s auditor general criticized the province’s grazing lease framework, saying it allowed some ranchers to derive undue “personal financial benefit” off public land. Photo: Todd Korol / The Narwhal

It’s unclear if Horner has any other stakes in operations owned by family members near his own holdings. The minister’s office did not respond to specific questions sent by The Narwhal. 

Warner directed questions about the government’s position on the current system to the Ministry of Environment and Protected Areas, which oversees grazing leases.

The minister of environment and protected areas office did not respond to a list of emailed questions.

The finance minister’s grandfather was among the loud advocates against reforming the system that benefits ranchers

The issue of oil and gas compensation for grazing leaseholders has been controversial for decades, and includes a failed attempt by the Ralph Klein government to cap payments. 

That legislation was passed quickly in 1999, but was never proclaimed into law after intense backlash from ranchers and advocacy organizations. Among them was the Alberta Grazing Leaseholders Association, which was led by Horner’s grandfather, Jack Horner, at the time.

The association formed to push back against the Klein government “directly attacking property rights of leaseholders.”

Ranchers and advocacy organizations have mounted intense opposition to proposed reforms that would limit the amount of money ranchers can earn from oil and gas sites on public land. One ranchers’ advocate says the more oil and gas wells there are in a grazing area, the more problems a rancher has to manage. Photo: Amber Bracken / The Narwhal

Those opposed to changing the system point out that while grazing leaseholders pay less than market price to use public land, the lease comes with responsibilities and costs. Ranchers using public land pay for all improvements and maintenance of the land, as well as paying property taxes.

“The leaseholder has purchased the right from the province to be the occupant of that land,” Lindsye Murfin, the manager for the Alberta Grazing Leaseholders Association and the general manager of the Western Stock Grower’s Assocation, said in an interview. “And with those rights come a lot of responsibilities.”

Her organizations argue against a cap on the amount of money a leaseholder can earn from oil and gas sites on their leases. As Murfin points out, the more wells there are in a grazing area, the more problems a rancher has to manage. 

The Land and Property Rights Tribunal payments are part of a grand bargain with Albertans. No one is allowed to deny access to an oil and gas company that wants to drill, and in exchange the government will cover compensation if a delinquent company stops paying. 

Those payments have exploded in recent years, as more and more companies walk away from their financial obligations — even as some continue to operate.

The total in 2024 was $30 million, which represents a 4,500 per cent increase in the amount of money the government is paying for these missed payments since 2010. The government says it works to recoup those costs from companies, but previous reporting from The Narwhal shows only a small fraction of tribunal payments, less than one per cent, is ever recovered.

Horner’s experience is a striking example of the impact of regulatory failure in the province.

Almost all of the tribunal payments to Nate Horner Ranches Ltd. cover unpaid leases by AlphaBow Energy, a company that was allowed to snap up thousands of wells it did not have the resources to manage or clean up.

Five years after the company was created through a complex series of transactions, the Alberta Energy Regulator suspended its licences. The regulator transferred supervision of the sites to the Orphan Well Association — a largely industry-funded organization that cleans up sites without a solvent owner.

This left thousands of wells without a viable owner. It also meant millions of taxpayer dollars were directed to landowners and leaseholders to cover unpaid compensation — Horner among them.

That’s just one example. The orphan well inventory increased more than 29 per cent in 2025, but the levy imposed on companies to cover those costs only increased by seven per cent this year.

In the past month, the orphan inventory nearly doubled with the transfer of wells from another troubled company, Long Run Exploration. Those wells are estimated to have added another $476 million in liabilities to the association’s expenses.

Methodology

The Narwhal’s Prairies reporter Drew Anderson and web developer Andrew Munroe created estimates for this story from data gathered from a public government database of decisions regarding compensation oil and gas companies are supposed to pay to landowners when they put infrastructure on their land. The database is called the Land and Property Rights Tribunal database and contains tens of thousands of records of rulings. Each ruling contains information on the oil and gas company that failed to pay its bill, the land or leaseholder to whom the debt was owed, the amount owed and more. It is an extensive database, with each individual ruling page containing data on company names and grazing leaseholders or landowners, the amount paid and whether or not the site is located on a grazing lease.

Information regarding well sites located on grazing leases was obtained by purchasing municipal land maps on an app named iHunter, which provides the names of grazing leaseholders, contact information and outlines oil and gas sites on those lands.

To estimate the average compensation for a site on Finance Minister Nate Horner’s land, each tribunal decision was cross-referenced with the number of years for which compensation was owed, and the number of sites tied to each claim. The number of sites was retrieved from albertawellfinder.com and based on the licence number attached to the tribunal decision.

Updated on Apr. 30, 2026, at 10:33 a.m. MT: This story has been updated to reflect that Lindsye Murfin is both the general manager of the Western Stock Growers’ Association as well as the manager of the Alberta Grazing Leaseholders Association.

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.

Climate change is making life more expensive. Droughts and unpredictable temperatures affect farming and food security, while heat waves drive up utility bills and floods cause insurance to spike. Meanwhile, the gap between Canada’s highest- and lowest-income households hit a record high last year — making these costs harder for some to bear than others. 

The oil and gas industry is Canada’s largest emitter of the heat-trapping greenhouse gases that cause global warming and everything that comes with it. Here’s a look at which Canadian workers profit off activities that cause climate change — and who gets paid to cope with it.

Want to make sure you don’t miss our latest work? Subscribe to our channel on YouTube and follow us on TikTok.

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.

Summary

• Ranchers in some parts of Alberta are earning six figures from oil and gas sites on public land they lease from the government for below market value. 
• An analysis by The Narwhal shows millions in tax dollars are going to the ranchers to cover debts owed by delinquent oil and gas companies. 
• Ranchers argue the money is fair compensation for impacts from oil and gas operations; the auditor general has criticized the “personal financial benefit” for ranchers as being too high.

Some ranchers leasing public land from the Alberta government are receiving windfalls from oil and gas wells drilled on that land, according to a new analysis from The Narwhal. In some cases, taxpayers are on the hook for those payments. 

Though successive governments have long known of the multi-million dollar issue, none have acted to stop it. 

An auditor general report in 2015 castigated the province for allowing ranchers to earn undue profit off of public land. “Personal financial benefits are being derived from public assets,” the auditor general wrote. The auditor general pointed to examples at the time where ranchers were receiving five times in oil and gas compensation compared to what they paid in rent.

In other jurisdictions, like Saskatchewan, compensation from oil and gas companies does not go to ranchers using public land to graze cattle. It goes to the government.

Yet, to this day in Alberta, the system remains and problems have only increased as more and more oil and gas companies walk away from wells, or stop paying the compensation they owe to use the land, leaving the bills to taxpayers and languishing well sites to ranchers. It’s the result of decades of regulatory failure. 

Compensation from oil and gas companies, similar to a surface lease on private land, is for impact and damage from those operations, including everything from chasing cattle after gates are left open, to weed control, loss of access to land as well as pollution and noise. 

There are approximately 5,700 grazing leases across Alberta, covering roughly 5.2 million acres, or about five per cent of the province’s land base. To get a clearer picture of the issues in 2026, The Narwhal focused on Cypress County, the County of Newell and what are called the Special Areas in southeastern Alberta. We sourced public records, including leaseholder maps and government payments to landowners when oil and gas companies fail to pay what’s owed.

An analysis of data from the Land and Property Rights Tribunal, a government body that directs tax dollars to landowners and leaseholders when oil and gas companies don’t pay their rent, found that since 2021, $5 million in taxpayer money has been paid to grazing leaseholders in the region to cover company debts.

The Narwhal tried to verify the total with the tribunal. Executive director Mike Hartfield said the tribunal’s database is “designed to be self-service in nature.”

“Given the nature of this request and the time and staff resources it would take, we’re unable to verify this figure,” he said by email. 

Ranchers who rent public land for grazing must deal with oil and gas companies that want to drill on that land. It can be a headache, especially when the companies are delinquent with their payments. But when payouts do come, they can be sizable. Photo: Larry MacDougal / The Canadian Press

The issue is political, and particularly acute in the deeply conservative ridings of Alberta Premier Danielle Smith and federal Opposition Leader Pierre Poilievre. Here, a significant percentage of the land is public and rented to ranchers to graze their cattle — although some plots are so thick with wells it’s difficult to imagine enough room to graze. It’s a potential boon, but also a significant headache, for ranchers.

“[Grazing leaseholders] are rich and influential in their communities, and not just a little bit on either point,” Shannon Phillips, the NDP environment minister at the time of the auditor general’s report in 2015, said in a recent interview. “Historically, it’s an area of Alberta that has flexed its muscles within conservative movements. And, once again, not just a little bit.”

The Narwhal contacted seven Alberta ranchers with grazing leases in southern Alberta, all of whom either didn’t reply, or declined interviews, but did speak with Lindsye Murfin, who represents both a leaseholder and stock grower association.

The office of Grant Hunter, the minister of environment and protected areas who is responsible for the grazing leases, did not respond to questions from The Narwhal.

“I don’t know why anybody in their right mind would touch this topic,” one leaseholder, who declined to be interviewed, said over the phone. 

Cheap land, free money — and government bailouts

Across Alberta, landowners are struggling with increasing numbers of inactive and orphan wells on their land, or active wells owned by oil and gas companies that do not pay what’s owed to operate on their land. When an oil and gas company doesn’t pay, the tribunal can order the government to pay on their behalf. Those payouts have dramatically increased in recent years.

Previous reporting from The Narwhal has shown only a small fraction of payments made by the government on behalf of delinquent companies, less than one per cent, is ever recovered from the companies. 

Ranchers who lease public land from the government can face the same troubles getting the money they’re owed from oil and gas companies. But the financial rewards can also be significant. 

The current system in place across the province allows ranchers to rent public land from the government for a fluctuating yearly price based on a complex formula that includes how much land is needed to feed a cow, as well as market prices and costs. In return, the rancher is expected to maintain the land and pay for upgrades such as fencing, as well as cover property taxes. 

Those ranchers also have to deal with oil and gas companies, including signing contracts when the companies come knocking. In Alberta, no one can deny access to an oil and gas company that wants to drill, even if the land is public land earmarked for grazing.

It’s impossible to know the exact cost of a particular grazing lease without seeing the private contract between the government and the rancher, but estimates are possible. A report by the University of Alberta’s Alberta Land Institute estimated in 2014 that the average lease in southern Alberta was $850 per year. 

Those statistics, however, can be misleading, according to Murfin, the manager of the Alberta Grazing Leaseholders Association, which advocates for ranchers grazing cattle on public land, as well as the general manager of the Western Stock Grower’s Association, which advocates for ranchers. Murfin said, in general, grazing leases can range from 14 acres to 14 sections of land (one section is 640 acres), although she’s not sure of the exact range. In the north, they tend to be smaller, while in the south, they sprawl. A grazing lease at $850 per year would represent a smaller plot, with a 14-section stretch costing an estimated $6,000 or more in 2014. 

Between 2015 and 2026, the government’s rates have gone up three and a half times, meaning that same average would be $3,024 today, or approximately $22,000 for a 14-section lease. 

Since 2021, the Province of Alberta has paid $5 million to grazing leaseholders in one corner of Alberta to cover the debts of oil and gas companies operating on public land. Photo: Todd Korol / The Narwhal

It’s also difficult to pinpoint the compensation paid by oil and gas companies to ranchers, as each is negotiated in a private contract. However, tribunal payments covering delinquent companies offer some insight, where yearly payouts of $1,500 per well per site are the norm. That’s also the price the auditor general determined was the average price per oil and gas site back in 2015.

The number of wells on leases can range from zero to hundreds, with a select few grazing areas, particularly in southern Alberta, hosting huge numbers of oil and gas wells. And that means reaping significant financial rewards. 

Critics of the system say grazing lease rates are too low, even after recent increases, and say some ranchers are making too much profit off oil and gas operations on public land. 

Phillips, the former NDP environment minister, said the oil and gas companies are “a pain in the ass” and that ranchers should be compensated for impacts, but said there should be limits.“It shouldn’t just be a free for all,” she said. 

Phillips said it’s a classic example of socializing the risk and privatizing the reward. 

“It is socialism at its finest, but only for rich people — for a smaller and smaller sliver of people — and it is our public land base that gives those gifts.” 

Some ranchers are earning six figures from oil and gas on public land: analysis

The Narwhal looked specifically at data from Cypress County, the Country of Newell and the large and sparsely populated Special Areas region that stretches across a wide swath of the province approximately 200 kilometres east of Calgary. The Special Areas have a unique government structure, represented by an elected board which reports to the province. 

The Alberta Land Institute report noted that while almost half of all provincial grazing leases do not have oil and gas sites, most are located in the south of the province. Meanwhile, 61.2 per cent of all wells on provincial grazing lands are located in the South Saskatchewan region.

To look at the issue of windfall oil and gas payments to ranchers using public land, The Narwhal looked specifically at data from Cypress County, the County of Newell and the large and sparsely populated Special Areas region that stretches across a wide sweep of the province approximately 200 kilometres east of Calgary. Map: Shawn Parkinson / The Narwhal

That was particularly true in the Special Areas, where the density of wells was slightly higher than the rest of the province, with 5.24 wells per lease, according to the report.

The Narwhal examined public land maps that show who controls specific grazing leases, as well as which oil and gas sites on those plots. 

Assuming an average price of $1,500 per oil and gas well site, The Narwhal’s analysis finds some ranchers are earning well over $100,000 per year from oil and gas payments. According to The Narwhal’s analysis, one rancher with 233 wells spread across a grazing area is earning an estimated $349,500 each year in oil and gas leases alone. Another rancher, with 164 oil and gas wells, is earning an estimated $250,000.

Oil and gas production occurs on public land leased to ranchers throughout Alberta. But it’s particularly common in the southern region of the province. Photo: Todd Korol / The Narwhal

In some instances, it’s difficult to know who is benefitting from oil and gas compensation, with some ranchers tied to several corporations, according to corporate registry documents obtained by The Narwhal. 

The Alberta Land Institute tracked down one leaseholder in 2014 with the “largest estimated amount of annual compensation paid on a single lease” — $1,218,000. The lease contained 812 wells.

Grazing associations can earn even more, although that money is distributed to members. The auditor general found one grazing association in 2013 “paid the province $68,875 in rent for its multiple leases and collected $348,068 in payments from industry operators for activity on its leased land.” That’s five times more in oil and gas compensation payments than they paid in rent.

Beyond what oil and gas companies pay to leaseholders, there are also millions of dollars paid to ranchers by the government. The Narwhal scraped data on payouts in the areas in question between 2021 and 2026 from the Land and Property Rights Tribunal website.

There were 3,263 decisions in total when the analysis was done at the beginning of April.

Since 2021, $5 million has been paid to grazing leaseholders to cover the debt owed by oil and gas companies for sites on public land, including significant individual payments. That estimate is based on the tribunal data. 

One leaseholder received almost $600,000 in tribunal payments over that period. One grazing association was paid almost $1 million.

Big payouts, but also big disparities

Murfin takes issue with the idea that leaseholders are unduly benefiting from the current system and said the compensation is fair considering the impacts of oil and gas operations and the costs incurred by ranchers. 

A grazing lease, she said, is similar to any other lease of public land, from oil and gas to gravel pits to forestry. 

“The leaseholder has purchased the right from the province to be the occupant of that land,” she said. “And with those rights come a lot of responsibilities.”

Oil and gas operations on public grazing lands make it harder to raise cattle there, which is why Lindsye Murfin, manager of the Alberta Grazing Leaseholders Association, argues grazing leaseholders deserve the compensation they receive. Photo: Todd Korol / The Narwhal

She also says the impacts from oil and gas operations can be significant. “I know a guy who has to have someone hired, not for ranch work, but to manage the oil and gas companies,” she said.That ranch has extensive native grassland and without someone “managing the damage, it would be much worse.” 

“The beef industry in Alberta is a multi-billion-dollar contributor to the economics of the province, instrumental in the maintenance and survival of rural communities and the singular reason we have large tracts of contiguous native grassland in this province,” she said.

When asked about leases where the density of wells would seem to make it impossible to actually ranch, Murfin said that just makes the job of the leaseholder more challenging and that compensation should be paid. She rejects the notion of capping the amount of money a rancher should receive from oil and gas sites on public land. 

“Their management of grazing is hard,” she said. “The grazing lease system is a stewardship-based system, so the grazing leases are inspected to make sure that the forage resource is kept healthy and productive.”

Successive governments have declined to reform the system

The Alberta Grazing Leaseholder Association was founded in 1998 in response to efforts to revamp the system by Ralph Klein’s Progressive Conservative government. 

That year, a government report called for caps on payments to leaseholders. A year later, the government introduced legislation that was quickly passed, but never proclaimed into law. 

Bill 31 would have set rates per well for leaseholders that started at $300 per well, gradually dropping to $100 per well if there were ten or more sites on a grazing lease. The bill would have capped the amount of money that could be earned from surface leases on public grazing land at $5,000 annually.

The reforms received fierce pushback from ranchers and their advocacy organizations. The Alberta Grazing Leaseholders Association’s purpose was to resist the Klein government “directly attacking property rights of leaseholders.”

Phillips, the former environment minister under Premier Rachel Notley, said her government also faced pressure when the auditor general’s report came out in 2015 and said there simply wasn’t enough time, or political will, to change the system. 

“People who have never governed will hear it as an excuse, but I’m sorry it’s just not,” she said in an interview. “You only have so much bandwidth to do so many controversial things in a four-year term.”

Successive Alberta governments have tried to limit oil and gas surface lease payments on publicly owned grazing lands without success. Former environment minister Shannon Phillips, seen here in 2018, said her NDP government didn’t have the political capital needed to deliver the controversial reforms. Grazing leaseholders “are rich and influential in their communities,” she said. Photo: Adrian Wyld / The Canadian Press

The NDP government was already mired in controversy with ranchers and farmers for legislating workplace insurance and safety standards for their operations. The government also faced the impacts of an oil price crash. 

“Some elements within the grazing leaseholders certainly signalled a willingness to be less than cooperative on re-examining some of the large asks that they benefited from,” Phillips said.

That sort of pressure and the complexities of reforming the system aren’t new in Alberta and the provincial debate isn’t the only example. 

Just to the east of Cypress County, the Municipal District of Taber recently brought in reforms that have split the community. 

The municipality manages its own portfolio of grazing leases and already charged ranchers higher rates than the province, as well as restricting the amount of money a rancher on public land can receive in oil and gas compensation. Those rules were tightened even further in April: among the changes, rates were raised even more and now, after the 10-year grazing leases expire, ranchers must bid for them competitively. 

The decisions have been contentious. Among other reasons, provincial grazing leases also exist within the Municipal District of Taber, meaning neighbouring leases could have drastically different costs and returns. 

Tamara Miyanaga, the reeve of the municipal district, said balancing the wishes of long-time leaseholders against those that want to bid on that land is the most challenging thing she’s done during her time at the municipality. 

“Unfortunately, I think it will still create a divide in the community,” she said in an interview. “But council has made their decision, and now we will go forward to continue serving the residents of the [Municipal District] of Taber the best we can.”

As wells age, more public dollars could flow

In the area of southern Alberta where grazing leases sprawl and wells are dense on the landscape, the oil and gas industry is changing. 

Reservoirs that once fuelled Alberta booms, filling pockets and government coffers alike, are dwindling. More and more companies are failing to live up to their end of the bargain and the costs of cleanup continue to rise. It’s a region with some of the highest concentrations of orphan wells.

That means more public dollars will flow, even as revenues from wells in the area diminish or disappear. 

Murfin said her organization is also concerned about the issue of aging wells and delinquent operators, but it’s not something that only impacts her members. “It’s going to fall on every taxpayer in Alberta to pay for that,” she said.She’s not convinced the government will be able to fix the problem, and takes issue with its plan to deal with old oil and gas wells. 

The government’s plan, she said, is “just a scheme that has been cooked up by somebody who has been in oil and gas his whole life.”

For Murfin, the government is moving even further away from the polluter pays principle, which would see oil and gas companies pay to clean up their messes. 

Instead, she believes the government is “downloading all the costs of reclamation on landowners and municipalities and taxpayers.”

Methodology

The Narwhal’s Prairies reporter Drew Anderson and web developer Andrew Munroe created estimates for this story from data gathered from a public government database of decisions regarding compensation oil and gas companies are supposed to pay to landowners when they put infrastructure on their land. The database is called the Land and Property Rights Tribunal database and contains tens of thousands of records of rulings. Each ruling contains information on the oil and gas company that failed to pay its bill, the land or leaseholder to whom the debt was owed, the amount owed and more. It is an extensive database, with each individual ruling page containing data on company names and grazing leaseholders or landowners, the amount paid and whether or not the site is located on a grazing lease.

Information regarding well sites located on grazing leases was obtained by purchasing municipal land maps on an app named iHunter, which provides the names of grazing leaseholders, contact information and outlines oil and gas sites on those lands.

Updated on Apr. 30, 2026, at 10:19 a.m. MT: An earlier version of this story said there was no response from the Western Stock Growers’ Association. However, after publication The Narwhal was told Lindsye Murfin is both the general manager of that association as well as the manager of the Alberta Grazing Leaseholders Association.

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.

After years of punishing drought that shrunk their herds, Canadian cattle farmers finally saw them growing at the start of 2026. It was a modest 2.5 per cent increase in the number of cows and calves, but after eight years of contraction — which also meant increased beef prices at the till — those in the industry are taking it as a win. 

Brenna Grant, executive director of CanFax, the research division of the Canadian Cattle Association, called this a “really modest” increase, urging patience for those hoping affordability will return soon. 

Canada’s beef prices are 23 per cent higher today than the national five-year average, and, in general, meat prices rose by the highest rate of any food category in 2025, according to research from Dalhousie University. 

The biggest concern driving beef prices high is weather, Grant said. Climate pressures on pasture conditions means less hay to feed animals and, consequently, smaller herds.

High input costs and global economic forces aren’t the only things having an effect on Canadian beef prices. Climactic changes, including increased drought, put pressure on pasture and water conditions and have resulted in smaller herds in recent years. Photo: Leah Borts-Kuperman / The Narwhal

“All of the research would indicate that we are expected to see greater frequency and severity of extreme weather events, whether that be drought or flooding or even just greater volatility within the growing season,” Grant said. 

Ranchers are heading into summer with mounting uncertainty, given spotty and unpredictable rain and snow patterns in recent years. “That just means that this rebuild, in terms of increasing supplies, is going to take longer.”

Droughts in Alberta, Saskatchewan and Manitoba, where the country’s cattle farming is concentrated, have become regular and severe. Drought insurance payouts to Alberta farmers reached a record $326.5 million in 2023, more than tripling the payouts from the 2021 drought. 

Droughts also hit southern Ontario last summer, impacting Trenton, Belleville and Prince Edward Country farmers. Dry conditions present a host of challenges, from reducing the availability of local, affordable feed to farmers not having enough water available for their herds. 

At the same time, more northern areas of Canada that haven’t historically been seen as cattle country are starting to grow their local bovine populations, as more moderate temperatures become a welcome refuge for farmers. Warmer weather has been a boon in typically colder zones, making it easier to grow feed crops instead of importing them. 

Some areas throughout Canada are seeing warmer weather and longer growing seasons, making cattle farming possible where it wasn’t previously. Photo: Amber Bracken / The Narwhal

Northern Ontario is one of those areas, including Sudbury, Nipissing and Cochrane, which had built up a herd 100,000 strong as of 2018. 

Grant said the Peace Region that straddles the Alberta-B.C. border is also seeing longer growing seasons, allowing for more crop varieties, including of animal feed. The same is true for northeast Saskatchewan, once considered too cold and wet, where warmer, drier conditions have improved growing.

“It’s the right use of that land for the right product,” said Jason Leblond, president of Beef Farmers of Ontario, and a cattle farmer himself in Chisholm, Ont. “Beef cattle do very well in the north.”

But, he says, while the shift may benefit local producers, it is unlikely to ease rising beef prices anytime soon.

“When we see the first signs of the herd rebuild, which is what we’re seeing currently, it normally takes two years for it to hit the store shelves — that price reduction,” Leblond said.

Building up northern herds, he said, is a big part of “how we can get the prices more in check.” He’s increasingly seeing farmers step up in these long-dormant farming regions.

Northern Ontario’s growing herd of cattle

In the early 2000s and 2010s, cattle farmer Mike Tulloch recalls driving roads in Algoma, Ont., and seeing derelict farms, growing back up to brush and weeds — signs of a dying industry. Tulloch grew up in the area with a lifelong ambition to take over his father’s farm and watched the landscape closely.

In the last decade, he’s seen a growing number of farmers revitalizing the area’s farms, many coming from southern Ontario or farther. His own land, he said, doubled in value since he bought it in 2018. Now, he owns a farm with about 1,300 head of cattle. 

“The face of agriculture in Algoma and Manitoulin has changed dramatically,” Tulloch said. “It’s driven out of the relatively inexpensive value of the land and is being bought up hand over fist and turned back into productive farmland.”

In the last decade, some southern Ontario farmers have started to venture farther afield, moving cattle farming into the province’s north, where once derelict farms have been revitalized. Photo: Christopher Katsarov Luna / The Narwhal

Tulloch has found himself in one of the most hospitable remaining areas for raising cows.

“No question that the climate change has been more conducive to farming in the near-north: Algoma, Manitou and Sudbury, Nipissing,” Tulloch said. “This is a case where climate change in our area has been good for the farmers.”

The Algoma area, at the cusp of lakes Huron and Superior, has the longest growing period across all of northern Ontario, from Nipissing up. By 2050, temperatures are predicted to increase between 1 C and 4 C, making that growing season even longer. 

“We have warmer winters. We get on the land sooner, and the ground in the north here warms up sooner,” Tulloch said, compared to previous years. “For our cattle operations, we grow about 750 acres of corn. And, ten years ago, there wasn’t 750 acres of corn in the whole district.”

While many Canadian cattle farmers are battling extreme weather events like drought, floods and wildfires, northern Ontario is emerging as somewhat of a sanctuary. 

Moving north won’t fix the challenges climate change presents farmers

Experts and polls have demonstrated the biggest challenge for cattle farming in Canada is the increased frequency of adverse weather events. While the northerly migration has eased the challenges for some cattle farmers, it’s not a silver bullet — and prices will continue to reflect that, especially as consumer demand for protein remains extremely high.

“In the last five years, we’ve actually seen beef demand jump twice, once in 2020 and we maintained those levels, and then again in 2025,” Grant said. “What that means is that consumers were willing to pay a higher price for the same amount of beef.”

The high demand and weather uncertainties are being experienced across the world, including in Canada and the U.S., leading to a global shortage of beef as production falls in traditional centres.

Cattle farming expanding north hasn’t been a saving grace for Canadian beef prices — at least not yet. Demand has jumped in recent years, meaning consumers are still willing to pay high prices at the grocery store. Photo: Leah Borts-Kuperman / The Narwhal

There are also no guarantees conditions will remain hospitable for cattle farming in northern climates. 

“In some regions of the country, certainly, there will be some increased opportunity,” Kim Ominski, University of Manitoba research scientist, said. “But the challenge about these extreme weather events is it just introduces increased risk.”

Unpredictable growing conditions might bring a year where farmers are unable to source enough feed locally. Since feed is one of the largest costs of raising cattle, Ominski said, having to import it — especially if that requires swapping the usual meal with a more expensive crop — can really impact a farmer’s bottom line. 

Across Canada, research links extreme climate-driven weather events to rising mental-health strain on farmers, causing guilt, hopelessness and panic. Many are leaving the industry.

Even Tulloch acknowledges the gamble.

“The weather is more erratic,” Tulloch said. “You see that when the storms come, there are heavier storms and you have more risk of flooding.”

“It’s a risky venture.”

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.