Three hundred years after their ancestors chose peace on the same ground, the Mi’kmaq people returned to the Fort Anne National Historic Site in Mi’kma’ki.

Mi’kmaq leaders and community members gathered at what was then called Port Royal on June 4, 1726, when their ancestors signed a Peace and Friendship Treaty with the British Crown.

Under a bright Nova Scotia sky, they came back to the same ground to celebrate, to grieve, to demand and to hope.

Chief Leroy Denny of Eskasoni First Nation, co-chair of the Assembly of Nova Scotia Mi’kmaw Chiefs, said as he stood on the grass, he could feel the weight and power of what happened on the same grounds 300 years ago. 

“This 300th anniversary is a reminder that these were never land-surrender treaties; they were sacred agreements of peace, coexistence and nation-to-nation relationship building,” Denny said. 

“Our ancestors envisioned a future of mutual respect, and three hundred years later, these living treaties continue to guide us as we protect our rights and carry their legacy forward for future generations.”

The Peace and Friendship Treaty of 1726 outlined how Indigenous and European people could establish peaceful coexistence in the Maritime region. 

It was signed by Mi’kmaw, Wəlastəkokewiyik and Peskətəmohkatewey leaders amid rising conflicts as the British pushed to colonize the area and were concerned about relationships between local Indigenous Peoples and the French Crown.

The 1726 treaty was part of a series of Peace and Friendship agreements with the British Crown between 1725 and 1779.

But Mi’kmaq Grand Council Kji-Keptin (Grand Captain) Antle Denny came to speak plainly about what a 300-year treaty relationship has delivered and what it has not.

The relationship between Mi’kmaq nations and the provincial government has deteriorated sharply in the last year, in the wake of raids on Mi’kmaw cannabis dispensaries and the recent criminalization of logging protests.

Tensions were underscored by the notable absence of Nova Scotia Premier Tim Houston from the Fort Anne celebration. Many in attendance felt that absence was not simply a scheduling matter. It was a statement.

The treaty signed on this ground 300 years ago was supposed to be a living commitment. What they were watching, many felt, was a provincial government treating it as a historical footnote.

This month’s commemoration at Fort Anne National Historic Site drew Mi’kmaq leaders, community members, Canadian officials and allies for a day of ceremony, cultural performance and the unveiling of a national historic plaque. 

Youth turned out in force. Elders undertook journeys that were not easy to make. And on the sun-warmed grass of the oldest administered national historic site in the country, Mi’kmaq people held a tenacity that textbooks have never quite managed to convey.

Under a tent, Eliza Gould, youth chief from Eskasoni First Nation, spoke quietly about Mi’kmaq history as other young people listened intently. 

Outside, the voice of Kalolin Johnson, a young vocalist and musician from Eskasoni First Nation, carried across the grass of the old fort. Beyond that, the Annapolis Basin shimmered in the heat. It was the kind of day that made the past feel very close.

Gould had learned about the treaties in school in almost every grade, she said. But learning about something and feeling it are different things.

“I’ve heard it so much I kind of became numb,” she said.

“But being here, seeing all the chiefs, all the people that actually care — I kind of wish more people came. Because this is our history. This is very much our history.”

The fisheries question, for Gould, was the sharpest example of how old agreements play out in present-day conflict. As part of the treaty, the British agreed not to interfere with Indigenous fishing rights — however, those rights are something that Mik’maq people have continued to fight to uphold.

“The fisheries, we take only as much as we need, but also respecting everything around us,” she said. “For others it’s greed, it’s money, it’s power.” 

She described watching the same arguments repeat year after year, the treaty invoked and dismissed in the same breath. “There’s no evenness,” she said. “It’s so back-and-forth.”

But as she looked out at the crowd filling the sunny grounds, Gould also felt the living impact of the agreement from hundreds of years ago. 

“It’s nice to see everyone here, not just Mi’kmaq people but others. You know, just like 300 years ago, it’s not just us and the French anymore,” she said. “There’s a better understanding.”

Assembly of First Nations Nova Scotia Regional Chief Andrea Paul brought that meaning into focus. 

“As we celebrate 300 years of treaty, we honour the wisdom of those who came before us, who chose peace and friendship as the foundation of our relationship,” she said. 

“Their teachings continue to guide us today, reminding us that treaties are not relics of the past, but living commitments that shape our future together.”

For JUNO award-nominated Mi’kmaq musician Morgan Toney, the reality of that history did not fully land until he walked the grounds that morning. 

He had read about the treaty, he said. But standing on the actual earth where it was signed was something else entirely.

“I never actually got to go on the grounds until earlier this morning,” he said. “And I was like, I have to tell my bandmates. This is where that treaty was signed. It was here, in this location, where you’re standing right now.”He shook his head slowly. “That’s crazy. That’s beautiful. That’s powerful.”

In a statement, federal Minister of Crown-Indigenous Relations Rebecca Alty said the Peace and Friendship Treaty “is one of the foundational agreements in the history of Crown-Indigenous Relations in this country.”

In honour of the celebration, the federal government declared the signing of the treaty an event of national historic significance, and unveiled a commemorative plaque at the site.

“Three hundred years later to the day, and on the site of its signing, we honour the leaders of the Wabanaki Confederacy who negotiated this treaty and reaffirm our commitment to the relationship it represents,” she said.

“Designating this treaty as an event of national historic significance is a recognition of its enduring importance to the Mi’kmaq Nation and to all Canadians.”

Kji-Keptin Denny spoke about sovereignty. About his father going before the United Nations in the 1980s to seek recognition of the Mi’kmaq Nation, and foreign ambassadors telling his father privately that he was right, but that they could not move against Canada. 

He spoke about the cod fishery collapse, watching non-Indigenous fishermen exhaust the resource while Mi’kmaq were never compensated. 

He called for a Mi’kmaw treaty commissioner to hold Atlantic provinces, the federal fisheries department and police forces accountable.

“We’ve protected you for over 300 years,” he said. “You never protected us once.”

He called for Mi’kmaq youth to be supported into every professional field, including medicine, law and sport. He described a heart surgeon who had recently saved his life.

He spoke of wanting Mi’kmaq athletes at the Olympics, Mi’kmaq professionals in every sector.

“We need our youth to be working together with organizations and companies. Teach them. Instead of holding them down, we should be lifting them up.”

He ended by looking ahead. 

“It’s only been 300 years. But you have to learn our ways of protecting the environment, of taking what’s needed, of working together and helping each other,” he said.

“We’re human beings. Let’s look at the next 300 years and make sure all leadership helps one another. It does not matter what the colour of your skin is.”

Relationships between Mi’kmaq people and colonial governments have been strained at times, including in recent history. In December 2025, the Nova Scotia government issued a province-wide directive ordering police to raid illegal cannabis operations, which Mi’kmaq leaders have long asserted are protected under their treaty right to trade.

Premier Houston claimed the unregulated cannabis was laced with fentanyl. Both the Nova Scotia RCMP and Halifax Regional Police said that claim was false. Mi’kmaq chiefs called for an apology. None came.

Raids followed across multiple communities, including Eskasoni, shattering relationships between Mi’kmaq communities and police that had taken years to build.

Sipekne’katik First Nation passed a resolution banning Houston and two of his ministers from reserve lands, calling them “undesirables.”

Chief Leroy Denny, speaking for the Assembly of Nova Scotia Mi’kmaw Chiefs, said the raids “only further deteriorate our relationships with these Crown entities.”

Then came Hunters Mountain. Mi’kmaq land protectors established a checkpoint in September 2025 to oppose clear-cutting in Unama’ki, Cape Breton, gathering in what they described as an educational mawiomi to protect moose habitat and forest their ancestors depended on. 

Two weeks after the checkpoint was established, Houston’s government introduced Bill 127. 

On Oct. 3, 2025, two days after Atlantic Canada’s Treaty Day, it passed. The law criminalized blocking forest access roads on Crown land, with fines of up to $50,000 or six months in jail. Mi’kmaq leaders said they had not been consulted.

Former mayor of Annapolis Royal William MacDonald, who attended the commemoration, acknowledged the weight of the moment from the other side of the treaty relationship. 

“This is a live issue,” he said. “As a former mayor of this town, it’s been really important to me that we do everything we can to advance reconciliation. I’m happy to be here to support it.”

Back in the youth tent, as Kalolin Johnson’s voice carried across the grounds outside, the conversation returned to where it began. The youth. The next generation. The ones who will inherit this relationship and all of its weight.

Near the close of the ceremony, four Mi’kmaq youth representatives were called to the stage alongside the assembled leaders for the presentation of treaty medals.

Retired Canadian senator Daniel Christmas, from Membertou First Nation, said the presentation to young Mi’kmaq people and Crown representatives alike “demonstrates the timeliness, the enduring nature of the treaty relationship.”“It also seeks to look forward to the future and the obligation that we all have as treaty partners,” he said.

Christmas said that, in current times, there’s a very high awareness of the treaty relationship.

“People are taking the time to come and actually trying to understand what it means. How did this happen, and why did it happen. An event like today begins to answer some of those questions.”

Gould looked around at the crowd gathered in the June sunshine on the oldest treaty ground in what would become Canada, at the Elders who had traveled far to be here, at the chiefs who had stood and spoken difficult truths, at the young people sitting quietly in the tent around her, listening.

“I think the generation coming up now,” she said quietly. “I think they’re going to be the balance.”

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Summary

• Temperatures in Vancouver could climb as high as 29 C this weekend, the first heat wave of the year.
• Water restrictions are in effect, only three of the city’s five outdoor pools are open and outdoor water sampling at many popular beaches has been suspended due to strikes.
• This summer is projected to be one of the hottest on record, raising questions about the readiness of Vancouver to protect its citizens from extreme heat.

This weekend, Vancouverites will swelter under the first heat wave of the year, with a sunny forecast of up to 29 C on Saturday and Sunday. (Listen up, the rest of Canada: it’s not a dry heat!) It’s ideal weather for swimming outdoors or taking your kids to a wading pool — or it would be, if that were an option.

Only three of the city’s five outdoor pools — Second Beach, Hillcrest and New Brighton — will be open. The city’s 11 wading pools, meanwhile, are suspended all summer due to Stage 3 water restrictions across the city, which are expected to last until October. Perhaps you think this is no big deal — after all, the Pacific is right there. But those looking to cool down in the ocean will be taking their chances, as water quality tests at many of the city’s most popular beaches have been suspended due to job action, and those that have been tested lately are showing higher-than-expected E. coli counts. 

It’s a bleak start to the summer, which is expected to be one of the hottest on record, according to Environment Canada.

Complaints about Vancouver’s lack of outdoor pools aren’t new: a decade ago, the Vancouver Sun pointed out the city has fewer pools than any other major city in Canada. (On their city websites, Montreal lists 62; Toronto has 58.) We’re on par with Saskatoon — which operates far more wading pools and splash pads, despite being a much smaller city. But most people frame this as a recreation problem, not a public health issue. 

A recent study in the Journal of Environmental Economics and Management found in New York City, more people visit outdoor pools on hot days. No surprise. But the association was strongest in low-income neighbourhoods where many residents have few other options for cooling down. What’s more, the authors found, public pool availability during extreme summer temperatures can reduce heat-related emergency calls by 15 to 29 per cent. 

Five years ago, a heat dome caused 619 deaths in B.C., the deadliest weather event in Canadian history. June 2021 was a wake-up call about the risks posed by climate change, and the urgent need for cities to adapt to extreme heat events. But looking for a place to get wet in Vancouver reveals an alarming reality: we’re not ready for the summer ahead — and we’re definitely not prepared for the future. 

How to cope with heat

Outdoor water recreation is not the only way to cope with heat waves, but it is an important one, especially for people who don’t live in spaces that can be easily cooled. The BC Coroners Service reported 98 per cent of deaths during the 2021 heat dome happened indoors, and most of those who died lacked air conditioning or fans. 

A 2023 report from the federal government noted that B.C. has the fewest number of households with air conditioning — just 32 per cent, compared to 61 per cent nationally. Among low-income households, that figure drops to 17 per cent. Until just a few days ago, landlords could still prohibit renters from installing portable air conditioners without penalty.

“The number of people vulnerable to an extreme heat event is expected to grow as census predictions show a steadily rising elderly population and an increasing share of one-person households,” the report noted. 

But earlier this year, the City of Vancouver discontinued its four-year-old cool kit program, which distributed water bottles, spray bottles, cooling gel packs and other useful things for those that needed them. Instead, the city has seemingly replaced this program with a list of tips for cooling down in the heat. Among the places they advise going to are the still-closed swimming and wading pools. 

As temperatures have risen in recent decades, Vancouver has lost pools: since 1993, four outdoor swimming pools have been decommissioned while adding just one, at Hillcrest Aquatic Centre. Kitsilano Pool, the city’s most popular outdoor pool, is nearing the end of its life and had its season shortened the last two summers due to repairs.

And last October, the city passed a budget cutting $120 million from various departments to spare homeowners a property tax increase. The Vancouver Park Board noted this would mean a $15 million cut to parks. It’s a cut that doesn’t bode well for the ability to improve water amenities in the summer.

Tightened budgets mean we also can’t extend pool operating hours or seasons, which also speak to an antiquated definition of summer that has yet to catch up with our new reality. Wading pools weren’t set to open for another few weeks — even before water restrictions put them on hold altogether. Three of the city’s five outdoor pools close on Labour Day. But high temperatures often persist well beyond that; last September was the hottest on record in Vancouver history. 

A representative for the city told The Narwhal that spray parks — which operate on demand — are more aligned with the city’s water conservation goals than wading pools, which must be filled and drained each day to comply with public health guidelines. A representative from the city told The Narwhal that one new spray park is being designed, while the renewal of another is scheduled to begin this fall. In addition, they wrote “funding is being sought for one or two new spray parks” in the forthcoming capital plan. Increases in spending on wading pools and spray parks since 2019, the city wrote, “reflects a shift toward more extensive repairs and renewals driven by the age and condition of existing infrastructure, as well as available funding.”

Of course, there are Vancouver’s many beaches. They’re free, numerous and open all year — but not always safe to enjoy. Last July, eight beaches were deemed unsafe due to E. coli levels. Even when they are open, they’re not accessible for everyone — like young children, those with mobility issues or anyone else who lives too far to drop by on a hot day — and a climate-resilient city should have cooling infrastructure in every neighbourhood, rather than expecting all its citizens to trek to the beach. 

Pools and outdoor water infrastructure aren’t things that are nice to have. They’re climate adaptations, even if “thermal respite,” or relief from extreme temperatures, is mentioned last among the reasons for pool use in Vancouver’s 2019 aquatic strategy. 

As in 2021, those most at risk from extreme heat this summer are the city’s most vulnerable: low-income and unhoused citizens, as well as the youngest and oldest among us. If only there were more places for them to escape the heat.

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The Sayisi Dene First Nation has purchased one of the largest hunting and fishing lodges in Manitoba’s Seal River Watershed, marking a return to the community’s traditional lands and an economic development opportunity for the northern nation. 

The Lodge at Little Duck sits nestled between Neganilini and Little Duck lakes, more than 1,000 kilometres north of Winnipeg. It is located in the Seal River Watershed, a 50,000-square-kilometre subarctic ecosystem relatively untouched by industrial development, and centred on the last major river in Manitoba without a hydroelectric dam. A network of provincial and federal parks has been proposed to protect the region. 

“The Sayisi Dene people have a real connection to the lands, especially around where the lodge sits,” Chief Kelly-Ann Thom-Duck said in an interview. “We have plans to use the area and see where it goes.” 

The fly-in only hunting, fishing and eco-tourism destination has its own airstrip, lounge and cabins. According to manager Shawn Paul, it regularly sees more than 100 guests every summer and fall for its guided caribou hunts and fishing trips.

After more than 40 years of operation under several ownership groups — most recently a shareholder group that included Winnipeg-based business scion James Richardson — the lodge was sold to the Sayisi Dene First Nation this spring. 

“It’s an amazing, full-circle event,” Paul said in an interview. “With the Sayisi Dene and their history at Little Duck Lake … and having the opportunity now to essentially own what was rightfully theirs — I think it’s spectacular.” 

The Sayisi Dene community was forcibly relocated in the 1950s

Thom-Duck said hunting and fishing trips will continue under the nation’s ownership, along with paddling expeditions and other eco-tourism experiences. But the Sayisi Dene also see an opportunity to use the lodge — and 18 square kilometres of nearby reserve lands formally transferred in 2024 — to help members reconnect to their roots.

The Sayisi Dene were historically nomadic, she explained, and spent summers living along the lake as they followed the Qamanirjuaq caribou herd. In 1956, the community was forcibly relocated to Churchill, Man., more than 200 kilometres away. 

The relocation was devastating; many of the impacts, Thom-Duck said, are still felt today.

When news of the lodge acquisition was announced in early May to a crowd of members that included several Elders who had experienced the relocation, Thom-Duck said the reaction was powerful. 

“There was just an outcry of joy, people were banging on tables and cheering, some people were crying,” she said. 

Community voices will be key to deciding the future of the lodge and nearby reserve lands, Thom-Duck said. While nothing will be formalized until consultations have taken place, she acknowledged there has been “a real outcry for our people to find treatment centres or healing land-based activities that could help them reconnect to identity.” 

Her vision is to see the lodge and nearby lands used both for the hunting, fishing and eco-tourism trips, and as a healing space for members. She would also like to see the lodge incorporate Dene laws and traditions so visitors can learn about the community’s culture and values. 

“That was a major driving point for the leadership here: going back to our homelands is a good opportunity for our local members to start that journey. At the same time, it operates as a hunting and fishing lodge, so there’s also opportunity for economic development,” Thom-Duck said.

The Seal River Watershed could be permanently protected under new proposal

The ownership transfer comes as the Sayisi Dene, Northlands Denesuline and Barren Lands First Nations, as well as the O-Pipon-Na-Piwin Cree Nation — united under the banner of the Seal River Watershed Alliance — are taking steps to establish the watershed as a protected area. 

As of this spring, the Manitoba government, federal government and governments of the allied First Nations have proposed a mosaic of federal and provincial parks that would permanently protect the watershed from industrial development while creating opportunities for tourism, job creation and Indigenous-led stewardship. 

For now, Paul said, it’s business as usual at The Lodge at Little Duck. He and his wife will be headed north to open the fishing lodge in the coming days.

“We’re excited about moving forward together with the new ownership, really looking forward to it,” he said. 

Julia-Simone Rutgers is a reporter covering environmental issues in Manitoba. Her position is part of a partnership between The Narwhal and the Winnipeg Free Press.

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One by one, snowmobiles pulling qamutiit — traditional wooden sleds — navigate their way through the snowy streets of Igloolik, Nvt.

There, on the ice of the nearby bay, nine teams of qimmiit (Inuit sled dogs) sit waiting amid the blowing snow.

It’s April 9 as the teams assemble at the start line for this year’s Nunavut Quest, the territory’s only major dogsled race.

But this year, bad weather has forced them to delay the teams’ start by two days.

The route will take the dogs, mushers and their support teams roughly 580 kilometres north over the course of a week.

The arduous journey takes them north — winding across sea ice, frozen lakes and rivers, before eventually arriving in Mittimatalik (Pond Inlet) the next week.

Nunavut Quest’s original rules were simple: the qamutiit must be four metres long, give or take 30 centimetres, and teams must have between 10 and 12 dogs secured to the sled with a traditional fan hitch.

Its origins trace back to 1999 — the year Nunavut was declared the country’s newest territory.

Home to just over 40,000 residents today, Nunavut spans roughly two million square kilometres — by far the largest of any province or territory, comprising a fifth of the entire country.

Just ahead of its founding, four residents of Ikpiarjuk (Arctic Bay) wanted to create a dogsled race as a one-off event to celebrate the historic event.

They initially called it the North Baffin Quest, a race open only to teams that used the official animal of the new territory: Inuit sled dogs.

The inaugural event was so successful that it was repeated the next year, but renamed Nunavut Quest.

An endangered tradition

The race has helped revitalize an endangered tradition.

In the 1950s and ’60s, the RCMP slaughtered more than 1,000 Inuit sled dogs across the North.

It was part of an onslaught of colonial acts Canada committed in the Arctic, including forced relocations and residential schools.

The RCMP claimed in 2006 that no coordinated dog slaughter ever even took place.

But the force later insisted it was actually done “for public health and safety reasons, in accordance with the law.”

But the 2007–2010 Inuit-led Qikiqtani Truth Commission “quickly and soundly rejected” the force’s assertions.

According to Inuit Tapiriit Kanatami, the national Inuit organization, the RCMP’s actual reason for the dog cull was “to terminate Inuit mobility.”

In 2019, Canada apologized to Inuit for what it admitted were “colonial,” “traumatic” and “harmful” abuses, including the mass killing of qimmiit.

The sled dog cull left families “haunted by painful stories of the loss of qimmiit … losing the ability to travel and hunt for food safely and effectively,” the federal government admitted, “becoming unable to feed your families.”

“The commission was mandated to look in particular at community relocations and the killing of qimmiit in the region,” the apology noted, but its mandate expanded to scrutinizing the overarching “massive and traumatic disruption” to Inuit life and culture.

Nunavut Quest’s funding is drawn from a qimmiit revitalization program set up after the commission to “connect Inuit to our traditional activities and culture.”

Sponsored by the Qikiqtani Inuit Association, Nunavut Quest now offers $100,000 in prizes.

Harnessing the power of dogs — and connectivity

This year’s race saw its nine qimuksiqtiit (dog-sledders) span generations — from seasoned veterans like 77-year-old Natalino Piugattuq, to relative newcomers like Jinneal Nanuraq Uttak.

Uttak only joined the race three years ago, but stunned fans when he won first place in both of his first two years.

Although the stars of the race are the qimuksiqtiit and their teams of sled dogs, they can’t win on their own.

Each racer is supported by two others who travel by snowmobile, along with other support drivers. Those teams create the trail mushers will follow each day, ranging from 55 kilometres to nearly 100 kilometres.

These support drivers — often mushers’ friends or family members — not only transport supplies such as food for the dogs, tents and other gear, but they also assist with overnight camp life and caring for the animals.

The camps reflect contemporary northern life.

Today’s amenities include generators, tracking devices and satellite internet dishes — allowing friends and family to share the experience with loved ones back home.

This year, like the last two years, a group of youth harnessed that technology to provide daily updates to local and national media outlets, sharing their experiences with classrooms across the country.

The youth also chronicled everything from encounters with caribou to whiteouts, a disorienting weather phenomenon where the horizon and landmarks disappear from sight.

The end of a journey

Eight days after leaving Igloolik, each of this year’s teams crosses the finish line in Mittimatalik, the first with just over 28 hours of race-time.

There, a large crowd greets each musher — hoisting them, qamutiik and all, off the ground in celebration.

At a closing ceremony several days later, officials announce the results of their 27th annual event.

Winning with an 88-minute lead, the $20,000 first-place prize goes to Jinneal Nanuraq Uttak.

For the up-and-coming rookie, it’s his third Nunavut Quest victory in a row.

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Summary

• The North Bay Parry Sound District Health Unit officially stopped testing water at public beaches.
• In place of testing, the health unit is updating public signage to warn swimmers of risks of heavy rainfall, murky water and large numbers of birds congregating — things that deteriorate water quality.
• Researchers and advocates argue beach water monitoring is important, especially as climate change makes cooling off in the water more necessary — and more hazardous, thanks to algal blooms and pathogens.

Kevin Marois wasn’t aware that the health unit spanning North Bay and Parry Sound, Ont., had stopped testing the water at local swimming spots.“I don’t think it’s a good decision,” Marois told The Narwhal after learning about it on a hot June day at Shabogesic Beach in North Bay. “Not having the information on water quality is the main [concern],” he said as he came out of the water, “And we know that there are problems with water quality during the summer.”

There were six harmful algal bloom events in the health unit’s area in 2025, and more than a dozen in 2024.

After announcing its plans earlier this year, the North Bay Parry Sound District Health Unit has officially stopped testing water at public beaches as of this summer. 

In its place, they’re offering public signage, which the health unit says will warn beachgoers to assess risks from recent heavy rainfall, visibly murky water or large numbers of birds in the water — all things that alter water quality and can make swimming unsafe due to high levels of E. coli or harmful algae.

Despite the updated signage, those who study beach water safety in Canada say ceasing testing could impact people’s ability to make informed decisions about safe swimming this summer. 

Meanwhile, researchers have argued a warming climate in Canada, including more severe summer heat waves, means swimmable water for people to cool off in is more important than ever. 

“We see changing climate patterns, we see urban heat island effects, we see heat domes, we see that there’s a tremendous need for community cooling spaces,” said Gregary Ford, vice-president and Lake Ontario Waterkeeper at Swim Drink Fish, an environmental non-profit that advocates for safe, usable water bodies. Its name comes from signs often posted on shorelines in Canada: no swimming, no fishing and no drinking. 

Ford explained that warmer temperatures and extreme weather events — a part of climate change, which is primarily driven by the burning of fossil fuels — also contribute to more harmful algal blooms and other pathogens that affect the health of the water and people who use it.

Health unit says water testing is resource-intensive and too slow

In March 2026, the North Bay health unit, which also covers Kearney, Nipissing and South River, sent a letter to member municipalities saying sampling the area’s 60 public beaches was too resource-intensive, and lab results took three or four days, limiting their usefulness when water conditions change quickly. The health unit also argued that the risk of illness from water recreation in the region is low. The water was only tested about three times each summer, it said.

Last year, Public Health Sudbury and Districts, a region which includes Manitoulin Island and French River, ended routine water sampling as well — one of many cuts made after the medical officer of health said their funding has not kept pace with inflation.

“Obviously, there are growing pressures on municipalities and public health units … and so we understand that compromises have to be made, but not in something that affects public health,” Ford said. “This is a trend that we see during periods of economic stress and strain … Unfortunately, as these scalebacks start happening, the public is left with less information about their water and, honestly, that becomes the most important part.”

Swim Drink Fish aggregates data from across swimming spots in North America into an app called Swim Guide. But these helpful third-party tools rely on local data collected by public health departments.

“It’s really important that municipalities also provide historical data, even if they’re not sampling today. They should at least publicly make available the data and information that has been collected over the last five years, the last 10 years, so people can still make a somewhat informed decision about where they spend their time,” Ford said. That’s not something made available by the North Bay Parry Sound Health Unit, either.

There are options for protecting beachgoers, but they can’t replace testing: experts

A recent study from Toronto Metropolitan University, which surveyed 4,085 beachgoers at seven beaches in Canada between 2023 and 2025, found that about 2.6 per cent of swimmers reported becoming sick, with children and elderly people facing higher risk of “recreational water illness,” such as stomach issues, ear and eye infections or rashes.

Ian Young, principal investigator on the Canadian Beach Cohort Study, tracking recreational water illness across Canada, said despite that low risk, “having a solid monitoring plan is important to give people confidence in the beach.”

He pointed to other methods being used across the country to help combat the slow, unreliable nature of current testing. For example, at Bluffer’s Park Beach in Scarborough, Ont., the City of Toronto implemented a bird management program, involving removing sources of food and training dogs to spur geese into flight, once they realized a substantial amount of the E. coli in the water at the beach was caused by birds.

Ford, from Swim Drink Fish, has seen other solutions; municipalities like Kingston and Hamilton are trying out new technology that alerts citizens in real-time when sewers and sewer bypasses are overflowing and contaminating beach water. But, he said, this does not replace the need for monitoring.

“It is a far second in terms of a solution. The best solution is to be continuing and continuously monitoring these beaches,” Ford said. “Resources can be stretched thin at times. This is a public health interest, it is a tourism interest and it is an individual health and wellness interest as well. So, this should be a priority for public health units, and it’s disappointing to see some of these decisions that are being made.”

To help mitigate risk, North Bay’s health unit recommends swimmers wash or sanitize hands before eating after swimming, towel off well to help prevent swimmer’s itch, check for hazards before entering the water and avoid getting water in their mouths.

But North Bay resident Ashley Brooker, standing at the shore of Lake Nipissing, said she still doesn’t feel good about the testing changes. “I am a risk-taker, but that doesn’t mean that I want to risk getting sick or catching something,” she said. “Safety is a big thing, and if we’re putting our tax money into something then we should be getting the resources back.”

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The Narwhal is proud to be the recipient of four medals — including two gold — at the 2026 Digital Publishing Awards and National Magazine Awards, which were announced in Toronto on June 5.

The Narwhal took home a gold medal in the general excellence category of the Digital Publishing Awards, a prize that honours top Canadian publishers for representing “the highest journalistic standards” and “maximizing the possibilities afforded by the medium of digital publishing.” The Narwhal last won a gold in the general excellence category in 2021.

“2025 was a big, ambitious year for The Narwhal,” executive editor Denise Balkissoon said. “Our entire team — from our reporters to our operations team — should feel proud of our efforts to publish deep, inspiring stories about the natural world that resonate with people in Canada.”

Highlights from The Narwhal in 2025 included a massive growth in our YouTube and TikTok audiences following an investment in video storytelling, as well as several high-profile and impactful collaborations with other media outlets, including the CBC and the Investigative Journalism Foundation. A story on the proposed expansion of the Port of Montreal became our first one translated into French. Last year also saw The Narwhal’s pod of monthly and annual donors grow to over 7,200 members by the end of the year.

“We couldn’t be delivering some of the country’s best environmental journalism if it weren’t for our dedicated members,” Balkissoon said. “We continue to be humbled by their generous support.”

A gold medal for best climate change coverage

The Narwhal also took home a gold medal in the climate change reporting category of the Digital Publishing Awards, for Chloe Williams’ and Gavin John’s vivid portrayal of one Arctic community’s adaptation to climate change. 

Reporting from the annual spring festival in Cambridge Bay, Nvt., Williams and John documented the threat climate change poses to Inuit sea ice traditions, as well as a possible solution that could preserve the region’s sea ice for another generation. Their story was “a clear-eyed and empathetic examination of the people at the heart of the warming Arctic,” bureau chief Michelle Cyca said.

A silver medal for Ainslie Cruickshank’s data-driven investigation into animal fatalities on B.C. railroads and eight honourable mentions for a range of other stories rounded out an impressive showing for The Narwhal at the Digital Publishing Awards.

At the National Magazine Awards, The Narwhal earned a silver medal in the investigative reporting category for a piece by Prairies reporter Drew Anderson that revealed who was behind the delinquent oil and gas companies costing Alberta millions of dollars.

An honourable mention was awarded in the service journalism category for Canice Leung’s myth-busting explainer on managing menstruation in the wilderness.

The Narwhal wishes to thank the National Media Awards Foundation for spotlighting and celebrating Canadian journalism and we extend our congratulations to the other winners and nominees.

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.

“There are strange things done in the midnight sun by the men who moil for gold,” penned the poet Robert Service about the Klondike Gold Rush. Between 1897 and 1899, around 100,000 people voyaged to the Yukon with the dream of striking it rich.

But perhaps the strangest thing yet: 127 years later, Yukon mining is still governed by laws drafted for the Gold Rush era. 

In 2025, placer miners — like that gold-panner you’re probably already picturing — harvested $449 million in gold revenue from the territory while the Yukon government took home $33,000 in royalties — taxes earned from said mining.

Yes, you read that correctly: $33,000. Another way, perhaps, to say “fool’s gold.”

The Placer Mining Act was created in 1906 when gold was worth $15 an ounce. It requires placer miners, who extract heavy minerals from loose sediment — typically in rivers or streambeds — rather than digging them out of solid rock, to pay the government 37.5 cents for every ounce of gold they get. Today, the price of gold ranges from $6,150 to $6,500 an ounce.

And antiquated royalty laws are just the tip of the iceberg.

The Yukon’s mining legislation is “grossly outdated,” Sebastian Jones says. A fish and wildlife habitat analyst at the Yukon Conservation Society, Jones says the Yukon’s mining legislation should be “top of mind” for Canadians to understand at a time when all eyes are fixed on critical minerals in the North — and when new mines are being approved by the Yukon and federal governments.

Up here, the habitat of threatened Woodland caribou is already under pressure, while First Nations are dealing with the environmental damage of legacy mines and determined to enforce their territorial rights.

More than one Yukoner warned me that writing about mining in the Yukon is like opening a can of worms. Or a whole barrel, for that matter.

How is mining regulated in the Yukon, which mines are being approved and what’s really at stake?

Grab a can opener, folks.

Let’s get into it.

Two acts govern mining activities in the Yukon — both fundamentally fail to address First Nations land treaties

The rules that govern mining in the territory are divided into two documents: the Placer Mining Act, which governs those surface miners, and the Quartz Mining Act, which governs the extraction of minerals from within rocks by blasting, drilling or heap leaching. (We’ll get into heap leaching in a bit.)

A major gap in the Yukon’s outdated mining acts is any mention of the modern-day context of First Nations self-governance and rights. 

Eleven of the 14 First Nations in the Yukon have signed land-claim agreements under the Umbrella Final Agreement, one of the most important political and legal frameworks in the territory, which came into effect in 1993. The agreement recognizes seven regions and recommends land-use planning within those regions — legal agreements with First Nations governments and the Yukon government to define what activities, mining included, will be allowed where and by whom.

Since 1993, only two land-use plans have been completed in the Yukon, with a third currently in review.

What does this have to do with mining and outdated mining legislation? Well, pretty much everything.

What is free-entry staking and why does it matter?

Free-entry staking, yet another colonial holdover from the Gold Rush, allows anyone — literally anyone over the age of 18; you don’t have to be a Yukoner or even a Canadian — to stake and record a mineral claim that gives them the right to explore for minerals in the area.

Mining claims staked during the Klondike Gold Rush, for example, still have legal jurisdiction, even if they aren’t being actively developed or exploited.

These staked claims are creating enormous legal complexity. And it’s a big part of the reason why land-use planning has been delayed.

First Nations governments, including the Na-Cho Nyäk Dun, have called for a cessation of all mining activities on their traditional territory, including the exploration and development of existing and proposed claims, until their land-use plan is completed.

Meanwhile, the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in First Nation has taken it one step further. They’re suing the Yukon government for the mismanagement of hundreds of idle mineral claims that were staked before their land-claim agreement was signed in 1998. The First Nation argues the idle claims weren’t properly cleared out or cancelled, and have since caused environmental damages on their traditional territory.

Is change on the horizon?

In 2021, the Yukon government, led by the Liberal party, began meeting with First Nations, industry and other stakeholders. The goal? Develop new legislation to replace both the Placer Mining Act and Quartz Mining Act.

In September 2025, CBC North got its hands on a 30-page draft document using the territory’s access to information laws. The plan was to make major changes to the free-entry system. Staking a claim would no longer automatically grant mineral rights. Only after a certain amount of exploration was done could prospectors apply for mineral rights, and if they wanted to go ahead they’d need authorization from the Yukon government and First Nations.

But then came an election. In November 2025, the Liberals lost power after three successive terms. The conservative-leaning Yukon Party took the reins, winning the largest majority in the territory’s history. It’s unclear if any parts of the draft document are still being considered.

Premier Currie Dixon, leader of the Yukon Party, campaigned on bolstering the mining industry and tells me modernizing the Yukon’s outdated laws is a priority for his government. He cites a long list of issues from the way mines are assessed, regulated and monitored, along with processes for ensuring that companies adhere to regulations. “We’re hopeful that we’ll be able to find a way to engage with First Nations through a process that will lead us to a new mineral legislation sometime in 2028,” he says.

What projects are being approved?

For those concerned with Indigenous Rights and environmental issues, the new legislation can’t come soon enough — particularly as the Yukon government approves new mines.

In mid-April, the Yukon and federal governments approved the Kudz Ze Kayah mine, a proposed zinc, copper and lead mine, owned by Vancouver-based BMC Minerals. 

The proposed mine is located 115 kilometres south-east of the community of Ross River on the traditional territories of the Kaska First Nations. The Ross River Dena Council has expressed fierce opposition to the project.

The Kudz Ze Kayah mine, Jones says, would be “right slap in the middle” of a threatened caribou herd’s range. The Finlayson caribou, a woodland caribou herd, was recently declared a “living ecological person” by the Ross River Dena Council, which grants caribou the inherent rights to thrive in their natural range and be legally protected from industrial harms. 

Yukoners are also paying close attention to the Coffee Gold Mine, located 130 kilometres south of Dawson City on the traditional territory of the Tr’ondëk Hwëch’in and Selkirk First Nation and on the claimed traditional territory of White River First Nation. It’s getting closer to obtaining the necessary permits to start building.

Who is going to clean up the mess?

While past and present Yukon governments continue to tout the economic development benefits of mines, the territory is paying millions of dollars to clean up a long list of failed and abandoned mines. 

In 2024, the Yukon government paid nearly $190 million for mine remediation. That didn’t include the cost of the Eagle Mine disaster, one of the biggest mine failures in the territory’s history, which occurred on June 24, 2024.

The Eagle Mine, formerly owned by Victoria Gold, is located near the community of Mayo in north-central Yukon on the territory of the Na-Cho Nyäk Dun First Nation. It’s a gold mining operation that uses a technique called “heap leaching.” 

To understand what that looks like, think of a pour-over coffee. Heap leaching involves crushing rock, piling it on top of an impervious liner pad and then pouring a cyanide-liquid over the heap that selectively targets the gold, dissolving it into a liquid that pools in the pad. It’s relatively common in the Yukon because it’s cheaper than drilling or blasting. Companies extract the ‘liquid gold’ from beneath the pile and pump it out to be processed. The remaining ore stays piled and enclosed by containment berms.

The Eagle Mine disaster happened when one of those protective berms suddenly collapsed, causing a massive landslide of cyanide-contaminated ore. An independent review found that 1.8 million tonnes of contaminated material spilled into nearby Haggart Creek and the surrounding groundwater.

All operations were immediately halted, while Victoria Gold, unable to afford environmental clean-up, entered into a court-ordered receivership and filed for bankruptcy. It took a full month after the initial failure for the government to begin groundwater remediation. 

Kate White, leader of the NDP, the official opposition party in the Yukon, describes the events of the Eagle Mine failure as “the biggest environmental disaster” the territory has seen. “No one knows the full cost … no one will know what has leached into the water,” White says.

The costs to clean up the mess are projected to reach upwards of $377.5 million by this fall, with a $220-million payout from the Yukon government. 

In December 2025, the Na-Cho Nyäk Dun filed a $150-million lawsuit against the Yukon and federal governments, claiming treaty obligations were not upheld and the Eagle Mine was not adequately regulated. In a letter penned to the Auditor General of Canada, the Nah-Cho Nyäk Dun blamed the Yukon government’s “lax approach to permitting, compliance, monitoring and enforcement of mineral activity in the Yukon.” The First Nation is also calling for a public inquiry.

Yukon’s modern-day ‘mineral rush’ despite century-old legislation

It’s hard to keep up with the number of mines currently being advanced in the Yukon. The list is long and projects are at various stages of development.

In Whitehorse, residents don’t have to look beyond the city limits to encounter drilling sites. Gladiator Metals, a B.C.-based company, has been looking for copper, silver and gold in Whitehorse since 2023. In April, the Yukon government approved the company to expand exploration, with some drilling sites located only 800 metres away from residential areas.

The Casino Mine — what would be one of the biggest open-pit copper, silver, and gold mines in the Yukon’s history — is currently under review by the Yukon’s environmental and socio-economic assessment board. The mine is owned by Western Copper and Gold Corporation, a Vancouver-based company.

And then there’s the Mactung mine, owned by Fireweed Metals, which is one of the world’s largest-known deposits of high-grade tungsten. 

What is tungsten? It’s an exceptionally hard, heat-resistant metal that’s sought after for industrial and military manufacturing. Tungsten replaces lead in ammunition. It’s used to make rocket engine nozzles and aircraft parts.

The Mactung mine, located at the end of the North Canol road near the Yukon-Northwest Territories border, is drawing major investment from the Canadian and U.S. governments.

In 2024, Canada and the U.S. Department of Defense announced they’d be investing a combined $35 million toward studies and designs for improving the North Canol road and connecting the electrical transmission line to power operations.

Over a century may have passed since the Klondike Gold Rush, but perhaps it’s never really ended in the Yukon — it’s just traded gold pans for open-pit mines. Today’s national agenda is resulting in a new rush for critical minerals yet the Yukon’s mining legislation remains a century behind.

Updated June 9, 2026 at 9:35 a.m. PT: A previous version of this story stated that in 2025, placer miners harvested $449,000 million in gold revenue from the Yukon. The correct figure is $449 million.

Updated June 11, 2026 at 4:25 p.m. PT: The Yukon Environmental and Socio-economic Assessment Board was previously misidentified as “the Yukon environmental and social assessment board.”

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

• B.C. is preparing to overhaul its natural gas royalty system, which determines how much revenue the government earns from the industry, by 2027.
• The government is promising a better return for taxpayers while industry warns higher rates could drive investment to Alberta.
• The debate comes as some advocates argue B.C. should collect more from gas companies who are using public lands for profit.

As B.C. readies to change what it charges fossil fuel companies extracting natural gas from public lands, industry supporters are pushing back.

B.C. has been eyeing changes to its natural gas royalty structure since 2021 when an independent assessment found the existing system needed a complete overhaul. The old system was “contributing to or possibly overcompensating” for the costs of developing oil and gas in B.C., the assessment concluded, which hugely reduced royalties returned to the public.

Details on how the new framework will increase royalties have yet to be released.

According to BC Conservative Labour critic Kiel Giddens, it risks “chasing away investment potential.” He raised the issue in the legislature on the final day of the spring sitting, saying if B.C.’s new royalties are too high, gas producers could move their operations to Alberta.

“There is a real risk that we could actually lose revenue if we’re not competitive,” Giddens told reporters.

Green Party MLA Jeremy Valeriote had a different take. 

“If Alberta wants to sell off their public resources for a song, then we should let them,” he told reporters at the legislature. “We should be standing up for competitiveness in terms of getting the most out of our resources.”

Energy and Climate Solutions Minister Adrian Dix is confident the new royalty system will strike a better balance for both the industry and British Columbians.

“To ensure a fair return … but also a situation where the industry can prosper and invest — those are my two goals in the process,” Dix said.

The new royalty system is emerging alongside B.C.’s burgeoning liquefied natural gas (LNG) industry. LNG Canada, the first production facility to begin operating in B.C., began shipping its product to Asian markets last year — although the facility has experienced equipment issues that have reduced its production capacity. The B.C. and Canadian governments are eagerly anticipating a final investment decision on Phase 2 of the facility, which will double its capacity to 14 million tonnes of LNG per year.

Meanwhile, three other B.C.-based LNG projects are moving toward being operational before 2030. Together, these LNG production facilities will create a significant boom in gas demand, one the industry is keen to capitalize on.

On April 9, Dix sent a letter to industry stakeholders, as originally reported by DOB Energy. The letter, obtained by The Narwhal after Dix’s ministry refused to provide a copy, acknowledged the feedback included several key themes, such as “the need for reliable B.C. gas supply to underpin existing and future LNG projects.”

Dix also emphasized the government’s commitment to “the growth of LNG as a cornerstone of B.C.’s economic strategy.” 

“A strong, investable upstream sector is essential to realizing this opportunity,” he wrote.

How much revenue does B.C. earn from royalties? Probably less than you think

The new royalty system is set to take effect on Jan. 1, 2027, following years of consultations with the industry and First Nations, as well as members of the public.

Royalties are supposed to give British Columbians a share of the profits that private companies earn by pumping oil and gas from public lands. B.C.’s previous royalty regime was criticized on that front because it offered companies a generous suite of credits that could reduce their royalty payments.

In 2022, B.C. announced the end of several of those credits, including the deep well credit, which former Premier John Horgan described as “the largest fossil-fuel subsidy in British Columbia.” 

At that point, the province had given away more than $7 billion in credits to oil and gas producers, with $3.75 billion of those still on the books. Companies are able to use those credits to reduce the royalties they would otherwise pay; money that would have gone into the provincial budget to fund other initiatives. (As of last month, companies had yet to claim about $600 million in credits, according to Dix.)The billions in credits contrast with the revenue B.C. actually collects from natural gas producers. Budget documents show B.C. has collected $5 billion in royalty revenue from gas producers since 2019, nearly half of that in 2022. This year, the province expects to collect $942 million in royalty revenue — less than it projects the BC Lottery Corporation will earn. Next year, royalty revenue is expected to hit $1.6 billion, driven by higher natural gas production.

“I think the dirty little secret of oil and gas is that they don’t contribute a ton in taxes,” Sven Biggs, Stand.earth’s Canadian oil and gas programs director, said. “There is not tons of economic activity actually connected to this [industry].”

The majority of B.C.’s oil and gas operations are concentrated in the northeast, where agricultural fields are criss-crossed by pipelines and studded with well pads. Oil and gas is a way of life for many Peace Region residents but it also comes with downsides. Fracking operations use huge amounts of water to extract gas from the ground, a process that can also leak gas and chemicals into the air and water. The Canadian Association of Physicians for the Environment has called for the B.C. and federal governments to fund a health impact assessment of the LNG sector to assess links between the industry’s activities and “asthma, heart disease, birth defects, childhood leukemia, neurodevelopmental and neurodegenerative diseases like autism and Alzheimer’s.”

Beyond royalties, Biggs argues B.C. should also be seeking to recoup the cost of the industry’s environmental and potential health impacts.

“All of those costs get passed on to us if they are not paying,” he said. “Technically this gas belongs to British Columbia — it’s a Crown resource and we are licensing it to these extraction companies.”

Complaints about competitiveness ‘a smokescreen,’ advocate says

The new system the province is proposing would take into account the money companies invest in their B.C. operations, as well as the money those operations make, called a revenue minus cost system. This approach is “globally recognized for maximizing economic values,” according to a B.C. government website.

Adopting a revenue minus cost system would bring B.C. into alignment with other gas-producing places, including Alberta, notes Werner Antweiler, an economics professor at the University of British Columbia’s Sauder School of Business.

When the province began reviewing the royalty regime, the plan was to capture “50 per cent of profits after production costs are accounted for” — a pretty standard split in other jurisdictions, according to Antweiler.

“When you calculate revenue minus cost, revenue is pretty simple [because] you can see what the market pays,” Antweiler said. “The cost, that’s a different thing. … Anything that’s increasing costs will reduce profits and will lower the royalty. So one of the key questions that I have is to what extent are we calculating costs the same way as other jurisdictions?”

Depending on how costs are calculated, companies may pay only 30 or 40 per cent of their profits to governments in royalties, Antweiler said.

As for BC Conservative Labour critic Giddens’ warning about companies moving to Alberta, Biggs said those warnings are “a smoke screen from the industry.” He noted gas companies have been investing in B.C. for years — a trend partly sparked when Alberta implemented a new royalty regime in 2016.

“I don’t see a way that they can walk away from those at this point,” he said. “It would be a huge write-down. Alberta could produce more gas — hypothetically, but not really enough to meet the kind of demand we’re talking about.”

However, Biggs worries that governments remain susceptible to threats that an entire industry will “pack up and leave town and blame the administration for the lack of investment.”

“It works very well on them every time,” he said.

Years ago, when B.C. was working to lure gas companies to set up shop in the province, offering competitive royalty rates was a key advantage, Antweiler said.

“As the industry has matured, there’s really no reason to continue treating them better than their peers in Alberta.”

‘No decision has been made yet’ on B.C.’s new natural gas royalty regime

Industry priorities have already prompted the government to back down on a couple of proposed royalty scenarios, as Dix’s April letter shows.

“The province will not be advancing the Transition-Plus or Enhanced Return royalty curve scenarios further,” Dix wrote in the letter. “We acknowledge the concerns raised about the magnitude of change associated with those scenarios and the uncertainty they could introduce at this stage. Any further scenarios will consider your feedback as we work to align with the objectives of the new royalty framework.”

The Energy Ministry did not respond to The Narwhal’s questions about the letter, including a request for a description of the Transition-Plus and Enhanced Return scenarios.

Antweiler noted the two scenarios are similar to interim royalty rates outlined in 2022 under which companies pay higher royalties when gas prices are high and lower rates kick in when prices drop. The revenue minus cost system is simpler, he said, and could still give B.C. a good rate of return, depending on how it is designed

“It makes sense to me to move away from just an update of the existing system and to something that’s really robust and economically cohesive,” he said. “That’s exactly what other jurisdictions — like Alberta — are doing.”

Antweiler hasn’t seen the specific rate scenarios the province has been discussing with industry stakeholders. Those are covered by non-disclosure agreements, as Giddens pointed out to reporters.

Dix said non-disclosure agreements, known as NDAs, are a standard part of government consultations with both First Nations and industry stakeholders.

“The energy companies provide information to us about the impact of different possible royalty regimes and differences that are obviously commercially sensitive, so that’s done under NDA,” Dix said. “We put forward different proposals and asked them to comment on different potential proposals, just to see what the impact is on different companies.”

“I think that’s really irresponsible,” the Green Party’s Valeriote said of the government’s apparent concession on the two royalty scenarios. “I think we should be extracting the most value for the B.C. public out of these public resources, and caving into lobbyists and others who want to make it easier to make big profits, it’s just not good public policy.”

“No decision has been made,” Dix said when asked about the letter in the legislature on May 28.

“A lot of work has gone into the process and now we’re in the consultation stage,” he added. “This included extensive consultation with Treaty 8 First Nations and with energy companies.”

The minister told reporters he hopes to have a final decision on the new natural gas royalties later in June.

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

• Urban forests cool city streets, sequester and store carbon and absorb stormwater runoff, among other benefits.
• But city trees face compounding stressors, from disease and pests to heat waves and droughts, which makes looking after them an intensive process.
• In Winnipeg, the municipal government has increased its efforts to nurture the urban forest, with a goal of growing canopy coverage to 24 per cent by 2065.

Only a handful of years ago, the outlook for Winnipeg’s iconic urban forest was grim. 

The ash and elm-dominated canopy, best known for its elegant boulevard archways, had fallen into the clutches of Dutch elm disease and a scourge of emerald ash borer beetles. The city was losing public trees far faster than they could be replaced, planting just one tree for every three removed, according to the city’s 2021 “State of the Urban Forest” report.

But the introduction of Winnipeg’s urban forest strategy in 2023 changed the trajectory. 

The comprehensive planning document laid out a 20-year path to restore forest health, grow the city’s picturesque tree canopy and minimize the risks to tree assets.  

In response, the city hired more forestry staff and increased the department’s spending from approximately $11 million (where it had hovered since 2016) to an average of more than $17 million between 2023 and 2025, according to a review of city budgets.

Results followed: Winnipeg had planted an average 2,500 public trees each year between 2018 and 2022. In the years since the urban forest strategy was finalized, it has planted more than 6,000 per year.

Since 2023, the city has replaced felled trees on public lands at about a one-to-one pace (though this does not account for trees on private property or in natural areas such as the Assiniboine forest or the city’s riverbanks). 

But planting alone does not guarantee Winnipeg will make progress toward the urban forest strategy’s ultimate goal: to grow the city’s tree canopy cover from 17 to 24 per cent by 2065. 

Young trees must survive heat waves, droughts, severe storms, pests and disease to reach maturity and deliver the full benefits of the urban canopy. 

How a municipality cares for its trees — especially under increasing climate pressures — is just as critical to forest health as planting.

Planting a tree is just the first step. Then comes the weekly watering and the hand-weeding

According to Dave Domke, Winnipeg’s manager of parks and open space, the city’s trees are managed by a mosaic of forest stewards. Trees in new neighbourhoods are planted and maintained by developers, while the city’s urban forestry crews are responsible for replacing felled trees on boulevards or in parks. 

Community groups, neighbourhood associations and volunteers also plant and care for smaller trees in natural areas. Typically, these trees are planted as seedlings.

Domke calls the bigger trees the city looks after “large, ornamental trees.” These trees leave the nurseries when they are between seven and 10 years old and their trunks have grown to a 60-millimetre diameter.

“They need to be a substantial size in order to withstand our snow,” Domke said in an interview. “It also gives a nice aesthetic and it’s quite a nice size to grow on into the future.” 

After planting, volunteer groups, developers and city staff are then responsible for two years of dedicated tree maintenance called the “establishment period.”

“When you remove a tree from the nursery, you’re leaving about 80 per cent of the roots in the ground. You’re trying to get the trees re-established as quickly as you can,” Domke said.

During this time, trees are watered, weeded, mulched and protected according to a detailed list laid out in the city’s tree-planting and maintenance specification. 

Crews are expected to water trees immediately upon planting, then every one to two weeks throughout the summer. Trees should be hand-weeded during this time, the specifications say, and supported with protection collars and stakes.

Domke said the city’s maintenance work has been successful. Newly planted trees on boulevards and in parks survive about 90 per cent of the time, he said, about on par with the city’s expectations. 

Smaller trees in natural areas have a much lower survival rate, between 50 and 80 per cent, because they face more environmental challenges, he noted. The city compensates for the higher mortality rate by over-planting trees in these areas.

“We’re dealing with living things here, and you’re not going to be 100 per cent successful,” he said.

A healthy urban tree cools city streets and sequesters carbon — and costs at least $1,000

Healthy and mature trees provide a variety of environmental, health and affordability benefits to communities. 

A robust tree canopy provides shade, which can cool city streets, reduce the risk of heat-related illness and reduce air conditioner use by up to 30 per cent, according to the urban forest strategy. Winnipeg’s forest also stores an estimated 500,000 tonnes of carbon and sequesters nearly 40,000 tonnes of carbon dioxide each year — roughly double the city’s annual emissions from building electricity. At the same time, the city’s trees scrub pollutants from the air and produce approximately 15,000 tonnes of oxygen annually. Trees also absorb stormwater runoff, reducing strain on sewer systems.

But these benefits don’t come without maintenance, according to the Green Municipal Fund, an endowment group that supports Canadian municipalities investing in sustainability projects, including urban forestry initiatives. 

“Trees should be considered valuable natural assets, and like all assets they require maintenance,” communications director Julie Smithers said in an email.

But unlike traditional, grey infrastructure, which has a peak value when it’s first installed and deteriorates over its lifetime, trees are least valuable when first planted, but mature into their peak value over a period of several decades. 

“Given that the benefits of trees grow with time, maximizing their health and life expectancy is essential,” Winnipeg’s urban forest strategy says. “Tree assets cost the most at the beginning and end of their life cycles (planting and removal), so extending their time in healthy maturity ensures the urban forest maximizes the return on investment in tree planting and maintenance.”

The strategy gives the example of a single linden tree planted on a Winnipeg street: the city pays for its planting and annual maintenance until its removal. If it lives a long life, the strategy says, it will produce enough benefits — including carbon storage, avoided runoff, energy savings and pollution scrubbing — to give the city a positive return on its investment. 

But if it dies before maturity and must be repeatedly replaced, that single linden tree can cost the city a net loss of $18,000 over 100 years. That figure doesn’t account for the lost opportunity costs of having a healthy, mature tree over the same time period.

Climate change makes maintenance more challenging. More frequent storms mean more pruning is necessary, and more frequent droughts and heat waves necessitate more watering — especially for young, vulnerable trees. 

While the city does not have exact figures outlining the cost to maintain a tree throughout its lifetime, Domke said the average public tree costs roughly $1,000 to plant and care for through the establishment period.

Winnipeg’s public tree inventory valued at up to $740 million

Winnipeg has used that $1,000 figure, called the replacement cost, as a baseline to define the value of its trees. The city’s 2018 asset management plan valued the public tree inventory at just $226 million, based on a replacement cost of $740 at the time.

“This replacement valuation did not account for the fact trees grow and their value increases with size, age and health,” the urban forest strategy noted. 

“Valuing trees based on their size and condition would provide a better indication of the true cost of replacing Winnipeg’s tree assets, and the cost avoided by investing in maintenance to maximize their safe useful life expectancy.”

The forestry strategy recommended valuing trees according to a diameter-based replacement system, which it already employed for trees removed for construction. Small trees, with diameters of less than 10 centimetres, are valued at $1,000, while larger trees must be appraised according to a standardized formula.

According to the strategy, this approach pegs the value of the city’s tree inventory between $683 million and $740 million — more than double the asset management plan’s previous assessment.

Cities across Canada are employing tree appraisals and other natural asset valuation systems to better account for the benefits of urban forests, according to Tree Canada, a national rural and urban forestry non-profit. 

Using remote sensing and mapping technologies, as well as on-the-ground sampling, cities are better able to quantify the ecological and economic benefits of the forest canopy, Tree Canada notes in its urban forestry guide. 

These valuations make it easier for municipalities to measure the return on investment in tree maintenance.

In 2014, TD Economics estimated the ecological and economic value of forests in Toronto, Vancouver, Halifax and Montreal, and found every dollar invested in maintenance generated between $1.88 and $12.70 in benefits. 

A similar valuation strategy is on the horizon in Winnipeg, Domke said. The city is planning a flyover to analyze the tree canopy cover and support a more robust quantification of the forest’s value. 

“We all know they look good and are beautiful, but how much carbon sequestration are they undertaking? How much of the stormwater sewer management do they contribute to? What oxygen production is coming out?” Domke said. 

“These are the kinds of things that other cities have started to quantify, and Winnipeg is now on the road to doing that.”

Julia-Simone Rutgers is a reporter covering environmental issues in Manitoba. Her position is part of a partnership between The Narwhal and the Winnipeg Free Press.

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 Oil Sands Alliance, formerly known as the Pathways Alliance, represents the largest companies operating in the Alberta oilsands.
• Since 2021, the alliance has promised a huge carbon capture project that will reduce oilsands emissions by 68 megatonnes each year, three-quarters of the industrial region’s total.
• In the finalized memorandum of understanding between the Alberta and federal governments, that number has been quietly reduced to just 16 megatonnes annually, a reduction of 77 per cent from the initial promise.

Five years ago, the five largest oilsands producers promised their operations would be net-zero by 2050. The claims were huge: a massive carbon capture and storage project would store 68 million tonnes of carbon emissions deep underground each year. 

Now, with a memorandum signed between Alberta and Ottawa to facilitate a new oilsands pipeline to the West Coast and promises of billions in tax credits to support the project, those promises have plummeted. 

In the agreement, finalized in May, it’s anticipated those same producers will capture 16 million tonnes annually by 2045, a decline of 77 per cent from the original claim.

The pledge to achieve net-zero emissions in the oilsands was part of an intense pitch to governments over the past five years, alongside major lobbying to provide financial support for what could be the largest carbon capture project in the world.

It was put forward by the Pathways Alliance — now renamed the Oil Sands Alliance — made up of the largest companies operating in the Alberta oilsands: Suncor, Cenovus, Canadian Natural Resources, Imperial Oil and ConocoPhillips. 

The federal and provincial governments have now both unveiled tax credits for carbon capture, rolled back environmental regulations aimed at tackling emissions, pledged to fast-track projects and signed an agreement to aggressively push a new pipeline through British Columbia, even without a company willing to build it. 

Patrick McCurdy, a professor of communications at the University of Ottawa who has studied environmental claims by the alliance of oilsands companies, said the walkback fits into a larger pattern of greenwashing — a method in which companies mislead the public through those claims. 

He said the companies will “say whatever is politically convenient and what they can get away with” to build the social licence needed to keep producing oil. 

“They have that now with [Prime Minister Mark] Carney,” he said.

Academic paper found ‘numerous indicators of greenwashing’ in carbon capture project’s messaging

The coalition of companies, then called Pathways Alliance, explicitly called for reductions of 68 megatonnes of emissions per year and celebrated the goal in news releases, editorials and widespread advertising campaigns.The project would be built in three phases, each phase capturing between 21 and 25 megatonnes per year, according to those early pledges. One megatonne is one million tonnes.

As late as December of last year, the Alberta government used the 68 megatonne figure in a presentation to U.S. lawmakers highlighting Alberta’s energy potential.

McCurdy has studied the claims of the Oil Sands Alliance since its inception and co-published a paper in 2023 focused on how it greenwashes information. 

The paper’s conclusion was unequivocal. 

“There are numerous indicators of greenwashing in Pathways Alliance’s public communication,” it reads. “Their messaging omits important information, uses misleading framing and comparisons, and fails to meet standards expected of a credible net-zero plan.”

It says the alliance’s environmental, social and governance claims should raise concern about the viability of its carbon capture and storage project.

Canada does have laws about greenwashing — though they were walked back by the Carney government last year. When those laws passed, Pathways wiped many environmental promises from its website. The anti-greenwashing provisions, part of the federal Competition Act, had been created in part to address the issue of companies advertising they were headed toward net-zero emissions while not presenting evidence showing they were taking any significant steps toward cutting their carbon pollution.

In an interview, McCurdy said it’s typical for oil and gas companies to make big public promises and then lobby behind the scenes to move the yardsticks. 

“I imagine they’re able to reduce these numbers, or change the numbers … because the social licence doesn’t seem to be threatened in the same way it was before,” he said.

The Oil Sands Alliance did not respond to questions from The Narwhal.

The office of Alberta Premier Danielle Smith and the Alberta Environment and Protected Areas Minister Grant Hunter did not respond to emailed questions. 

The federal Privy Council Office did reply, but did not directly answer any of the emailed questions, instead highlighting the balance between economic growth and emissions reductions.

When asked if the federal government is confident the project can achieve the lowered target of 16 megatonnes, Pierre Cuguen, a spokesperson for the Privy Council Office, said the country already has operating carbon capture and storage projects that prove the technology can work in real-world conditions, while noting it aims to be the largest carbon capture project in the world. 

“Pathways will continue to go through detailed design work, regulatory review and investment decisions as the project moves forward,” he wrote.

The oilsands account for a third of all emissions in Alberta

The memorandum of understanding between Ottawa and Alberta finalized terms for everything from an industrial carbon price to building out a national electricity grid, but the terms related to the Pathways carbon capture project still require a three-way agreement with the companies behind the scheme. 

But the governments reaffirmed “their shared objective” of the project reducing emissions by 16 megatonnes annually by 2045, starting with six megatonnes when the project comes online in 2035. 

The oilsands emit approximately 90 megatonnes of emissions each year, almost 33 per cent of all emissions in Alberta. Since 2004, 15 megatonnes of emissions have been captured by existing carbon capture projects in the province, slightly more than one megatonne per year.

Both governments have agreed to walk back carbon price targets, streamline approvals of projects and the federal government has scrapped the proposed oil and gas emissions cap and largely handed environmental impact assessments over to the province. Each represents a lobbying victory for the oil and gas companies.

Sean McCoy, an associate professor of engineering at the University of Calgary who specializes in carbon capture, said the changes in emissions pledges are not due to any changes in technology or knowledge. 

“Let me put it this way, I bet 99 per cent of what we know today about capturing carbon dioxide, more like 99 or even above, we knew in 2021,” he said. 

McCoy said one possible answer to why the project has been scaled back so drastically is cost, comparing it to a home renovation where big plans are reconsidered as the price tag rises. 

“That is pretty common in these sorts of projects, either the cost goes up or the scope of the project shrinks if you’re trying to manage your budget,” he said.

But McCoy points out that even the reduced 16 megatonne figure represents the largest carbon capture and utilization project ever constructed.

When asked if the reduced target was achievable, McCoy said it’s ambitious.

“It’s just really, really big,” he said. “You’ve got to look at the scale of all the different parts, because it’s not like they’re going to capture 16 million tonnes at one smoke stack.”

It’s unclear how much the final project will cost, but estimates point to a budget over $20 billion, and the former CEO of Imperial Oil previously said the alliance was aiming for 75 per cent of the funds to come from the federal and provincial governments. Most of that will come from newly established tax credits.

Carbon capture is ‘always a just-around-the-corner type thing’: professor

There’s a lot we don’t know about the Pathways project, McCoy said, so it’s hard to directly evaluate the plans. 

McCurdy, looking at it through the lens of influence and communication, sees that as intentional. His research includes strategic omissions as part of the greenwashing strategy. 

“These companies, some of the biggest in the country, have the money to focus-group, to get the best creatives to make these campaigns to try and get public sentiment on their side,” he said.

But while earlier oilsands marketing focused on the need to decarbonize and the goal of achieving net-zero emissions, the messaging has changed alongside the reduced emissions ambitions. 

Jon McKenzie, the CEO of Cenovus, told investors in May the debate around oilsands development has been “myopically focused on the climate agenda,” according to the Canadian Press.

It’s a more direct pushback against the earlier claims of the alliance, but for McCurdy, the intent was always to kick the can down the road. 

“It’s always a just-around-the-corner type thing,” he said of carbon capture technology and some of its bigger claims. “It’s a well-known trope to try and look at technology to save us out of this.”

Updated June 5, 2026, at 3:30 p.m. MT: A previous version of this article incorrectly referred to the Oil Sands Alliance as the Oilsands Alliance.

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Summary

• An AI computing company is proposing to fill in a wetland to build a massive data centre near the neighbourhood of Lorneville in Saint John, N.B.
• Once operating, the data centre will be one of New Brunswick’s largest carbon emitters and devour about 390 megawatts of electricity — more than 10 per cent of the province’s total energy demand.
• Residents of Lorneville are resisting the proposal, but provincial and municipal leaders have expressed support, arguing it will bring jobs and revenue to the region.

On a sunny Saturday in April, Adam Wilkins and Chris Watson trace a path through a forest a short distance from the Bay of Fundy. 

As he walks down a slope, Wilkins wonders aloud whether cleaning out the ditch upstream would make the trail easier to run on; for the past decade, he and his wife have been building forest trails in this area, to encourage more outdoor recreation and stewardship.

After about 10 minutes, at a fork in the path, Watson stops, pointing at the forest ahead: the area slated to become the site of the first hyperscale data centre in Atlantic Canada. That is, a data centre with massive scalable capacity, like those Apple, Google and Microsoft are building.  

For years, the City of Saint John and the New Brunswick provincial government have been working to expand an industrial park in Lorneville, a coastal community on the outskirts of Saint John. A $2-billion data centre built by Alberta company Beacon Data Centers and partially powered by a new gas plant is slated to be the first tenant.

Data centres provide the material backbone for cloud services, file sharing and artificial intelligence. A customer for Beacon Data Centers’ proposed New Brunswick facility has not been announced.

Officials have said Lorneville is an ideal location for business development, as the area offers large amounts of land and water, as well as abundant electricity and accessible fibre cables. The municipality has also said developing Lorneville would bring much-needed jobs and tax revenue to the city; the local Irving Oil refinery exports most of its products to the United States, while New Brunswick generally sends most of its seafood and lumber south of the border, making Saint John “Canada’s most tariff-exposed city” according to the Canadian Chamber of Commerce. 

Officials initially stated that they were actively attracting businesses to the expanded industrial park that would be focused in “green and clean” sectors. But residents have pushed back, noting that expansion of the industrial park, and construction of the data centre itself, would destroy rare old-growth forest and wetlands. If built, the data centre would rely on a gas plant for much of its power, making it one of the province’s largest emitters, while also increasing demand on the grid. And residents say the process to develop the data centre has suffered from a lack of transparency.

Documents obtained through provincial access to information legislation by The Narwhal and by residents show provincial officials were in discussions to bring a data centre to the park long before residents were told about the tenant — and that details of that data centre conflicted with the more low-impact vision for the industrial park advertised to residents.

Building AI data centres across Canada has been identified by the federal government as a priority, and dozens of new facilities have been proposed in the past year. Since early May, Beacon Data Centers has lobbied various federal departments four times to advocate for the role of data centres in supporting “national priorities,” and to request government support for the New Brunswick project. But many communities are concerned about environmental impacts of the water- and power-hungry facilities, as well as the lack of oversight and transparency regarding their impacts.

“For the past two years, this fight has been a huge stressor for people,” Wilkins says. “It’s all in the name of progress, or we need the taxes, or you need AI to generate your stupid images, but it impacts people’s lives.”

Data centre proposal reopening old wounds in Lorneville

This spring, billboards and bus ads began appearing around Saint John, promising the creation of 1,200 jobs from construction of the 390-megawatt data centre — an appealing prospect in a city reliant on trade with a volatile United States and a province facing a grim financial forecast.

But in those signs, many Lorneville residents saw something troubling. 

Lorneville was once a fishing village perched on the Bay of Fundy’s rocky shoreline. In the 1970s, a 3,600-hectare chunk of land along the coast was expropriated by the provincial government to develop an industrial project that — apart from a power plant built on the water — never materialized. Residents say a promise they were given to return the land if the project didn’t move forward never came to fruition either.

“My grandparents were still getting upset, even talking about it, until the day they were gone,” Cecil McCavour, whose family has been fishing in Lorneville since the 1840s, told The Narwhal. McCavour, along with his dad and cousin, are the last fishermen working from the community’s wharf. His family lost hundreds of acres to expropriation, he says. Now, the data centre is reopening old wounds. “Every decade something’s coming down the pipeline that does damage to our community.”

In subsequent years, a dump was established in the area, but was found to be insufficiently lined for modern-day standards, creating concerns contaminants were seeping into the groundwater.

Then, in July 2024, residents received letters in envelopes with no originating address. A consulting agency hired by the province stated that a proposal to clear and construct a 110-hectare “development-ready pad” for industry a short distance from their homes was in the works.

Instead, residents resisted, submitting dozens of letters, collecting hundreds of signatures and packing council meetings at which the expansion was debated. In response, the City of Saint John — which was pursuing the expansion along with New Brunswick’s Regional Development Corporation — paused the plan and initiated a task force in which residents and city officials were meant to work through concerns. 

Residents were not told which specific industries were being considered for the expanded industrial park, or if any potential tenants had come forward.

The documents obtained through access to information legislation by The Narwhal and residents show that before the task force began meeting, provincial officials were already in discussions to bring a data centre to the park. In emails from October 2024, Martin Luckett, an official with the province’s business development agency, Opportunities NB, wrote to a redacted recipient that the agency felt “strongly that there is considerable potential for one of your centers here in New Brunswick,” and describes the Lorneville area as a potential location. By November 2024, Beacon Data Centers had submitted a feasibility application to NB Power, according to emails. 

In May 2025, city council voted on whether to allow the expansion after a series of tense council meetings that stretched late into the evening. Dozens of people spoke out against the plan, while just three speakers spoke in favour. Still, the council voted unanimously to allow the expansion.

City staff initially attempted to assuage residents’ concerns by affirming businesses in the industrial park would be green and non-emitting. But the data centre — which was announced in October 2025 — has made people doubt that commitment, Wilkins says. “The first thing announced was a hyperscale data centre powered by a natural gas plant … what else is coming?”

Old-growth forests, wetlands would be cleared for data centre

In 2024, Chris Watson bought a house beside a large saltmarsh in Lorneville, recognized as a “provincially significant wetland” for its ecological value . In the forest behind his home, eastern cedar shade mossy swamps, while gnarled red spruce with lichen-covered branches grow nearby.

Watson was surprised when he read the environmental impact assessment for the industrial park expansion, which includes the forest behind his house, describing it as relatively low value.” His own observations, though not expert, suggested at least parts of it were exceptional.

He bought a tool for taking cores and gathered samples from the largest trees. Ben Phillips, who runs a dendrochronology lab — focused on the science of dating trees by their rings — at Mount Allison University, agreed to take a look.

Phillips was initially skeptical. Only about half a per cent of the forest in New Brunswick is old growth, he says, and most of that is found in inaccessible areas.

But examining the cores under a microscope, Phillips was astonished. 

In the oldest sample, Phillips counted 388 rings, meaning the tree was likely more than 400 years old, as it would have taken more than 12 years to get to the point from which the rings were counted. Other samples showed trees that were more than 300 years old, and many over 200 years — an age distribution typical of an old-growth forest. “[Old growth] is a mixed age, multi-storied stand that’s got lots of diversity in it,” he says. “This fit that exactly.”

The forest at Lorneville is likely the third-oldest forest in the province, Phillips says. Yet there’s no guarantee it will be spared. “These global pressures from big tech firms and AI and data centres and tariffs … are winning out against old-growth forest because we do not have a policy in place to protect it.”

The mayor of Saint John, Donna Reardon, has said she supports saving individual old trees, but declined an interview request for this story. The site for the data centre is specifically adjacent to, and partially overlapping, the industrial park expansion area, and wouldn’t flatten some of the oldest trees Watson found. But a more recent environmental assessment for the data centre itself stated that approximately 3.5 hectares of old-growth forest would be lost as “a long-term, irreversible, adverse effect of the project.”

The forest isn’t the only ecological concern. Much of the Lorneville area is made up of wetlands, including roughly 27 hectares in the area that would be cleared and infilled to make space for the data centre.

“This is basically the high point of the watershed,” Watson says, inspecting one of those wetlands in April — a peatland bog in the area behind his house. At the bog’s edge, Watson says he’d found trees that were 200 years old, suggesting an ecosystem that has been evolving for centuries. “What’s going to happen when all that freshwater flow is removed from this area?”

Roxanne MacKinnon, executive director of ACAP Saint John, an environmental non-profit organization, says the development of wetlands throughout Saint John already causes localized flooding.

“Wetlands are a very important part of our ecosystem,” she says. “From our perspective, the degradation of habitat, and particularly where all that water is going to go that is being contained within these wetlands currently, [is] a concern.”

For residents, there’s also the question of what the loss of wetlands will mean for their wells.

The initial expansion area for the industrial park would have infilled dozens of hectares of wetlands. A 2025 email from provincial engineer and hydrogeologist Gerard Souma to a New Brunswick environmental impact assessment specialist, obtained by residents through access to information legislation, noted this could affect the community’s older wells. Souma wrote, “It is my opinion that any owner having a well tapping their water supply from the surficial aquifer should be concern [sic] with 44 ha of wetland infilling by the project.”

Watson worries that the wetland infilling for the data centre could also affect downstream wetlands like the significant saltmarsh by his house, by changing the way water flows on the landscape.

In a statement, Lauren Armstrong, Beacon’s vice-president of corporate affairs, wrote that the wetlands at the site of the data centre have been assessed and categorized through the impact assessment, and that “the overall approach is to minimize the footprint, avoid the most sensitive areas and manage remaining effects.”

New Brunswick’s Regional Development Corporation referred a request for an interview to Saint John Industrial Parks.

If built, Saint John data centre would be one of the largest emitters and power users in the province

While the project stands to raze local forests and wetlands, it may also have broader impacts across the province. 

The proposed data centre is a 390-megawatt operation. Once built, it would also generate roughly 6.6 per cent of emissions in the province.

Part of the data centre’s energy is meant to come from an on-site natural gas-powered generation facility, built by Houston-based VoltaGrid, with the other 200 megawatts coming from New Brunswick’s grid. This demand could surpass 10 per cent of New Brunswick’s mean energy demands, where peak daily demand for electricity ranges from around 1,500 megawatts on a summer morning to roughly 3,030 megawatts on a cold winter’s day.

Beacon submitted a feasibility assessment for that grid demand in November 2024. In May 2025, emails from municipal and provincial officials displayed frustration with NB Power’s slow response. “This has not been the best first impression to say the least,” wrote Saint John Industrial Parks general manager Ian MacKinnon, to officials from Opportunities NB and Envision Saint John, the city’s business development group. “Nothing will proceed without a response and a commitment for power.” MacKinnon did not respond to a request for an interview.

Meanwhile, Opportunities NB wrote a letter to NB Power asking about the feasibility review, saying Beacon is “ready to progress their project in Saint John but can’t commit to anything without a path forward with NB Power.”

At that same time, NB Power and the U.S. company ProEnergy were putting forward an application for a controversial 500-megawatt, 10-turbine natural gas and diesel power plant in Tantramar, in southwest New Brunswick, to cope with rising electricity demand. 

That power plant, which was just approved by the province’s Energy and Utilities Board, would produce around 900,000 tonnes of carbon dioxide a year, according to its environmental assessment.

VoltaGrid has said its gas plant on the data centre site is not at all related to the larger ProEnergy plant. NB Power put out the request for proposals for the gas plant in 2024, a year before the data centre plan was announced, though the same year Beacon submitted its feasibility application to the provincial utility. 

Still, advocates say the potential data centre has bearing on decisions about power generation. 

David Coon, leader of the Green Party of New Brunswick, says from his perspective, the projects are connected insofar as powering the data centre requires the ProEnergy gas plant. “There isn’t an extra 200 megawatts of capacity available on the grid to carry that load,” he says. “So it’s got to come from somewhere and that means they’ve got to build it.”

Watson wonders why officials were asking for grid approval of an energy-intensive facility at the same time the utility was forecasting an energy deficit by 2028 due to population growth. 

Meanwhile, VoltaGrid’s 190-megawatt natural gas-generating facility would produce roughly 750,000 tonnes of carbon dioxide annually, making it one of the province’s most prolific emitters, behind the Irving Oil Refinery and the Belledune coal-fired generating station.

VoltaGrid CEO Nathan Ough did not respond to a request for an interview, but Lauren Armstrong, with Beacon Data Centers, said in a statement that “the project is being designed with a combination of measures to reduce and manage emissions intensity over time. These include high-efficiency generation technologies, operational optimization, and the ability to integrate lower-carbon energy sources as they become available.”

Given the potential effects on power rates, on the province’s emissions targets and on the community, Coon is calling for a moratorium on data centre development until legislation can be developed for the industry. “The concern that everyone has, including me, is the costs will far outweigh the benefits of this, the way it’s being pursued.”

In a statement, Luke Randall, the minister responsible for Opportunities NB, said that projects like the data centre have the potential to contribute to the provincial economy by creating jobs and revenue for public services. These projects “will only proceed if they deliver clear economic value, align with environmental expectations and contribute meaningfully to the province’s long-term development.”

Randall also stated that Opportunities NB is “aware of the broader discussions regarding electricity supply and future demand. That is precisely why projects like this are subject to rigorous review, including technical analysis, environmental assessment and regulatory oversight.” 

In return, Saint John residents are being pitched an economic windfall in jobs and tax revenue, though of the advertised 1,200 jobs, most are in construction, and the figure also includes indirect jobs, which are service and supply-chain jobs created as a result of the data centre project. Just 210 jobs would be permanent, according to the company’s projections.

Lorneville residents say it’s unclear that the loss of wetlands and forest, and the increase in emissions, would be worth it. 

For now, they’re hoping to have the expansion of the industrial park reversed; residents have filed for a judicial review of the area’s rezoning, on the grounds that the city council’s decision was biased. In May, Lorneville resident Sherri Colwell-McCavour, who’s been vocally opposed to the project, was elected to Saint John City Council  — days after a protest in downtown Saint John, at which dozens of people called for a halt to the data centre.

If residents can’t stop the project, they say they intend to continue doing what they can to minimize the effects.

A data centre in the neighbourhood

After touring the wetlands and forest in the data centre footprint, Watson and Wilkins make their way to the road. A few minutes later, Wilkins’ wife, Leah Alexander, rolls along to pick them up. 

Alexander’s family has been in Lorneville for six generations. She has spent her whole life there, and she and Wilkins live just a few houses down from the one she grew up in.

She has vivid early memories of being taken door to door by her mother to advocate against the dump, she says. Now, the threat of the data centre has her strapping her baby to her chest to go to council meetings, and bringing her four-year-old along to hand out flyers.

Alexander has never imagined leaving Lorneville, but the data centre project has her questioning whether it’s a place her family can stay. For now, she’s sad to see the community go through the same struggle it’s faced in the past — and frustrated that they’ve had to do so much work to highlight what’s at risk of being lost: the gnarled and ancient trees, the deep mossy swamps. 

If the systems meant to provide protection are not doing their job, she says, then it leaves residents no choice. 

“People want their children to grow up here,” Alexander says. “They want them to stay here, and what are we leaving them? Like, if we don’t stand up and fight for it, what are we doing?”

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