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“Alouette River” in hən̓q̓əmin̓əm̓, the language shared by First Nations whose territories extend from the mouth of the Fraser River to the Stave River, including Katzie, Kwantlen, Tsawwassen, Kwikwetlem, Tsleil-Waututh and Musqueam. Hear Mike Leon pronounce it.
The Alouette Dam, not far upriver, means the water in ánəsaʔł stáʔləw is lower and slower than it would be naturally. Leon, lead guardian for q̓ic̓əy̓ (Katzie) First Nation, says slow water makes it more likely silt will settle on salmon eggs, which can smother them.
q̓ic̓əy̓ is the hən̓q̓əmin̓əm̓ spelling of “Katzie” and the two are pronounced similarly. q̓ic̓əy̓ may be used to refer to the nation or its people.
q̓ic̓əy̓ is raising the alarm that the river’s ecology has been severely eroded by the dam. The nation commissioned a report that found the river’s flow has been reduced by 86 per cent since the river was dammed in 1928. But the situation has grown more urgent as the Fraser River region experiences increasingly dry conditions and summer heat nears.
A tremendous amount of water is diverted to Stave Lake for hydroelectric power, flowing through the Alouette Tunnel at a rate of 53 cubic metres per second — enough water to fill an Olympic swimming pool every 47 seconds.
“That’s our matriarch they’re bringing over there. That’s the water that should be flowing through here, for life,” Leon says. Mist rests among the tree tops and the sound of the river fills the air as he looks at the water with q̓ic̓əy̓ councillor Rick Bailey.
While much of B.C. experienced high precipitation in March, it can take a while to make up for deficits. The Fraser snow basin is about 76 per cent of its normal depth and the average snowpack provincewide is 71 per cent of normal according to data from May 1. Low snowpack, warm weather and lingering drought impacts have B.C. preparing for “elevated drought hazards” this year, according to a bulletin from the provincial government.
“We’ve got drought coming,” Leon says. If water gets too low and warm it can be lethal for salmon.
The nation is pushing for BC Hydro to let more water through and build a fish ladder to allow fish that are currently blocked by the dam to pass by it unimpeded. For its part, BC Hydro says it is working to increase water flow by updating infrastructure and that fish ladders were not technically feasible, instead proposing a hatchery.
“It boils down to money,” Bailey says. “BC Hydro comes up with all kinds of reasons why it can’t be done.”
Meanwhile, the nation is also looking to expand habitat restoration and improve access for its people to their territory. Part of that work has involved enhancing their Guardians program — the people who act as the nation’s “eyes and ears” on the land. In the past year the nation has built up their team from three to eight guardians, in addition to Leon as the lead, and has been working with BC Hydro to do habitat enhancement.
Bailey, a fisherman, hunter, father and grandfather, has been working on the river since he was first elected in the 1990s.
“This is just one little place to some people. It may not seem important. But we didn’t just come here. We went to all the little creeks throughout our whole territory,” he says. “It’s a different world today. We call the salmon part of our family — we want our family to have a good place to come home.”
Central to all their plans for the river is reconnecting people to the water. In administrative meetings, Bailey says he hears over and over again from other nations along the Fraser that “we just need to get out on the water.”
“It doesn’t matter if we go out there to catch a fish — it’s to just be there,” he says.
q̓ic̓əy̓ means land of the moss, a reflection of the close relationship between the nation and the rivers and wetlands of their homelands and with the non-human relatives who share them. Leon and Bailey both speak softly as they look at the water passing by.
Sockeye have fed the nation for countless generations. Fish carcasses feed the ecosystem — providing food for creatures from insects to bears, and bringing nutrients to soil and plants.
“They’re an amazing relative,” Leon says, smiling.
But these relatives have been especially impacted by the dam. Some got trapped above the dam when it was installed, while others couldn’t reach their traditional spawning grounds. Every year BC Hydro catches sockeye, transporting them by truck to the other side of the dam and releasing them to spawn. In a statement, the energy utility told The Narwhal annual returns from this program have varied from zero to 103 sockeye per year.
The nation published a cumulative effects report last October, which was partly funded by BC Hydro. It calls for enhancing water quality protections to address agricultural runoff and human waste from sewage overflow and houseboats, along with habitat restoration, especially in the face of climate change. It emphasizes the importance of future management decisions being guided by q̓ic̓əy̓ law and knowledge. It recommends re-establishing seasonal water flows and reconnecting the slough system for wildlife. Leon and Bailey hope these actions will support otters, trout, mink, eagles and wolves — and bring back a functioning ecosystem that brings wealth, stability and sustenance.
“Being a good ancestor is having the next generations come along and say, ‘Our ancestors fought for more water in the Alouette. Our ancestors fought so that our salmon families could pass the dam.’ That’s what makes more sense for wealth,” Leon says.
Pre-contact the nation’s territory was rich with ponds, wapato (Indian potato), cranberries and fish.
“That’s what it was about — richness,” Bailey says. “Nothing about money. That was our grocery store.”
With diking and water reduction, wapato and bog cranberry nearly disappeared — two core pillars of food security for q̓ic̓əy̓, who also traded the foods with neighbouring nations.
In 2008, BC Hydro developed a seven-step process to look at fish passage restoration in the sánəsaʔł in partnership with Fisheries and Oceans Canada and the province, but according to its website it’s still at stage 3 and 4, looking at environmental and technical feasibility. The website says more than $1.8 million has been spent addressing dam impacts on fish and wildlife in the Alouette River Watershed since 1999, including $825,000 for sockeye restoration.
Comparatively, BC Hydro revenue for 2023 to 2024 was more than $7 billion — and more than $8 billion the prior year.
In q̓ic̓əy̓ law, punishment is not central, Bailey says. If someone does something wrong, they are educated, not penalized. To him, that’s central to the role of guardians — educating others.
The guardians have been working with BC Hydro to do habitat enhancement, and are leading a survey to take inventory “of those little salmon babies,” Leon says, as well as monitoring water quality and educating the public.
Leon wants to work with partners to mount signs and have guardians be the “voice for q̓ic̓əy̓” on the land. But he adds all q̓ic̓əy̓ people share the responsibility.
“We hold the title but everybody in q̓ic̓əy̓ are Guardians,” he said. “From our Elders right down to our littlest grandchild.”
Until late last year the guardians were contractors, but the roles are now permanent under the nation.
The guardians are one way the nation exercises its governance, Leon says. The nation’s laws are equal to Canadian law, he adds, and they want to use q̓ic̓əy̓ science and Western science “side by side, rather than one above the other.”
In a statement, BC Hydro spokesperson Kevin Aquino told The Narwhal that monitoring by the energy utility found sediment levels are “suitable” for salmon spawn. He said the dam releases water at a steady rate during the spawning period, meaning there is less risk of salmon redds drying out than in unregulated rivers. He also said salmon deal with natural storm runoff and so they are “accustomed” to temporary changes in river levels.
But Leon and Bailey say they still see the effects of inconsistent flow play out on the riverbank.
“One day it’ll be up here and fish will spawn right on the bank here. The next day, the water’s down there, so those eggs are in the dry,” Bailey says. “The fish will die, trapped.”
Currently, water can flow into the sánəsaʔł via a spillway and a pipe. Aquino said BC Hydro is replacing the pipe and the new structure will be able to allow more water through. He said BC Hydro is submitting an application to the comptroller of water rights for this structure later this year, which includes recommendations for higher and seasonable variable flows to the river. If the application is accepted, BC Hydro expects the daily average flow into the south Alouette to increase by about 40 per cent once the new structure is completed.
As for fish passage, Aquino said “installing fish passage at large, earth-fill dams like Alouette is technically complex.” He said there is a large elevation change, meaning “traditional fish ladder structures may not be technically feasible.”
He said the utility did an analysis of fish passage options and “large, complex designs” are necessary to meet the technical requirements, such as flood control and seismic safety. He said the designs were “unlikely to be suitable for sockeye,” but did not elaborate. He said data suggests these sockeye have low ocean survival rates and fish passage may not lead to improved returns, and that’s why BC Hydro has proposed a hatchery. But hatcheries are not without controversies of their own, as some scientists worry they may increase competition with wild populations.
Aquino said BC Hydro can’t estimate when fish passage solutions may be reached, but said the utility is actively engaging with the nation.
The sánəsaʔł area has been the nation’s fishing, gathering and hunting grounds for thousands of years — “now we’ve got to ask permission,” Leon says. BC Hydro has gated off some areas, restricting the nation’s access to their traditional territory.
Aquino said the utility recognizes qic̓əy̓’s desire to access their territory gated by BC Hydro and is in discussions with the nation to “meet shared interests in a fair and safe manner.” He said the utility is also working with qic̓əy̓ to “understand and incorporate” recommendations from the cumulative effects report.
In 2022, the nation filed a lawsuit against BC Hydro, alleging breaches in contractual obligations to mitigate the dam’s impacts on the nation’s use of the river for food and culture. Bailey said the case is on pause as the nation and utility try to negotiate.
In addition to fish, the river and surrounding area provided hunting for deer, elk, waterfowl and mountain goats, as well as picking berries and medicines. As a kid, Bailey remembers fishing when “the early Chinook were just treasured.”
“They’re just so delicious,” he says with a chuckle.
The lowlands began to be diked and drained for agriculture in the late 1800s, which had frequently flooded seasonally before. This disrupted traditional means of travelling by canoe. The Canadian Pacific Railway reached the area in 1884, leading to increased logging and export of timber from the area, affecting the nation’s access to plants like devil’s club and cedar.
Over time, the area was developed into the urban centre it is today. Animals like beaver and muskrat decreased while effects like pollution increased, and it became harder for q̓ic̓əy̓ members to pass down intergenerational knowledge about how to live with the land.
Today, it’s a hub for recreation. Part of the land falls within the popular Golden Ears Provincial Park. Leon sees people ride their motorbikes across this riverbed through the gravel that may be home to salmon nests. It’s a spot he brings his grandkids.
“You try to govern — but it’s so hard with garbage and beer cans,” he says. Not just for people, but for the sockeye and their eggs, too.
“All that hard work — our relatives come up, spend four years out there to come back here and have their redds destroyed by a quad or a motorcycle.”
Bailey’s voice is full of concern as he argues climate change makes everything more urgent. “Extreme weather, floods and drought. … I hope and pray climate change is not so drastic that our salmon family can’t survive,” he says.
Still, they are doing everything in their power to connect people with the territory as part of their solutions. The nation has also bought a piece of land to build a treatment centre, surrounded by the mountains and water. Central to all their plans is bringing people back to the water.
“Just being out there on the water does something for us internally, like spiritually, culturally,” Bailey says. “When I come back out, I’m revived.”
“It’s part of us — the water, the trees, the mountains — and we’re part of it.”
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