Summary

• On May 27, Canada announced an agreement to supply Germany with one million tonnes of liquefied natural gas, or LNG, annually beginning in the early 2030s.
• The federal government says the deal will help Canada reduce its dependence on the U.S. market as trade relations grow more uncertain under President Donald Trump.
• Climate experts say the deal raises questions about the long-term costs of expanding fossil fuel exports.

Last week, the Canadian government celebrated a deal with Germany to supply the European country with one million tonnes of liquefied natural gas (LNG) per year, starting in the early 2030s. The agreement — essentially a handshake deal, yet to be finalized — is part of a broader federal scheme encouraging investment in major industrial developments across the country.

Natural gas is a fossil fuel mostly composed of methane, a potent greenhouse gas and major contributor to global climate change. Fossil fuels account for around 68 per cent of global greenhouse gas emissions and nearly 90 per cent of all carbon dioxide emissions. The more greenhouse gases released into the atmosphere, the bigger the effect on global warming and the stronger the impacts felt on the ground. More frequent and intense extreme weather is one significant effect, and one that Canada is already experiencing.

In 2023, smoke from wildfires in Canada caused more than 80,000 premature deaths across the globe. Of those who died, more than 20,000 lived in Europe. That same year, nine-year-old Carter Vigh died in B.C. of an asthma attack aggravated by wildfire smoke.

The following year, fires burned through Jasper, Alta., killing a young firefighter named Morgan Kitchen and causing more than $880 million in insured damages. According to the Insurance Bureau of Canada, nationwide losses related to “severe weather” surpassed $9.4 billion in 2024, including $3 billion in a single hour during a hailstorm in Calgary.

In 2025, around 85 per cent of Canada experienced severe drought conditions. Meanwhile, a storm surge flooded the northern community of Tuktoyaktuk, N.W.T., with water levels rising to the highest ever recorded in the region at 2.62 metres.

Canada touts the new export agreement with Germany as a necessary move to diversify the economy by decreasing its reliance on trade with the United States, which has become increasingly volatile since the re-election of President Donald Trump.

“We must build projects that strengthen our economy, that diversify our supply chains and enhance our energy sovereignty as well as expand our exports beyond a single market,” Canada’s Minister of Energy and Natural Resources Tim Hodgson said on May 27.

When asked how Canada squares its stated climate commitments with support for expansion of fossil fuel production, a spokesperson with Natural Resources Canada said LNG produced in Canada is “widely recognized for its low emissions intensity compared to global averages.”

Canadian LNG is often positioned as a “transition fuel” helping countries reduce reliance on other energy sources, like coal. But many European countries, including Germany, have been importing LNG as a means to replace Russian gas since the Ukraine war began in 2022. The current U.S.-Israel war on Iran has put further pressure on countries with gas contracts in the Middle East.  

Environmental economist Dave Sawyer said the new agreement clearly shows how the narrative of Canadian LNG as a climate solution is “patently false.”

“This notion that LNG is reducing global emissions is blown out of the water by this German deal,” he told The Narwhal. “This LNG is not being used to displace coal. There’s no incremental emission benefit from Canadian LNG in this deal.”

‘Just be honest’

Increasing long-term reliance on fossil fuel exports is also a risky economic maneuver, according to Steven Haig, policy advisor with the International Institute for Sustainable Development.

“The costs of climate change are being felt now and we shouldn’t lose sight of that,” Haig told The Narwhal in an interview. “They will get worse as time goes on and emissions increase — but this is a problem today, not just a problem for the future.”

Wildfires, droughts and floods are among the many increasing climate impacts claiming lives and diverting government funds to emergency response and health services. These costs will need to be met by higher taxes, placing a heavier burden on lower-income households.

A recent New York University School of Law cost-benefit analysis of U.S. LNG exports found that “climate damages greatly exceed economic benefits.” The analysis showed that a conservative accounting of damages — described in the report as “likely underestimates” — are roughly double the economic benefits. In other words, LNG exports cost twice as much as the revenues they earn.

“These are costs that are expected to increase as temperatures continue to rise, meaning that reducing carbon pollution today is an economic imperative,” Haig said. “Good climate policy is good economic policy and the two shouldn’t be considered [in] opposition.”

In 2022, Sawyer worked on a Canadian Climate Institute report analyzing the macroeconomic effects of climate impacts. The report detailed how the federal and provincial governments are increasingly forced to allocate public funds to respond to climate disasters and how this impacts the cost of living for all Canadians.

“Replacing and repairing damaged infrastructure, back-stopping weather-related disaster costs and funding increased health care needs all place greater demands on government budgets,” the report noted. 

Sawyer said LNG exports are like an ATM.

“It is a profitable business — it generates a lot of money for some,” he said. “But it is climate damaging and there are costs associated with climate damages. Just be honest about it.”

Canada should not subsidize fossil fuel exports: experts 

The new agreement with Germany’s state-owned energy importer is the third supply deal secured by Ksi Lisims LNG, a provincially and federally approved floating export facility in British Columbia. 

Ksi Lisims aims to produce up to 12 million tonnes of LNG annually, sourcing its gas from northeast B.C. and transporting it through an 800-kilometre pipeline. Construction has not started on the facility and its owners have not reached a final investment decision, the crucial last step before companies decide to spend the vast sums required to build a major project.

“This deal with Germany … only covers around eight per cent of Ksi Lisims’ projected annual export capacity, so that’s not a lot of LNG that we’re talking about,” Haig noted. “The broader market trends still point to long-term risks for high-cost LNG exporters like Canada.”

The deal also isn’t really a deal — yet. So far, the parties have signed a non-binding preliminary document known as a “heads of agreement.” An official purchase agreement would need to be finalized before Ksi Lisims could use it to attract investment.

Ksi Lisims is owned by Texas-based Western LNG, in partnership with the Nisga’a Lisims Government and a coalition of gas producers called Rockies LNG Partners. The owners have already signed deals with Shell and TotalEnergies to provide each with two million tonnes of LNG per year. 

Canada has long been a major producer of oil and gas, mainly exporting to the U.S. via a network of cross-border pipelines, but the country’s economy is not reliant on the sector like some petrostates. According to the Canadian Association of Petroleum Producers, the industry accounts for about 3.8 per cent of the country’s gross domestic product.

Canada’s ambitions to become a global player in liquefied natural gas exports were first realized last year, when LNG Canada sent its initial shipments of the fossil fuel across the Pacific Ocean to Asia. Construction of LNG Canada was heavily subsidized by the B.C. and federal governments.

The federal government’s public investment agency, the Canada Infrastructure Bank, is considering providing new financial support for projects like Ksi Lisims LNG, according to recent reporting by the Globe and Mail.

“The government of Canada should not be subsidizing oil and gas development — they can bet their own money,” Sawyer said. “The government’s job is to put the safeguards in place, not spend money.”

Haig agreed.

“If Canada’s LNG projects can’t stand on their own two feet, then public dollars should not prop them up,” he said. “These are highly risky investments and public subsidies effectively shift that risk away from private corporations onto Canadian taxpayers.”

“[That], in turn, makes it more likely that projects go ahead even if they may lose money in the long run, becoming stranded assets that may need to be cleaned up with public funds.”

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Summary

• Canada’s updated national building code puts limits on new buildings’ greenhouse gas emissions, though provinces can choose whether or not to implement them.
• The new rules could reduce the use of natural gas, a fossil fuel, to heat Canadian buildings.
• Documents obtained by The Narwhal reveal an effort by the Canadian Gas Association to lobby against the changes.

Natural gas companies lobbied against federal building guidelines that could help weaken the fossil fuel industry’s iron grip on Canadian communities, according to documents obtained by The Narwhal. 

In December 2025, a federal-provincial body published a new national building code that, for the first time, limits the volume of greenhouse gases that can be emitted by a building, whether from a gas-burning stove, heating system or hot-water tank. As they developed the code, officials held years of consultations with groups including the gas industry, to hear thoughts on changes that could set a precedent that limits natural gas use in new builds.

These limits are called “operational greenhouse gas emissions provisions.” In practice, they mean builders have to consider whether the heating, cooling and cooking systems they outfit a home with will produce emissions that push it beyond that threshold.

Natural gas, a fossil fuel mostly made up of the greenhouse gas methane, represents almost half the energy used in residential buildings in Canada — and almost two-thirds of their carbon pollution. Burning natural gas to heat Canadian homes and water is a big reason why buildings here are the third-largest climate polluter by economic sector, after other fossil fuel-dependent industries like transportation and oil and gas production.

Natural gas also poses threats to public health. While the industry takes steps to limit human exposure, research shows oil and gas fracking can impact birth and respiratory outcomes. When gas is used in the house, it exposes the occupants to air pollutants. When it’s liquefied for export, that’s often done at a facility that flares off excess gas, which also releases pollutants that affect human health. Methane itself, which traps heat in the atmosphere and drives climate change, is on Canada’s toxic substances list.

Coupled with the government’s push to fast-track large-scale housing projects nationwide, the new code could represent a big change in how many Canadians rely on fossil fuels in their homes. That is, if provincial governments play along. The new guidelines aren’t likely to be enforced nationwide anytime soon. It’s up to the provinces to pick and choose what parts to implement, if any; Ontario’s building code, for example, hasn’t been updated in years. 

What’s more, the new limits may not even impact new gas hookups for buildings at all: the code offers a range of standards, and the least restrictive still accommodate “current construction practices using natural gas for space and water heating,” according to the documents, which were obtained through access to information law.

None of that, however, stopped the lobby group Canadian Gas Association from complaining about the new rules.

The industry group has a board of directors made up of executives at companies in the business of distributing gas. During the consultations, it “raised concerns about newly introduced operational greenhouse gas emissions provisions and their potential impacts on housing affordability and energy costs,” according to a January 2026 briefing note for Canada’s deputy minister of housing, infrastructure and communities.

According to the industry group, the rules “could effectively ban natural gas, increase housing and energy costs and favour electrification without considering affordability or infrastructure feasibility,” the briefing note continued. 

The building code development process is governed by a federal-provincial body called the Canadian Board for Harmonized Construction Codes, while the National Research Council provides support once the codes are developed. Both of those organizations were “aware” of the gas lobby group’s concerns and were “working to address them,” the briefing note said.

The Narwhal asked the office of federal Housing and Infrastructure Minister Gregor Robertson how the government planned on addressing the industry’s lobbying. A spokesperson for the ministry responded that it “is one of several government institutions that have been lobbied on the issue of building codes, as per private groups’ and individuals’ right to communicate with elected or appointed government officials,” adding that records of that lobbying are publicly available. The department “will continue to work with its partners at all levels of government and all industries to help ensure that Canadian infrastructure and housing reflect the diverse needs of communities across the country, while continuing to support Canada’s commitments on climate mitigation and resilience.”

The Canadian Gas Association did not respond to a request for comment.

Cities and provinces say natural gas limits will hinder homebuilding

If provinces enforce the highest performance levels in the building code, it’s possible natural gas hookups wouldn’t pass muster, according to Kevin Lockhart, the director of the Pembina Institute’s buildings program.

But it was a “mischaracterization to call it a ban,” he said, since builders have different options in the code to help them meet different aspects and building requirements.

The difficulty of reducing emissions in older buildings is a key reason limiting natural gas in new buildings is important, Betsy Agar, director of buildings policy at Efficiency Canada at Carleton University, said. 

New builds are a tiny portion of Canada’s overall building stock, she said, “less than two per cent of square floor area every year, and 80 per cent of our buildings that exist today will still exist in 2050. Those are the ones that are hard to electrify.”

The enormous task of retrofitting older buildings is one reason it’s difficult to justify rules that would let brand-new construction continue to install natural gas, when other options are available, Agar said. Especially since infrastructure and agreements that allow gas companies to access land and customers are proving hard to dislodge.

B.C. has previously strived for ambitious building code standards. But in Vancouver, where an estimated three-fifths of carbon pollution comes from burning gas for heat, city council voted in May to pause rules that tracked emissions and limited natural gas heating in new homes. 

Vancouver Mayor Ken Sim argued that allowing gas heating in new homes would catalyze new home construction, but critics say the city is rolling back climate action.

In Ontario, the Doug Ford government has also been a strong defender of natural gas as an energy source delivered to both buildings for heating, and to power plants to generate electricity. Early in its tenure, the Progressive Conservatives cancelled hundreds of renewable energy contracts and then awarded new contracts to natural gas plants in 2022.

In late 2023, the province’s energy regulator found gas hookups in new builds may not be the most economical option for the ratepayers that foot the bill for those connections. The regulator ruled developers should pick up that cost, urging them towards cleaner and more cost-effective systems. 

Within days, and after much communication with Enbridge Gas, the Ford government vowed to overturn the ruling, and made good on that promise in August 2024.

Agar said in most cases, industry is “really resistant to strict regulations.” Building codes that drive toward electrification, she said, have particularly been in industry’s crosshairs.

“There’s just been this visceral response to it,” Agar said. But, she added, “the sooner that you adopt these codes, it means that people are living in better, more efficient, more comfortable homes, then all those new builds that we’re building don’t need to be retrofitted years down the line.”

Build Canada Homes will ‘encourage’ energy efficiency — but feds still support natural gas

The January briefing note was prepared for a meeting scheduled between the deputy minister of housing, infrastructure and communities and two members of the Canadian Gas Association, documents show. At that meeting, the deputy minister was expected to ask gas companies about their alternative proposals to the building code rules.

None of the lobby group’s proposals listed in the briefing note were focused on eliminating gas access in new builds. They included “reducing emissions from the gas supply stream,” meaning reducing methane escaping from pipelines that deliver the gas to markets. Another was “hybrid heating,” or pairing an electric heat pump with a natural gas furnace. 

There was also a proposal to blend more “renewable natural gas” — methane captured from food waste and compost, for example — into the system, which may reduce underground extraction of natural gas, but won’t necessarily make a big dent in emissions. And there was mention of blending in hydrogen, which is commonly produced with fossil fuels. There was no comment in the briefing notes about how the government received these proposals.

Build Canada Homes, the federal agency meant to respond to the housing crisis, has said it will “favour projects that demonstrate energy efficiency and climate performance.” The briefing note said Build Canada Homes “will encourage proponents to meet higher energy efficiency tiers” of the building code, but only “where practical and cost-effective.”

Lockhart, at the Pembina Institute, said the federal government could try harder to “drive higher performance in buildings.” That could include making emissions standards in the building code a formal prerequisite for any new homes that receive Build Canada funding.

It’s difficult to predict how Prime Minister Mark Carney’s government will respond to industry’s displeasure with the code. His election platform promised to phase out fossil fuel use in government-owned buildings by 2030, as well as ensure “new federal buildings” would adopt the top performance tiers for energy efficiency and emissions reductions. 

His platform also committed to “reforming and simplifying national building codes,” a promise reiterated in his spring economic update as a way to speed up construction. 

The spring also saw the release of the Carney government’s electricity strategy, which predicts at least a doubling of electricity demand, in part to address the electrification of buildings.

At the same time, the electricity strategy has an entire page devoted to “Natural gas’ strategic role,” where it describes the fossil fuel’s use for electricity generation in glowing terms like “reliable,” “affordable,” “secure,” “flexible” and “abundant.”

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Summary

• In early May, BC Parks announced Pipi7íyekw/Joffre Lakes Park will be restricted to members of the Líl̓wat and N’Quatqua nations from June 20-27 and Sept. 8-30. 
• Líl̓wat Nation has since released its own statement with different closure dates, saying the trust with the province has been broken. 
• Since 2018, the two First Nations have been working with BC Parks on visitor management and the temporary closures — called reconnection periods — have been implemented since 2023. However, negotiations broke down last year over a dispute over the 2025 closure length.

Once again, one of B.C.’s most popular parks is implementing temporary closures this summer — and no one is happy about it.

Since 2023, Pipi7íyekw/Joffre Lakes Park has closed for brief reconnection periods, when entry is restricted to members of Líl̓wat and N’Quatqua First Nations, whose unceded territories encompass the park. During these periods, members can harvest traditional medicines, participate in cultural events and ceremonies and enjoy a part of their territory that is often too crowded with visitors for them to access at all, trampled and strewn with trash by the end of peak season. Since 2018, the two nations have worked with BC Parks on a joint strategy for managing visitors.

Last year, things went off the rails. Backlash over the temporary closures spiked as politicians — including BC Conservative leadership candidate Caroline Elliott and OneBC leader Dallas Brodie — used the closures to argue Indigenous Rights had gone too far. On X, Brodie claimed that park access across the province may someday be “dependent upon your racial status.”

Then came a dispute over the length of the final 2025 reconnection period. The nations planned for two months, from late August to the end of October, but BC Parks went with about half that time, between the Labour Day weekend and Oct. 3. The decision sparked protests from members and supporters of the two nations and allies. 

Which brings us to May 7, when BC Parks announced the closure dates for this year: one week in June, which includes National Indigenous Peoples’ Day on June 21, and from Sept. 8 until the National Day for Truth and Reconciliation on Sept. 30. Neither nation was part of the announcement. They have not met with BC Parks as a working group since last fall’s dispute, according to the Ministry of Environment and Parks, which said it “has been working to try and re-engage” the nations ever since.

On May 27, almost three weeks after the BC Parks announcement, Líl̓wat Nation released a statement calling on the B.C. government to implement its desired reconnection period for the fall, spanning Aug. 23 to Oct. 5. That’s roughly three weeks longer than the province’s stated closure, and the nation made it clear the unilateral announcement by the province “has further undermined an already fractured relationship.”

In an emailed statement, Líl̓wat Nation said this year’s letter has also been signed by N’Quatqua First Nation, “reflecting continued alignment between the two nations on the importance of the closure periods and the broader management concerns at Pipi7íyekw/Joffre Lakes.” 

The planned reconnection period has once again unleashed “an unspeakable amount of online racism,” Green MLA Jeremy Valeriote said in the legislature on May 19. Valeriote, whose West Vancouver-Sea to Sky riding includes Pipi7íyekw, added the ministry’s lack of consultation with the First Nations, as well as the public disagreement over closure dates, may fuel the growing misinformation and mistrust surrounding Indigenous Rights in B.C. 

During question period, he asked Minister of Environment and Parks Tamara Davidson: “How is this collaboration? It seems that the government is either blaming the nations or waving the problem away instead of doing the actual work to alleviate the confusion in the minister’s estimation. Have the Líl̓wat and N’Quatqua Nations become collateral damage in the toxic reconciliation dialogue we’re experiencing?”

Major spike in visitors at Pipi7íyekw/Joffre Lakes

Just three provincial parks in B.C. require visitors to reserve a free day-use pass in advance during busy months — Pipi7íyekw/Joffre Lakes, Garibaldi Park and Golden Ears Park, all located within driving distance of Vancouver. Though there are more than a thousand parks in the province, these three and a handful of others become magnets for visitors. 

According to BC Parks, provincial parks on the south coast have seen a 52 per cent increase in visitor traffic since 2010 — and in Pipi7íyekw/Joffre Lakes, visits increased by 222 per cent between 2010 and 2019. 

“The overtourism leading up to the day-pass system was pretty significant. … I don’t think people fully appreciate what it’s like to have 200,000 people tramping through a relatively small park,” Valeriote told The Narwhal.

The stampede put a strain on the park, which can be accessed only through a single out-and-back route: trails were packed, cars spilled out of the parking lot, trash cans overflowed. Temporary closures were implemented to ensure rights-holding First Nations could access their territory, as well as give the land itself an opportunity to rest.

The nations’ proposed 2025 closure dates reflected “the time required for our communities to reconnect with the land, conduct ceremonies, gather food and medicines, and allow Pipi7íyekw the rest it needs to heal,” according to an August statement. “The province’s refusal to honour these dates undermines both reconciliation and the health of the land and people.”

History is repeating itself in 2026, with another disagreement over dates. 

In a statement sent to The Narwhal on May 27, the Ministry of Environment and Parks said it’s aware of the discrepancy between its 2026 dates and those given by Líl̓wat Nation. “The province reached out to the Líl̓wat Nation and N’Quatqua First Nations starting in February, reiterating a desire to identify long-term solutions that provide predictability and support the needs of all park users,” it said. According to the statement, the length of the 2026 closure dates align with “a commitment the province made in 2023 for 30 days of closures” — though in 2024 and 2025, the park was closed for nearly twice as many days. 

Parks Minister Davidson declined an interview with The Narwhal, but said by email the government values its relationship with both nations and hopes “to return to the table to collaborate on long-term solutions that provide predictability and support the needs of all park users.”

When asked if the province has a plan in place for protests or blockades that might arise over the disputed closure dates — as they did in 2025 — Minister of Indigenous Relations and Reconciliation Spencer Chandra Herbert did not answer directly, but said the province supported peaceful protest but not blockades.

Green MLA concerned about the politicization of parks closures

Valeriote told The Narwhal he worries the ministry’s unilateral communications, contradicted by Líl̓wat, will exacerbate growing tensions in B.C. over Indigenous Rights and reconciliation. 

The claim that the closures are race-based — rather than rights-based — has been deployed frequently.

“I won’t mince words: the Conservatives and OneBC are using this as a political wedge issue,” Valeriote said. “It’s fully opportunistic. They’re talking about … ‘We no longer have access to our public land.’ It’s pure fear mongering, and it’s irresponsible,” he said. “But in our political system, they’re taking advantage of an opportunity. That’s unfortunately how this political system works.”

Valeriote alluded to the recent tension over the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act, or DRIPA, which spiked in the wake of a court decision affirming that Cowichan Nation holds Aboriginal Title over a former village site in Richmond, B.C., which is now privately owned land. Despite Cowichan asserting repeatedly that they do not intend to seek claim to private land, the ruling has sparked panic among some property owners, with politicians rushing to reassure them — or amplify their fears. 

“They’re using [parks] to argue that Indigenous people are getting too good of a deal, and we should all be scared and, you know, private land ownership is playing into that.”

Misinformation is circulating, and not only about the closure dates, but who exactly is being kept out. B.C. politics reporter Rob Shaw posted on X that the BC Parks closure is “to allow First Nations to practice cultural and conservation traditions.” In fact, while there are 203 First Nations in B.C. — and residents of the province who are members of other First Nations across the country — only Líl̓wat and N’Quatqua members can access the parks during those periods.

Do B.C. and the First Nations see the park the same way?

In her emailed statement, Davidson emphasized balancing “predictable access” and visitor experience with reconciliation. “As one of BC Parks’ busiest destinations, welcoming thousands of visitors each year, we have a responsibility to carefully manage visitation in [the] park so people can have the most enjoyable experience.” When asked in the legislature on May 28 if trust had been broken with the First Nations, Davidson said, “I think we’d have to go back to Líl̓wat and N’Quatqua to ask them. But for our part, we’re working together and we’re trying to build that relationship back up again.” (In their August 2025 statement, the nations wrote, “We have lost trust in working with BC Parks.”)

But Líl̓wat’s statement makes it clear the First Nation sees the park differently, writing that reconnection periods are required “so our people can harvest, hold ceremony, teach our children on the land and carry out our stewardship responsibilities in Pipi7íyekw.”

In other words, a park is not just for enjoyment; it’s also a responsibility and a relationship. And that responsibility requires acknowledging that predictability is an increasingly unrealistic goal as climate change wreaks havoc on the planet, including Canadian parks. In recent years, parks across the country have closed after being damaged and destroyed by storms and floods. Many parks — including Jasper in Alberta, and Nopiming in Manitoba — have closed after being scorched by wildfire.

There is no certainty when it comes to our future access or enjoyment of nature. And the likelihood that parks will be around for anyone to enjoy is diminished when stewardship is treated as less important than on-demand access. The province knows this — despite the repeated emphasis on widespread access, only 500 daily passes are available, often booked up within moments of reservations opening.

“We see [a park] as a kind of piece of infrastructure, like a building, that’s supposed to be able to handle constant traffic and constant stress,” Valeriote told The Narwhal. “And I appreciate the Indigenous way of looking at it: it’s cyclical, and it’s a cultural asset that isn’t just about monetizing or utilizing 365 days a year. Sometimes it does need time to rest and reset,” he said. “I think the small amount of solitude that the Líl̓wat and N’Quatqua Nations can get in that cultural place is worth inconveniencing locals or tourists for a relatively few days a year.” 

Líl̓wat has asked the ministry to respond by Tuesday, June 2, and urged it to align the closure dates with those identified by the First Nation. 

“Reconciliation must be matched by action,” Líl̓wat Nation’s Chief Dean Nelson said in the statement. “If the province is serious about building a relationship based on mutual respect, it must start by respecting our reconnection periods.”

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 Squamish Nation has regained some its land back after a lengthy court case against the federal government. Sen̓áḵw is the ancestral village name, and name of the development.
• It’s the largest sustainable housing project in First Nations history, and among one of Canada’s largest developments that will operate at net-zero emissions.
• A blessing ceremony for Squamish members and invited guests was hosted at the first completed tower on May 8, the second ceremony of its kind held in the ancestral village in over 100 years.

On an overcast day in May, hundreds of people are gathered in Sen̓áḵw, an ancestral Squamish village, to celebrate the first completed tower among what will be one of the largest housing developments in Kitsilano’s history.

The first tower, called tl’eltl’élnup (real home) is ceremonially brushed with cedar as guests — many of them Squamish Nation members — look on with pride.

With Squamish songs and drummers, eagles flying overhead and people of all ages in attendance – the blessing ceremony carried laughter and emotion throughout. 

“Very historic day for our Sḵwx̱wú7mesh Úxwumixw people, we’re breathing life back into our village here in Sen̓áḵw,” Wilson Williams said.

Williams is the Council Chairperson for the Squamish Nation, and said that after being removed from the ancestral village for more than 100 years, the blessing ceremonies are “the beginning of something beautiful.”

Sen̓áḵw has made headlines across the country as one of the greenest urban developments in Canada, and receiving the largest investment from the Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation in history. 

In the midst of Canada’s housing crisis, Sen̓áḵw is set to provide 6,000 homes. And in one of the most desirable neighbourhoods in one of North America’s most expensive cities, 1,200 will be delivered under an affordable model.

None of it would have been possible without fighting in court for 25 years. The village site was won back in a 2003 court case — a victory won by Elders from the nation, and renowned leaders such as Chief Joe Mathias. 

“In 1913 our people got put on a barge and pushed into the ocean, our homes were burned as they were going off into the ocean. So it’s been a long battle,” Jacob Lewis said, seated on a cedar bench in the shape of a canoe.

Lewis is Squamish and has been involved with the Sen̓áḵw development since its inception in 2019, when the nation voted in favour to build. He is currently the director of community development with Nch’ḵay̓ Development Corporation, a partner in the project.

“Super excited today, it’s been a long time coming,” he said. “There’s been so much pride, so much honour, so much appreciation and gratitude for our ancestors, for our past leadership and all those people that helped get us here today for the blessing ceremony.”

Beyond making history with the development size and investment, what makes the development special to many is the beauty of the architecture, emphasis on Squamish artwork and environmental considerations taken in the build. 

Three towers come into view from the Burrard Street Bridge, trigon and crescent shapes decorating the buildings.

Coast Salish designs are visible in the concrete, with Sḵwx̱wú7mesh language set to be visible throughout the properties upon completion – there is no mistaking that this is a Squamish village.

The tower is the first of 11 residential towers, with rental priority going to Squamish people, and then Indigenous people, before rentals open to the general public – implemented through an Indigenous participation plan.

The development will be surrounded by a village with amenities including a pool, sauna, cold plunge and more. 

Sen̓áḵw development centres environmental considerations

While the physical construction of Sen̓áḵw is releasing carbon into the environment, the operation of the buildings will emit almost no greenhouse gases from the day residents move in, Jennifer Podmore Russell told the Narwhal. 

“It was really important that we bring every environmental standard that we could into this building, as quickly as we could,” she said. Russell is the Chief Development Officer with Nch’ḵay̓ Development Corporation.

Through an investment from Creative Energy, a Vancouver-based green energy supplier, Sen̓áḵw is one of the only housing developments of its size that will operate at net-zero emissions in the world.

Residential towers are designed to be heated and cooled by converted wasted thermal energy, captured from a Metro Vancouver waste line. 

“With a capacity of approximately 4,000 tons, it’s one of the largest cooling towers in the Lower Mainland, efficiently serving the entire Sen̓áḵw development,” the Creative Energy website reads. 

Just two levels of parking are being offered across each tower, reducing carbon emissions and encouraging less vehicle use. 

A number of different partnerships with transportation providers in the area have been established, including Uber, Evo car share, Mobi rental bikes and False Creek Ferries, so that residents can “be able to navigate their life without the burden of a car,” Russell said.

‘I am excited to live in a brand-new building’

The first residents will move into Sen̓áḵw on June 1st, with the next tower set to open in September. It’s a move that some residents have long awaited, including Cody Bugler.

“I’m moving into a one-bedroom suite, 585 sq. feet, market rate. The size and price is comparable to what I’m paying now in a much older building in the West End, with much less exciting amenities.”

Bugler is Plains Cree from Red Pheasant First Nation in Saskatchewan, and has lived in the area for years. He uses public transportation to access his job at the University of British Columbia as an Indigenous Engagement Leader. 

“I’ve been putting off moving for some time, waiting for these buildings to be complete, so it’s exciting to finally see it all come to fruition,” he said. 

Reflecting on the country’s housing shortage, Lewis said that “it feels amazing” being able to host Indigenous people who find themselves living in Vancouver.

As for building at this scale, Squamish cultural values helped guide the process. Providing high-density housing is solving one of the city’s largest problems, welcomes members of the nation back to the territory, while ensuring that environmental impact is as minimal as possible.

“People were saying ‘shouldn’t they be building something that’s more sustainable?’ Expecting us to build longhouses,” Lewis said, addressing negative feedback from the surrounding neighbourhood.

“We’re doing it the Sḵwx̱wú7mesh way, and that’s what we’re gonna focus on,” he said.

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Wearing regalia bearing the raven crests of his mother’s clan, S’mooygyet (Chief) Algax’m Hax, Murray Smith, of the Gitwilgyoots Tribe, shared where he comes from. Sharing his lineage is a necessary precursor to welcoming visitors to his lands, he explained.

“When I get up here to speak, I have to tell you who I really am,” he told a group gathered in Prince Rupert, B.C., earlier this month. “My grandfather is Haida. My mother’s mother was Ts’msyen from Lax Kw’alaams.”

“There’s a word in my language called sg̱an,” he continued. “Sg̱an is a welcome mat made out of cedar and they place it at the bow of a canoe. When the Chief steps off, he doesn’t step on the ground, he steps on the welcome mat.”

“Chiefs, matriarchs, high-ranking women, young people that are here: the welcome mat is out,” he declared.

Algax’m Hax is a Hereditary Chief of the Gitwilgyoots, one of the Nine Allied Tribes of Lax Kw’alaams. Ten years ago, he and other chiefs signed the landmark Lelu Island Declaration, placing vital salmon habitat in the Skeena River estuary under the protection of Indigenous laws. In solidarity with the Gitwilgyoots Chiefs, leaders of First Nations and elected officials from across the region signed onto the declaration, which extended an invitation to all to join in “defending this unique and precious place and to protect it for all time.”

At the time, the estuary — one of the most productive and ecologically important salmon habitats in B.C. — was threatened by the looming prospect of a major liquefied natural gas (LNG) export terminal, which was to be built on the island. The following year, Malaysian oil and gas giant Petronas cancelled its plans to build the Pacific Northwest LNG facility. A totem pole was raised on the island, to keep watch and assert stewardship. Two years later, the Prince Rupert Port Authority imposed a development moratorium over the sensitive area.

This spring, as juvenile salmon migrated from the creeks and rivers out to the ocean, Indigenous leaders and allies met to mark the anniversary of the declaration and talk about the future of salmon stewardship in the estuary and watershed. Algax’m Hax spoke to the importance of salmon and expressed solidarity with all who give of themselves to protect the species.

“I see you all here fighting for one thing, and that’s for our salmon,” he said. “So goes the salmon, so do we.”

He looked around the room and said he was called to speak by his fellow chief, Yahaan, who wasn’t able to attend the gathering. He said he phoned Yahaan the night before the event and asked what he should say.

“He said, ‘You’ll find your words,’ ” Algax’m Hax recounted. “It’s easy when I sit amongst people that care, people that dedicate themselves to the wellness of our salmon here on the North Coast, on the coast altogether. I take my hat off to you.”

Salmon connect ‘communities, cultures and generations’

The protection of Lelu Island — and Flora and Agnew Banks, the delicate estuarine habitat around the island — took years of dedication and sacrifice by Indigenous and non-Indigenous leaders and community members. 

Loggers, commercial fishers, scientists, politicians and more agreed building a massive LNG facility in the sensitive estuary would be a catastrophic mistake with far-reaching impacts on the livelihoods and cultures of communities across the region. Weaving Indigenous science and academic research, allyship and land defence, people from across the Skeena watershed and beyond came together to stand up for the salmon, sending ripples far and wide.

“Salmon do something extraordinary,” Julia Hill, executive director of SkeenaWild, said at the two-day event. “They connect ecosystems … communities, cultures and generations. They’re part of the social, cultural and economic fabric of this place.”

In the years since the declaration was signed, Indigenous and non-Indigenous salmon stewardship and science has been ongoing throughout the Skeena watershed. At the gathering, representatives from Fisheries and Oceans Canada presented alongside environmental organizations, academics and First Nations. 

Jonathan Moore, director of the Salmon Watersheds Lab at Simon Fraser University, said the reason the species is able to thrive today is because of this unity and the continuity of stewardship.

“Right now, as we gather, literally hundreds of millions of young salmon are migrating down from throughout the Skeena, potentially hundreds of kilometres away, and they’re all coming down just around the corner and they’re hitting the ocean,” he said, grinning. “It gives me chills, honestly, to think about that phenomenon that unfolds every year because of these intact ecosystems that have been stewarded for millennia.”

But while the protections of Lelu Island remain in place, wild salmon continue to face multiple threats. Many populations across the watershed are struggling. 

“This region is experiencing enormous pressure and rapid change, from climate change and warming waters to industrial expansion and growing global demand for resources,” Hill said. “At the same time, many communities here depend on resource-based economies. So the question isn’t development or no development. The question is how much, where and to whose benefit.”

That tension is rising amid talk about new pipelines from Alberta and the spectre of lifting the oil tanker moratorium on the North Coast. A slew of projects supported by the provincial and federal governments are putting increased pressure on already-impacted salmon habitat throughout the northwest. 

All of this is set against a backdrop of talk by the provincial government about amending or repealing B.C.’s Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act. It leads some to fear hard-won battles like the protection of Lelu Island could be undermined by an onslaught of new industrial developments that would provide little benefit to the communities who would pay the highest costs.

“We’re witnessing this backlash against Indigenous Rights, against Indigenous stewardship, against title to the land being recognized,” Naxginkw Tara Marsden, Wilp sustainability director with the Gitanyow Hereditary Chiefs, said. “We’re at a critical juncture for salmon stewardship and for the well-being of our communities.”

Marsden emphasized the intersection between rights and responsibilities.

“If we receive a full basket, we have to make sure we pass on a full basket,” she said. “So in my lifetime, if I see the salmon stocks decline to a point of extirpation, then I haven’t done my job for my kids, my grandkids.”

‘This impacts everybody’

For Grace Vickers, daughter of Andrea Vickers and revered carver Roy Henry Vickers, all conversations about stewardship and economy need to start from a shared baseline. Introducing herself as Heiltsuk belonging to the House of Walkus, she spoke about the importance of place-based knowledge.   

“What’s important today is what is sustaining us,” she said, during a youth panel at the gathering. “It’s the air we breathe, it’s the fish we eat and it’s the water we drink.”

Vickers and four other young women — Nasya Moore, Oasis Cleveland, Drew Harris and Kayla Mitchell — shared what it’s like being young at a time when so much is changing. They spoke about cultural disconnection and reconnection and the strength and restorative value of spending time on the land, harvesting and processing fish.

Harris, who is Wet’suwet’en and Gitxsan, said she sees how land protections, human rights and stewardship of the likes of salmon can become siloed.

“Like: there’s the fish, there’s the land, there’s the people, there’s the health,” she said. “But it’s all connected. We can’t just silo these things and differentiate them and not talk about it together. Just seeing the different connections and looking from a different perspective can really help you understand the full picture and how to treat that problem.”

She said acknowledging the scale of the problems facing communities can be unifying and called out fossil fuel expansions as a global issue.

“Everywhere we go, we meet the youth and they all have their own projects that they’re fighting,” she said. “It’s sad but it connects us all together.”

“This fight isn’t just for the Indigenous people,” she added. “This impacts everybody.”

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Summary

• Historically, First Nations in B.C. who lived near floodplains respected tides and lived nomadically, until settlers disrupted water flow, creating dikes to pursue agriculture and urban development.
• Xwíʔləm̓nəc, or Addington Point Marsh, has been restored to a wetland after three years of collaboration led by Katzie First Nation.
• Restoring wetlands brings life to countless species and helps restore Indigenous people’s connection to their traditional territories. The marsh is part of Canada’s largest salmon-bearing watershed.

On a late April morning, a group of Katzie First Nation land guardians, conservation workers, government representatives and others trek down to Xwíʔləm̓nəc (Addington Point Marsh).

They gather in the First Nation’s Lower Mainland territory to celebrate the long-awaited completion of a wetland restoration project connecting to the Stó:lō (Fraser River).

Mike Leon leads Katzie’s team of eight guardians, and has been involved with the marsh restoration project from the beginning. After everyone bypasses a locked gate — there to reduce the risk of bear-human encounters — they stop by the water, and he addresses the group.

“I would really like to raise my hands to all of you, to the hard work and willingness to work with us, to be with us, to be with this land,” he said.

The restoration project was funded by the B.C. government and the federal Department of Fisheries and Oceans, implemented by Katzie First Nation, Resilient Waters, Ducks Unlimited Canada and the Nature Trust of British Columbia, with many helping hands involved.

For three years the partners worked together to reestablish waterflow in the marsh. The wetlands connection to the Pitt River and South Fraser River system was disconnected when early settlers installed a dike, which has since been removed. 

“I love doing the work. I love being on our territory and helping the environment,” Mackenzie Adams, another Katzie guardian, added. Adams monitored the site throughout the project, and collected water and bird surveys to compare data before and after restoration. 

According to the B.C. Wildlife Federation, wetland monitoring is just as important as the initial restoration during a project. “Monitoring, maintenance, and data collection help us evaluate the effectiveness of restoration techniques and improve the performance and function of future projects,” it reads on their website.

Xwíʔləm̓nəc is now letting nature take its course, and with the area being home to one of the country’s largest salmon runs and smallest sandhill crane populations, monitoring the wetland is critical work for Katzie Guardians. 

“I was there one of the first days … comparing the first day to the last day was pretty eye opening because you can already see the differences from the river water coming in. It will be an awesome habitat for all birds and salmon fry,” Adams said. 

While the exact impact is currently unknown, wetland restoration benefits are well documented. Leon’s team will be on top of that data, working with partners to restore and conserve native plants and animals in the area.

Relationships between Katzie Guardians and partners in the project have flourished. A local property owner who attended the celebration shared their initial concerns after seeing excavation equipment clearing a path to the dike, and their relief after learning more about the endeavour. Beyond its environmental impacts, the project has brought people together from all walks of life who want to see salmon and wildlife in and around the Fraser River thrive.

Restoration project had many partners, but Katzie had final say

Dan Straker, the manager for the Resilient Waters project, was a lead organizer under the direction of Katzie Guardians and leadership. 

“With Katzie First Nation, it was determined early on they would have final decision making and be informing the project along the way. All the partners fell in line with that idea and thinking,” Straker told the Narwhal. 

“What we ended up with was this really nice blended way of doing things, from a more two-eyed seeing approach.” 

Leon added that, throughout the endeavour, Katzie brought in their customs, culture and laws.

“It’s really important and special to us to know our place names in our territory. When we have our guardians come out, we’re honored to be on those place names such as Xwíʔləm̓nəc,” Leon said. 

It’s a sentiment shared by Katzie’s guardian coordinator April Pierre. In a quiet moment of emotion in the circle, she addressed a reality shared by many First Nations people: growing up away from her homelands.

The Xwíʔləm̓nəc restoration project gave Pierre an opportunity to spend time on land she had never been to — the land of her ancestors. It’s one emotional moment of many that were shared during the celebration, as others reflected on the marine and wildlife already making appearances in the marsh.

Dikes were built to create flat land for agriculture in the area since the late 1800s. Restoring the marsh’s connection to the river has immense ecological benefits and cultural benefits for local First Nations.

“Conservation organizations in previous decades had a different approach to conservation land management that I think sometimes excluded other organizations and nations,” Ducks Unlimited senior restoration biologist, Eric Balke, said.

“I think we are learning new and better ways of moving forward, more collaborative ways, and this project is a great example of that.”

Balke has been involved with restoring Xwíʔləm̓nəc since brainstorming and planning days, eventually passing the reins to his colleague Alison Martin.

“What excites me about this project is it’s all about restoring relationships,” he said. “You’re restoring the relationship between the river and these wetlands that were formerly alienated by dikes. You’re restoring the relationship between Xwíʔləm̓nəc and juvenile salmon that previously were prevented from accessing the site … it’s also restoring the relationship between Katzie and their kin.”

Wetland restoration benefits salmon

In the Pacific Northwest, both people and the ecosystem know how important salmon is. Xwíʔləm̓nəc is connected to Canada’s largest salmon-bearing watershed, the Fraser River. 

According to the Pacific Salmon Foundation, “floodplains provide critical, food-rich habitat for juvenile salmon. These low-lying areas adjacent to stream channels allow young salmon to grow healthy and strong before their journey to the ocean.”

But dikes disrupt the river’s connection to the marsh, blocking valuable nutrients and harming the salmon and other species.

“Wetlands, such as tidal marshes, help to collect sediment that build up the marsh platform, helping to protect our communities from flooding,” Balke said.

“This land that settlers found is super valuable for farming and agriculture, it was valuable because of the sediment that was delivered, because of the nutrients that were delivered by the river,” he said.

“When we construct dikes we disconnect the river from its floodplain. The river can no longer deliver those critical ingredients.”

A huge benefit of restoring tidal marshes is that they are one of the most effective ways of capturing and storing carbon, contaminants and pollutants that flow downstream. 

Further, Xwíʔləm̓nəc is home to wapoto and tule, two traditional plants for Katzie First Nation that have been impacted from dikes. Restoring the wetland is giving members of the nation hope that these plants can be harvested for food and mat-making once again.

The marsh is also home to sandhill cranes, whose local population has hovered around 30 to 35 birds for decades, Myles Lamont told the Narwhal. He was brought into the project by Katzie as a sandhill crane consultant.

“The remaining birds seem to nest in golf courses and some very small regional parks … Unfortunately they’ve been getting struck by golf balls. Quite commonly over the last 10 to 15 years, I’ve had to rescue a few birds that have had broken legs or injuries as a result of golf ball strikes, particularly in Richmond,” Lamont said. 

He is hopeful that restoring Xwíʔləm̓nəc to a wetland will bring in enough water to create a nesting habitat for the birds, drawing them away from golf courses. As folks went around the sharing circle, Lamont spotted one overhead, calling out, “Crane!” 

“It’s really cool being a part of it. Just knowing that we’re making a difference, I’m making a difference,” Adams said.“The salmon habitat has a place to go throughout the winter and so do the sandhill cranes and birds. It’s a good feeling … I feel accomplished.”

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Summary

• As other provinces move to restrict access to public records, B.C. insists its proposed changes are about efficiency.
• Critics say these changes could make it harder for British Columbians to access public records.
• B.C.’s citizens services ministry is receiving fewer FOI requests now than it was in 2020, but those requests are producing more pages than ever before.

Maybe you’ve heard the famous lyric from Joni Mitchell’s “Big Yellow Taxi”: “Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone?”

That wistful lament about the environmental impacts of development seems unfortunately applicable to freedom of information systems across Canada these days.

The federal government is mulling shielding some forms of government communications from the public. Ontario’s government recently passed a law that exempts documents created by the premier’s office, cabinet ministers and parliamentary secretaries from freedom of information requests. The changes are part of the government’s omnibus bill and are retroactive, potentially stopping hundreds of active requests in their tracks. Meanwhile, Alberta enacted a new freedom of information regime last year, one that significantly restricts access rights and gives the government sweeping powers to withhold requested information or reject requests entirely.

The B.C. government’s freedom of information — known as FOI — legislation is different, at least according to Citizens Services Minister Diana Gibson. Since introducing Bill 9, Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy Amendment Act, Gibson has repeatedly talked about other Canadian governments “pulling back” on access to information.

“We are not,” Gibson told reporters. “That’s why these amendments are here, to clarify that we are maintaining oversight and access and one of the strongest FOI acts in Canada.”

Broadly, Bill 9 has two areas of focus. Parts of the bill aim to make it easier for public bodies to share information in response to requests, cutting down on the need for people to contact multiple agencies to get the information they seek. 

Other changes seem geared toward getting more FOI requests rejected, critics say. Currently, the law says an FOI request must give “enough detail to enable an experienced employee of the public body, with a reasonable effort, to identify the record sought.” Bill 9 adds that an experienced employee must be able to identify requested records in “a reasonable amount of time” in “the opinion of the head of the public body.” That potentially gives public sector executives a lot of power to refuse to fulfill requests.

“It degrades freedom of information under the guise of administrative convenience, making the government both judge and juror over what the public can access,” Green Party MLA Rob Botterell said in a statement about the changes. Botterell, who helped draft the original law, which passed in 1992, called Bill 9 an “evisceration of this cornerstone legislation.”

Gibson has accused critics of spreading misinformation and cherry-picking data about B.C.’s FOI system to suit their own narratives.

Let’s unpack the politics and posturing and dig into the current state of B.C.’s freedom of information system and the changes the government is proposing.

What is freedom of information?

Freedom of information is the idea that citizens have the right to access documents and records held by public entities, such as school districts, police forces and government ministries. In Canada, freedom of information rights are laid out in federal and provincial laws. Members of the public can request a range of information from various public entities, from meeting notes and staff communications to databases and documentation about new policies.

Journalists like me can request information to better understand the impact train collisions have on wildlife or uncover a significant equipment malfunction at B.C.’s first liquefied natural gas (LNG) facility.

Most Canadian jurisdictions introduced freedom of information laws around 40 years ago, before the digital revolution. In the years since, the amount of documents public bodies create has grown significantly and many of those documents are subject to freedom of information laws.

How many people actually file freedom of information requests?

B.C. is fielding fewer FOI requests than it once did. In 2020, the citizens services ministry logged a total of 8,347 general requests compared to 4,691 in 2025 — a 44 per cent drop that can likely be at least partly attributed to the creation of a $10 fee for requests implemented by the provincial government in 2021.

But the number of pages generated in response to the average request has increased. The Ministry of Citizens Services says its FOI operations office processed 1.64 million pages in 2020 compared to 2.18 million pages in 2025 — a 33 per cent increase. The average general FOI request filed in 2025 in B.C. yielded 366 pages.

That suggests the public bodies may not be managing information as efficiently as they could be, Mike Larsen, president of the BC Freedom of Information Association, said.

“If we have better ways for people to organize information and if that’s followed consistently, then it shouldn’t be a problem to provide efficient and effective access,” he said. “I think that the minister is not wrong to say that there’s been a shift in the terrain here, but to respond to this with the idea of needing to perhaps curtail access rights in some way, I think, is a step in the wrong direction.”

Larsen also points out that focusing on the quantitative aspects of the FOI system — number of requests filed and pages processed — doesn’t give a complete picture of how well the system is functioning.

An FOI request could, for instance, yield 300 pages, but hundreds of those pages could be redacted, offering no useful information to the requester. In cases like that, knowing the number of pages a public body produced but not how many of those pages contained useful information gives a “totally skewed” impression of the system, Larsen added.

The minister takes issue with the idea that FOI requests are down overall.

“Personal requests are up and those are bigger and more complex,” Gibson told reporters. “Overall, the issue is about sensitive Ministry of Children and Family Development files, where there are multiple parties involved and a lot of sensitive information, thousands of pages. So it isn’t just about numbers being down. Actually, that’s not accurate.”

Gibson is partly right. FOI requests to the Ministry of Children and Family Development — which is responsible for sensitive personal information about adoption, child protection and foster care — have increased. In 2025, the ministry received 2,372 requests, up from 1,858 in 2020.

However, overall requests are still down significantly, from 10,205 in 2020 to 7,063 last year. Citizens Services declined to provide data for the most recent fiscal year, telling The Narwhal those figures are still being reviewed.

How is the government proposing to change B.C.’s FOI law?

Gibson introduced Bill 9 on Feb. 26.

“Taken together, these amendments strengthen [the law] for the future,” she said during her second reading speech. “They protect privacy. They uphold access to information. They enable better services for British Columbians, and they support a more transparent, efficient and people-centred public sector.”

But in addition to the changes aimed at improving information sharing between public bodies, some parts of the legislation broadens the grounds on which public bodies can refuse to respond to requests. That includes allowing a public body to reject requests that “would unreasonably interfere” with its operations or the government’s more broadly. “Abusive” or “malicious” requests could also be thrown out.

Larsen worries public bodies operating with reduced budgets or poor information management policies could use the unreasonable interference language to reject requests “simply because they’re overwhelmed — for reasons that aren’t due to the requester’s actions or the nature of the request in question.”

“If you’re unreasonably resourced, then a reasonable request can look unreasonable,” he said.

If your FOI request is rejected, you can appeal to the FOI and privacy commissioner, Gibson points out.

“The independent office of the privacy commissioner oversees any requests that would be denied,” she said. “What we’re talking about here is things like … death threats or white powder in envelopes. This is about being able to manage that kind of behavior, so that citizens with requests that we want to serve can get served quickly.”

Relying on complaints to ensure good requests still make it through the system doesn’t sit well with Larsen.

“That really worries me when people say, ‘We’re changing things in a way that may make it likely that people are dissatisfied, but don’t worry, there’s an appeals process!” he said.

“Going through a review as a way of trying to manage the scope of requests, that’s just completely inefficient.”

The minister did not directly answer questions about whether the commissioner will get a funding increase to deal with the additional stream of complaints Bill 9 could create. Instead, she touted the government’s proactive disclosure policies and promised Bill 9 will result in the release of more information without FOI request.

“This isn’t about making the situation worse,” Gibson told reporters. “This is about making it better.”

So what is proactive disclosure? And how will Bill 9 expand it?

One way governments can reduce the need for members of the public to file requests is to release documents without being asked, a practice known as proactive disclosure. The B.C. government proactively releases 17 types of records, including binders for new cabinet ministers, lists of briefing notes and expense claims and records requested via freedom of information request.

Typically, these records are kept confidential for months before being published, although the timeline can vary. However, as of the publication of this story, the B.C. government has “temporarily paused” proactive disclosures while it develops and launches a new system to publish these records. (The pause has lasted more than a month so far.)

Gibson did not mention the suspension and, when asked about it directly, did not explain why the old publication platform could not continue until the new one was ready to launch.

“We haven’t stopped doing proactive disclosures. What we’ve got is a new and more modernized system that’s going to deliver better on proactive disclosure and also a new proactive disclosure coming in Bill 9,” she told reporters. “But there’s a temporary gap while we move to the new, more modern system, and we’re hoping to have that online as soon as possible.”

The Citizens Services Ministry said the “pause is temporary and technical in nature,” and that the new system is expected to be operational any day.

How many new types of documents will Bill 9 add to the proactive disclosure schedule? Many or none, depending on how you look at it. The new proactive disclosure provisions in the bill apply only to personal information, not records created by the government.

The changes will give government ministries the ability “to disclose personal information back to the individual the information is about, without going through an FOI request,” according to Citizens Services.

Larsen sees value in making it easier for people to access personal information from public bodies, especially with proper privacy protections in place.

“That’s not the same thing as proactive disclosure of public records, though,” he added. “It’s a very different and meritorious thing to do, but it’s important not to conflate those things.”

If — when? — Bill 9 passes, when will these changes take effect?

The B.C. legislature has just nine sitting days left before the summer break. If Bill 9 doesn’t pass by May 28, it will be October before it passes.

The bill is just about to begin committee stage, the point at which opposition MLAs can ask the minister responsible questions about the effect of the changes proposed and put forward changes of their own, though these don’t often end up in the final version.

Gibson has already tabled amendments to Bill 9, ones she says clarify the powers of the information and privacy commissioner.

“I’m really looking forward to committee [stage] where we actually get to speak to the merits of the legislation and have a real debate about the content,” Gibson said. “It’s also a good opportunity to correct some real misinformation and misunderstandings about the bill.”

The B.C. Green and B.C. Conservative caucuses oppose Bill 9 in its current form. Interim Conservative Leader Trevor Halford even tried to have debate on the bill suspended for six months to allow for further consultation, a move that led to hours of late-night debate before the motion was defeated with the support of the NDP caucus and a pair of independent MLAs.

Odds are good Bill 9 will pass this spring, even if the government has to cut debate short to make it happen. Some of its changes will take effect immediately, including the requirement that requests provide enough detail to be located in a “reasonable amount of time.” Most of the others won’t take effect until the ministry has developed regulations to provide more detail about their function.

That process could take weeks, months or more. At least one piece of legislation that passed last spring has yet to take full effect because the regulations are still being developed.

It will likely be a year or more before we know if the changes really will improve B.C.’s FOI system, as Gibson claims. One of her predecessors made similar comments about the bill that created the $10 FOI filing fee, claiming those changes would help unclog the FOI system and result in faster responses to FOI requests. Five years later, we know she was wrong. 

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.

This story is part of Generating Futures, a series from The Narwhal exploring clean energy sovereignty among B.C. First Nations.

Summary

• Haida Gwaii is one of 44 remote communities in B.C. that are not connected to the provincial electrical grid. For power, most rely on diesel, which has heavy environmental and human health costs. 
• Solar North, a two-megawatt solar project by Haida-owned Tll Yahda, came online in December — the first project of its kind to be built on a remote grid in B.C., and a big step forward in the First Nation’s plans to transition off diesel.
• Whether operating independently or with BC Hydro, remote projects require funding to get off the ground. However, a key federal grant program by Natural Resources Canada to fund diesel reduction will end next year.

On a hot, sunny day in 2023, a flatbed truck sidled up to the flat patch of grass at the Masset airport on Haida Gwaii. Kevin Brown, Patrika McEvoy and Sean Brennan had rushed to the site when they heard the solar panels had arrived. After decades of advocating, planning and waiting, the Haida Nation’s first utility-scale solar energy project — the first of its kind on a remote grid in B.C. — was ready to be built. 

All three remember the moment when Brown, energy coordinator for Old Massett Village Band Council, reached out his finger to touch one. 

“Shit just got real,” he says.

Across much of the province, B.C.’s mostly hydropowered centralized electricity system blurs into the background, delivering easily accessible, relatively affordable power at the flick of a switch.

But Haida Gwaii’s archipelago off the Pacific Coast is truncated from B.C.’s grid, making it one of around 44 remote communities in B.C. most of which rely on diesel for their power. There, diesel is delivered perilously by trucks and tankers, and leaves toxins lingering in the air. It remains a problem that the province has promised, but so far failed, to fix. In 2017, B.C. announced a target to reduce diesel on remote grids by 80 per cent by 2030, a goal that currently appears far out of reach.

But this past December, Tll Yahda Energy, an independent power producer and a partnership between the Council of the Haida Nation, Skidegate Band Council and Old Massett Village Council, made a sizable leap when their two-megawatt solar project, Solar North, officially came online. It marks the first time in B.C. that an intermittent energy source like solar has made a sizable dent in a diesel-driven remote grid. 

“We expected to have to do some trailblazing,” Brennan, manager at Tll Yahda and a lead on the project, says. “But it was basically reinventing that entire trail.”

If all goes as planned, Haida Gwaii’s project will soon be joined by a stream of others, including the Ulkatcho First Nation’s completed four-megawatt solar farm in the Chilcotin Plateau, the Nuxalk Nation’s run-of-river hydroelectric project on the Central Coast and the Uchucklesaht Tribe’s efforts on western Vancouver Island to build a 750-kilowatt solar and battery-storage project, among many others. Many are in development and partially funded, but require more support to move forward.

But as federal and provincial governments’ priorities shift, there are signs the window could begin to close again. That could spell trouble for communities with in-between projects, and for Haida Gwaii, whose journey to displace diesel still has a long way to go.

‘This is not something we want to risk anymore.’

Since the first electric light in the Pacific Northwest beamed out over a harbour near Victoria almost 150 years ago, power and access to it have developed asymmetrically. Wires and transmission lines quickly fanned out across the province, etching their way across Indigenous territories, targeting congregations of settler populations and the bursts of resource extraction they tended to follow.

Elsewhere, and in many First Nations communities, electric power was scarce until it came by way of diesel generators, which use diesel-fueled pistons to produce a magnetic field, generating electricity. But diesel power comes at a high cost for ecosystems and communities.

In the early hours of October 13, 2016, the Nathan E. Stewart tugboat ran into one of the many rocks tracing the shoreline in Heiltsuk territory. By around 10 a.m. the next morning, the tug had sunk, spilling more than 100,000 litres of diesel fuel and other pollutants into nearby Gale Pass, leaving a rainbow-coloured sheen across the water.  

The tug was among many that haul diesel to generators along the coast, including to Haida Gwaii. 

It was yet another alarm bell that propelled the nation’s resolve to get off diesel, Brennan says. “That was really what led to us saying ‘This is not something we want to risk anymore.’”

On a regular basis, Haida Gwaii is visited by barges carrying diesel up through the Inside Passage and then through the Hecate Strait, which has been called the most dangerous water body on Canada’s coast, threatening ocean ecosystems and the nation’s coastal economy that depends on them. Even on land, diesel fuel tends to splatter and spill despite its handlers’ best efforts, leaving contaminated soil at loading docks and generating stations.

In the air, combusted diesel fumes produce pollutants like nitrogen dioxide and fine particulates, known to exacerbate asthma, cancer and risk of premature death. It also releases copious amounts of carbon dioxide. Haida Gwaii represents around three per cent of the province’s electrical emissions.

The Haida Nation’s work to shift from diesel galvanized in the mid-2000s, Brown explains. Community members tallied data across communities and realized the true scale of their diesel demand.

Inertia, political will posed challenges for transition away from diesel in B.C.

In theory, the province was also concerned about the amount of diesel being burned in remote communities.

Gordon Campbell’s Liberal government made the first move, directing BC Hydro to take over energy provision in additional remote communities, including some remote First Nations that had been operating their own energy systems with federal funding. Ideally, BC Hydro would help communities bring more clean energy to their grids. 

But that’s not what happened. 

The utility housed some deep-rooted inertia, according to Nick Hawley, a former manager on remote community electrification for BC Hydro at the time.

“They had diesel mechanics and diesel electricians,” Hawley, now an energy consultant, says. He describes an institution that was risk-averse and reticent to change. “They knew diesel.” 

As a monopoly utility, BC Hydro decides where and when it buys power, and from whom in the regions it services. It held prospective renewable projects to a strict test: It would only consider those that could beat the price of diesel fuel, not including the substantial costs of maintenance and replacing things like generators. They also required that projects cover the often sizable cost of connecting to the remote grid. Under those circumstances, says Hawley, it was difficult to get new renewable projects through.

In 2012, BC Hydro put a call out for energy projects on Haida Gwaii. Old Massett Band Council was one of many renewable projects that applied with a proposal for a 5.6 megawatt wind project. None were accepted.

The Haida Nation had begun moving forward anyway. 

“We’ve been on a long journey,” Nangkilslas Trent Moraes, deputy chief councillor of the Skidegate First Nation, says. Communities started out working on smaller changes, beginning with things like solar water heaters and heat pumps. Soon, solar panels popped up on roofs across the islands, including the Haida Heritage Centre built in 2017 — B.C.’s largest community-owned renewable energy installation at the time. 

“That was the beginning of how we got into the power field,” he says. 

Still, the communities’ long-held goal of owning and operating a larger-scale renewable project remained out of reach. 

That changed when, beginning in 2019, Haida Gwaii’s southern band council, Skidegate, and northern council, Old Massett, began meeting to discuss energy issues with the Council of the Haida Nation. 

Together, the bands and nation pooled their efforts and resources, enabling them to pursue a project that wouldn’t have been possible in isolation. This allowed the nation to remain the project’s sole owner and decision-maker, absent the influence of investors or other companies. 

“I was thankful that we were able to acquire ownership for this project and not have third parties involved,” McEvoy, former chair of energy on the Tll Yahda board of directors and energy consultant for the Council of the Haida Nation, says.

BC Hydro had long argued that its ability to spend more on remote grids was constrained by the utility regulator’s legal requirement that new projects not unduly impact other ratepayers, a challenge for some renewable energy projects. As the plans for Solar North came together, McEvoy worked with a group of remote First Nations communities advocating for legal change, designing an amendment to remove that potential obstruction: for a temporary period, cabinet could now direct the utility regulator to accept these projects, even if they came at a higher cost than diesel.  

“That was a lot of blood, sweat and tears,” McEvoy says. The regulatory amendment was finally passed in 2024, and will remain until the end of 2029.

BC Hydro now had a clear legal runway to support renewable projects in the 14 remote grids — called “non-integrated areas” — it services. But the clock was ticking: the amendment was passed six years after B.C. set a target to reduce 80 per cent of its diesel emissions by 2030, and no projects in BC Hydro’s service regions had been achieved. Last December, Haida’s project became the first, soon to be followed by a solar farm in Anahim Lake led by the Ulkatcho First Nation, which is set to come online this year. Meanwhile, remote communities who had operated their energy systems independently had collectively reduced their diesel use by 84 percent since 2019, mostly through small hydroelectric projects.

In an emailed statement, BC Hydro said that it “took time” for the utility to incorporate new communities into its operating practices, to “ensure that the levels of reliability are brought to utility standards” adding that the remote grids they service tend to be larger and more complex to decarbonize than independently operated remote energy systems. It also added that since 2018 BC Hydro has been working with new sources of federal and provincial funding “to support a more cost-effective transition from diesel to renewable energy.” It also added that the province’s 2030 diesel reduction target is “not BC Hydro’s target.”

But by the time the legal amendment came in 2024, Tll Yahda’s work on Solar North was already well underway, having decided on a utility-scale solar farm on the north grid in an already-disturbed area near the airport. They ensured training opportunities were available for members, and hired 16 solar installers on the island, says Brennan.

Then they began to build.

The invisible wall

Even as the panels were placed and the wires hooked up, there was another problem to solve before Solar North’s diesel-replacing potential could be fully realized: it needed a place to store its energy. 

Electricity is notoriously finicky, requiring a steady stream of electrons delivered through conductive wires at all times to work well. When these electrons falter or pile up, lights flicker, clocks fall out of date, or, in more severe cases, the power can drop or surge, frying appliances.

Remote grids like Haida Gwaii’s are particularly hard-pressed to avoid such swings.

Imagine a concert-goer attempting to crowd-surf in a room of just three people: if one person trips or someone else decides to pile on, the effort could easily collapse. Similarly, a remote grid with just a few power sources can fail if one of its inputs suddenly drops out or an entire community turns on their dishwashers at once. On the other hand, B.C.’s large, interconnected grid has the resilience of a packed concert hall — disruptions like these are almost imperceptible. 

On-again, off-again renewables like solar and wind are particularly unpredictable, whereas the on-demand qualities of diesel fuel are more likely to hold weight when needed. 

Luckily, solutions have arrived. “The technologies have evolved very rapidly,” Mark Mitchell, global lead of distribution and smart grid at the consulting firm Hatch, says. Mitchell adds that, in remote communities, storage systems like lithium-ion batteries and microgrid controllers are newly equipped to smooth out such dips and surges. 

“It’s really been one of the main enablers for bringing more renewables online.”

For BC Hydro and for the Haida Nation, grappling with these cutting-edge storage systems was new: they had to decide who would own the battery and control systems — BC Hydro would in the end — and who to buy it from, a challenge thanks to limited supply chains for systems scaled to the needs of small, remote communities. 

“BC Hydro had never done a project where it’s connecting a renewable energy project to a diesel grid before,” Brennan says. 

“We didn’t realize all the implications that went with that.”

Today, Solar North is still waiting for its battery system to be installed. In the meantime, it’s displacing around 70 per cent of the diesel it is capable of. 

And when it’s expanded to match the size of its battery and grid upgrades, Solar North has the potential to displace around six per cent of the island’s electrical diesel consumption. The Nation is currently working with BC Hydro to determine the sizing for an expansion of Solar North that could push that displacement higher still.  

In many remote regions, displacing 100 per cent of the diesel brings challenges that batteries alone still can’t fix, Mitchell says. Today’s batteries are ideal for short-term storage, which can help even out daily dips and lows in solar power, but not longer seasonal shifts like Haida Gwaii’s stormy winters, when the sun is in short supply. 

“Essentially, what we’re going to do here is run into an invisible wall with solar,” Brennan says. At that point, solar energy will produce diminishing returns. 

Tll Yahda is studying ways to make solar work better for their communities, including a pilot project to test how solar panels matched with small-scale batteries could make the system run more efficiently. It’s also conducting analyses to test out how hybrid combinations of renewables behave on the grid.

In renewable electricity, the right kind of complexity is key, Garrett Russ, climate action coordinator with the Skidegate Band Council, says. “I’m looking at this whole system as a whole complete project.” 

He’s seen the consequences of siloed efforts, including the nearly 50 heat pumps in his workshop that need fixing — thanks in part to a lack of trained workers on the island to keep them in good repair. Russ has since launched a training program, teaching Haida and other remote community members in B.C. how to maintain the systems while providing needed employment. 

A birds-eye view is a challenge because of project-by-project funding cycles and governments that tend to move in slow, incremental steps, Russ says. But he’s making the most of the opportunities he can create, and studying how wind and solar could work together. 

Whether operating independently or with BC Hydro, remote projects require funding, and Russ worries that the door may be about to close. Already, a key federal program has not had its funding renewed. In an emailed statement, Natural Resources Canada confirmed that funding through a key diesel-reduction grant program will end next year, but added that there are other “ongoing programs” that will continue to support the effort. 

“I believe there’s going to be a very significant cut possibly coming up,” Russ says. In preparation, he is working on as many projects as he can “in a very short time.”

“If that does happen, then at least I changed as much as I could.”

‘We have to keep going.’

A ten-minute walk from the arrow-shaped panels of Solar North sits B.C. Hydro’s diesel generating station, ringed in the spring by salal and salmonberries that McEvoy makes sure to avoid. 

Diesel still helps power Haida Gwaii’s grid, but the work to reduce it continues.

McEvoy and others across the islands have been asking their community members what kind of energy transition they’d like to see. Meanwhile, BC Hydro has begun to do energy planning with remote communities — for the first time in its history. The process design for those plans fell short of what many nations had hoped for: it doesn’t have legal standing, and remains, in many ways, on the utility’s terms. McEvoy says it remains an important step.

McEvoy likens the process to paddling a canoe in a stormy ocean. “All we can see is dark, black clouds ahead,” she says. “We have to keep going.” 

At some point, she says, the clouds will break. 

“That’s us, and the work we’re putting in.”

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It’s been five years since an atmospheric river dropped a month’s worth of rain on Princeton, British Columbia, in a matter of days. But even with a herculean recovery and rebuilding effort, the impacts of those 2021 floods still mar the landscape. 

Hills are scarred by landslides, and buildings are abandoned. Sun-bleached logs sit far from the river as a reminder of how far the water spread. Then, there’s the old train bridge. 

Part of the Kettle Valley Rail Trail, a 500-kilometre abandoned rail line turned multi-use trail between Hope and Midway, B.C., the bridge was one of more than 60 locations where the 2021 floods washed out the trail. About 20 metres of steel, concrete and timber on its eastern end were swept away by the surging waters. Today, the Tulameen River flows beneath the gap between Princeton and what’s left, with a faded, graffiti-covered “trail closed” sign standing on the shore. 

For years, many Princeton locals were hopeful the bridge and trail would be rebuilt. But in early February, they learned the province was planning to not only scrap the bridge, but to decommission the entire 67-kilometre stretch of trail connecting Princeton to the Coquihalla Highway. 

In an announcement, the province said repairing that segment “would cost an estimated $60 million,” while “the cost of decommissioning the damaged Princeton section is estimated at $20 million.”

“The decision to decommission a section of the Kettle Valley Rail Trail near Princeton exemplifies the harsh realities of climate-impacted management,” the Ministry of Environment and Parks explained. 

It’s a decision that’s left locals and outsiders who care about the Trans Canada Trail reeling. 

At more than 29,000 kilometres, the Trans Canada Trail is the longest multi-use trail network on the planet. In 2017, it was officially “connected” across the entire country, making it possible to traverse Canada by a combination of foot and paddling trails. The decommissioning of the Kettle Valley segment will be the first permanent break in that connection. That’s a big part of why Stacey Dakin, the Trans Canada Trail’s chief program officer, thinks there has been concern about this decision outside of Princeton.

“With the Trans Canada Trail, there’s a sense of national pride and unity,” Dakin says. “We’ve heard more and more that people are connecting to each other just because they’re on the trail.

To Dakin, the Kettle Valley decision was “shocking.” But it reflects the growing risk that climate change poses to trails across the country, as jurisdictions must weigh the cost of repairs against the likelihood of future disasters.

More than just a trail

For Princeton mayor Spencer Coyne, the town at the confluence of the Tulameen and Similkameen rivers has always been home. A member of the Upper Similkameen Indian Band, he remembers when trains still ran on the Kettle Valley line.

“There was a dirt bike and bicycle trail beside the tracks,” he says. “We would ride our bikes out to Tulameen and go swimming in the summer. It’s just a part of who we are.”

Coyne, who was first elected in 2018, decided to run for mayor after a massive 2017 wildfire opened his eyes to just how vulnerable Princeton was to climate change.

“We’ve been in a state of emergency every single year since,” Coyne explains. “The trail is kind of a microcosm.”

The decommissioning decision stunned Coyne. Especially given all of the work the community was doing to rebuild and recover after the 2021 floods.

“[I was] super disappointed in the way that unrolled … It took a bunch of people by surprise.”

One of those people is Todd Davidson, manager of the Princeton Museum.

“When the news about decommissioning the Kettle Valley Rail Trail first came out, we were all kind of surprised and shocked,” he says.

He describes the trail as a tourist draw, with visitors using it for day trips and multi-day expeditions. In winter, he says, locals relied on it as a snowmobile route to get supplies from town. He also thinks the trail should be preserved for historical reasons, as the remnants of a rail line that moved minerals, timber and people between the coast and the Interior for nearly a century.

It’s a history that still lives in people like Tom Reichert. He worked on the line for the decade before it was shut down in 1989. Today, he and his wife, Kelly, own Reichert Sales & Service, an off-road vehicle shop in Tulameen. “The closure has definitely had an impact on our business,” he says. “It’s impacted both sales and service.”

They’ve also shut down an off-road vehicle rental program they estimate brought in around $30,000 a year before the floods. 

But beyond the business impact, the Reicherts worry what losing the trail will mean for the community. They remember when the trail was busy with hikers, cyclists and all-terrain vehicle users. It’s a big part of why they’ve gotten involved in efforts to oppose decommissioning. Now, there’s a large sign on the front door of Reichert Sales & Service promoting a “Save the KVR” Facebook group and a petition that, as of writing, has more than 12,000 signatures.

The Reicherts, Coyne and Davidson all point out that many of those petition signers have never even been to Princeton, but care because the Kettle Valley is part of the Trans Canada Trail.

Managed retreat

Most of the time, the Vedder River is a calm, azure blue ribbon that flows from Chilliwack into the Fraser River. But when it rises, it transforms into a raging torrent, a pale brown rush of water that inundates the forest and ravages the trails that run along its banks.

“We had three 50-year storms within four months, back to back to back,” Drew Pilling says. “Which really took a toll on our system.”

Pilling, the senior parks and trails operations technician for the City of Chilliwack, is talking about three atmospheric rivers that hit Chilliwack between December 2025 and March 2026, with each one damaging the same stretch of the Vedder Rotary Loop Trail.

“It’s quite a cost,” says Pilling. “It’s a lot of gravel that comes back in, it’s a lot of machine time, a lot of man-hours.” 

This wasn’t the first time this trail had washed away. The same 2021 storm that ripped through the Kettle Valley trail also ravaged the Vedder Rotary Loop Trail. And although Chilliwack has so far been willing to bear the cost of repairs, Pilling thinks there may come a point where, year after year, flooding and trail repair become an issue.

“That’s for sure gonna be a topic of conversation with the council and the mayor,” he says. “Depending on their decisions, it might change the nature of the trails.” 

This changing nature is top of mind for Thomas Schoen. The chief executive officer of First Journey Trails, Schoen has been building trails across British Columbia since 1998. But it wasn’t until 2017, when a cross-country mountain bike trail he helped build connecting Williams Lake First Nation to the local trail network burned in a wildfire, that the situation really hit him.

“It was a multi-year project,” Schoen says. “We started by training Indigenous trail builders and trail maintenance crews. It was a really successful project.” 

For a few years, the trail’s popularity grew, with both locals and visitors from further afield. Then it was engulfed by a wildfire that Schoen says “absolutely destroyed that trail.” 

He and others tried to rebuild it, but the landscape was fundamentally different.

“You had tens of thousands of burnt, standing dead trees along this open trail corridor,” he explains. “The amount of tree falls on this trail was, and still is, so significant that it’s almost impossible with volunteer efforts to keep this trail open.”

Losing that trail was “extremely emotional” for Schoen, and changed the way he thinks about trails and climate change. 

“Some trails can’t be revived,” he says. “Some trails, we just don’t have the manpower or the financial power to rebuild them or open them back up again.”

Climate policy experts might categorize Schoen’s comments and the province’s decision to abandon the Kettle Valley trail as “managed retreat.” 

It’s a strategy for dealing with climate change impacts that a provincial planning document describes as the “strategic relocation of people and structures out of harm’s way, often accompanied by ecological restoration and a permanent change in land use.”

But when done properly, it’s a strategy developed with communities, not for them. 

“These decisions cannot just be made by the government or by one ministry,” Schoen says. “[They] need to be made in partnerships between many different groups … First Nations at the table with trail user clubs.” 

Hundreds of thousands of kilometres of trails

For Ryan Stuart, community engagement lead with the Outdoor Recreation Council of BC, the biggest issue with the Kettle Valley trail decision was the voices that were left out. 

“Where was the conversation beforehand?” he asks. Conversations that he argues are even more important given the growing challenge of maintaining trails in a changing climate. 

And the province has a lot of trails to maintain. According to the province’s 2013 trail strategy, the province has at least 30,000 kilometres of formally recognized trails and “hundreds of thousands of kilometres” of informal trails.

And while the strategy didn’t discuss climate change, a 2020 progress report on it listed an “increase in climate-related events such as wildfires and flooding, which can damage the trail systems,” as a top challenge. It’s a sentiment echoed by another 2025 report by Climate Data Canada exploring how climate change impacts trails across the country. 

Stuart worries that the cost and effort issues are particularly challenging due to long-standing issues with trail funding in the province.  

Among applications to the Outdoor Recreation Fund of BC, a $10-million, multi-year grant to support trail building and maintenance overseen by the Outdoor Recreation Council, he says “lots of the funding requests are for rehabilitation of damaged infrastructure from fires or floods.” 

And the fund just isn’t big enough to support everything. Earlier this year, the council described the fund as “heavily oversubscribed” and able to “support only about 15 per cent of grant requests.” 

And it’s not like the province isn’t aware of the challenges.

“Many of British Columbia’s provincial parks, recreation sites and trails are experiencing a climate-driven transformation,” the Ministry of Environment and Parks wrote in a statement to The Narwhal.“As extreme weather events like the 2021 and 2024 atmospheric rivers become more frequent, the province is navigating a difficult balance between preserving historic recreation opportunities and ensuring long-term environmental and fiscal sustainability.”

Stuart understands “the provincial government is in tough financial shape and needs to look at everything,” but thinks there still needs to be more transparency in how decisions are being made. He points out that the government spent millions rebuilding both the Berg Lake Trail in Mount Robson Provincial Park and the Juan de Fuca Trail on Vancouver Island, while abandoning the Kettle Valley.  

“I’ve heard members of the Outdoor Recreation Council ask, ‘How was that decision made?’ ” he says.

The ministry didn’t directly answer questions about those decisions. Instead, they called Berg Lake “a blueprint for ‘building back better.’ ”

“Following catastrophic weather damage, the trail’s multi-phase reopening has a climate resilience focus,” the ministry statement explained. That focus involved moving trails out of vulnerable flood-plains, relocating bridges to places better able to “withstand heavy flow,” and hardening tent pads. 

They also said the Juan de Fuca trail would need some of “these same resilient engineering strategies.”

‘No new trails’

How the Kettle Valley decision was made also frustrates people in Princeton.

“What they want to do here is just throw in the towel,” Todd Davidson says. “We feel really quite ignored.” 

It’s a sentiment that Coyne understands all too well.

“The fact that the three … main municipalities that were impacted in 2021 didn’t get a lick of funding from the province or from the [federal government] speaks volumes,” he says, referring to Abbotsford and Merritt, which like Princeton were denied support from the federal Disaster Mitigation and Adaptation Fund.

He sees the Kettle Valley decision as a “mirror image of what we’re trying to deal with” around broader flood recovery and climate adaptation. And while he understands the idea of managed retreat, he questions how it’s being applied.

“Ultimately, would we like to look at putting the river back to a more natural state? Of course, but nobody wants to pay for it,” he says. In 2022, Coyne applied for $55 million in federal funding to support a new diking plan for the town. Two years later, that application was rejected.

“Nobody’s coming to help us with that,” he says.

That lack of funding also worries Pilling. While Chilliwack was able to access some funding to rebuild after 2021, he’s not sure this latest round of trail work will qualify. 

“A lot of that funding is for infrastructure that is deemed necessary,” he says. And while trail advocates will argue that trails are necessary, providing benefits for physical and mental health, serving as travel corridors and, in some cases, being used for wildfire resilience, Pilling thinks most of the costs of trail repairs will “end up on the city’s bill.” 

For Coyne, this comes with an added sting. While he’s been fighting to try to reverse the decommissioning decision, he’s also been in meetings about marketing Princeton’s outdoor recreation. 

“We have a branch of the province actively marketing this entire trail network, and we have other departments that are cutting the funding and cutting the feet out from under them,” he says.

The province released its Tourism Sector Action Plan in March. The plan promised to grow B.C.’s outdoor recreation economy, which it claimed “generates approximately $17 billion annually in participation-based revenue, contributing $4.8 billion to provincial GDP.”But the strategy didn’t include any new funding for trails or recreation infrastructure. That’s a problem not just because of the new challenges posed by climate change, but also because of the province’s long-standing maintenance backlog.

In 2015, BC Parks estimated they had “approximately $700 million of investment in infrastructure that requires maintenance.” The province hasn’t updated this number since it was released, but the ministry did say they have further invested “approximately $200 million in campground expansions, accessibility upgrades and improvements to trails, parking and facilities since 2017.”

For Schoen, this calls for a radical rethink of how we approach trail building.“My philosophy is no new trails, period,” he says. “It’s unbelievable how much money we need for trail maintenance, and that money simply isn’t there.”

An uncertain future for the Kettle Valley

When it comes to the future of the Kettle Valley trail, Coyne is torn. He understands the threat that climate change poses to the region, but he also knows how important the trail is to his community. That’s why he keeps fighting for it, and after multiple meetings with the province, he’s starting to see a path forward.

“We’re not going to get everything we’re asking for, we’re not going to get a total rebuild of the trail,” he says.

But in early April, the Regional District of Okanagan-Similkameen passed a motion supporting a new regional trails strategy. 

What the province will say is yet to be seen, but Coyne feels clear on one thing: if the community wants to keep the trail, the onus will be on them to make it happen.

“At the end of the day, if local government or regional government isn’t willing to shoulder this burden, then your trail is probably going to go away,” he says. 

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.’s Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act has been a point of tension for the provincial government and First Nations leaders since December 2025.
• After months of vowing to change the law by June, Premier David Eby now says amendments will wait until at least October.
• In the meantime, the province and First Nations leaders will try to find a solution that both sides can agree on.

The showdown over B.C.’s Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples Act is not over, but the future of the landmark law is now on hold until the fall.

For several months, B.C. Premier David Eby claimed the Declaration Act — also known as DRIPA — had to be changed, and quickly. First he said the law would be amended, then paused, and now he’s said legislation to change the law can wait until the fall session.

“It is absolutely possible, as a leader, to move off confidently in the wrong direction,” Eby told reporters at the legislature on April 20.

Eby has moved in many directions on DRIPA this year. Initially, he maintained that changing the law was non-negotiable because of legal liability, and something that had to be done before the legislature’s summer break.

Then — after First Nations leaders told him his “approach was totally unacceptable” — the premier proposed suspending DRIPA for up to three years. That, according to Eby, would allow the province’s appeal of a recent court decision to be heard by the Supreme Court of Canada.“This will be a confidence vote,” Eby said at the time, raising the possibility that DRIPA could trigger a provincial election.While the premier said he was confident the “strong and united” NDP caucus would back his plan, that turned out not to be the case. Two weeks later, Eby said no changes to DRIPA would be made this spring.

Instead, the B.C. government and First Nations leaders have committed to spend the summer seeking a solution that can address “the government’s stated legal concerns, while upholding the title and rights and human rights of First Nations,” according to an April 20 joint statement from the premier’s office and the First Nations Leadership Council.

Whether the discussions will result in legislation that both the government and First Nations support is far from certain.

“There is no guarantee, simply because we reached this agreement that come fall legislative session, that we will have that agreement, but I’m certainly hopeful that we will,” Eby told reporters. 

So … what is going on with DRIPA?

Why does the government want to change DRIPA?

Let’s go back to December 2025. That’s when the B.C. Appeal Court determined the government’s obligations under DRIPA are legally enforceable. This created “unlimited legal liability” for the province, according to Eby.

The appeal court’s ruling was the result of a challenge to part of a 2023 B.C. Supreme Court ruling launched by the Gitxaała and Ehattesaht First Nations. That ruling agreed with the nations’ claim that B.C.’s mineral claim-staking regime did not fulfill the government’s obligations to consult with First Nations.The 2023 decision also concluded that DRIPA was not legally enforceable. The nations appealed that part of the ruling and, in December 2025, the court agreed with their arguments. 

According to the premier, the legal threat the province faces is twofold.In ruling that the government’s obligations under DRIPA — to align provincial laws with the principles of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples — are legally enforceable, the court has opened the door to further challenges of any provincial law on the grounds that it does not align with DRIPA.That’s not the incremental approach the province was prepared to take when DRIPA was introduced, Eby said.“Instead of eating the elephant one bite at a time, the court has invited us to do it all at once and that is just not possible,” he told reporters on April 2.

Secondly, the appeal court’s December decision can now be used in other court cases, which often refer to existing court rulings. According to Eby, more than 20 lawsuits involving the province have been launched or amended since the Gitxaala decision was released.

In an open letter to B.C. MLAs released on April 19, the First Nations Leadership Council described Eby’s arguments as “not only misleading but … also inherently wrong.”

“We are dismayed at the degree to which the court cases and DRIPA are being misrepresented, mischaracterized and conflated as rhetoric and fearmongering,” the council wrote. “The risk before the legislators and all British Columbians is not created by DRIPA — it is created by the decisions to undermine it through unilateral action.”

Why do First Nations leaders oppose those changes?

First Nations leaders have called Eby’s plans for DRIPA “a unilateral betrayal and an abandonment of the province’s commitment to principled reconciliation, as well as serving to create a climate of uncertainty.”

Altering, suspending or repealing DRIPA — as the B.C. Conservative opposition has proposed — will not eliminate B.C.’s obligations to consult with First Nations on issues related to Indigenous Rights and title. And it will not prevent First Nations from seeking to exert those rights in the courts, a more expensive and time-consuming option and one where First Nations have seen victories time and again.

“I think that we have an obligation and a responsibility to remember that no one is giving First Nations anything,” Huy’wu’qw Shana Thomas, Hereditary Chief of Lyackson First Nation, said during an April 10 press conference. “First Nations people continue to assert their inherent rights and title and prefer reconciliation, prefer negotiations.”

What does DRIPA have to do with the Cowichan decision?

B.C.’s back and forth on DRIPA is being connected by some with the Cowichan decision.

In 2014, the Cowichan Tribes filed a case with the B.C. Supreme Court, asserting Aboriginal Title over lands along the Fraser River, in what is now known as Richmond, B.C. The lands claimed included a traditional summer village site, known as Tl’uqtinus, and the tribes’ suit also asserted rights to fish and gather food in the claimed area.In its August 2025 ruling, B.C.’s Supreme Court affirmed the Cowichan Tribes’ Aboriginal Title. All of the defendants in the case, including B.C. and the federal government, are appealing the decision, which has been at the centre of a national — and often misinformed — debate about property rights.

The Cowichan case only named governments and government agencies, and the tribes have repeatedly said they have no intent of trying to take away any private property as a result of the court ruling.

Since announcing the province’s appeal of the ruling, Eby has said his government will “go to the wall” to protect the rights of private property owners.

The premier has also linked the Cowichan Tribes and Gitxaala cases, calling them “dramatic, overreaching and unhelpful court decisions.”

But DRIPA and the Cowichan decision actually have little to do with each other, besides being related to Indigenous Rights. The case was launched prior to DRIPA becoming law and turned on Section 35 of the Canadian Constitution, not provincial law.

Does DRIPA ‘create uncertainty’ for industry?

Short answer: it depends on who you ask. 

Section 7 of the law allows for joint decision-making agreements with First Nations regarding industrial projects on their traditional territories. DRIPA’s goal is to “provide certainty and stability” about how projects can move toward approval by clearly defining the responsibilities of the provincial government and First Nations.

That Section 7 agreements enabled by DRIPA have helped advance some natural resource projects is a point on which Eby and First Nations leaders actually agree.Take the plan to reopen the Eskay Creek mine on Tahltan Nation territory.

In 2022, the B.C. government and the Tahltan Nation signed an agreement under Section 7 of the Declaration Act. The section allows the government to undertake a joint decision-making process with First Nations. 

In December 2025, Tahltan Nation members voted in support of the Eskay Creek revitalization project and the province announced its approval of permits for the mine in January 2026.

The Red Chris mine and the Galore Creek mine have also advanced under Section 7 agreements and, on Vancouver Island, another agreement involving forestry tenures on ‘Namgis Nation territory is in the works.

Continuing to deliver these types of agreements is evidently a high priority for the province. Eby’s proposal to suspend DRIPA would not have affected the sections of the law that enable these agreements.

What happens now?

Well, the legislature will shut down for the summer on May 28. MLAs aren’t scheduled to return until October. In the meantime, the government will continue to discuss the future of DRIPA with First Nations leaders and try to find a solution that both sides can support. 

Attorney General Niki Sharma, who Eby credited with convincing him not to pursue a legislated solution this spring, has expressed confidence that a mutually agreeable solution is achievable.

“I have faith in partnership and the fact that when we come to the table to sort out challenging issues, that we can come to solutions that last,” she told reporters at the legislature on April 21. “If we can get to sitting down and rolling up our sleeves and fixing things that are challenging in a way that lasts, then we’ve solved it for generations to come, and I see that pathway.”

If — and it remains a pretty big if — the provincial government and First Nations leaders do agree on DRIPA’s future, any changes to law could be made during the fall sitting of the legislature, which is scheduled to wrap at the end of November. 

By then, things could be quite different in the legislature. The B.C. Conservative Party will have a new leader, possibly one without a seat in the legislature. The Conservatives want DRIPA repealed and all candidates running the leadership race have backed that position, so it’s likely Conservative MLAs will vote against whatever changes the government eventually proposes.

The B.C. Greens have criticized the government’s proposals to change DRIPA so far, backing First Nations calls for the law to be left as is.

Currently, there are also six MLAs that do not belong to a caucus, although all were at one time B.C. Conservative members. Three of those MLAs have vocally opposed Indigenous Rights, reconciliation and DRIPA. The other three may be open to overtures from the government to support legislation to amend DRIPA.

To pass legislation without support from the opposition, Eby will need to get his entire caucus on side — something he was not able to do this spring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Owls released into artificial burrows filled with frozen mice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s wonderful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holmes added that protecting grasslands also protects the burrowing owls. 

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

Owl conservation, protection is a cultural responsibility 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That predates colonial conservation frameworks,” she said.

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

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

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

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

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