Even when governments have good intentions — like promoting conservation — they don’t necessarily move forward with plans for Indigenous territories in a productive or helpful way, according to Kelly Brown, director of the Haíɫzaqv (Heiltsuk) Integrated Resource Management Department. 

“A lot of work that takes place around management planning with the province or the federal government — they get all the work done, and then they come to us,” Brown told The Narwhal. 

“They don’t realize that, in the community here, we’re already working towards putting our own plans together.”

Brown is a co-author of a recent academic paper that demonstrates how a resurgence in Indigenous governance can lead to more effective conservation.

The paper, “Supporting resurgent Indigenous-led governance: A nascent mechanism for just and effective conservation,” concludes that, worldwide, “increases in conservation in some of the most globally significant areas of conservation interest will increasingly not only be unjust, but also impossible without Indigenous consent and leadership.”

‘Serengeti of the north’: the Kaska Dena’s visionary plan to protect a huge swath of B.C. wilderness

Brown pointed out that conservation techniques are often prescribed from offices in Ottawa, far removed from places where research and direct experience with the landscape are unfolding.

In one instance, Brown said he found inaccurate government data about areas of high and low grizzly bear populations that contradicted the findings of Haíɫzaqv research, which includes detailed bear monitoring. The research gives the Haíɫzaqv valuable insight into local grizzly populations. One study, for example, used grizzly hair samples to find a lower salmon run coincided with higher population levels of cortisol, the chemical associated with stress.

Indigenous people have the right to consultation when it comes to natural resource extraction but also when it comes to natural resource conservation and land use plans, Brown noted. 

It’s time for Indigenous communities to be given the power and authority to lead conservation on their own lands, which they live upon and know well, he said. 

Members of the Coastal Guardian Watchmen inspect their crab traps near Bella Bella, B.C. Photo: Louise Whitehouse / The Narwhal

Indigenous-led conservation a social, ecological and economic win

Empowering Indigenous communities to lead conservation efforts comes with other significant benefits beyond respecting Indigenous rights and confronting the legacy of settler colonialism, found the paper, co-authored by Kyle Artelle, Melanie Zurba, Jonaki Bhattacharyya, Diana E.Chan, Jess Housty and Faisal Moola.

For example, Indigenous Guardians programs on British Columbia’s coast have delivered a social return on investment in ranges between 10:1 and 20:1, according to one study (which measured social, economic, cultural, and economic value). 

The authors cite another study that found biodiversity within Indigenous-managed areas is often higher than, or at least equal to, biodiversity in colonial or state-run parks at the provincial or federal level in Canada. 

Meet the Kaska land guardians

The recent creation of new protected areas within Indigenous territories and alongside Indigenous governments has led to sizeable conservation gains, the authors point out. 

The paper points to the newly created 14,250 square kilometre Edéhzhíe Dehcho Indigenous Protected Area in the Northwest Territories and the 14,000 square kilometre Thaidene Nëné National Park Reserve along the Great Slave Lake, established in partnership by the Łutsël K’e Dene First Nation, the Northwest Territories government, Parks Canada, Northwest Territory Métis Nation and other Indigenous groups.

The paper also notes a recent proposal among the federal government, Nunavut and the Qikiqtani Inuit Association to create Tallurutiup Imanga, which, at 109,000 square kilometres, is set to become the largest protected area in Canada.

Moving beyond ‘fortress conservation’

Lead author Kyle Artelle chuckled when he said the paper’s conclusions will not “blow folks’ minds” who are in Indigenous governance and communities, or even surprise people working in conservation who take part in these kinds of conversations.

“A lot of folks really get this, it seems obvious,” said Artelle, a biologist and adjunct professor with the geography department at the University of Victoria. “But when you leave the bubble, into some mainstream conservation groups, for example, there’s still what they call ‘fortress conservation.’ ”

Artelle said the idea of fortress conservation means aiming to conserve as many hectares as possible — and without any humans

“Some of the original national parks were very colonial. Banff has a horrible history of forcing folks out,” he said. “A lot of the original parks had this mentality that to protect nature you have to get rid of people … in a country where none of these ecosystems have existed since the last ice age without people, or longer.”

Bow River, Banff National Park. Photo: Janusz Sliwinski / Flickr

Conservation failures come with high costs

Other examples, such as weakened salmon populations, show even when governments do implement some restrictions with the goal of conservation, it doesn’t always lead to effective practices.

This year, for example, the Department of Fisheries and Oceans (DFO) implemented rolling closures of commercial and recreational fisheries. But many First Nations said the closures weren’t enough. 

Some First Nations, including the Haíɫzaqv, decided against fishing, even though recreational fishing was still permitted by DFO.

Many First Nations said the government’s approach to dwindling stocks infringed on their constitutional rights of first access to fish and endangered already vulnerable salmon.

Life after Chinook: a West Coast fishing community looks to reinvent itself

The Haíɫzaqv wanted to take a “strong stance” and shut down certain areas to all types of fishing, including recreational fishing, Brown said. In 2015, the Haíɫzaqv famously occupied a DFO field office and pushed the commercial herring fishery out of their territory following a devastating population collapse. They continue to assert control over herring management, and worked with the DFO to suspend the commercial fishery in 2018.

Going forward, the Haíɫzaqv will enforce their own laws “rather than asking permission,” Brown said, recalling the Haíɫzaqv term Káxḷáya Ǧviḷás: “the ones who uphold the laws of our ancestors.”

While the DFO is relying more on traditional knowledge, change is incremental, Brown noted.

“Both the provincial and the federal government know that we aren’t going to sit back. We say something — we’re actually going to do it,” he said. 

“We don’t like to threaten that way, but sometimes we need to get to that point.”

Using tools ‘our ancestors never would have imagined’

Jess Housty, another Haíɫzaqv co-author, said writing an academic-style paper was a new way to share the ancestral knowledge she’s inherited, even though she’s not an academic.

Jess Housty, acting executive director of Qqs Projects Society on a Guardian Watchmen vessel in Heiltsuk territory. Photo: Louise Whitehouse / The Narwhal

“Transmission of that ancestral knowledge is important work and sometimes we’re called to use tools our ancestors never would have imagined to do it,” she said in an interview.

Housty sees value in putting out these ideas in a new way.

“The crises we collectively face due to colonialism, capitalism, and climate change are too urgent for us to work in silos and I think this paper represents an opportunity to break our silos down.” Artelle hopes that the paper will make its way into the hands of decision-makers who lack information about Indigenous stewardship. Including Indigenous leadership in a national conservation strategy could help the federal government reach its target to protect 17 per cent of terrestrial areas and inland water, and 10 per cent of coastal and marine areas by 2020, he said.

Groups call on B.C. to fund Indigenous monitoring of mines in traditional territories

Indigenous peoples have also recently demonstrated the government will face legal challenges if it makes major land decisions without consent, as illustrated by First Nations opposition to the Trans Mountain pipeline and the Tsilhqot’in Nation stopping Taseko Mines from operating on their territory.

Housty said if the government wants to protect the environment, handing over jurisdiction shouldn’t be complicated.

“When it comes to stewardship and thriving lands and waters, no one can do that work better in Haíɫzaqv territory than the Haíɫzaqv people,” she said. 

“Anyone who purports to share our goal of thriving lands and waters should be asking themselves how they can support us or make space for us to do what we need to do  — not trying to do the work for us.”

Update November 28, 1:15pm pst: This article was updated to clarify the 2015 decline in herring populations led to the Haíɫzaqv occupying a DFO field office. The Haíɫzaqv worked with the DFO to suspend the herring commercial fishery in 2018.

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.

When Heiltsuk elder Liz Brown was just a little girl, her mother sat her down on a chair, looked her in the eyes and told her to pay real close attention to detail.

Every wedding. Every community affair. Every custom. Every taboo.

The importance of handing down names and laws and stories from one generation to the next was impressed upon Brown, even as a little girl.

“Every week my mother would sit me down and tell me what I could not do, over and over and over again,” Brown said.

“She said … you need to watch and you need to listen, so you can learn everything. And I remember everything.”

For the Heiltsuk Nation, oral tradition was essential to the fight to keep their culture and traditions alive.

Unlike their bodies and unlike their big houses, oral tradition was something that couldn’t be buried. 

Or burned.

Elder Elizabeth Brown stands in front of her hereditary chiefs Frank Brown (left) and Anne Housty (right), beaming with pride as the dreams of her ancestors come true. Photo: Heiltsuk Tribal Council

Like many coastal First Nations in what is now known as British Columbia, recent Heiltsuk history is one filled with colonial violence. While archeological evidence dates the community back over 14,000 years, the last 200 years involves settlers arriving on Canada’s western shores, swept up in the promise of its riches: lumber, fish, fur.

The Heiltsuk nation’s customs and systems of governance were seen as an impediment to resource extraction and what settlers didn’t understand, they feared, and by 1885, the touchstones of community gatherings and traditional customs, like potlatching, were formally outlawed across Canada. 

By 1900, Heiltsuk communities were finding their masks, bentwood boxes, regalia and canoes pilfered or disappeared. The grand places of governance and ceremony — the big houses, the house posts — were hacked down and sent away. Or simply burned to the ground. 

Phil Gray, who is Ts’msyen and Cree, worked with Heiltsuk carver Ian (Nusi) Reid to craft elaborate posts for the big house. The pair saturated themselves in the study of traditional Heiltsuk-style poles, art and design. They wanted to bring to life the elements of “old true Heiltsuk style,” Reid said. Photo: Heiltsuk Tribal Council

For elders such as Brown, the strategic ruin of the Heiltsuk community and culture is a part of living memory. Amid the hostility of state law, the preservation of Heiltsuk tradition was forced underground, into the hands of little girls like Brown — customs maintained quietly and with great care, in whispers passed from grandmother to mother to child.

Brown said her people would gather in their homes with hereditary chiefs so they could get on with matters of business, far from the eyes of Indian agents, priests or others charged with prohibiting their ways of life. 

She admires the strength of her ancestors, who had to make do with a village hall that served as a de facto big house for weddings, naming ceremonies, tombstone rites or the transfer of power. 

The resurrection of culture was suppressed for decades after traditional places like big houses were destroyed — the potlatch ban wasn’t lifted until 1951. 

And a big house wouldn’t be lifted in the Heiltsuk village for another 120 years. That is, until now.

Indigenous relatives from around the world convene for big house opening

In less than one week, Brown’s effort to hold onto her community’s traditions and her mother’s devoted guidance will come full circle with the official opening of the Gvúkva’áus Haíłzaqv (Heiltsuk big house) in Waglisla, or Bella Bella, B.C. 

“Our ancestors believed that there were three values that Heiltsuk hold in order to be a really good community,” she said. “The first one is to be respectful, the other one is to share what you have with each other, and the last one, is to work together. And those values brought us to where we are today.”

The Heiltsuk community is grinding around the clock to open the big house in time for an anticipated 3,000 guests who’ll visit across five days to celebrate the momentous occasion. Guests will join in ceremony and song, witness dancers impersonate the supernatural on the big house floor, feast on coastal delicacies and experience the full power of a people in their rightful place.

Community members are working 10 hours a day, six days a week to finish painting the front of the big house — which is 25 metres wide and 10 metres high.

Each of the logs for the big house was hand picked, locally sourced and milled. Forty locals have been employed throughout the project. 

The Heiltsuk big house undergoing construction in September 2019. Photo: Louise Whitehouse / The Narwhal

Designs on the front of the big house represent the crests of the Haíɫzaqv (Heiltsuk) Nation. Photo taken September 16, 2019. Photo: Heiltsuk member Charity Gladstone

In many Indigenous communities in B.C., traditional λiác̓i (big house) are the customary space for acts of governance and ceremony.  

The ‘Namgis people have a big house in their territory in ‘Yalis (Alert Bay, Cormorant Island), built in 1999 after their original big house was destroyed. 

Brown attended a potlatch at the ‘Namgis big house and said while there she felt the strong presence of the ancestors of that place. She said she expects for the Heiltsuk, it will be the same. 

The event will be “a big family reunion,” she said, as relatives travel from far and wide to witness and participate in the historic occasion. 

Half of Heiltsuk membership live off of the reserve, she said, but almost all of her family will be making the trip home.

Elected Chief Councillor of the Heiltsuk Tribal Council, Marilyn Slett, said it will be more than just Heiltsuk members who attend the opening.

As dancers and singers prepare, and gifts and traditional food are readied, Indigenous relatives are beginning a journey to Bella Bella from the world over.

Maori from New Zealand, people from the Yukon and across B.C.’s coast will convene in Heiltsuk territory, along with a delegation of Haida, traveling south for a totem pole raising — upholding a promise made in the Haida-Heiltsuk peace treaty, signed in 2015. 

Heiltsuk Tribal Council elected chief councillor Marilyn Slett said she didn’t grow up with a sense of cultural pride. “We had 150 years of colonialism,” she said. With the raising of a big house in Bella Bella, Chief Slett said she’s witnessing the resurgence of her community and Heiltsuk culture. Photo: Louise Whitehouse / The Narwhal

Haida carver Christian White was hired by his leadership to carve a pole for the Heiltsuk. It will be raised on October 14th, the day after the initial blessing of the big house.

“The Haida and Heiltsuk were once always at war with one another,” Brown said. “They were both always sneaking around.” But during one planned Haida attack, the two groups instead began to talk and agreed on a verbal peace treaty. “At the time, they gave the Heiltsuk the right to dance what we call ‘the Haida dance,’ and later we signed a formal treaty.”

The heartbeat of the community

When Chief Slett was growing up, she said she didn’t have the kind of cultural pride and strength in her identity that she sees in Heiltsuk youth today. 

She knew her band number, she said, and she knew she was from Bella Bella and that she was Heiltsuk, but there wasn’t space for the cultural resurgence and conversations around decolonization she witnesses today. 

“We’ve had 150 years of colonialism … but today, our young people are strong and grounded in their culture and grounded in their identities,” she said. “It’s because of our grans, our grandpas, aunties, uncles, and our ancestors. It’s because of their resilience and empowerment that we’re able to do what we’re doing.”

The resurgence of culture for the Heiltsuk is about more than regaining lost tradition; it’s about healing and moving forward with pride and strength. 

The nation has faced unimaginable hardships, from the threat to their right to fish herring, succeeding economic hardships, to a devastating oil spill in one of their main food harvesting areas. Like many Indigenous peoples in Canada, they have survived and found ways to thrive in the face of genocide. 

The nation has demonstrated the strength and resiliency of their people, breathing life into their ancestor’s dreams, and engraving a healthy future for the next generations.

For Chief Slett, watching the rise of the big house — named, Gvákva’áus Haíɫzaqv, meaning “house of the Haíłzaqv” for all Heiltsuk people — comes with a deep emotional impact.  

The external transformation mirrors a deeper renewal, she said, both in herself and her community as a whole. 

“I feel my life changing on a personal level, having the big house in our community,” Chief Slett said. “And the doors haven’t even opened, it hasn’t been opened through our ceremonies yet.”

The presence of the big house, for her, transcends language: “The presence of the big house is something that can only be felt … It’s going to be, and it already is, the heartbeat of our community.”

‘The big house is going to change the future for our people’

The dream of the big house belongs to the community, but its coming to fruition has meant tapping into resources well beyond Heiltsuk members.

For several years the community has fundraised for the project, even creating a big house committee and fund to which government and industry working in their traditional territory have been encouraged to contribute.

Hereditary Chief Gary Housty Sr., a commercial fisherman for more than 50 years, said that as someone who doesn’t like to leave his territory for more than a few days, he’s seen a lot of change over the years, and a lot of people come forward to bring the big house to life.

Members from the Timber Kings television show from Williams Lake, B.C., donated lumber harvested from within Heiltsuk territory as well as time to help construct the frame of the big house. A man named Craig Woodsten from Shearwater Marine donated his barge to ship project timber for free. 

Carvers, singers, dancers, artists and food-preparers have all devoted their time to the project. It’s a labour of community dedication and love, Chief Housty said.

“We cannot have a potlatch without these special people,” he said. “I call them our treasures.”

“My father passed on six years ago, at the age of 92,” he added. “I clearly remember him and others dreaming of this big day. We honour them and he will be in my thoughts as I speak. I always try and remember what he taught me.”

Chief Housty speaks of the individuals who have dedicated a special amount of time and energy to the big house, such as carver Ian Reid, known as Nusi, who has been working day and night for months trying to accomplish his task. 

Ian Reid (Nusi) said the big house will change the lives of his people, forever. Photo: Kyle Artelle

One of the house posts now standing in the Haíɫzaqv big house. “There’s all kinds of energies and ancestors with us all the time, and we’re just working through our hands and we’re just delivering,” Ian Reid (Nusi) said. Photo: Kyle Artelle

“The big house is going to change the future of our people forever … forever,” Nusi said. “I’m just a simple carver, and I’ve never carved anything on this scale before. I’m just one little person, I’m not a master carver.”

Though the task is daunting, he added, “it’s empowering.”

“The empowering part comes from thinking about how many years our people went without a big house … the empowering part comes from thinking about how the big house will reaffirm our connection to the geographic locations our names come from — the territory, the resources, and everything else … It’s going to tie all of that together.”

Nusi’s main responsibility is preparing the four posts of the big house, an essential component of the structure’s traditional design. The four posts are now standing in their forever place in the big house. They are more than wood and paint, they are spirits that have been awakened, they are beings, he said, with life forces of their own. 

Nusi, like the other carvers working on the building, refused to be paid for his work. 

“I told the chiefs I’d do it for free, because it needs to be done,” Nusi said. “Our people fought so hard for what we have that it feels good just to honour and uplift that.”

He added the creation of the big house has him thinking about the next generation, including his own son. Eli, who is about to turn two, spent countless hours by his dad’s side at the big house, even participating in the carving with his own little hands. 

“It makes my heart sing to know my boy’s going to grow up in a big house,” he said. “The big house is going to change the future for our people, forever. It’s going to plant so many healthy seeds in the children, and their children.”

Two of the four house posts, from the W̓u̓íƛ̓itx̌v and Y̓ísdáitx̌v tribes. Photo: Kyle Artelle

Carver Gerry Sheena (Interior Salish, from Merritt, B.C.) was one of many carvers who traveled to Waglisla (Bella Bella) to offer time and hands to the project. Photo: Heiltsuk Tribal Council

Haíɫzaqv yím̓ás (hereditary chiefs) spread eagle down to bless the house posts for Gvákva’áus Haíɫzaqv on Oct. 2, 2019. Photo: Kyle Artelle

A ripple effect

For Chief Slett, the Heiltsuk big house is a symbol of her people’s resilience.

“Our community is strong,” she said. “I think it will be a healing process as a community, acknowledging the strength and resiliency of our people.”

Nusi said he believes the gathering will have an impact beyond his people’s traditional territory.

“What we do here, what’s happening here on this small little place on the central coast — it’s going to have a ripple effect across the whole earth,” Nusi said, adding that while the Heiltsuk have a responsibility to guard their teachings, they also have a duty to share them, especially with others who have lost their connection to land and place. 

“It’s going to impact the central coast, our neighbouring tribes, giving them medicine, inspiration and energy too.”

Bella Bella, B.C., the traditional territory of the Heiltsuk Nation. Photo: Louise Whitehouse / The Narwhal

Thinking about the upcoming gathering, elder Liz Brown finds herself recounting all those former ceremonies, the details of which she’s stored in her memory.

She remembers the close attention she paid during weddings especially — the blankets, the gifts and carefully counted place settings, laid on crocheted tablecloths.

She recounts the Bella Bella concert band, and how women adorned in dark blue shirts and white tops emerged with ladles in their hands. She says there were times former hereditary chief Moody Humchitt would rise to speak in front of her community and they would fall into a deep, resounding silence.

Brown’s memory has housed so many important cultural moments. Now the big house will too.

“I’m sure at the end of the week, we’ll all be super tired,” Brown said, adding, “but we’ll also be super happy.”

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.

Kelly Brown was awoken at 4:30 a.m. on October 13, 2016, by the kind of phone call nobody ever wants to receive: an environmental catastrophe was unfolding a 20-minute boat ride up the coast from his home in the community of Bella Bella.

“I had to call this guy back because I wanted to make sure — because I’m half asleep — wanted to make sure that I heard him right, that there’s a tug that ran aground in our territory,” he recalls.

Brown is the director of the Heiltsuk Integrated Resource Management department, the branch of the Heiltsuk government in charge of the environmental stewardship of the First Nation’s traditional territory.

Two hours later he was on site with a team ready to respond.

“It was total chaos,” says hereditary chief Harvey Humchitt.

The Nathan E. Stewart, a 30-metre tugboat owned by the Kirby Corporation based in Houston, Texas, had failed to make a turn as it headed south. Instead, it ploughed into a reef. The barge it was pushing — a fuel barge with a capacity of 10,000 tons of fossil fuels, but which was mercifully empty — was caught on the reef while boats and ships of all sizes gathered to watch helplessly.

ICYMI: Diesel Spill Near Bella Bella Exposes B.C.’s Deficient Oil Spill Response Regime

“No one knew who was giving the orders,” Brown says. The captain of the Nathan E. Stewart had declined aid from the three Coast Guard vessels at the scene.

“We could hear the barge banging against the rock,” he says. “When we got there, there was already some fuel in the water, but not a lot.”

That quickly changed when the tug sank. The fuel started coming faster and faster; in the end, more than 110,000 litres of diesel fuel, along with more than 2,000 litres of lubricant, were released into the fast-moving currents of Seaforth Channel.

That milky, foul-smelling mixture washed ashore along the coast, coating the shoreline where 50 people made their living harvesting butter and manila clams.

“About 90 per cent of the [commercial] harvest comes out of Gale Creek,” says Russell Windsor, who made a living digging clams there prior to the spill.

The clam harvest was cancelled last year. This year, it likely won’t go ahead either, and it’s unknown how long it could remain closed.

The loss was more than economic. Gale Creek is also a site of huge cultural significance to the community.

“When I was younger I was brought out here to learn how to fish, hunt, clam dig,” says Windsor, floating at the exact spot from which he watched the spill. “This is one of the learning grounds for the Heiltsuk people… You can feed all of Bella Bella right now with all the food that can be harvested here.”

No one has brought children to Gale Creek to learn to harvest this year. Other sites around the territory are being looked at for clam harvesting, but Brown doubts enough could be gathered to replace what has been compromised by the spill.

“It’ll be one year officially that this particular vessel ran ashore,” Brown says. “And we’ve been paying for it since.”

Slow Response, Little Follow-Through

The accident happened at 1 a.m. Witnesses saw the fuel leaking at 5:30 a.m. By 6:30, Heiltsuk first responders were on scene, but lacked the booms and pads that would be capable of containing and absorbing the diesel fuel.

The official responders, a team subcontracted by Western Canada Marine Response Corporation (WCMRC), meanwhile, were dispatched from Prince Rupert. But they didn’t arrive on scene until 7 p.m., 16 hours after the accident happened. By then, it was getting dark, and nothing could be done until the next day.

ICYMI: ‘Nothing Has Changed’: B.C.’s Botched Oil Spill Response Haunts First Nation

“There’s no ‘world-class’ spill response here,” Brown says, referring to the former Conservative government’s claim in 2015, which was intended to assuage fears of a spill along the Central Coast and help build social licence for oil pipelines from Alberta.

That lack of a response has bled into the ongoing monitoring of the health of the spill site. A week after the accident, Kirby gave the First Nation $250,000 to assist in cleanup efforts. But Brown says the last time the company conducted an assessment of the environmental health of the site was December 2016, just a month after the sunken tug was recovered.

He estimates the cost of a comprehensive assessment of the current and long-term impacts of the spill will be over $500,000.

In the interim, the First Nation says Kirby and the provincial government have been negotiating in secret to determine responsibility for, and scope of, future environmental impact assessments.

‘No World-Class Spill Response Here’: First Nation Pursues Lawsuit 1 Year After Tug Disaster https://t.co/35B13lF3vb @HeiltsukCouncil

— DeSmog Canada (@DeSmogCanada) October 13, 2017

Lawsuit Coming

The Heiltsuk First Nation plans to pursue legal action.

“Since this nightmare began, the polluter and provincial and federal governments have ignored our questions and environmental concerns, our collaboration attempts, and our rights as indigenous people,” said Chief Councillor Marilyn Slett in a statement released to media. “We have no choice but to turn to the courts.”

The First Nation is seeking damages for the incident, including its effect on the harvests in Gale Creek and all the associated losses that has meant for the community.

Speaking to the Globe and Mail, Kirby said it would rather “work to find pragmatic solutions” than “engage in media battles and litigation” — but the First Nation shot back with a statement Friday morning, saying it, too, wants to find pragmatic solutions. It just has a different definition of “pragmatic” — the First Nation wants comprehensive assessments of the impacts on human, natural and cultural values.

“It is difficult for Heiltsuk to have faith in Kirby discussing pragmatic solutions when they won’t engage in a full impact assessment, and has left Heiltsuk with a $140,000 bill for sampling that they conducted earlier this year,” Slett said in the second statement.

ICYMI: North Coast Oil Tanker Ban Won’t Actually Ban Tankers Full of Oil Products on B.C.’s North Coast

It also wants the government and industry to better prepare for future incidents. From the wrong booms being deployed too late, to unclear leadership on scene, to a lack of safety equipment and training, the First Nation says it has learned it can no longer rely on outside parties in an environmental crisis.

The Nation has decided to take its defence of its own territory a step further.

“We’re trying to work on setting up a marine response centre close to Bella Bella.”

Windsor has already taken it upon himself to scrutinize the marine traffic heading through Heiltsuk waters, taking note of their contents and crews. He says he has seen Kirby Corporation vessels near Bella Bella since the spill.

“The Nathan E. Stewart taught the Heiltsuk a great lesson about oil spills,” Humchitt says.

*Updated October 13, 2017 4:07pm pst. This article previoulsy quoted an individual who claimed Kirby corporation had begun passing through Heiltsuk waters at night in unidentified vessels. We have since found we could not verify this claim and have removed the statement as a result. 

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.

It has been two weeks since the Nathan E. Stewart, a U.S.-based fuel barge tug, struck ground and sank near Bella Bella, B.C., contaminating the harvest waters of the Heiltsuk First Nation with an estimated 60,000 gallons of diesel fuel.

During that time coastal residents have watched with dismay as spill response efforts have been hampered repeatedly by unfavourable weather, failed spill containment and even one incident where a spill response ship took on water and itself began to sink.

But the ongoing failure to contain and clean up the spill has been witnessed most closely by members of the Heiltsuk First Nation, who have been on the frontlines of the spill response effort since day one.

Jess Housty, member of the Heiltsuk tribal council, told DeSmog Canada the spill has put much of her community’s regular life on hold, thrusting many individuals into the unfamiliar territory of disaster response.

“That’s been one of the great challenges for us — as a nation we have no particular capacity and expertise around spill response,” Housty said, saying that hasn’t stopped members of her community from stepping in to help response teams from the Canadian Coast Guard and the Western Canadian Marine Response Corporation.

Housty said community members are working on every aspect of spill response from wildlife monitoring to ecological sampling to maintaining and preparing oil spill booms.

The Nation is currently crowdfunding for support to hire experts to continue sampling and monitor environmental and human health impacts of the spill.

“We’re working in a kind of incident command system that makes objective sense but is certainly not a system that reflects our values and the way we would operate and govern a process like this,” Housty said.

“There’s a lot we don’t know. We’re not engineers or spill response technicians.”

“We’re fishermen, we’re harvesters, we’re mariners, we’re people who love the place we come from.”

Heiltsuk crews gather absorbent materials. “We haven’t known how long this process will carry on. I still don’t know how long it will carry on,” Jess Housty said. Photo: Heiltsuk Nation

Diesel sheen seen on the beach of Athlone Island on October 23. Photo: Heiltsuk Nation

The Nathan E. Stewart, owned by Texas-based Kirby Corporation, sits grounded near Gale Pass. Photo: April Bencze

Poor weather conditions have prevented containment booms, shown here stopping the spread of contaminants from the tug, from staying in place. Photo: Tavish Campbell and April Bencze

“Ninety per cent of our resources come from that area,” Russell Windsor said. Photo: Heiltsuk Nation

On October 24, day twelve of the spill, containment booms broke apart on the beach. Photo: April Bencze

“One of the frustrating thing is some of the containment booms broke apart and you end up with what looks like soggy toilet paper all along the beach,” Jess Housty told DeSmog Canada. Photo: Heiltsuk Nation

It is difficult to measure the effectiveness of containment booms and absorbent materials, Housty said. Photo: Heiltsuk Nation

“We have no great sense of what is still in open water,” Housty said when asked about diesel recovery rates.

“I can tell you how many garbage bags of sorbent pads have been hauled out of the water, but that doesn’t really give you any idea of how soiled they were and how much diesel they’ve picked up.”

She added, “My reports that I’ve been getting every day is they’re not particularly effective unless the diesel is concentrated enough for it to pick up.”

“It’s really hard to put a number to how much.”

Diesel sheen on the beach of Athlone Island. Photo: April Bencze

Prints can be seen alongside tattered sorbent. Photo: April Bencze

Heiltsuk trapper and fisherman Fred Reid. “I had a trapline in the area…have trapped in that area for 14 years,” Reid said. Reid added the region is critical for salmon, cockles, abalone, urchins, five species of clams and otters. “We were already devastated this year, I guess the temperature of the water, the seaweed never came back. It just never grew.” Photo: Heiltsuk Nation

Heiltsuk crew continue to collect contaminated material October 25. Photo: Heiltsuk Nation

Diesel sheen can be seen spreading far beyond containment booms. Photo: Heiltsuk Nation

Diesel slick can be seen escaping a failed containment boom on October 22. Photo: Heiltsuk Nation

Poor weather has made it extremely difficult to keep containment materials in place. Photo: Heiltsuk Nation

Herring smelt seen around the sunken Nathan E. Stewart. The tug is still releasing fuel into surrounding waters. Photo: April Bencze

Herring are a species of traditional importance for the Heiltsuk First Nation.

“I think it’s really important for the wider world to understand this isn’t just an environmental issue; it’s not just an ecological disaster,” Housty said.

“It is that — don’t get me wrong. But what has been violated is not just the environment. It’s also about food security, it’s our certainty that we can maintain our trade relationship with our relatives in other communities.”

Housty said her community has lost its certainty that they can feast and conduct ceremony with traditional foods.

“And there is a huge ceremonial loss because the things we hold sacred have been violated by this. So for our community, this is not just about cleaning up an environmental disaster, it’s about our whole certainty that we can be Heiltsuk and practice the fullness of our identity in the way we did before.”

“And to have that certainty taken away has introduced a grief into our community that is going to take a very long time to heal.”

The Nathan E. Stewart resting along the rugged reef, an area rich in biological diversity. Photo: Heiltsuk Nation

The crumpled base of the Nathan E. Stewart. Photo: Heiltsuk Nation

Rich marine life, such as these colourful anemones, surround the sunken tug. Photo: Tavish Campbell

Photographers survey the wreckage. Photo: Heiltsuk Nation

Sorbent pads on the waters of Gale Pass. Photo: Tavish Campbell and April Bencze.

“We have several different types of containment booms deployed and sorbent pads deployed as well to try to pick up some of the diesel sheen but as you may have been following we have had really difficult weather conditions,” Housty told DeSmog Canada.

“Four of the last five days we’ve had to stand down small vessels because it’s too challenging for us to operate out there.”

Gale Pass with a trailing line of sorbent pads. Photo: Tavish Campbell and April Bencze

A transient orca passes by clean up crews on October 24. Photo: Heiltsuk Nation

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The grounding of a fuel barge near Bella Bella is raising fresh concerns about B.C.’s ability to respond to marine oil spills as a tug releases diesel fuel into the traditional waters of the Heiltsuk First Nation — and oil spill response crews have still not arrived on scene more than 15 hours after the accident.

The Nathan E. Stewart, a 10,000-ton tanker barge owned by Texas-based Kirby Corporation, ran aground around 1 a.m. Thursday in Seaforth Channel near Gale Pass on Athlone Island.

Although the barge itself was empty, three fuel tanks for the 100-foot tug powering the vessel were damaged and hold an estimated 60,000 gallons of diesel fuel, according to a statement from the Heiltsuk First Nation.

“A spill in this area is problematic because it’s an area where our clam harvesters do a lot of commercial digging,” Jess Housty, councillor for the Heiltsuk First Nation, told DeSmog Canada.

Diesel Spill ‘Not Even Close to Being Contained’

Five Heiltsuk vessels responded to the grounded tug in the early hours of Thursday morning and three Coast Guard vessels are also at the spill site working to contain the release.

Emergency responders from the Western Canadian Marine Corporation, a private oil spill response company, are en route to the spill location from Prince Rupert. The response crews include a mobile skimming vessel, two boom skiffs and a response barge which spokesperson Michael Lowry, told DeSmog Canada will arrive around 6pm this evening.

“We have equipment caches all along the coast and we train local contractors along the coast,” Lowry said, adding some emergency responders were on scene before 11am this morning.

Housty told DeSmog Canada she worries the primary oil spill response vessels, which are traveling from more than 300 kilometres away, won’t arrive soon enough to protect marine life from uncontained diesel fuel.

Housty said her community set up a containment boom from the community dock to try to limit the spread of fuel to sensitive clam beds.

She added the Nathan E. Stewart tug had a spill kit on board but that the containment boom it carried was barely large enough to encircle the tug. Coast Guard vessels had ten sections of boom measuring 50 feet each.

That is far from enough to manage the spill, Housty said. “It’s not even close to being contained.”

Housty said U.S.-based barges like the Nathan E. Stewart are exempt from some regulatory standards if they carry less than 10,000 tons of fuel, including a requirement to have a pilot on board while traversing Canadian waters.

“It doesn’t sound like this vessel was regulated strongly enough,” Housty said.

Regulation for marine oil spill response rests with the federal government, Karen Wristen, executive director of Living Oceans Society, told DeSmog Canada. But much of that responsibility has been shirked off to industry itself, she said.

“The owner of the vessel is responsible to have a spill response service in place,” Wristen said. “But that’s a real problem on most of the coast because the current caches of marine response equipment are either in Prince Rupert or Vancouver and there’s a heck of a lot of coast in between.”

Wristen said poor response time in instances like this allows for oil to dissipate in marine environments.

“This is diesel, it’s a very light fuel. Oil spreads very quickly on the surface of water and unless a ship itself is carrying enough equipment to boom the area — which is rare — it’s very unlikely you can protect shoreline.”

Lack of Emergency Response Strain on Community

According to Heiltsuk Integrated Resource Management Department director Kelly Brown diesel fuel from the spill has already made its way to land.

“It’s really bad out here. A lot of fuel is on the beach already, and fuel is in the water,” she said.

“The initial spill response has been totally inadequate. The first responding vessels were not equipped to deal with a spill, and had to return to town to gather more gear. The Heiltsuk are providing our own equipment because what responders have been able to provide so far is insufficient.”

Wristen said there is an urgent need for industry to coordinate oil spill response with communities along the west coast.

“This highlights the need to do spill response planning that involves communities that are sufficiently trained.”

Wristen said there is a big role for government to play in integrating industry and community spill response capabilities.

“We don’t have any of that kind of planning in B.C.” she said, adding, “It’s very different in the States, though.”

Wristen said the Exxon Valdez disaster dramatically changed the way industry and communities in the U.S. cooperate in the planning and supervision of oil operations.

“People realized they needed to be involved in the planning,” Wristen said. “It took many years but they have an active advisory council that involves community and industry stakeholders to talk through these issues to ensure industry is properly regulated and supervised so those regulations are followed.”

Fuel Spill in Heiltsuk Marine Breadbasket

Heiltsuk Chief Councillor Marilyn Slett told DeSmog Canada diesel fuel is notoriously difficult to clean up.

“Looking at this, we know from our neighbours to the north, the Gitga’at are still affected 10 years later from the sinking of the Queen of the North,” Slett said.

“This spill is in a breadbasket for our community and going forward this is going to have a long term impact on our community sustenance.”

The fuel spill has contaminated water that is home to 25 important species the Heiltsuk harvest, according to a Heiltsuk Traditional Use Study that is currently being conducted by the nation.

Manila clam beds in the area provide the Heiltsuk with an estimated $150,000 annual income.

Housty told DeSmog Canada the spill is precisely what her community has been fighting for years to prevent but without success.

“It’s infuriating that you have levels of government who are making decisions from Victoria or Ottawa who are treating this like an academic or political exercise when there are communities who have so much more at stake than anyone realizes,” Housty said.

“This is a place where we’re three weeks from the opening of a commercial clam fishery where our community members are expecting to participate in commercial clam harvest to get their families through Christmas.”

“None of these realities are understood by these decision makers in government or industry offices.”

Diesel Spill Near Bella Bella Exposes BC’s Deficient Spill Response Regime https://t.co/hlcE2Z1s6l @JustinTrudeau @christyclarkbc #bcpoli

— DeSmog Canada (@DeSmogCanada) October 14, 2016

Chief Councillor: ‘Complete Nightmare for Our Community’

Slett said the emergency responders will now be focused on a salvage operation “because the tug has completely sunk.”

“This is a complete nightmare for our community,” Slett told DeSmog Canada. “We’re working to mitigate what we can but the damage has been done.”

Slett said this kind of incident is precisely what her community raise concerns about at the joint review panel hearings for the Enbridge Northern Gateway pipeline.

Those hearings brought the issue of increased oil tanker traffic off the rugged coast of B.C. to the public’s attention. Prime Minister Justin Trudeau campaigned on a promise to ban oil tanker traffic on B.C.’s north coast — something he has been dragging his feet on doing.

Housty said this fuel spill has reignited calls for a legislated tanker ban on the coast, but said that won’t be enough to prevent accidents like the one unfolding in Heiltsuk waters.

“A lot of the feedback that we’re getting on social media is this is why we need a tanker ban on the coast but that wouldn’t even prevent this kind of thing from happening.”

“This tanker ban is being legislated to protect the coast but there are people actively lobbying to limit what that ban includes,” Housty said.

Housty said that ban, as it’s currently being discussed, won’t cover fuel barges like the Nathan E. Stewart, which ferries petroleum products between B.C. and Alaska.

Slett said more has to be done to protect the communities impacted by the movement of petroleum products off the B.C. coast.

“We’ve been talking a lot about this oil tanker moratorium and I know there’s been a lot of discussion on what it will cover but this incident proves that anything we do here has to protect the integrity of the ecosystems, of the marine life, of the coast,” Slett said.

“It must protect the lives of the people who live here and derive their sustenance from the natural environment.”

Image credit: West Coast Marine Response Corporation

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