Frozen tissue samples from a narwhal harvested by Inuit subsistence hunters will soon arrive at a laboratory in Boston, where researchers will work to determine whether the species could be susceptible to COVID-19.

At the Broad Institute of MIT and Harvard, scientists will expose live narwhal cells to SARS-CoV-2 to determine if the virus that causes COVID-19 can latch onto the cells and cause a potentially lethal infection.

Scientists are focusing on narwhals because they have almost the same number of “binding sites” as humans. These binding sites are found on ACE2 receptors, proteins on cells throughout the body. ACE2 receptors act as doorways for the coronavirus to enter and infect a range of cells. 

Humans have 25 of these sites; narwhals have 22. This puts the elusive northern in a high-risk category of animals that could contract the virus, said lead researcher Martin Nweeia, an assistant professor at Case Western Reserve University School of Dental Medicine and an expert on narwhal tusks. 

“It’s likely that narwhal can bind this virus,” he said. “No one is clear yet as to how many of these binding sites, which ones does it take and what number of viral entities does it take to actually produce COVID-19.”

“I think the real point of this research is that it allows us to be ahead of an issue.”

Narwhal tusk expert Martin Nweeia (left) has been studying the animal’s elongated tooth for two decades. Photo: Gretchen Freund

While there have been reports of captive animals coming down with COVID-19 — such as tigers at the Bronx Zoo — there has been little testing done on wild species and their susceptibility to the virus, Nweeia said.

The research is anticipated to be completed by the end of the year, with a paper slated for publication in spring, he said.

Nweeia has been studying the narwhal’s elongated tooth for two decades, primarily in Pond Inlet, Nunavut. But due to COVID-19 travel restrictions, he wasn’t able to travel to the community himself, so he asked Inuit hunters to collect tissue samples.  

Spokespeople from Pond Inlet and the community’s hunters and trappers association weren’t immediately available for comment.

Can humans transmit COVID-19 to narwhals?

Nweeia said transmission from humans to other mammals such as the narwhal is likely, even though narwhals live in remote Arctic waters.

Narwhals could contract the virus through wastewater, and the coldness of the water could allow the virus to live longer, Nweeia said.

“It’s likely that we’re dumping waste in the water all the time on boats,” he said, adding that future research will explore the potential of COVID-19 to be transmitted through wastewater. “Now we have increased traffic in the High Arctic, both with cruise lines, commercial vessels.”

Increased vessel traffic in the Arctic could put narwhals and other animals at increased risk of COVID-19, researchers say. Photo: Martha de Jong-Lantink / Flickr

A narwhal could also pass the virus onto the rest of its pod or other whales, as narwhals tend to migrate in large groups, Nweeia continued, citing the whales’ blowholes as an “enormous vector” for transmission. 

“If distribution of ACE2 receptors are found to be high in narwhal blowholes for example, respiratory droplet transmission could be possible from animal to animal,” he said.

Getting to the bottom of how susceptible wildlife are to the virus has implications for conservation, he said.

“I think this is one of the most important conservation efforts of any research I’ve encountered,” he said. “This is an opportunity for us, and the Inuit, to say this is our environment, we deserve these protected rights with how industry develops, how the cruise line industry is monitored.”

“We have to learn to behave better. If it takes a viral pandemic to send that message, so be it.” 

Hundreds of animals at varying risk of contracting COVID-19

Harris Lewin, a professor at the University of California, who’s also part of Nweeia’s narwhal study, said if certain wildlife contract COVID-19, the virus could all but devastate endangered species — lowland gorillas, for instance, which have as many binding sites as humans.

Lewin recently published a study that compiled a list of hundreds of species that are at varying levels of risk of contracting the virus through these ACE2 receptors. The list includes 410 vertebrates, 252 of which are mammals, including the narwhal.

According to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, COVID-19 originated in an animal, likely a bat. 

But Lewin said there’s a missing link. “We know from the science that there was likely one intermediate species between the bats and humans,” he said.

The database will serve as a basis for further research, he said, adding that animals such as cattle, sheep or white-tailed deer could be the intermediate species.

Scientists say COVID-19 may have jumped from bats to white-tailed deer before infecting humans. Photo: Clay Heaton / GPA Photo Archive / Flickr

“The reason why we want to look at the deer, the cattle and the sheep is because they’re all around that area of China, where the bats that harbour the coronaviruses live,” he said. “What we wanted to do was to identify one or more species as the candidate host.”

The pandemic is an opportunity to reassess our relationship with the natural world, Lewin said. Humans continue to encroach on animal habitat, which could make pandemics even more common in the future, he said. This research is important because it will help determine which species are susceptible and, beyond that, hopefully inform decisions on how to conserve wildlife and their environments, he said.

“All of these things that bring humans into closer contact with wildlife will potentially create a threat to humans and wildlife. It can go either way.”

The Narwhal’s reporters are telling environment stories you won’t read about anywhere else. Stay in the loop by signing up for our free weekly dose of independent journalism.

The Government of Canada has affirmed Greenland’s right to take part in the environmental assessment of an iron ore mine expansion project that could see a railroad built on Baffin Island and ship traffic increase in the Canadian Arctic and beyond.

Greenland’s concerns hinge on how the expansion of the Mary River Mine could impact wildlife — narwhals, in particular — a concern also raised by subsistence hunters and community members in Nunavut as Baffinland Iron Mines Corp. seeks to increase production. 

Baffinland opened the Mary River Mine on north Baffin Island in 2014 — the northernmost mine in Canada. The company is now looking to double its capacity under a second phase of development, which is under review by the Nunavut Impact Review Board. 

Mary River Mine, on Baffin Island, Nunavut. Map: Google Maps

That assessment process has seen various technical meetings and public hearings throughout 2019, which included Inuit organizations, hunters and trappers organizations, communities,  federal and territorial government departments and environmental groups.

The Kingdom of Denmark also requested a say in the process, on behalf of its autonomous territory of Greenland, in a letter submitted to the Impact Assessment Agency of Canada in February. The foreign government argued its rights to consult on the project under a United Nations treaty to which both Canada and Denmark are signatories.

In a letter posted to the review board’s registry on June 25, the agency confirmed the Espoo Convention — signed in 1991, laying out consultation obligations for development projects that pose transboundary impacts — applies to Baffinland’s proposed expansion project.

In the letter, Tara Frezza, director of intergovernmental affairs at the agency, calls on the review board to alert the Government of Denmark to “the likely significant adverse transboundary impacts, including impacts on marine mammals, accidents and malfunctions, invasive species and any mitigation measures and alternatives being considered.” 

She added that Denmark must be informed of any possible transboundary impacts of the expansion project and be consulted on their significance. 

Karen Costello, the executive director of the review board, told The Narwhal all information from interested parties will be considered in the review process — and confirmed Greenland is an interested party. 

“We will look forward to whatever their concerns are,” she said.

Baffinland Iron Mines’ expansion plans for Mary River

Baffinland is currently permitted to ship six million tonnes of iron ore from its port on Milne Inlet, just west of the community of Pond Inlet, located on Eclipse Sound. Baffinland wants to ratchet production up to 12 million tonnes of iron ore per year, and to construct a 110-kilometre railway to move that ore from mine to port (it currently uses a tote road for that purpose).

Under phase two, Baffinland is proposing 176 voyages for ore carriers, between July and November each year. Baffinland has also requested that its production be capped by the maximum number of ship voyages, as well as a limit on train trips, rather than the actual 12-million-tonne figure, to allow for flexibility. 

As reported by The Narwhal in October, the company appears to be telling investors a different story than regulators, claiming to the former it will increase capacity to 18 million tonnes.

A Baffinland spokesperson declined to comment. 

What are Greenland’s concerns about the Mary River Mine? 

Ore-laden ships travel from Mary River’s Milne Inlet port through Eclipse Sound to Baffin Bay, along the west coast of Greenland, to reach Europe where the ore is transported to market. 

Increased traffic on the route raises concerns for Greenland because ships will travel through sensitive marine mammal habitat, including that of narwhal. 

“Overall, the transportation of the iron ore in the Mary River project must be considered one of the greatest threats to marine mammals in the Arctic,” says a memo from Greenland’s Directorate for the Environment and Nature, included in Denmark’s February letter to Canada, adding that there are risks of oil spills and collisions with whales.

Mads Peter Heide Jørgensen and Fernando Ugarte, the memo’s authors, state that Eclipse Sound, which Milne Inlet opens into, is home to 10 per cent of the world’s population of narwhal, which are “incredibly noise-sensitive.” 

“Most of their food intake takes place during winter in the dense but moving ice pack at depths of between 1,000 and 2,000 metres,” the memo says. “These are areas that are known to be very quiet, and precisely the silence is something that the narwhals rely on when hunting fish at great depths.” 

If Baffinland’s proposed plan goes ahead, noise created by ships could permanently prevent  narwhal from feeding in the area, the memo says.

Narwhal. Photo: Baffinland

Narwhals are almost entirely dependent on auditory cues for communication, navigation and accessing food. As a result, they’ve been identified as the Arctic marine mammal most threatened by Arctic shipping.

“We’re talking about an animal that has lived in relative isolation from the effects of industrial development and they’re now going to be exposed to potentially regular shipping,” Brandon Laforest, a senior specialist in Arctic species and ecosystems for WWF-Canada, told The Narwhal last year. 

For a whole variety of reasons, narwhals have been identified as the most susceptible Arctic marine mammal to climate change.

“They have a very limited range, they have a very low genetic diversity and very specific food habits that are passed down through generations. And they also rely on sea ice,” Laforest said.

Greenland’s memo also noted that ice-breaking and ship traffic could affect the habitat of seals, walruses and whales, noting that bowhead whales are just returning to the area after virtually disappearing for 100 years.

Where is the process at now?

The November public hearing about the expansion project ground to a halt two days early — and with only a fraction of the agenda covered — after Nunavut Tunngavik Inc., the land claims representative for Nunavut Inuit, motioned to adjourn, seeing too many unanswered questions. Meetings were rescheduled for March, and then put on hiatus due to the COVID-19 pandemic limiting both travel and public gatherings.

Costello said information on the process moving forward, such as timelines, will be sent to all parties involved later this month. 

This could signal a possible reboot of the beleaguered assessment process for Mary River phase two — one that has now gained international attention and participation.

Once the process is complete, the review board will issue a recommendation to the federal government on whether or not to allow the expansion project to go forward.

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.

Priya Bhat has a knack for making people feel heard. 

She’s been voted student representative for all five years of her undergraduate and graduate education, supporting classmates through the trials of life and academia. We weren’t surprised to hear that her friends and family thought she should become a psychologist. 

Lucky for us, she chose a career in journalism instead and joined us this week as our new intern.

Priya was born in Mangalore, India, and lived in several cities in the country as well as in Singapore before moving to Vancouver last year to start her master’s in journalism at the University of British Columbia (UBC). 

Priya comes to us with journalism experience from near and far. She was a reporter and news reader with Christ College Television during her undergraduate studies in Bangalore, India, an intern for the Times of India and The Tyee and managing editor of VO1SS, an online publication based at UBC. 

Priya also speaks five languages: Hindi, Kannada, Malayalam, Konkani and English. No big deal. 

During her first week, we got a chance to ask Priya a few questions about how and why she does it all. 

You’ve moved a lot throughout your life — how did that influence your decision to pursue journalism? 

I met so many people and listened to their stories and learned about their cultures. I got a whole new lens through which to appreciate the world. I think that influenced my decision to get into journalism because I wanted to tell stories that people can feel and that they can be a part of.

Living in different places helped me realize that journalism should be about telling stories about people and sharing their experiences. 

What sparked your interest in environment journalism? 

My brother played a huge part. When I was in high school, we would have conversations about sustainability and the need for a cleaner world. He got into it right after university, launching a plastic recycling startup in Bangalore that collects plastics from businesses and homes and recycles them into sustainable products such as building materials and clothing. He helped me realize that there are things that we need to do for the earth and that even our small individual actions can go a long way. 

Another major influence has been the climate change movement. I’ve been inspired by all the work that people have been doing, especially the younger generation.

What kinds of journalism would you like to see more of? 

I’d like to see more solutions-based journalism. That’s not to say it doesn’t exist — but the current media atmosphere tends to focus on problems instead of offering solutions. The first step is often acknowledging the problem, but we also need to start thinking about solutions and we need to make it part of the reporting process. Because of the reach of news and the way that articles are circulated on social media, articles can create a lot of conversation about the topics they cover. We have an opportunity to say to readers, ‘Yes, we are in this mess, but we also know what we can do to prevent it.’ 

That’s one way I would like to see the industry moving forward.

I also think we need to involve more voices of women and People of Colour in the industry as sources and subjects of stories and as writers of those stories. I’d also like to see more support for student journalists. 

How did you first hear about the Narwhal? 

I first heard about The Narwhal when I Googled Trans Mountain pipeline issues in Canada! I had a course called public policy — it was my first class at UBC. Our professor had emailed us a document saying that the Trans Mountain pipeline would be the first case study that we would be going through. That was when I realized that there are so many complex issues in Canada and I wanted to learn more. 

I’ve followed The Narwhal since then. I started getting the newsletter and then started reading more — the coverage is so different from what the mainstream media is covering. It was actually very surprising because in India I’d never seen a publication focused solely on the natural world. 

You’re an avid photographer — can you tell us about some of your most memorable shots and why you love them? 

My parents came to visit last December and we went to Whistler. It was my first time in snow and it felt as though I was in a Christmas movie. I was definitely awestruck. We took the gondola through the mountains.  The whole ride was just magical. The forest was covered in evergreen trees, there were snow-capped mountains and an icy blue stream ran between the peaks. The series of pictures that I clicked there are some of my favourites. Those photos remind me of the natural beauty that exists around us, undisturbed. 

After the gondola, I stopped at a viewpoint and I was clicking so many pictures I didn’t realize that I had lost my parents. I completely panicked. For 10 or 15 minutes, I didn’t know what to do. It turned out that they were sitting in a cafe probably watching me run around looking for them. 

Can you list three random things about yourself? 

In the sixth grade, I memorized a whole chapter of my history textbook because I didn’t want to get the years wrong. I had an exam and I was so anxious that I would mix up my dates that I memorized the chapter verbatim. I was what people call a nerd! I can still be a bit of a perfectionist. 

I don’t like tea or coffee. It’s not that I hate it, but I just don’t like it. 

I cannot climb the stairs when I have a cold. At my last university, we had this huge flight of stairs and when I had a cold or was just starting to get a fever, I would always think I was going to fall. I really don’t know what that was all about! 

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.

Whether he’s writing about climate change in B.C.’s northwest or neuroscience for elementary-aged kids, Matt Simmons doesn’t think complex subjects should be boring. In fact, he thinks they make the best stories. 

Case in point: instead of writing a simple news story about the discovery of a body that was several hundred years old in a glacier in Tatshenshini-Alsek Provincial Park in northern B.C., Matt retraced the man’s journey to get there from the coast — a route scientists deciphered by analyzing the man’s stomach remains. 

“I wanted to capture that visceral feeling in writing that makes you feel like you’re up there in the mountains, standing on that ice, feeling how cold it is.” 

It’s a feeling Matt, an avid adventurer, is familiar with. 

When he moved to Prince Rupert in 2007, Matt realized there weren’t any trail guides for the region, so he wrote one, which was published in 2011 and updated last year. He’s also authored two kids’ books and is publisher and editor-in-chief of Northword Magazine, which is on hiatus due to the pandemic. In his spare time, Matt makes art, writes short fiction and plays music.

Matt’s enthusiasm to leap across mediums and out of his comfort zone shines through in his journalism. We’re thrilled to welcome him as our Local Journalism Initiative reporter, covering stories in northern B.C. and beyond from his home in Smithers.

We asked Matt a few questions about what makes him tick. 

What prompted you to become a journalist? 

I was living in England and my daughter was on the way. I decided to take my writing seriously — it was a now or never kind of feeling. 

I was living just outside of London during the 2005 terrorist attacks. The day after it happened, I went into the city and went clubbing of all things. I wrote a piece about the juxtaposition between this joyous experience of people dancing and having fun and then coming out of the club and seeing militarized police on every corner and feeling very overwhelmed by the loss and the fear. That was my first published piece. And then I moved back to Canada and started writing for Monday Magazine in Victoria. 

Having a kid really makes you prioritize, so writing became a priority.

What do you think good environment journalism looks like?

Environment journalism should be a good story. I love writing that takes me to the place that is being discussed. 

I think there’s a pretty clear distinction between simple news where you can get your facts and interpret them as you like and good journalism that goes deeper and gives the reader a chance to have some understanding of the complexity of an issue — and the issues are always complex. 

The Narwhal is doing some really great reporting on issues in this way. Given my ethics as a journalist and as a human being who loves where I live and and wants to make sure that nothing terrible happens to it — we align very well.

You’ve spent a lot of time writing for children. What have you learned through that work? 

Writing for kids forces you to be aware of every word you put on the page because you don’t want to dumb things down — kids should be treated with respect and as intelligent humans — but the one thing they lack sometimes is vocabulary and context. You have to really think about your reader. You want to make it enjoyable to read, but you also need to nail your subject matter. I used to do a lot of writing for kids’ science magazines, and it taught me so much about trying to take very complicated concepts and make them understandable in a conversational way. 

For example, I wrote a feature on neuroscience for readers aged nine to 14. I was interviewing people that are way, way smarter than me, but I tried to make it work for kids to get it. Your writing can’t help but improve when you’re thinking about your audience.

What do you like about living in northwest B.C.?

It’s this awesome combination of people and landscapes. There is a cool mix of people here: lots of self-sufficient folks that are happy to pick up a chainsaw and go buck up a tree for wood for the winter, and then they’ll have you over for a potluck.

The long winters in Smithers are challenging. It’s basically like seven months of winter and that can get hard, but most people I know absolutely love being here: they’re here because they love it.

From where I’m sitting it’s a five minute walk before I’m on the river. The colonial name for it is the Bulkley River, but the Wet’suwet’en name is the Wedzin Kwa. The river looks right up at the mountains and it’s so spectacular. I can drive 15 minutes and hike for an hour and I’m up in the alpine where I’m the only one there and there’s a view for miles. We’re lucky to have all that up here. 

You’re a visual artist, photographer, fiction writer and journalist. Are there common themes that you explore across those mediums? 

There’s a lot of overlap — I feel like it’s part of the same creative drive that I can’t help but follow. My art is always literary, and I like my writing to be artful and visual.

Two years ago, I had a solo art show at the Smithers Art Gallery called You Are Here. It was about being in the present, but it was also about location within the landscape. I used an old encyclopedia set, and I cut it up and collaged it with maps. Then I painted over top of that, and used the words that I was working with to inform the visuals that came out of it. Words are incorporated into most of the paintings I do. 

What do you do to unwind?

I play music — I recently bought myself a little upright piano and that gives me so much pleasure. Before COVID-19 hit, I played noise rock with a group of guys. I consider that to be therapy. A book and a beer is one of my favourite ways to unwind, and I really love solo adventures up in the mountains in the alpine. One of my favorite things is to just sit down somewhere where all I can see is landscape and I’m by myself. 

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.

From piloting a hovercraft on Great Slave Lake in the Northwest Territories to exploring ice floes under the Arctic midnight sun, Elaine Anselmi embraces it all head-on. 

As The Narwhal’s newest senior editor, she brings us her penchant for listening to the pulse of a story — a talent that has propelled her career as a journalist, sending her across the country and into unexpected places on the regular.

Elaine’s approach is a simple but powerful one: “Listen to people more than talk to them.”

Elaine began her journalism career at a restaurant industry magazine in Toronto, where she got a far better education in table settings than any person could need. She then headed north to work as a reporter and editor at several publications, covering topics such as disappearing Arctic sea ice, caribou herds and the lost Franklin expedition.

Now that she’s an official Narwhal, we asked Elaine a few questions about what she’s learned along the way. 

What inspired you to become an environment journalist?

I have written on a lot of subjects throughout my career, but I’ve gravitated toward environment journalism — or at least stories with an environment angle. I think that comes from my interest in the outdoors. It’s where I like to spend time and I think a lot of that interest came out of tree-planting. You spend long, uninterrupted periods with at most a few millimetres of material between you and the outdoors, so I think tree planting inherently harbours an appreciation for the environment. Moving up north and working for northern publications cemented that interest because it’s almost inescapable there. The environment is so much a part of everyday life.

You’ve lived, worked and studied in an extensive number of places across the country! How does this shape your journalism?

Working in community news shows you a very different, and deeper, side to the places you’re covering and how different every corner of the country is. I think this gives you a bit of humility — you start to realize that you’re never an authority on anything. In journalism that means that everywhere you go you need to talk to local people and as many people as possible to even begin to understand a place. 

I think the more places you go, the more you realize that. Every time you go somewhere new, it’s like, right — it’s a totally different world. You’ve got to play catch up and figure out how everything works. And I think it’s good as a journalist to do that. 

What do you like most about your job?

I enjoy taking the blocks of a story and then figuring out how to put them together. It’s sort of this interesting puzzle. As an editor, it’s fascinating to see how different people approach stories. If you give 10 people the exact same subject matter and interviews, each of them will probably build the story differently. And then as a writer you get to do that puzzle yourself, which is really fun. 

You also get to go places and meet people that you otherwise wouldn’t. Some pretty neat opportunities can come your way. For example, when I was freelancing in Yellowknife, an editor reached out one morning to ask if I wanted to do a hovercraft tour of Great Slave Lake. I was like, “Sure!” They even let me drive for a while, which was really hard. Mario Kart does not prepare you. 

How did you end up moving to Yellowknife?  

When I was in journalism school, I did my internship in Yellowknife at Up Here magazine. After finishing school and working in Toronto for a while, I wanted to get out of the city, so I got a job at a newspaper in northern B.C. While there, I did a road trip back to Yellowknife with a friend for the Folk on the Rocks music festival, and I remembered how much I loved being there: I had this feeling like — “I’m not done with this place!” I met up with a friend who told me that the local newspaper was pretty well always hiring. So I went in and left a handwritten note for the editor because he was out of the office. It said something like “Hi, I’m Elaine, I work at a newspaper in northern B.C., but I’d really love to work for you.” A month later I got an email from him asking for my resume and some clippings, and I moved up there a few weeks later.

What’s one of the most memorable stories you’ve covered? 

I was writing a story about Pikialasorsuaq, the North Water Polynya, which is an area of year-round open water in North Baffin Bay. Polynyas are these extremely rich ecosystems of tiny organisms, fish and marine mammals. This one is the largest in the Arctic and home to narwhals, belugas and walruses that all migrate through different parts of the Arctic.

I was in Pond Inlet, which is one of the communities that relies on the animals migrating from  the polynya, talking to hunters about the importance of that ecosystem. Out at the floe edge on Baffin Bay we actually saw a pod of narwhals and ran into a hunter (who happened to be the brother of my guide) who had got one and was processing the meat. We stuck around while he did that, which was really cool to see. The narwhal tusk was probably a foot taller than me. It was also June, which is the time of the midnight sun, so the sun just circled overhead all day while we stood on the ice at the edge of the open water and everything around us was white-covered mountains. When you get to experience things first hand, it changes the way you write the story. 

Tell us three random things about yourself

I was baking sourdough before it was quarantine-cool. I think my starter is six years old. His name is Clint Yeastwood and he moved from Yellowknife with me. 

I used to have my bus driver’s licence — I got it for tree-planting to drive cargo vans on bush roads, but had to learn in an old-school bus in a neighbourhood of Toronto. 

While in university in Halifax, I got let go from Boston Pizza after less than two weeks. I have a lot of respect for servers.

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.

Internships are a vital part of any journalist’s career. Just like you can’t learn how to fly a plane in a simulator, you can’t learn how to produce journalism in a classroom.

At The Narwhal, we feel a strong sense of moral and professional responsibility to help train the next generation of journalists. It’s also an honour and a privilege. That’s why we’re thrilled to welcome our very first intern, Zoë Yunker, to our pod.

Zoë, a master’s of journalism student at the University of British Columbia, started last week, just in time to join our second birthday party. Unfortunately, while we were celebrating on Zoom with silly dances and toasts to our generous donors, other media outlets were cancelling internships and laying off thousands of journalists due to the trickle-down effects of the pandemic.

It’s clear the traditional media model isn’t working and we need innovative people with fresh ideas to help us make the transition to sustainable models of journalism. After working with Zoë for a week, we’re confident she’s one of them. Not only did she nail her first assignment, an interview with our founders, and submit it before deadline (who does that?), she also impressed us with her insight into the media industry, her knowledge of the climate impacts of pension funds (a passion of hers) and her ability to slow down and appreciate the little things.

Why did you want to become a journalist?

About midway through high school, I started getting glimpses into the fact that everything isn’t right with the world. I was starting to get the download about climate change, and the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq were happening, which was really shaking up my ideas of justice. I decided I wanted to do something about these multiple intersecting challenges I was starting to see by becoming a journalist. 

I’m just circling back to that dream after going to university and working on climate and environmental politics through research. I was really enjoying my research work, but I wanted to be interacting with people more — one of my favourite things to do is have a conversation that expands my view of the world.

The kicker that ultimately led me to journalism was that I was getting increasingly concerned about the polarization of our public discourse. I started to become quite enamoured with journalists who are beautiful storytellers and can talk about issues in ways that bring out the common denominators of our shared experience. I think that skill is essential to breaking down some of these silos, and I really wanted to learn how to do that. 

Why did you want to do your internship with The Narwhal? 

It’s funny: as soon as I started journalism school, they asked us where we might like to intern and I was like, “The Narwhal.” I knew immediately.

First of all, I care deeply about the issues The Narwhal covers. I also think the journalists are incredible storytellers. When I read Narwhal articles, I feel like I’m having a conversation with the people who are featured. You also write about issues in a way that doesn’t try to smooth over complexity or nuance. I appreciate and value these skills a lot, and I wanted to learn from these journalists.

What sparked your interest in the natural world?

When I was five years old, my family moved from Vancouver to the Sunshine Coast — a small coastal community a short ferry ride from the city. I remember suddenly being surrounded by so much nature. I spent my first year living there mapping out all of the trees and plants on our property and getting a sense of when they would bloom. I remember this beautiful mock orange that would make our entire property smell incredible. I was an only child and pretty quiet and introspective, so I spent a lot of time with those plants. I started associating having a familiarity with the nature around me as feeling at home. I still feel that.  

Then when I moved to Vancouver Island after high school, I started going on trips to old-growth forests. Those giant trees would dwarf me but make me feel like I was part of a bigger ecosystem. At the same time, I was learning how precarious that ecosystem is. The injustice of that spurred me to get involved in environmental work.

What gets you so jazzed about the climate impacts of pension capital?

In Canada, our pensions are larger than our annual GDP, meaning that they hold over $2 trillion. They’re major building blocks in our economy. They’re also heavily invested in fossil fuels, both in terms of company shares and in fossil fuel projects like pipelines. Pension capital is part of what’s keeping the fossil fuel industry afloat. It’s such an irony because we’re paying into pensions to make our futures more secure and yet the things that our pensions are investing in are endangering our futures. I think this is happening because the financial sector is so opaque. It’s almost by design: in Canada, you can’t see what most public pensions are invested in. I think there’s a potential to galvanize people to take ownership of their pensions and use that huge amount of capital to invest in the energy transition. I see a lot of challenges, but also a lot of potential opportunities in our pension funds. 

What do you think — or hope! — the future of journalism holds? 

I think and hope that there’s a growing appetite for journalism that’s complex and nuanced and that doesn’t talk down to its readers. I also think and hope that there’s an increased awareness and acknowledgement that we need to support that journalism both through sharing it on social media and also financially through reader support. The Narwhal model is really exciting because it suggests that when you do the stuff that people want, people are willing to support it. 

I see a lot of really hopeful signs that things are changing in the right ways, but I am also very concerned about the consolidation of news, the loss of local news outlets and mass layoffs, especially in the wake of the pandemic. I think we’re on that razor’s edge of wonderful things happening in unprecedented ways and really concerning things happening. Sometimes it’s hard to know where to look.

Journalism can be a stressful business. What do you do to relax? 

I’ve been practising Ashtanga yoga for 13 years, and I’ve taught it on and off, so that’s a big part of my life. Getting out of my head and getting into my breath and being in my body is a really invaluable thing to do on a daily basis. 

Since the pandemic, I’ve rediscovered just going for walks without listening to music. I’ve been getting a sense of my neighbourhood, enjoying all the flowers and the plants and the smells and getting in touch with that sensory experience. I always find that I’m in a better mood when I come back.

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 people ask me why I decided to go to journalism school, I always tell them I was inspired by The Narwhal. 

I’ve been following the online magazine since it launched two years ago, and I’ve witnessed how well-told stories have the power to break open political silos and hold power to account. It’s a critical time for our planet, and we need this kind of journalism now more than ever. 

That’s why I’m over-the-moon-excited to be The Narwhal’s first-ever intern. 

As a journalism student, I often hear that I’m entering into a dying industry. 

The Narwhal offers a powerful example to the contrary. 

In a decade of unprecedented layoffs across Canada’s media industry, The Narwhal is bucking the trend. It’s hiring more journalists to write groundbreaking investigative stories and signing up more monthly members to support that invaluable work.

Even in the midst of the global pandemic, The Narwhal had the most successful membership drive in its history. In fact, more than 450 people have become monthly members since the COVID-19 crisis hit. 

Those numbers tell us part of the story, but we learn even more when members explain why they’ve decided to support right now. 

“In these very difficult times, with potentially looking at a whole year without income, it’s not an easy decision,” writes Michael, a new monthly member. “But what you do is that important. Thank you and keep going. You are on the right path.”

For The Narwhal’s second birthday, I got the chance to ask founders Carol Linnitt and Emma Gilchrist to reflect on their first two years and weigh in on what’s next. 

Why did you start The Narwhal?

Emma: We started The Narwhal because there’s been a huge erosion of environment reporting in Canada over the last decade or two. I was working at the Calgary Herald about a decade ago and at that time there was an environment reporter at almost every newspaper in Canada. If you fast-forward to today, almost none of those environment reporters are left. We saw this huge void at a time when biodiversity loss and the climate crisis were top concerns for Canadians. 

Carol: We were in this unique position as journalists to reflect on how many fascinating and sometimes harrowing stories about the environment were going untold. We started to dream up a publication that would not only fill that gap, but would actually reimagine the way that environmental journalism was done. We wanted the publication to have a pulse. We wanted our stories to have this verve and a sense of urgency, even a sense of excitement, to them — and to bring those environmental stories to the world. 

How did you come up with the name?

Emma: I was looking for a Father’s Day present for my dad at one of those kooky gift stores, and they had this Canadiana apron with Mounties, trees, moose and a narwhal. I saw it and I was like, “The Narwhal!”

Carol: Emma just texted me “The Narwhal,” and I was like, ooh!

Emma: So I went home and bought the domain. And I also bought the apron for my dad — he still has it.

The famous apron that inspired our name. Narwhal Editor-in-Chief Emma Gilchrist gifted this beauty to her dad, Peter Gilchrist, on Father’s Day 2017. Can you spot the narwhals? Photo: Carol Linnitt / The Narwhal

The Narwhal began during a decade when record numbers of publications across Canada were going out of business. Why do you think The Narwhal has succeeded against the odds?

Emma: It comes down to our relationship with our readers. Sometimes they send us story ideas and sources. And they’ve also become financial supporters of the organization by becoming monthly members and donors. It’s that direct relationship with our readership that is unique and that has made us succeed during otherwise difficult times. 

We don’t run any advertising, and it’s really the ad business that’s been falling away for media. We very consciously chose to be a nonprofit, and that fosters a very direct relationship with our readers because they’re the only people we serve.

What role do you think The Narwhal plays in Canada’s media landscape?

Emma: I’m proudest of our work to bring readers into the heart of the process and give them a meaningful way to take part in democracy — because journalism is such an essential part of an informed democracy. We also bring a different tone and voice as an organization that’s run by young women. We’re not trying to be a traditional news outlet that covers the environment. We’re trying to bring a little more voice to it and be more engaging. 

Carol:  Sometimes I describe The Narwhal as telling ugly stories beautifully. The subject matter we cover is difficult. It can be exhausting. We recognize that there is a well-researched problem of people tuning out to what’s happening with the natural world because it’s so overwhelming. And it’s very difficult for people to know where their power is, where their voice is and how they can help in meaningful ways. 

We want to reinvigorate people’s relationship with the natural world, but also wanted to re-enchant what journalism could be. Sometimes it’s about oil and gas companies not paying money into the orphan well levy, which can be kind of dry and policy-heavy. But we’re also sending journalists and photographers into the field to tromp into forgotten rainforests and look at enormous cedars and tell the other, beautiful side of the story of destruction. Our emphasis on visual storytelling is on full display in the fact that we had four of six nominations in the photo essay category of this year’s Digital Publishing Awards. 

What has been your most rewarding moment at The Narwhal?

Emma: I think the most rewarding moment has been during the COVID-19 crisis, when we have had the most support from our readers ever. One of my favourite parts of my job is reading the donor comments. I love reading why they decide to become monthly members. These comments are a constant reminder to do right by these people. We’re built on the small donations of thousands of people. 

Carol: For me, it was receiving the gold in the photo essay category at the Canadian Online Publishing Awards and getting to get up on stage to say, “This is the accomplishment of our readers.” After telling our audience that we needed to raise $10,000 to get photos of a new, remote generation of mines in B.C., they stepped up to the plate and fully funded that award-winning piece of content.

What has surprised you most during these first two years?

Carol: The speed of our growth. We hoped that we had landed on a good concept and that we were successfully putting ducks in rows, but I don’t think we had a true sense of just how quickly The Narwhal would flourish. It has genuinely surprised and delighted me.

Emma: We’ve gone from two staff when we launched to 10. The growth has been exponential at a time when a lot of media outlets are struggling. I would have never in a million years believed that we would get 450 new members in six weeks during the greatest economic crash since the Great Depression! 

Carol: Another thing that still surprises me after all these years of being a journalist is what it takes behind the scenes to make a really stellar piece of journalism come to life. We just published an investigation into the harassment of fisheries observers that was so much work — from finding the sources, to talking to the sources, to convincing sources to go on the record, to the rounds of legal review. It’s a monumental effort, and it’s very time consuming and expensive. 

Where do you see The Narwhal headed in the coming years?

Emma: I see our membership program becoming more and more crucial to our success and us being able to expand into more geographic places because of reader support.

Carol: I see us developing more capacity to do more of the in-depth work that we’re becoming known for. We recognize that people don’t want more — they want better. One of the ways I see us growing is by becoming better at what we do and not just getting bigger. 

We’re in the midst of a strange time with COVID-19. What’s keeping you going?

Emma: For me, it’s about getting outside. It helps me keep going and reminds me why we do what we do. Last week, I was out surfing and I had a grey whale in the surf line-up with me — that’s going to keep me going until October! That and the tremendous reader support.

Carol: One of the things that keeps me going is thinking about all the places we can’t go right now. We had to cancel a bunch of reporting trips, and a lot of work that we do is on the ground. I’ve been reflecting on the incredible places that our work has taken us — to Yukon, northern B.C., the coast, northern Alberta. If anything this time of slowing down and focusing has reignited my excitement for getting back out there and exploring these wild places, these endangered places, to meet the beautiful people who live there and tell their stories.

What’s your favourite Narwhal fact? 

Emma: It’s so hard to choose just one! They’re one of the deepest diving mammals and their tusk is actually an overgrown tooth that functions like a very sensitive antenna.

Carol: A group of narwhals is called a blessing, which is, you know, adorable and seems to ring true every day for us around here.

The Narwhal’s reporters are telling environment stories you won’t read about anywhere else. Stay in the loop by signing up for our free weekly dose of independent journalism.

The company that owns the Mary River open-pit iron mine on Baffin Island in Nunavut has been sending different messages — one to regulators and another to potential investors — regarding its expansion plans. 

Baffinland currently has approval to ship six million tonnes of iron ore per year from from Milne Inlet, north of the mine. The company’s public plans for an expansion to its shipping capacity show it loading 12 million tonnes of iron ore into ships, via a 110-kilometre railway, in Milne Inlet every year by 2020 or 2021. 

But behind closed doors, Baffinland has been distributing materials to potential investors claiming it will increase its capacity 50 per cent higher than that, to 18 million tonnes, as early as 2021. 

“Their plan, at least as communicated to bond buyers, is to get authorization to ship 12 million [tonnes] out of Milne and immediately turn around and get approval to ship 18 million [tonnes] out of Milne — something they’ve never told the public,” says Chris Debicki, vice-president of policy development and counsel for Oceans North.

Iron ore is primarily used in steelmaking. Canada is one of the top-producing iron ore countries in the world, producing 49 million tonnes in total in 2017, according to Natural Resources Canada.

Public hearings for the Mary River mine expansion to 12 million tonnes are set to begin in Iqaluit next week. 

The company has not mentioned the additional expansion in any of its regulatory submissions. 

Media representatives for Baffinland did not immediately respond to requests for comment. 

Export ships to pass through narwhal habitat

The mine is located on the northern tip of Baffin Island, and is one of the northernmost mines in the world. It exports its iron ore through Milne Inlet to the north. 

Ships leaving Milne Inlet pass through Eclipse Sound. Both bodies of water are important for narwhals, a species of special concern in Canada.

Before Mary River, there was no large-scale industrial shipping in the area.

“We actually don’t know, based on any of the research, that shipping even 4.2 million tonnes [its original permitted amount] is a safe threshold in terms of disturbance to marine mammals and a host of other environmental impacts,” Debicki explains. “If you look at the way this mine has ramped up quite quickly over the last five years, I don’t think the science has caught up.” 

The entire region involved in the shipping from Milne Inlet is part of the Tallurutiup Imanga National Marine Conservation Area, a 108,000 square-kilometre stretch of Arctic Ocean recently designated in recognition of its importance to wildlife, including narwhals.  

A map showing the Tallurutiup Imanga Marine Conservation Area. Map: Government of Canada

“That was a collective recognition, led by Inuit leadership, that this area is a spectacular ecosystem, highly productive and of huge cultural importance,” Debicki says. “The incremental increases in industrial shipping really flies in the face of the social and cultural importance, and natural importance of this area.” 

The extra iron ore would mean more ships making transits through the sensitive habitat in Eclipse Sound, from around 150 ships per year to “well in excess of 200,” according to a sworn affidavit filed with the Nunavut Impact Review Board by Oceans North researcher Georgia MacDonald. 

Those ships generate noise that Oceans North says has already affected narwhal behaviour and impacted traditional Inuit hunting. The Narwhal reached out to the Qikiqtani Inuit Association for comment, but the organization was not able to respond before publication; this story will be updated if and when the association responds.

Ship noise has been confirmed as a cause of stress in marine mammals, resulting in loss of feeding opportunities, social disruption, stranding and other behaviour changes.  

The company says it has again requested approval to ship during the early winter months as well as during the summer. Given the sea ice that forms every fall, this would presumably involve using icebreakers, a notion the regulator rejected in 2015.

An investors’ circular shared with The Narwhal shows the larger expansion would be expected to increase profits substantially while shortening the mine’s life by 10 years; it is also expected to decrease the total amount of royalties the company would pay.

“The expected economic benefits from a massive ramp up in production don’t necessarily flow to rights holders, specifically Inuit,” Debicki says. 

Documents show expansion work already begun

The port at Milne Inlet, which the company now intends to use to ship millions of tonnes of ore each year, was originally pitched to “only be used occasionally for the delivery of oversized equipment,” the company writes in the investment document.

The conflicting information “undermines a rational environmental impact analysis,” MacDonald of Oceans North wrote in the affidavit. 

The investor materials appear to show that the company has already begun work on the expansion. Nunatsiaq News, Nunavut’s paper of record, reported this summer that equipment and buildings for the rail expansion have already been delivered to the site. 

The mine has the consent of local Inuit communities, but CBC North reports that that relationship has been fraying lately, with the communities of Igloolik and Pond Inlet saying this summer that traditional knowledge is not being used appropriately. Local employment levels have also fallen far short of what the company promised. 

Affidavit of Georgia MacDonald, Oceans North researcher re: Baffinland Mary River mine expansion 28, 2019 by The Narwhal on Scribd

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.