[Text: Tomas Borsa. Photos: Jean-Philippe Marquis.]
At some point in the early 1950’s, the Aluminum Company of Canada (Alcan) decided that it would build a smelting facility at the end of the Douglas Channel – and that, in a nutshell, is the story of how present-day Kitimat came into existence. A company town from its inception, the downtown core is more of a refuelling station than a hub for socializing, and most of the vehicles on the road are white company trucks. Like many of the area’s inhabitants, Marc Young was drawn to this area for one reason: work. Originally from Labrador, he has worked for Alcan for most of his adult life, just as his father did, and he takes a matter of fact tone toward its impact on the local ecology: “We pollute more than anybody, but our plant’s been here forever, so that’s just how it is.” He is an experienced boat guide, and today Jean-Philippe and I will be joining him for a quick jaunt across the open water to the proposed site of Enbridge’s Kitimat Marine Terminal.
Before heading out, Marc gives us each a large, red survival suit. “Tele-tubby” is the first thing that comes to mind, and I’m not entirely convinced that I would do anything but sink if we were to capsize. Still, it’s warm, and given that the temperature on the water is minus 12 degrees Celsius, that’s good enough for me. We set off on the Zodiac, powered by a mid-sized outboard motor. Half an hour later, we come to rest in a small bay at Bish Creek, where work is underway on a large Liquid Natural Gas project. A barge and several private ferries are docked at the bay, and cranes, trucks, and backhoes are all busy tearing away at the side of the mountain; as the boat slowly bobs along, Marc spots flagging tape and paint markers along the shore, a clear indication that we have arrived at the proposed site of the Marine Terminal. The shoreline is jagged, and the air thin and crisp. “In storm season, all the boats have to be brought in from the marina,” Marc shouts over the motor. “Once you’re actually on the water, any spray that comes off the top of the water instantly turns to ice. It’s rough.” I believe it; the forecast calls for 22cm of snow overnight, and within a few days, the body of water which we have just crossed will be unpassable.
After a few hours on the water, Marc suggests we turn around before the waves pick up any more. The wind is far stronger on the way back, and the only thing on our minds is ensuring we stay in the boat. After arriving at the marina, we load the Zodiac onto the back of Marc’s truck and part ways. Jean-Philippe and I head toward Kitamaat Village, 11 km from the heart of Kitimat, and home to about half of the Haisla people. We stop at a small dock near the edge of the village and spot a trail leading toward a rocky outcropping, in the midst of which stands a huge cedar totem pole. Curiosity takes over and we decide to follow it. After twenty minutes of meandering through old-growth forest, we arrive at something unexpected: a burial ground. The headstones, chiselled into the shapes of bears, salmon, foxes, and eagles, are witness to an influenza pandemic that wiped through Kitamaat Village in 1918, dramatically reducing the Haisla population and eliminating both the Frog and Wolf clans. As the sun begins to set, streams of golden light pour through the spaces between trees, illuminating the burial ground. The place has the air of a Cathedral. Minutes later, a light rain sets in. Dense storm clouds are quickly moving in from the East, and we are left with only a handful of minutes in which to take in the sudden magnificence of our surroundings.