The Darkening Archipelago (13 page)

“Really, Jerry,” said Carrie Bright. “Do you really think the media doesn't already know what's going on here? You think the minister was just out for a pleasure cruise yesterday? I watched the news out of Victoria. The ministry has already leaked their announcement, softening up the public. I got half a dozen calls last night. This is just a formality, Jerry, and you know it. I don't like the tone you guys are taking here. Save Our Seas isn't about roadblocks. We're about protecting wild salmon.”

“Save the sermon,” said Dan, taking off his hat and running a hand through his sweaty hair. “We're not on camera now, Carrie. We're behind closed doors. Your group will not be happy until you shut down every single fish farm on the bc coast. Don't try to deny it.”

“Who's denying it?” said Carrie, leaning back in her chair. “It's on our website. It's our policy. No open-pen salmon farming. We're not trying to hide our position. We don't like open-pen aquaculture. It's killing salmon. It's killing the ecosystem. And frankly, I don't think the fish are all that healthy for human consumption. What I don't get is, what is your agenda, Dan? If anybody has a hidden agenda, it seems to be you.”

“I'm here as a voice of reason,” said Dan.

“Reason?” blurted Archie Ravenwing. “Reason? You're here to protect your own ass, Dan. That's the only reason you're here.”

Dan looked at Archie sideways, his face twisted into a vile knot. “Look who's talking about protecting his own interests. Look who's talking about protecting his own ass. The noble savage speaks about protecting interests. Whose interest are you protecting by building that fancy addition to your house on the bluff, Archie?”

Archie grinned, but his words didn't match the smile on his face. “You know, Dan, my people have had to put up with trash like you coming onto the islands that we've called home since the beginning of time, taking what you want and leaving your filth in your wake. Cutting our trees, killing all the wildlife. Now you're killing the salmon. We welcome you into our community, and still you hate us. If you loathe us so much, why stick around?”

“Okay, folks, this is getting a little personal,” said Lance Grey. “Let's remember our ground rules for our meetings. Hard on the issues, easy on the people.”

Dan Campbell shook his head. “Jesus Christ, why are Jerry and I sitting in this room listening to this? I'm a guide outfitter and he's a logger, and we're arguing with Archie and Carrie about fish farming. Aren't you guys going to say anything?” He looked at Erik Nilsson and Darvin Thurlow.

Nilsson was standing, looking out the window. “You know,” he said, “in Sweden, we have air conditioning for when it gets this hot. Don't you have that here?” He turned and smiled and walked to his chair next to Darvin Thurlow.

“Why are the logger and the hunter fighting with the Indian and the fish-kisser about salmon farming?” Dan edged forward in his chair.

“Because you like to argue?” suggested Nilsson.

Dan sat back heavily, shook his head, and blew air out between his lips.

“We don't need to argue, Dan,” said Darvin Thurlow, his face cool, his hands pressed together as if in prayer.

“Why's that?” Dan Campbell shot back.

“We won,” said Thurlow, without a hint of guile.

The minister walked into the room just then. He was a tall, stately man, his pressed dark suit showing no sign of the heat that hung in the tiny room. “I'm sorry to keep you all waiting,” he said, shaking hands with Dan and Jerry, who were closest to the door, then making his way around the room. His smile was wide and genuine, and he spoke a few words to each of the people gathered in the room.

“Archie, it's good to see you again,” he said, taking the man's hand and holding it a second. “You understand we didn't invite you because your colleague Greg White Eagle is now on the committee, but as far as I'm concerned, you're welcome here.”

When he got to Cassandra Petrel, she rose and he took her hand. “Dr. Petrel, I've heard a lot about you, and read many of your reports. Thank you for coming.” She smiled thinly.

“Please, let's get started,” the minister said, taking his seat. “I trust Lance has been entertaining you while I was being sedated by my cabinet colleagues. You know, I think they call it the cabinet because it's big and awkward and when it falls on you, it's really hard to get out from under it.” A ripple of laughter went around the room. The minister turned to Lance Grey. “It's pretty hot in here, Lance, could you see about getting some air in here, please?”

The assistant nodded and left the room in search of help.

“First,” said the minister, “I want to acknowledge that our meeting today is on North Salish traditional territory. I want to give our colleagues Greg and Archie special greetings and thanks.” The minister stopped a moment to acknowledge the two men. “As you know, we're here to talk about salmon farming. Over the last two years, you folks have met a few times down in Victoria, up here, and, as I understand it, over on the mainland in Bella Bella. I want to thank you all for your time and the energy and thoughtfulness that you have provided during this process. I know this hasn't been easy. And I know that some of you will be disappointed with what I am going to announce tomorrow morning back in Victoria. But I want you to know that regardless of which side of the coin you are on, your input has been carefully considered, and I value your contribution.”

Lance Grey returned at that moment, followed by a man with a screwdriver, who proceeded to pry the painted windows open. They creaked and groaned in protest as he did. Otherwise, the room was silent. The minister sat quietly, reviewing notes on a piece of paper in front of him. Archie looked around the room. His eyes caught Dan Campbell's. Dan lived on Parish Island most of the year. He used the island as a base for his own guiding operations. During hunting season, Dan shuttled Americans and the occasional Canadian up Knight Inlet in search of their quarry. In the fall, he and his clients hunted grizzly bears along Knight Inlet's many salmon streams. Dan made no effort to hide the contempt he felt toward the North Salish people he lived among. He reminded Archie of the men who, a century before, had banned the potlatch ceremony, referring to the North Salish as savages. How a man with such obvious disdain, even outright bigotry, could live in a community that was more than 90 percent First Nations was deeply perplexing to Archie.

The window was finally convinced to open, and refreshing air rushed into the room. The man from the hotel smiled and departed, and the minister said, “Well, that's a little better.

“So,” he said, resuming, “as you know, our government made a commitment to consult with the people of bc , and to take under advisement all the opinions that we heard, and all the research that we have conducted and compiled. Our determination is that, if done properly with strong environmental regulations in place, salmon farming can be expanded in the Broughton Archipelago without adversely affecting wild-salmon populations.

“We're going to be implementing some stringent regulations on how this can happen,” he said, looking first at Archie, then at Carrie and Cassandra. “This isn't the wild west.” He smiled. “But we are going to have more salmon farming. The demand is high, the economics of the operations are good, and we believe that any negative impacts can be mitigated with regulations.”

“Minister,” said Carrie Bright, “did you consider closed-containment aquaculture, where the fish are kept on land in large man-made ponds?”

“We did, Carrie,” he said. “We looked at all the options. While closed containment would largely eliminate any of the negative impacts of farming, we felt that it was unnecessary. The output from the farms — I guess there's no way of skirting it — the fish poop —” he smiled and so did Lance, Jerry, and Dan — “is localized in its impact. The area directly below the farms do suffer some, but it's a tiny, tiny area.”

“Minister —” Cassandra Petrel raised her hand tentatively.

“Yes, Dr. Petrel,” the minister said, though Lance Grey frowned.

“Minister, closed containment certainly addresses the pollution issue, but more importantly, it keeps the Atlantic salmon, their diseases, and their parasites from coming into contact with the migrating pink, chum, and sockeye. Sea lice are becoming a huge issue, as you know. More salmon farming on the migration routes of the wild populations could be disastrous.”

“Thank you for bringing that up, Doctor,” said the minister. “Tomorrow, together with making the formal announcement, our government is also going to announce a research project, to be funded in part by my ministry and in part by industry, that will look more closely at the impacts of sea lice and how we can mitigate for those impacts. We'll be funding this research at the University of Victoria.”

“Due respect, Minister,” said Petrel, “but we already know enough about the life cycle and impacts of sea lice to say pretty clearly that fallowing these farms during migration periods — taking the fish and their pens right out of the water — is necessary to prevent the transfer of disease and of deadly levels of sea lice from the farmed Atlantic to the wild Pacific salmon. We don't need another study.”

The minister was silent a moment. “You know,” he said finally, “politics is the art of the possible. We have many interests to balance as we're making these decisions, many points of view to consider. The world has a growing appetite for our salmon. The health benefits of eating salmon are well known. Our friends in the industry, and in health promotion, have done a wonderful job telling people how good salmon is for us. The level of demand is far greater than our wild stocks could ever endure. I've got people telling me that there should be no harvest of wild salmon whatsoever. That the number of wild salmon left on our coast is at an all-time low, and that we should close the season entirely. The federal minister of fisheries and oceans was on the phone this morning saying that this year's harvest could be the smallest in a generation, if it happens at all.” He poked his index finger on the table with each of his words. “If it happens at all. Those were
his
words.

“And yet the world wants our salmon. So, we need a solution. We're going to need to feed those people somehow. They can't all go out with Archie and catch their own.” He smiled. “They can't all afford wild salmon. Not if stocks continue to decline. So, we've got to have a solution. We're going to have more farmed salmon to meet demand. It's going to bring a lot more wealth and prosperity and employment to the coast. The North Salish First Nation and other bands up and down the coast are all going to benefit from that prosperity. People will find work on the farms. We'll do our best to address your concerns, Dr. Petrel, and yours, Archie and Carrie. We'll take everybody's ideas into account. You know that you can always contact Lance with any concerns.” Lance nodded, his eyes on the doodle he was drawing on a pad in his planner.

“Minister,” said Archie, smiling, “I don't have to tell you that you have a responsibility to protect those wild salmon. It's a legal responsibility. The Fisheries Act lays it out.”

The minister smiled warmly. “No, you don't have to tell me. The federal minister and I were just discussing it this morning. We're doing all we can —”

“Hear me out, Minister,” said Archie. “I'm not oblivious to the various demands, the pressures on our salmon population, and I'm aware of the argument that more salmon farms should mean less pressure on wild stocks. But the correlation doesn't exist. Demand for both wild and farmed salmon is on the rise, despite our best efforts to talk people out of buying the farmed stuff. You're going to have to do a whole lot more than you are right now if wild salmon are going to survive.”

“I agree, Archie. I really do. Between us and the feds we're starting to develop recovery strategies for pink, coho, chum, even steelhead. It takes time, and there's a lot of politics involved, I don't need to tell you that. We're working toward a solution.”

The minister stood. “I'm afraid I have a plane to catch. I really appreciate your time, all of you. Thank you.” He walked around the table again, shaking a few hands, and left the room in silence.

“Well, there you have it,” said Jerry Cooper.

“Yes, there you have it,” said Archie, standing to leave.

10

“What's this all about?” asked Sergeant Reimer. She and Nancy Webber sat in a coffee shop near the RCMP detachment in Fort Macleod. Nancy sipped her coffee. “I'm not really sure,” she sighed.

“You drove all the way here from Edmonton and you're not sure?”

“It might just be stupid. I feel a little foolish pursuing this — it's about Cole Blackwater.”

Reimer stiffened. “What about him?”

“Look, I know that whole business in Oracle was bad news for you. I don't blame you if you're sore at both Cole and I.”

“I'm a professional,” said Reimer, drinking her coffee. She was in plain clothes, her hair down and framing a young and pretty face. She didn't look anything like what a small-town RCMP staff sergeant looked like in Nancy Webber's memory.