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By David F. Pelly Free again. The first, fleeting moments alone beside a barrenlands river deliver a sensation you can never forget. Impossible to hold onto, it is nonetheless so profound that its memory is permanent. Left alone beside the river, with no more than a tiny pile of gear, a silent travelling companion, and an immense wilderness all around, the solitude penetrates through every sense, every pore of your body. It is palpable, flowing over you like a wave. It may be familiar, and expected, yet all the more profound because of that. There is a feeling of having awoken from a dream, to find yourself within a beautiful, peaceful sanctum. There is stimulation everywhere, and yet there is nothing, absolutely nothing, imposing itself upon you. Nowhere is this experience more impressive than in the Thelon Wildlife Sanctuary, in the heart of Canada’s Arctic barrenlands, as far away as you can get from “civilization” in continental North America. For me, the Thelon is the quintessential “wilderness” in Canada. But what is wilderness for me may not be to the next fellow, particularly if that fellow’s grandfathers lived in my wilderness, and hunted there for their food, as did both Dene (Chipewyan) and Inuit before white man ever thought about the Thelon. And yet we agree, really: it is a region where industrialized society’s impact is minimal, where nature remains the supreme force. It is a place where a human presence is only incidental. Such is the Thelon valley, still today. The river rises east of Yellowknife, east of Great Slave Lake, and flows across the barrenlands to Hudson Bay, through a vast unpeopled land. This is not to harp on the Thelon wilderness being the largest, the wildest, or the greatest – though it may be any of those in Canada, or in North America, or in the world? – but it does in some way stand apart. In the Canadian context, it was recognized as a valuable wilderness, as a sanctuary, very early. Canada as a dominion was only 60 years old when the Thelon Game Sanctuary was created by Order in Council. That gives it seniority, as formally recognized wilderness, which exceeds most (if not all) others in this country. It is the richness of human experience, however, layered on top of the natural splendour of the river valley and its wildlife, that really sets the Thelon apart. The place has a history, both Native and non-Native, which gives it standing beyond the intrinsic value of wilderness itself. That may prove to be the difference between preservation and destruction of the Thelon wilderness; history may be its saving grace. The Thelon Wildlife Sanctuary today is at a crossroads. Since the border defining the new territory of Nunavut cuts through the heart of the sanctuary, its jurisdictional future is uncertain. Any attempt at designing a joint Inuit-Dene-government management structure today may become unworkable in the future. But nevertheless, an attempt must be made; it is required by the 1993 Nunavut Land Claims Agreement. A management plan is to be finalized by July of this year. The destiny of the Thelon Wildlife Sanctuary is in the balance. Alex Hall, a biologist and canoe guide in Fort Smith, NWT, who has led more than 30 trips through the sanctuary on the Thelon River – and knows it better than any man alive – says of the draft plan, “Overall, I think it’s good. At this point, I’m pleased, but who knows where it’ll end up. I’m hopeful.” That sums up the feeling of most people who think of the sanctuary as a wilderness. There is a widely held sentiment that the Thelon has a mystique, a spirit, almost a magic to it that should set it apart from other conservation areas, and make it inviolable. When the draft plan was in preparation, more than 400 individuals across the country sat down to write a personal letter, expressing their thoughts on the sanctuary’s future. Hundreds more signed a petition. People care. For the future management of the sanctuary to really work, for it to reflect the unique national importance of this particular pocket of wilderness, that voice must be heard. Basically, there are four groups of people who use the sanctuary: Inuit, Dene, biologists and canoeists. One other significant group would like to use it: mineral exploration companies. The latter group makes somewhat justified promises of economic benefits to the Native peoples, but at times the mining companies’ conviction that mineral deposits need to be exploited for economic development purposes seems at best self-serving and occasionally patronizing (“It’s for their own good,” say the mining promoters, referring to the local people.). Biologists argue that the ecological integrity of the sanctuary, having survived this long, should be left intact. Inuit and Dene, rightly, insist on their inherent right to hunt for food everywhere throughout their traditional lands. It is a complex situation. Some of the barrenlands must be mined; that is an economic imperative. But to set some of it aside is only sensible – for the use of wildlife, and natural ecosystems, and humans who feel the need for such places. In the end, such decisions will serve the whole of society. Canada, without such wilderness, would no longer feel like home to many Canadians. The continuity of such protected areas is equally important. Small chunks of protected wilderness scattered here and there – inevitably those bits seen to be of little use for mineral development – are far less effective than one large, contiguous block of the same size. Given half a chance, I would argue for the extension of the Thelon Sanctuary northward, to link up with the Queen Maud Sanctuary along the arctic coast. Then we would have a protected wilderness spanning the barrens from treeline to Arctic Ocean, providing a haven for barrenland species that would ensure their survival for centuries to come. That would be something to make Canada proud. Natives and non-Natives alike, having converged from different responsibilities, different histories, different quests, now share the responsibility for the care of the northern wilderness. There is a certain irony (a certain correctness, even) and a certain inevitability in the fact that it is the Native peoples who now hold the balance of power in the management of this wilderness. That is how it was a hundred years ago, and now the land has been through the colonial cycle of European influence and come out once again under the jurisdiction of the Native peoples. One only hopes that today they still have the wisdom of their forefathers. But we all, everyone of us who goes there or even cares to know it exists, share in the responsibility of stewardship. The Thelon has a spirit, lent by the Native peoples who lived there over the last 9,000 years and who still today view it with a special reverence. The Thelon has seniority, derived from being the oldest fully protected wilderness in Canada. The Thelon has stature, which allows it to rise above other parks and conservation areas, perhaps partly because it was created and has been retained by its own legislation. The Thelon has an allure among wilderness travellers who dream of going there, to see the sanctuary, the wildlife and the untouched land. For many Canadians, it is a special place. It is our river sanctuary. David Pelly’s recently published book Thelon: A River Sanctuary $26.95 explores the mystery of this wilderness and recounts the Thelon’s story in detail – from Thanadelthur and Telaruk to James Tyrrell, John Hornby and Eric Morse. The book is available through your local bookstore or from KANAWA’s Paddling Mail Order, pg 39. David Pelly currently lives in Cambridge Bay, on Victoria Island, 300 kilometres north of the Arctic Circle. This story is from Kanawa Magazine. |