Haida Gwaii, the illusion and the reality.

I’ve been looking forward particularly to going to Haida Gwaii (aka the Queen Charlotte Islands) on this trip. It was in some ways the final destination of the cross country voyage. The furthermost point of our journey west. I wanted to experience what the fellow on the ferry told us was ‘heaven on earth.’ Old growth, whales, Haida culture, the lot.

What I ended up finding was partly that, but way more complicated. Amazing, inspiring, angering.

Haida Gwaii is two islands, Graham to the North and Moresby to the South. Especially since 1997, when it was made into a National Park, Gwaii Hanaas as a result of protests by both Haida and enviros. Its now run in partnership between the Haida and Parks Canada.  It is extremely difficult to get to Moresby Island and to the park. The park is where the big old growth is, the old Haida villages that have been abandoned, the mountains and many, many, many islands. You basically have to either be an experienced kayaker, or go with an outfitter. The outfitters seemed to start at $1000 per person to get you to a remote B and B, or $400 to take you to an island to camp, but you can’t really get around on your own without kayaking skills. We didn’t think we should try kayaking for the first time in the Pacific with two six year olds.

So we stuck to Graham Island. It’s hard enough to get to what with the journey I’ve described. We arrived in Queen Charlotte City – called Charlotte by pretty much everyone. Given that Queen Charlotte was a mere consort, and calling it a city seems a bit ridiculous – Charlotte is a suitable name. Its kind of a quirky touristy, artsy centre. The ‘anglos’ live here – by which folks mean the non-natives. Our first night we stayed in a place called “The Bunkhouse” – a campground/dorm owned and run by an old hippy called S. Friendly and well outfitted, but a bit more expensive than the $5 campsites down the road at $45 for the five of us. S. came here 30 years ago from London, Ont and stayed. He also runs a boat service – shipping people around and he tells us that there is gold mining happening in the Park – run out of a British mining company. Heads up people. It would be pretty awful if gold mining took place in this place – given the environmental devastation that gold mining often causes. 

On this trip, Shannon was reading a book called the Golden Spruce. This recent, non-fiction book tells a story about a man who worked in the logging industry, Grant Hedwin – who had a sort of ‘conversion’ experience and wanted to oppose the incredibly destructive clearcutting practices, and waste in the industry. On Haida Gwaii, near Port Clements stood a golden spruce tree that was celebrated by locals, tourists and MacMillan Bloedel who had clearcut much of the region. It was also a tree from a Haida legend, but apparently Hedwin didn’t know what. He chopped the tree down as a statement against the hypocrisy of an industry that celebrates one tree while clear cutting old growth. Everyone hates this guy. He was charged and on his way to court – while kayaking across the Hecate Strait from Prince Rupert, disappeared. Many believe he’s still alive. Others say he’s dead. Anyway, there were an entire shelf of these books on the big ferry from Port Hardy. So I bought one too. I’d had it recommended quite a few times on our way across the country. Its full of really interesting information about Haida Gwaii. (Mac is now reading it, and Shannon and I just finished).

One of the things it chronicles is the genocide the Haida have suffered here. They were a large society, with a culture that has a lot of well known material wealth – through fishing primarily. But also through warfare and slavery. We know of the long houses, the totem poles, the carvings of Bill Reid and others, the stories etc. They got involved in early trade with Europeans of the sea otter. These pelts were highly valued. And then disease hit. They lost over 95% of their population. 95%. 95%.  They were down to 645 people. Its impossible to comprehend. All the survivors were moved by the United Church into two towns – Masset and Skidegate. Their culture survived, but only barely. In the 1960s, so says the book, the cultural renaissance started – as Haida travelled to museums, and to archives to reclaim their history, to learn the dances, the stories that were lost and stolen. The book tells a story of a dance performed in the 1970s by an elder woman who didn’t have the appropriate mask to wear, so danced wearing a paper bag on her head in order to show others in her family how the dance went.

It is ironic, to put it politely, that Haida art has become such a symbol of Canada’s First Nations, outside of their control. As one photographer told me this morning – all Haida stories belong to a single family, the crests for particular animals are heraldic – and can be used only by the family they belong to. And it is clear that the Haida have been powerfully rebuilding this culture.We got glimpses of it up in Old Massett where we've been camping on a gorgeous beach for the past five days.

Anyway.  We’ve been without a shower, without a bed for that time too. And for the last few days we’ve been in the rain. Everything is wet and smoky smelling. So we’re back in Charlotte, in a motel and I’m going to have a  beer and try to continue later. All I can say to tantalize you with future stories is… surfing with seals, bakeries in the bush, totem poles, crabs, eagles and endless beaches.

Xo L.