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ISSUE NO. 75
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FALL 2018
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Coast Mountain College is connected to place – to rich cultures, rugged landscapes and breathtaking vistas. It is where lifestyle and learning go hand in hand. And experiential learning brings theory to life.
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COVER CONTEST! Find the in the cover photo for a chance to win a special Northword mug! Email contest@northword.ca with your best guess. Correct entries will be entered into a draw & the winner announced October 17.
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LAST ISSUE
Taking a dip in the warm colours of sunset. Photo by Marty Clemens.
The N was hidden in the tattoo. Congrats to Riki Jager from Comox for winning the mug and to all who correctly guessed the location.
Paint Swatch Contest
A quick note to those who entered our paint swatch writing contest (Annual Vol. 1): Thanks for your entries, they have been received. We will be starting the judging process this fall and the winners will be announced in the next issue!
Keep up with us in the digital world. On the web, we’re at northword.ca & you can find us on both Facebook and Instagram. Fall 2018
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CONTENTS ISSUE NO. 75 | FALL 2018
FEATURES 9 EDITOR’S NOTE FIRSTWORDS 10 Shared Histories 13 Small Flower, Big Problem 33 TRAIL MAP Onions, Big and Small BACKWORDS
35 Downtown Mischiefs 36 Kimono and the Colors of Japan
14 The Good Life The green of lettuce, the yellow of fresh egg yolks, and the red of the soil after processing livestock. Life in the North has long been about self-sufficiency and today young families continue to choose a lifestyle where everything that ends up on the dinner table comes from just out the back door. Sarah Artis dabbles and joins a pair of families trading the 9 to 5 for something a bit more hands on. 16 Firelight This year’s wildfire season was the worst on record. Photographer Michelle Yarham snapped some beautiful, haunting images near Fraser Lake late in the summer as the fires raged and the daytime skies darkened. 25 Colour of the Water Sometimes adventures take a strange turn and, when they do, they etch themselves firmly in your memories—including the colours. Paul Glover takes us on a trip down the Nass, and the proverbial memory lane. 31 Colouring the Map You know when a place is named for a colour? Sometimes the reason why is not as obvious as you’d think. Jo Boxwell checks out a few colourful northern BC locales.
Bathing in the colours of the bull kelp forest. Photo by Joseph Crawford.
Fall 2018
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northword magazine
MAIN OFFICE | Smithers 1412 Freeland Ave. Smithers, BC, V0J 2N4 t: 250.847.4600 | w. northword.ca | e. editor@northword.ca
PUBLISHER/EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Matt J. Simmons NATIONAL SALES/AD DESIGN Sandra Smith CONTRIBUTING EDITOR Amanda Follett Hosgood ILLUSTRATIONS Facundo Gastiazoro
DISTRIBUTION We distribute 10,000 copies six times a year to over 300 locations in more than 30 communities across northern BC, reaching over 30,000 readers. To request copies at your retail/public location, send an email to ads@northword.ca.
CONTRIBUTORS Jo Boxwell, Tracy Calogheros, Marty Clemens, Joseph Crawford, Andrea Eastman, Amanda Follett Hosgood, Facundo Gastiazoro, Paul Glover, Morgan Hite, Pete Moore, Naomi Nyulis, Savannah Parsons, Michelle Yarham
SUBSCRIPTION To receive Northword Magazine in your mailbox, or to give it away to a friend, please complete the subscription process on our website or give us a call. Subscriptions make great gifts!
DISTRIBUTORS Ainsley Brown, Frances Riley, Richard Haley
CONTRIBUTIONS We’re always happy to hear from new writers and photographers who have a unique perspective and a northern story to tell. Have a look at our submissions guidelines on our website.
Publisher/Editor-in-chief matt@northword.ca
Matt J. Simmons
Sandra Smith
National Advertising sandra@northword.ca
Amanda Follett Hosgood
Paul Glover is a piano technician,
Jo Boxwell is a freelance writer and
Morgan Hite has lived in Smithers for 20 years, makes maps, goes hiking, gets lost, writes articles, reads things, and dreams about travel.
Pete Moore was born and raised in Queen Charlotte, Haida Gwaii, and attended UVic’s journalism program. Now living back on the islands, he is an avid writer, radio host, musician, and general so-stoked dude.
Sarah Artis is a Terrace-based writer. You can find her lugging two scruffy children around town, or on a nearby mountain trail, lecturing them about gratitude and the healing powers of nature. Find her at sarahartis.com.
photographer, writer and home-grown naturalist. He lives in the hills outside Smithers where he compulsively grows way too much food and pays rapt attention to the natural processes unfolding around us.
Facundo Gastiazoro spends his days in Smithers expressing his art by painting murals, creating animations, producing videos, and illustrating concepts. His illustrations are featured in every issue of Northword. Savannah Parsons is a student with an affinity for writing creative non-fiction. She is currently in her first year at UNBC, and looks forward to pursuing a career in features journalism.
media specialist based in Prince George. She writes fiction and creative nonfiction, and is frequently interrupted by a squealing toddler, a ball-obsessed dog and a surprisingly destructive cat.
Michelle Yarham is a photographer and treeplanter (among many other things) from Smithers. She loves documenting people in spaces that they have a personal connection to, or exploring new territories together.
Contributing Editor amanda@northword.ca
Marty Clemens is from the Sunshine Coast
but has since drifted north—he now calls the beautiful Bulkley Valley home. When he’s not working as a videographer and photographer, you can find him scrambling up into the alpine or down by the river.
Legalities and limitations Copyright © 2018. All rights reserved. No part of Northword Magazine, in print or electronic form, may be reproduced or incorporated into any information retrieval systems without written permission of the publisher. Information about events, products or services provided is not necessarily complete. The publisher is not responsible in whole or in part for any errors or omissions.The views expressed herein are those of the writers and advertisers, and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the publisher, staff or management. Northword assumes no liability for improper or negligent business practices by advertisers, nor for any claims or representations contained anywhere in this magazine. Northword reserves the right to cancel or refuse advertising at the publisher’s discretion. In no event shall unsolicited material subject this publication to any claim or fees. Northword welcomes submissions but accepts no responsibility for unsolicited materials. Copyright in letter and other materials sent to the publisher and accepted for publication remains with the author, but the publisher and its licensees may freely reproduce them in print, electronic and other forms. Please refer to northword.ca for contribution guidelines.
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p h o t o : t r a c y c a l o g h e ro s
ADVERTISING SALES Sandra Smith, sandra@northword.ca Matt J. Simmons, matt@northword.ca
p h o t o : t r a c y c a l o g h e ro s
EDITOR’S NOTE
I’ve got this song stuck in my head: The Velvet Underground’s “Who Loves the Sun”. Lou Reed, crooning about heartbreak, asks, “Who loves the sun / Who cares that it makes plants grow”. And in the refrain asks again in sweet harmony, then answers: “Not everyone”. Sure, without that big yellow ball of fire in the sky, none of us would exist. But sometimes fire is what we least desire. Whoops. What’s that sound? Ah yes. The big hot elephant just tromped through the room. How can I ignore it? Drought, fire, smoke. Uncertainty. Anxiety. The skies went dark this summer, like the one before it, and everything glowed in the otherworldly light that is the sun trying to find its way through the hazy skies of a province on fire. An awesome spectacle, if apocalyptic. I struggle with the guilt of finding beauty in destruction. Many years ago, gawking at the first forest fire I’d ever seen, I was immediately struck by how stunning it was. That strangely compelling quality of light, filtered by smoke, the dancing distant embers flicking firefly contrast into the sky, the flames themselves hot and sensuous. I wondered if my reactions were a product of our society’s increased detachment from the natural world. Shouldn’t these sights, smells, and sounds trigger abject terror? You know, a healthy urge to flee? Instead, the warm glow of a world on fire simply made me want to create. I craved a camera, a paintbrush, a notebook and a pen. Is this reaction something to be ashamed of? Or maybe humans hardwired
to react in certain ways to certain colours. The gentle orange and cheerful yellow a relief from the blue-black of night. I’ve since been up close to a number of fires, both active and dead. I’ve blackened my hands clambering through a ravaged landscape. And there is beauty there, of course. I still see it (and feel the guilt). But like the best kinds of beauty, it’s complex. Because there is sadness and fear and loss all mixed in with those instinctive reactions to the colours that fire paints on our world. My heart goes out to all those who are having to cope firsthand with this year’s wildfires. And here’s something for us all to think about: the hard part is yet to come. When the fires are finally out and the media has stopped covering the story, the world will become monochrome. Grey and black—ashes and soot—and a dirty white as winter closes in. The aftermath of disaster is often harder than the crisis itself. Rebuilding. Dealing with the residual effects of trauma. For those of us who have been fortunate, let’s reach out this winter and help any way we can—donations, volunteer labour, or even just words of support. Who loves the sun? Me. I love the sun. I love the colours of new growth and the soft hues of tired light. And as much it scares me, I love the orange skies and the eerie twilight at noon. But right now, I want to write the story of that fire god in the sky who turned his back on Earth for an hour to let our forests go cold. — Matt J. Simmons Fall 2018
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FIRSTWORDS
SHARED HISTORIES
into contrast. It’s evident in the constellation of freckles that dance across fair cheekbones, in the glistening river of highlights that cascade through dark curls. It is the gold that shines in ebony eyes, the strong jaw that hugs a soft smile. These days, many of us celebrate our distinctions— those little contrasts that make us the masterpieces we are. But when traversing the paper trail of history, with its countless accounts of racism, intolerance, and genocide, it is painfully obvious that not every difference is lovingly accepted. Even Canada, the quiet nation acknowledged as an international peacekeeper is stained by a long history of discrimination that
IntegrIty
Professionalism
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darkens our past; we were not always the true north, strong, and free. We pried First Nations children from their parents’ protective grip and forced their small frames into rigid expectations, blind to the inky fear that seeped into their eyes. We ignored their tradition, stomping fallen feathers into the dust as black and red regalia fluttered hopelessly in the wind. We sentenced them to silence, and then moved on with apathy and ignorance. At best, this part of history was a featherlight touch on our collective conscience; a brush of familiar wind in our ears that hissed the parts of the harrowing stories we declined to hear. As time marched on, so did
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the silence. It painfully stretched, and stretched, and stretched. And then it broke. Today, we live in a world where purposeful apathy and ignorance are among the most undesirable qualities a human can possess. Canadians are becoming more interested and more informed of our entire history, learning the bloodshed, discrimination, and hatefulness that left such a stain on our famously peaceful nation. At the same time, First Nations individuals and communities are gathering up the heavy strands of their pain and weaving it into the remaining silence to patch the holes in our history— and to finally hear their stories truthfully told. At the forefront of this reconciliation are published books, ink capturing these stories so they cannot be forgotten again. The local connection is almost always the one that resonates most clearly. Finally, the long history of the Witsuwit’en in the Bulkley Valley, including their efforts in the creation of the town, and the forms of discrimination they faced, are now forever encased in the freshly-printed pages of Shared Histories by Tyler McCreary. McCreary says that the creation of this book was an enlightening personal journey. “I grew up living on Bulkley Drive and going to Walnut Park School with no real sense of the history of those places, or the history of contestations over what that town means, and who belongs in town. I understood there was a sphere of racism, but the particular history, the lineage of my family and its relationship to the history of racial dispossession, I didn’t know exactly.”
photo: submitted
We are all born
photo: courtesy bulkley valley museum
Teaching the future early what history learned too late
FIRSTWORDS
photo: submitted
photo: courtesy bulkley valley museum
Shared Histories author Tyler McCreary grew up in Smithers and is an assistant professor in the Department of Geography at Florida State University.
Now he is all too aware of the dark racial history that shadows Canada’s image as a multi-cultural, accepting nation. “I definitely think that we have lived in a world contoured by racial differences for centuries,” he says. “And I think it’s really incumbent upon us to think carefully about the legacies we inherit as a society with a long history of colour coding, and the way that that shapes structures of privilege and wealth, and disadvantage and penalty. “If we want to get to a more just place,” he continues, “I think we have to work through the legacies we inherit and actively try to come to terms with and counter them, and then ultimately, if we want to build relationships that get beyond the colour lines, I think we need to talk seriously about the histories that have built those divisions.” With a careful blend of artistic thoughtfulness and academic intelligence, McCreary paints an eloquent account of the history of the Witsuwit’en and settler relations in Smithers in the late 1960s. A contrast of rigid analysis and flowing oral histories move the subject of this book from the settling of Smithers and colonial displacement through to the end of Indiantown in the early 1970s. It’s not pretty. Fred Tom, one of the first First Nations children to attend the Smithers Public School, is quoted in the book. “Some [white settler children] were scared to touch us cause they thought we were lousy… They’d pretend to blow the fleas off themselves when they touched us.” Although this book tells the story of their ancestors, when reading sections of Shared Histories, First Nations teenagers from Smithers say the experiences described
are painfully similar to their own. Jordyn Morin, a recent high school graduate, says she experienced a similar form of racist taunting, the only difference being that the two events happened approximately 50 years apart. “I did face a lot of discrimination from my skin and my colour,” she says. “A lot of people think that we are stupid, or we can’t choose our words properly, or because of our dental hygiene we’re ‘dirty’. A lot of times First Nations people don’t have medical care. When I was a kid, I had to dye my hair in order to kill the fleas because the flea medical stuff costs a lot of money.
OUT THE Y... OF DINAR OR
Most of the discrimination by youth comes from a naive ignorance and an instilled fear of the unknown— two elements easily dissolvable by factual information. But when asked if the kind of truths that are present in Shared Histories are found in classrooms today, Morin said no. Even the existing textbooks that touch on the subject “aren’t even true,” she protests. “They don’t have any elders who properly describe what really happened. To be more detailed you need an elder to describe what they went through and their experience.” Shared Histories is a perfect antidote to local unawareness; it was written with the help of local
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FIRSTWORDS
elders, many of whom are quoted detailing their experiences. For 17-year-old student Jessica Weeres, seeing her history written down for her peers to learn from is exciting, and brings hope for a more inclusive future. “Even though we have a different skin colour,” she says, “that doesn’t mean we’re different from white people. [This book] would help other youth to understand that more, which means that over the years there will be more people talking about it, and more people listening to it.” It is important that this book—one full of personal stories from local First Nations—is available to students to help our youth understand the history of their hometown, and the pain that stems from racism. This way, there will be a generation raised by awareness, understanding, and acceptance. There is pride in being First Nations that is growing here, throughout the North, and across the country. “When my mom was in high school there was a lot of racism here,” says Morin, “but nowadays she’s proud to say her kids are accepted.” Weeres also has proud memories of her traditional upbringing, one that was free of the historical constraints her ancestors experienced. “I remember when I was little,” she says, “I was four years old, I had this little regalia on, and I was dancing. I was so happy, because everyone was just dancing with their beads and their headdresses and their deerskin dresses. I just
“It is a difficult thing to acknowledge that our history and national pride are darkened with hatred, but that is the only way to move forward.”
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remember being so free. Feeling so happy, so free, like this is me. This is who I am.” These words stand tall amongst history, carefully lifting feathers from the dust, and pulling beautifully handmade regalia tight around its shoulders. A familiar wind brushes by it, whispering of hope. If a young First Nations person is now able to breathe life into proud words for their culture, and if the descendants of those who once caused such pain are eager to listen, history is now becoming the contrast to the present. Apathy is ground beneath the foot of interest, and it is ignorance that now flutters hopelessly in the wind. Silence lies broken in shards on the ground as books like Shared Histories, filled with truth, carve learning, acceptance, and understanding into the hearts of the nation. Of course, we can’t pretend to be free of history’s clutches. The events it holds bled inky fear and scarlet pain deep into the parchment of Canada’s past, staining its historic paper trail, dripping down from trees already bowed with harrowing accounts of discrimination. It is a difficult thing to acknowledge that our history and national pride are darkened with hatred, but that is the only way to move forward. The painful stories of history are pieces we cannot rewrite, but human nature cannot stay still. Contrast will prevail, and from darkness comes light.
FIRSTWORDS
SMALL FLOWER, BIG PROBLEM Yellow floating heart threatens northern lakes
photo: amanda follett hosgood
I’m holding in my hand something that looks
decidedly alien. It’s small and greenish—let’s call it chartreuse— with rhizomes that extend, like tentacles or antennae, from a stem, reaching in vain for somewhere to take root. Like something from a science fiction film, this 20-centimetre piece of aquatic matter has the ability to destroy a lake’s ecosystem before moving to surrounding waterbodies. And the more you try to kill it, the more determined it is to reproduce. The species is, in fact, alien. To this lake anyway. Yellow floating heart, a Japanese ornamental plant, was introduced to Seymour Lake, near Smithers, about 20 years ago by a resident who planted it along the shore outside their home. There it grew, in an isolated clump, for more than a decade until the home’s subsequent owner disturbed it while doing work along the shoreline. That’s when Nymphoides peltata began to take over. Groupings began popping along the warmer, shallower southeast shore. Then they began to appear on the western shore. In 2012, former resident Allen Banner, then a regional forest ecologist with the BC government decided it was time to identify the plant. He quickly realized they had a problem. “This plant has reproduction down to a fine art,” Banner says. “It has the capacity to be transported to other lakes, which would be a terrible thing.” When it comes to invasive plant species, northern BC has some reassuring advantages. To start with, we have fewer infestations. If residents are careful not to spread existing ones and quick to report new sightings, we’re more likely to stay on top of it. In addition, cooler temperatures in the region mean invasive plants are slower to spread. That, of course, is changing with climate change. Right now in our region, the invasive aquatic plants that pose the greatest concern are Seymour Lake’s yellow floating heart and flowering rush in Bouchie Lake near Quesnel, according to Denise McLean, an invasive plant specialist with the provincial government. “Any aquatic species we have, we have issues with control,” McLean says. “We have fewer tools to be able to manage them.” BC’s existing Weed Control Act was designed for agriculture. While it gives regional districts the ability to ticket the person responsible and recoup costs, enforcing it isn’t easy. Growing within lakes and streams, aquatic species exist on Crown land, which makes finding a perpetrator that much more difficult. Penni Adams is the program manager for Northwest Invasive Plant Council. The organization focuses on terrestrial and riparian plants. She says Himalayan balsam, Japanese knotweed, yellow flag iris, and the common tansy are top of the council’s watch list. “Those are the three we are concerned about because they are between water and dry land,” Adams says. Plants that take hold on lake shores and riverbanks not only contribute to erosion and degrade wildlife habitat,
they easily spread when seeds and plant fragments drop into moving water. Yellow floating heart reproduces both through fragments, which can take root, and seeds from its small yellow flowers. Until recently, Seymour Lake was the only known natural lake in the province where it existed, and one of its most northerly locations. In the Lower Mainland, Hatzic Lake was recently added to the list. VanDusen Gardens in Vancouver clears it from its manicured ponds every other year. Invasive species are unpalatable to local herbivores and have no predators. As such, they begin to take over. The dense mat that yellow floating heart creates reduces light for fish and other plant species. Rotting biomass depletes the lake of oxygen. Its tendency to grow along the water’s edge makes the lake less accessible for boating and swimming. The shoreline in front of Poppy Dubar’s home was cut less than a week earlier, yet small heart-shaped leaves are already appearing on the water’s surface. She launches her stand-up paddle board and glides onto the lake. “I’ve become quite obsessive about it,” she says, kneeling to drag fistfuls of the weed onto her board. The question of whether Seymour Lake will ever be rid of yellow floating heart is becoming increasingly discouraging. For the past three summers, members of the Seymour Lake Conservation Society, an
organization formed in 2015 to address the problem, placed their hopes on a vacuum dredger—a barge with accompanying diver that would suck roots from the lakebed. In August, residents learned that the idea had been canned. It seemed unlikely that the method, which is untested on the tenacious lily, would fully remove the plant’s extensive root network. For the time being, the society has hired two fulltime summer students to cut the stems and remove the plants before they seed. “If nothing else, it’s allowing the fish to breathe in the meantime and allowing some light into the lake,” Dubar says. — Amanda Follett Hosgood
If you’re interested in helping, report invasive species sightings at 1-866-449-3337 or through the Reporta-Weed app. And remember to always clean boats, paddles, and gear of any plant fragments after leaving a lake. Never break or pull invasive plants like yellow floating heart, as it could contribute to its spread.
Fall 2018
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p h o t o : a n d re a e a s t m a n
The Good Life by Sarah Artis
B
p h o t o : a n d re a e a s t m a n
ack when backyard chickens was the newest trend for city folks, my Vancouver friend was up visiting Terrace and I thought it would be neat to show her a little country. I knew some friends who had just got chickens, so we decided to stop by and check them out. What I failed to understand at the time, however, is there’s a significant difference between chickens that lay eggs and meat birds—chickens raised for eating. Many meat birds are sort of freaks of nature. Bred to bulk up quickly, their lives are short and, at the end, fat. Depending on the breed, the birds can be butchered and eaten after just two months. By that point, some are so large that they lumber instead of walk. It was that stage of life my friends’ meat birds were at when my naïve city friend and I arrived to admire them. Expecting sweet, cooing chickens strutting like royalty (picture a Disney movie), we were shocked to find feathery meatballs with beaks. That was the first of many instances over my years of living in the North that I’ve realized growing your own food, especially when it comes to raising animals, is admirable but not for the faint of heart. And it definitely requires a certain level of grit.
The big jump In the last decade, many friends and colleagues in northwest BC have bought properties, any where from 10 to 150 acres, and they’ve become farmers. They’re buying tractors, building barns, growing gardens, and raising a variety of animals: ducks, turkeys, pigs, goats, sheep, cows, horses, and bees to name a few. Some of the animals help with labour and others are for recreation—but most are for food. Many of our farming friends have never farmed before and continue to work full-time. Their lives are busy. In many ways, they’re also idyllic. After a long day, they come home to their private sanctuary. They visit and feed their quirky, beloved animals. Then they pick salad straight from their gardens—squiggly orange carrots, ripe red tomatoes, and dewy lettuce in all hues of green. Dinner is salad with roast chicken or pork chops, meat from animals they’ve raised and butchered themselves. On weekends, breakfast is fresh eggs with the largest and yellowest yolks you’ve ever seen, and thick, homemade bacon. Coffee is sipped on the porch, looking out at the horses, and the forests and mountains beyond. My family and I love to sleep over at these friends’ homes for obvious reasons. But there’s much more to farming, including many smelly, muddy, and bloody realities, that aren’t quite as appealing. First, farming is a lot of work. It can be mentally and physically exhausting. It’s also unpredictable and costly. And at times it can be sad. Animals get sick, or die in childbirth, or are killed by predators. Most
simply follow the lifecycle for which they were destined, and are sent to the abattoir or butchered by the farmers themselves. There’s a certain kind of gumption and commitment to the farming lifestyle that I don’t think I could hack. Others thrive on it. Where food is from Carla and Eric Lennert moved to Terrace in 2006. They bought their first home a year later, a property just outside of town, a piece of land just shy of an acre. They got started with farming when their neighbours were raising chickens and they decided to partner up. “We got chickens, the ‘gateway animal’,” says Eric. “Then we got meat chickens. Then we got turkeys.” Carla says they wanted to know where their meat was coming from, especially when they had kids. “It became more important to give them food raised in the backyard,” she explains. “I think kids need to know where food comes from so they understand why we eat what we eat.” As for the kids saying goodbye? “They understand that death is just part of life. I know it can be sad for them sometimes, but they don’t typically get upset about it. They understand that’s the way it is and sometimes animals die.” In 2014, the Lennerts bought a much bigger 10-acre property in Old Remo, a well-established agricultural area not far from Terrace. It has a log home, a shop, and several outbuildings. They’ve cleared some land, with plans to clear more, and built a paddock, barn, and garden. They now have a mix of chickens, ducks, turkeys, bees, pigs—and a pair of horses. “Now that we’ve moved to a bigger property, it gives us the opportunity to become creative with what we do,” says Carla. Time for hobbies has dwindled, though, says Eric, half-joking. “I don’t go fishing anymore. I don’t play hockey anymore. I don’t really do anything anymore, unless it’s around here.” But Carla adds: “That’s by choice. Those aren’t the things that are valuable to us at the end of the day. We spend a lot of time working, both full time at our jobs and here. But I don’t feel the sacrifices outweigh the benefits. The benefits are better. “And when people come to dinner, it’s something to take pride in,” she says. “You become proud of farm to table.” Only one bad day Carmen and Naomi Nyuli bought their 35-acre property in the Driftwood area near Smithers about four years ago. “There was nothing on the land. It was completely forested,” says Naomi. “We figured out where we were going to place the utilities, buildings,
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The colour red The first time I watched my friends slaughter chickens more than a decade ago, the whole thing seemed crazy to me. I was fascinated and disgusted at the same time. When it was our time to help, I was surprised how quickly my queasy stomach settled as I got into work mode. To kill a meat bird, you place the chicken upside down in a traffic cone set in a wooden board. Then you cut off the chicken’s head with a knife and let it bleed out. You have to wait a few seconds for the bird’s feet to stop kicking. Then you plunge the carcass in boiling water to loosen the feathers and bang the body against a rotating feather-plucking machine. Finally, you lay it on a table and pull out the guts. It’s all done outside and the more people, the better—especially if you are killing lots of chickens in one day. My job that first day was to remove the guts. I cut a few heads off too, just to test myself. I figured if I’m going to eat these animals, I should be able to kill them. It was uncomfortable but manageable. What I remember most is how very bright red the chicken blood was, much brighter than that of a human. Pigs are harder. Many of our friends admit to crying the first time. For some, it’s every time. On the pig slaughter day I attended, my job was to mind the children. I figured I’d entertain them in the house. But I was outnumbered nine to one and they ran outside to where the action was. They came upon their fathers, just as they were shooting one of the pigs. One of the dads then sliced its throat to let it bleed. While slaughter days are bloody, they are also enlightening. I’ve come to understand that they are just one step in a long process of taking good care of an animal so that it can feed a family. Witnessing an animal’s death forces you to acknowledge the full breadth of what it takes to get a piece of meat on your plate. I think that’s a good thing, for me and for my kids. It teaches us not to take it for granted. I was worried about the kids’ reactions, but other than my seven-year-old daughter, none seemed fazed. Most were farm kids and they had probably seen this before. My daughter looked at me with a little panic in her eyes, so I asked if she wanted to go somewhere else. But after seeing that the other kids were calm and simply watching with curiosity, she shrugged and did the same. “I’m fine,” she said. And she was.
photos: naomi nyulis
pastures, and infrastructure, researching everything along the way.” Now they’ve got a shop, a half-finished house, a large garlic plot, horse pens, and a huge sheep enclosure. Total animals include two cats, two dogs, two horses, and, for now, 19 Suffolk sheep. Naomi says people are always calling them crazy because it’s so much work, but they couldn’t be happier. “I love seeing our dreams come to fruition. I love waking up in the morning and seeing the horses, and the mountain vista, taking time from my computer work to interact with the animals and tend the garden. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.” The Nyulis long-term plan is to run an agri-tourism business on the property, hence the name “Blackhorse Ranch and Retreat”. They want to build a refuge where visitors can rent an off-grid cabin and unplug. To comply with zoning laws, they need farm status. And to get farm status, they must make $2,500 in annual farm income. Hence, onsite farrier services, the garlic patch, and the sheep. The average death rate for sheep breeding is 20 percent. That means one of every five lambs born is expected to die. Their first year, the Nyulis lost even more than that. “It was scary, like ‘What did I do? Am I just killing things?’,” says Carmen. “Going into the second year, I was terrified.” The second year went well, however, as the couple set up a better feed and barn system. “The ewes were more experienced, and they were more comfortable with me,” adds Carmen. A retired guide outfitter, he’s accustomed to animals and death. Still, he says, “This has been a real learning process, full of ups and downs.” As for sending the animals to the abattoir, he seems grounded. “When it comes to outfitting, people think you embrace the killing, but that’s not what you do. You embrace how the animal moves, walks, gets up. And that’s the same thing with the sheep. It’s not about killing. That’s just part of the job. That’s their life journey.” Naomi struggles a little more when it’s time for the animals to go but says she’s learning to manage her emotions. “I don’t want to say I’m hardened to it but I’m not crying at the drop of a dime. This is something that we raised and is appreciated by those who eat the meat. As someone once said: ‘They only have one bad day’.”
firelight
photos: naomi nyulis
photos by Michelle Yarham
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Colour of the
Water story by Paul Glover illustrations by Facundo Gastiazoro
I
kept my eyes open as the river’s powerful current dragged me under. In the subdued light beneath the surface I could make out the bulk of a house-sized boulder as I swept past it. It was menacingly dark and its edges were still sharp; it must have only recently tumbled into the river from the canyon walls above. I had no idea where Rob was. His mother, at her home a thousand kilometres away, had awakened the night before from a dream that he was submerged in deep, green water. She took only small comfort that, in the dream, he was at least swimming.
In my cabin, by the f lickering yellow light of a kerosene lamp, we traced the route on a map with our fingers. An undulating blue line, the Nass River extended from BC’s northern interior to the coast. We would f loat for several days down the grey-green river, emerging gradually into the darker, deeper estuary and finally to the choppy and foam-f lecked waters of the coastal inlets. We would ultimately paddle our way up the Portland Canal to Stewart. It was a grand idea; our boldest adventure yet. It was fortunate that all our previous exploits had ended well, although if they hadn’t we might have been more cautious in embarking on this one. Rob’s old green van bounced and slithered its way up the muddy brown track that was Highway 37, then still unpaved. It was September; arches of
golden leaves crowded the roadway. We didn’t know where we would put in so we just kept driving north—endlessly, it seemed—until we caught sight of the river to our left. By the last of the daylight we made camp on the shore. In the slanting rays of an autumn morning the river was a striking but friendly blue-green. Fine silt from upstream glaciers tempered the bright water with cloudiness, and soil f lushed in by recent rains added a hint of ochre to the blend. Yellow cottonwood leaves tumbled gaily in the current. Eagerly we packed the canoe, donned our life vests and set out. All the previous night we had heard a sucking roar coming from downstream and expected this would be our first obstacle. To our surprise it was just a little riff le—the river splashing over some rocks in the middle of the current. With a sense of relief and some self-deprecating remarks we disappeared around the next bend. As the sun traced its arc across the pale blue sky we travelled deeper and deeper into the unknown. Around every few turns was a new challenge. We soon learned the volume of sound that this powerful river could generate when crashing through its rapids: while portaging around a couple of these we could not even hear each other shout. We grew more comfortable with running the rapids as the day progressed. Before each we would scout ahead, clambering along the tawny riverside rock. We would plan our route, then carry it out. The frothing water was a brilliant, crystalline white, but as we drifted through the pool below a Fall 2018
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cataract the colour changed gradually to jade green and finally a stunning aquamarine before re-entering the rushing current. We were enjoying this so much, and so preoccupied with what the next stretch of river might bring, that we forgot to eat. With the arrival of an amber dusk we made camp on a sandbar, cooked over a fire, relived our glorious day and speculated on the morrow. A trembling aurora, pale green and rose, sent us to bed in highest spirits. In the black of a moonless night a hard rain began; water was seeping into the tent. We ran around in the dark in our underwear trying to repair the problem, re-setting guy lines and anchoring corners with river rock. It was to little avail. The morning brought a changed scene. The sky was wet steel; the previously lustrous cottonwoods were now a tired yellow and shivered in the chill breeze. The river, already rising from the overnight rain, had turned chalky grey without the gay sparkle of yesterday. It hissed and snarled at the shore as it sped past. Amid showers and drizzle we set out, wearing our rain gear. The river turned abruptly and seemed to steepen by several degrees. The walls rose 26 Fall 2018
higher and higher on either side. We scouted ahead, climbing sometimes to the top of the rocky bluffs to plan our route. We were still making it. “Okay…down through that chute…past that rock on its left …then into the eddy for the next scout.” We launched into the current and made for the other side of the midstream rock. But we were being swept downstream awfully fast; the rock appeared to be charging right at us. The dirty green wave above it was growing larger by the second and looked entirely unfriendly. Now it was upon us—or we were upon it: we were going to hit it headon. The canoe dropped into the trough on its upstream side; from here the wave towered high above our heads. We were lifted up and over the top—an exhilarating ride—but then plunged bow-first into the next wave. Cold water poured over my lap, half-filling the canoe. We now had no maneuverability and the next wave capsized us completely. At this point I lost track of Rob. I brief ly clung to the canoe until I realized that it and the current were one—it was not going to help me escape from the river. I let go and started kicking towards shore. Even with the f lotation of the life vest I was often underwater. Water came
The dirty green wave above it was growing larger by the second and looked entirely unfriendly.
in through my nose and mouth. I was swept across gigantic boulders as the current f lung me around. I imagined my mother reading in the paper about my death by drowning, and felt very bad about this. Rob’s mother, in Vancouver, had already glimpsed our predicament in her premonitory dream. Now my head was above water long enough to see that I had managed to propel myself into calmer water, closer to the shore. In fact, there was Rob, and he was crawling from the river. I swam frantically to break
through the current that kept pushing me away. Rob spotted me and called encouragement; there wasn’t much else he could do. I struggled against the current—it didn’t feel like I was making any headway. My strength was ebbing. In desperation I kicked off my shoes. My bare feet worked better and I finally broke through and into the slack water along the shore. I climbed from the river, my body feeling like it weighed hundreds of pounds. I was panting harder than I ever had before. Rob scrambled up a rib of rock and watched the canoe, with all our belongings, rolling in the current as it disappeared downstream.
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I was startled to see a battered canoe, pale pastel green, just like Rob’s had been, lying upsidedown across the back of a riverboat.
We wrung out our clothes and took stock. We were on the opposite side of the river from Highway 37 and the Nass Road, and had nothing besides our life vests. We had no food. I had no shoes. In those days there were only two vehicle bridges over the Nass: a highway bridge far upstream at Meziadin, and a one-lane logging bridge that we had passed under earlier that day. We trudged up the shore, over rock buttresses and piles of driftwood. At the bridge we crossed the river and followed the logging road. My feet were tough but after 15 kilometres of gravel they were getting tender. Eventually we caught a ride back to Rob’s van, our starting point. We had covered some 65 km on the river. I had once met a couple named Clive and Joyce who lived somewhere in the Nass Valley. By asking around we got directions to their place, a vegetable farm downriver, near New Aiyansh. In the gathering dusk we knocked on their door. Surprised but hospitable, they took us in. We told them our story. Clive loaned me a pair of old runners, three sizes too big. They felt great. Over the next two days Clive directed us to various spots along the river where he thought we might find our canoe, or remnants thereof. The prevailing opinion among the locals was that it would not be found: it had either been smashed to bits or had already made its way to the ocean, or both. The canyon in which we’d capsized was renowned for taking lives: everyone we talked to had a story, and reminded us how lucky we were. The deep blue-green of the mountainsides stood in stark contrast to the autumn reds of fireweed and other young growth in the massive clearcuts at their base. This was the heyday of logging in the Nass. While taking in these vistas we contemplated our fate and fortune: in spite of all we’d lost, we kept shaking our heads that we were still alive. On our third day there Clive had another idea. We piled in the van and he directed us to the riverbank across from Old Aiyansh, formerly a thriving village on the north side of the river, now mostly abandoned. But today there was a service in the old church there, followed by a picnic. Boats were ferrying people across the river and we jumped in one of these. The river here was swift but f lat. The weather had improved and the water once again had a promising sparkle. We landed downstream of the village and hiked up to it. A boardwalk wound through the old grey-and-
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brown wooden houses with a spectacular view of the glittering, glaciated peaks upriver. Right about then the service concluded and people streamed out from the old white church. The picnic began. Among other delicacies we feasted on roasted oolichan, boiled smoked humpie, and dried fish dipped in oolichan oil. Peering over the edge of the clearing at the riverbank below, I was startled to see a battered canoe lying upside-down across the back of a riverboat. It was a pale pastel green, just like Rob’s had been. We climbed down to investigate. Indeed, it was the very one we’d lost upstream. Somehow it had mostly survived its solo descent through the canyon. As we marvelled at this unexpected turn, an older Nisga’a man approached. He introduced himself as Sam. His voice was soft but his eyes had a haunted look. He had found the canoe a couple days ago while fishing. It was in a pool, upside down, nudging against his salmon net. After a pause, he continued. Years ago, he said, he had been coming downriver in a boat with one of his sons, and he had decided they would run the canyon. They had capsized. Sam somehow got out, but his son had drowned. While Sam was relieved to see that Rob and I were alive, finding our desolate-looking canoe had brought back the loss of his son: the irreversible consequence of a choice made long ago. In January, an RCMP jet boat was travelling upriver on a routine patrol. The sky was winter blue, the water low and black. From deep in a pool a f lash of colour caught the eye of one of the officers. It was yelloworange—not a natural river colour. They circled back and retrieved it from the depths. It was a nylon backpack on a metal frame. All but one of the pockets of the pack had been torn off, as if by some violent force. A week later I received a registered letter from the RCMP. They had found a pack in the river, and in its one surviving pocket was my wallet. Was I still alive? They sent my wallet to me, and what was left of the pack. Inside the wallet was some money, and to this day I still have a few of the bills. Although still recognizable, they do have a different look to them: tinted, after months in the river, by the colour of the water.
Colouring
Aam wil bakwsim / We Welcome You
the
Map
FORUM
Come Visit Us and Explore! • Drive the brand new Nisga’a self-guided Auto Tour. • Nisga’a Museum — one of the finest collections of Northwest Coast aboriginal art in existence. • Guided tours of the lava fields, lava cone: Nass Valley Tours 1-855-568-8687 & Visitor Centre exhibit. • Hlgu Isgwit, our hotsprings — water heated by nature. • Vetter Falls Lodge — pristine wilderness experience. • Tour K-’alii-Aksim Lisims (the Nass River) and see our famous Fish Wheels: 250 633 2617
Aam wil bakwsim / We Welcome You
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Colouring the
Map words by Jo Boxwell illustration by Facundo Gastiazoro
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eading south from Whitehorse across the Yukon-BC border, the highway cuts through waves of yellows and oranges as the deciduous trees offer up their last bursts of colour. The September breeze carries a warning chill; fall comes early this far north. We’ve only just entered northern BC, but we won’t remain in the province, or the country, for long. We’re heading into Alaska via the Coast Mountains, and the White Pass will be our crossing point. Trees shrink to the size of shrubs, dwarfed by the harshness of the climate. There’s no snow yet, but the grey rock, narrow lakes, and low-lying fog are muted compared to the colours along the road that brought us here. The weather has shaped this region in ways that make it unfamiliar and fascinating. We pull over to take in the landscape, and a tour bus parks behind us. We aren’t far from the cruise ship port of Skagway; travellers are not an uncommon sight here. A handful of tourists walk a short distance over the tough shrubs and
hobbled trees towards a lake. I follow with my camera, curious to hear what their guide has to say about this inhospitable land. The White Pass, I learn, was not named for the masses of snow that accumulate here during the winter months, but after a Canadian politician, Thomas White, who was Minister of the Interior when the route was first trodden by prospectors in the late 1880s. I admit being a little disappointed to discover that this impressive stretch of land was not named for the forces that shaped it. When the Klondike gold rush surged through the White Pass, it became a gruesome place. An estimated 3,000 horses were driven to exhaustion and succumbed to the harsh environment. The pass acquired another name: “The Dead Horse Trail.” Northern BC is speckled with dots on the map, great and small, whose names reference colour. The origins of some appear to have been lost, and others may ultimately disappoint, like Fraser Fort George’s surprisingly unremarkable Emerald Lake, but many of these names capture fragments of the history, culture, and natural beauty of our region. Fall 2018
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Blue River The community of Blue River and its namesake in the North Thompson Valley may be the most well-known Blue Rivers in BC, but northern BC has its own: a Dease River tributary close to the BC-Yukon border. The Blue/Dease Rivers Ecological Reserve protects wetlands and forest habitats. Kwadacha River The Sekani people of the area weren’t referring to rapids when they named this river the Kwadacha, meaning “white water,” in the Tsek ’ene language. Glacial erosion of bedrock generates rock f lour, and the high concentrations of rock f lour f lowing into this river give it a cloudy colour. Kwadacha is now also the name of the First Nation community formerly known as Fort Ware. Pink Mountain North of Fort St. John, the mountain is named after the pink hue in the rock, and is renowned for Arctic butterf ly viewing. Traditionally used by the Half way River and Prophet River First Nations, part of the mountain is now protected by the Pink Mountain Provincial Park. The area is home to diverse f lora and fauna, including a plains bison population introduced to the area by a local outfitter in the 1960s. Tête Jaune Cache Pierre Hatsinaton was an Iroquois-Métis fur trader and trapper who guided French voyageurs into the region that bears his nickname today. The French called him Tête Jaune (“yellow head”) because of his blonde hair. The Yellowhead Highway and the Yellowhead Pass were named after him. The little community of Tête Jaune Cache came to bear the same name because Pierre was said to have stored a cache of furs there. The community brief ly experienced boomtown status (population 3,000) during the construction of the Grand Trunk Pacific railroad. Red Rock Located on the traditional territory of the Lheidli T’enneh, this community got its name from the Fraser Canyon’s reddish hue. Presumably thanks to a good-natured local resident, there is a painted red rock on the side of the highway for those disappointed by the absence of any red rock among the trees visible from the road. Following the gold rush that built Barkerville,
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Red Rock attracted gold miners staking small claims along the Fraser River, and later railway workers as the Grand Trunk Pacific crept closer to Fort George. More recent inhabitants include farmers and former employees of a forest research nursery, which closed in 2000.
rock give this provincial park its name. The cliffs’ dramatic descent into the water make it a popular spot to paddle around or walk on the self-guided interpretive trail. The park is located on Babine Lake, BC’s longest natural freshwater lake.
Blackwater River The origin of the name “Blackwater” is said to be a translation of the Indigenous name that referenced its colour characteristics. The riverbed is darkened by tributaries that pass through muskeg and swamps, giving the river its murky tones. As it passes below Tsacha Lake, the Blackwater also cuts through black volcanic rock, leaving behind impressive canyons and rapids. The Blackwater River is a designated British Columbia Heritage River, and was a significant trade route between the Dakelh and coastal nations. The Grease Trail, so-called because of the eulachon fish oil commonly traded by the coastal nations, ran parallel to the river (predominantly on the north side). This was also the route that Alexander Mackenzie was guided through to reach the Pacific Ocean in 1793. Mackenzie referred to the river by another name that is also still in use: West Road. Today, with excellent trout fishing but limited access, the river attracts adventurous f ly-fishing enthusiasts.
Rainbow Range The Rainbow Range is known as Tsitsutl in the local dialect, meaning “Painted Mountains.” The range is an eight million-year-old shield volcano, and its rich minerals produce striking waves of yellows, reds, oranges, and lavenders in the lava rock. Nuxalk and Dakelh First Nations have inhabited this area for thousands of years, and the ancient grease trails that were vital trading routes still exist today, including the 300 km Mackenzie Heritage/Grease Trail. Located in Tweedsmuir Provincial Park on the Chilcotin Plateau, there is another reference to colour within the plateau’s name: Chilcotin is an Anglicized version of Tsilhqot’in and the Tsilhqot’in are the “people of the red ochre river.”
White Swan Park Welcome to Fraser Lake, the “White Swan Capital of the World.” Every November, on the traditional territory of the Stellat’en First Nation, over 1000 trumpeter swans arrive at the lake as part of their migration journey. Hunted almost to extinction in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, these distinctive white birds have made a comeback due to reintroduction efforts. Fraser Lake is also a popular spot for other migrating waterfowl. White Swan Park is a day-use facility and municipal campground. Red Rock Mountain At the northwest end of Fraser Lake, the trails leading up Red Rock Mountain offer access to an extinct volcano and ancient lava f lows. The Stellat’en name for Red Rock Mountain is Tselk ’un. This is a sacred area, and visitors wishing to hike the trails must request permission from the Stellat’en Band Office. Red Bluff Provincial Park Rugged cliffs stained by the iron content in the
Skidegate Named after a hereditary Haida chief, “Skitei-get”, means “red paint stone.” Today, the community is a Haida village home to the impressive Haida Gwaii Museum and the Haida Heritage Centre. Maroon Mountain North of Terrace, this hiking trail exists at least as far back as the mining exploration of the area. As well as scenic views of the surrounding ranges, hikers will come across the rusty remnants of old mining claims. Red Rose Peak Located in the Rocher Deboule range, this area is best known for the now defunct Red Rose Mine, which operated between 1941 and 1954. Tungsten, copper, gold, and silver were mined from the area, and the remains of the mine buildings are still present. Rainbow Alley Provincial Park Unlike the Rainbow Range, this park was named for the water, not the rock. The area is known for world-class rainbow trout fishing. The park stretches between Nilkitkwa Lake and Babine Lake. Part of the traditional territory of the Ned’u’ten, the area is still used for fishing and trapping.
TRAIL MAP
Onions, Little and Big words & map by Morgan Hite
You may not have heard of a peak in Slovenia named Triglav, but you can be sure that Slovenians have. As the highest peak in the country, it is a goal for many Slovenes to climb it at least once in their lives. What if we had a similar tradition in the Bulkley Valley, that once in your life you would make an attempt to climb... the Big Onion? Visible from almost everywhere in the central valley, the Big Onion is an accessible, colourful, dome-shaped peak with a broad summit that stands east of Smithers. Imagine the pride and pleasure you might get as you gaze at it from Highway 16 and muse, “Yep, I’ve been up there.” Although it’s right next to Babine Mountains Provincial Park, the mountain was excluded from the park so its valuable minerals might someday be mined. This is in fact where its name comes from (rather than from any resemblance to a vegetable). Joe L’Orsa’s History of the Babine Mountain Recreation Area says, “In 1917 Axel Elmsted and his partners Tommy Haig and Ben Benson found mineralization on a mountain which they then named the ‘Big Onion,’ after Ben Benson’s habit of talking about ‘peeling the onion’—striking it rich. This onion was the BIG one.” They staked the property the following year, and even today the scars of prospecting and exploration on the bright orange sides of the peak are visible from a distance. “Big Onion” is not an official name as far as the province of BC is concerned. The province recognizes only the name of the westernmost and highest of the three prominences that make up the Big Onion: Astlais Mountain, elevation 1841 metres. The small prominence to the south that pokes up above treeline is colloquially called, by association, the Little Onion. It makes a nice destination for a half-day hike, being about an hour and a half from the trailhead. Approaches to both Onions are straightforward. There is a large parking lot on Old Babine Lake Road, about 3.5 km from its junction with (new) Babine Lake Road. This lot is at the base of an old mining road, variously called the Onion Mountain Trail or the Little Onion Trail. It runs up and over the Little Onion, and on around
the Big Onion and into Babine Park. A spur leads up to the saddle between two prominences on the Big Onion. From the parking lot, the old road is steep and there is no reliable water. It switchbacks up through an old burn and then splits in the forest above (take the left fork). At the Little Onion, be sure to leave the road for a moment and climb to the high point just to your west. It’s an excellent stop for a break, and having ascended 500 vertical metres to the lesser Onion you have only 300 more vertical metres to go to the top of the big one. Past the Little Onion it’s just under one km to a second fork where the Onion Mountain Trail heads right. You go left, into the maze of exploration roads at the base of the Big Onion. The only one of these that you are interested in is the very steep one straight ahead, that goes up to the saddle between Astlais and the middle prominence. Ascending through multi-coloured hues of orange and yellow screes, this remarkable road provides a solid, if dry, staircase to the grassy saddle. From the saddle, climbing turf and heather to the summit cairn on Astlais takes about fifteen minutes. From here you get impressive views of Ganokwa Basin and the southwest half of the Babine Park. The Little Onion is certainly the way to approach this peak: I don’t recommend getting to (or from) the base of the Big Onion via the labyrinth of bulldozed roads that occupy its southwest side. New scrapes overlap older scratches, which in turn overlap older trails, and the whole mess is confusing and complex. I’m not even sure it’s shown correctly on the map above. And there’s nowhere to park at the bottom. Be sure to carry water on your once-in-a-lifetime ascent of the Onions! For more maps, go to bvtrailmaps.ca or email morgan@hesperus-wild.org.
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from
Creekstone Press
Quality books of regional interest
Shared Histories looks deeply into what happened at the intersection of settler dreams and Witsuwit’en reality in the Bulkley Valley. This collection of hidden histories reveals how generations of Witsuwit’en made a place for themselves in Smithers despite local, provincial, and national efforts push them, and indeed all Indigenous peoples, to the fringes.
M
in Ea a t n ou Books & gle Cappuccino
A Door to a Great Opportunity
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BACK TO
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ALL PIANNOOSSOONNSASLAE LE
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S SEPTEMBER 30 th P.S. PI D A NOS EN
for warm days.
best homemade soup in town.
all our local musicians and more. for what’s really happening.
and BEAN NORTH COFFEE to take home!
250-562-5358 | ps@pspianoservice.com
34 Fall 2018
3775-3rd Ave., SMITHERS. Tel: (250) 847-5245 or 1-800-668-5119
www.pspianoservice.com
On all new Yamaha digital, hybrid and acoustic pianos 250-562-5358 ENDS SEPTEMBER 30TH ps@pspianoservice.com
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FINANCING
ENDS SEPTEMBER 30TH
P.S. PI A NOS
250-562-5358 | ps@pspianoservice.com www.pspianoservice.com
www.pspianoservice.com
photo: philippe nicke photography
New this season
photo: philippe nicke photography
BackWords Victoria-based funk group Downtown Mischief kicked off the month of August with the release of their debut album and its accompanying comic book, Comin’ Thru Slidin’. Following their album-release party at Logan’s Pub in Victoria, the band hopped in their grafitti-covered van and headed on tour to hit northern BC Festivals, including ArtsWells and Edge of the World. Comin’ Thru Slidin’ features 14 tracks, clocking in at just over an hour, and explores a fusion of jazz, funk, hip-hop, and more. The album lists 24 musicians, but the band’s formative members Poppa Phat Smile and Wishbone Jenkins (they all have crazy nicknames—it takes a bit to get used to) lead the record with undeniable chemistry. On songs like “Slidin’ Poseidon Part 1” and “Avocado Ideology” the pair trade verses with a smoothness that juxtaposes the complexity of the rhythm section. With each song being a bit of a genre roller coaster, trying to pinpoint musical influences is no easy feat. “Verbal Graffiti,” one of the album’s clear highlights, transitions from MF Doom-esque rapid-fire rhyming to a jazzy Rhodes piano solo. “Parliament is a big influence,” says Wishbone Jenkins. “The psychedelic crew that’s known by their nicknames.” With members of the band wearing costumes every time they play live, the performance aspect of the influence is clear, and elements of George Clinton’s distinctive sound can be found on songs like “Universal Oneness.” Downtown Mischief is a band born of house-party jams between musicians focused on technical jazz and funk and a shared lifestyle. On Comin’ Thru Slidin’, these elements fuse as multi-stanza funk explorations guide the listener through song topics such as getting “pitted,” living on the fault-line, or simply hanging out with your friends and playing softball—a life philosophy that is really brought to life with the album’s accompanying comic book. It’s ostensibly an illustrated lyric book, but the comic gives an added depth to the characters, stories, and overall aesthetic of Downtown Mischief’s band and music. The idea came from Wishbone’s recognition of the declining need for physical copies of albums in the streaming era. “The only thing the CD is to me is the album art,” he says. “So wouldn’t it be cool if the album art was what you bought instead of the physical music that you don’t need when you can download it or listen to it on a streaming site?” The book has several contributing artists, with many of the comics drawn by Wishbone himself, so it shifts in style from song to song, much like the album itself. After a busy summer, the band’s next steps are still to be determined. They are taking a slight breather after the push to get the record out, but the band’s many members continue to experiment. “As far as hanging out and writing music together,” says Poppa Phat Smile, “that’s the only thing we’re not really worried about. That’s just going to happen.” — Pete Moore
Fall 2018
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BACKWORDS
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Canadi person of soci Koycza poems Winter
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QUESN SMITHE
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books kimono and the colors of japan
Musicia Africa Celso M Ostwe
Katsumi Yumioka, PIE International, 2018
PRINCE QUESN SMITHE
It is difficult to know—and even harder to describe—what exactly this book is. Equally “The Manual for Red Dyeing (around 1829) tells us that, at home on a coffee table, on a shelf next to art-history tomes, or served to a guest with ‘material was bottomed with tumeric [sic] to create the yellow tea in the garden, the simplest thing to say about it is that it is exquisitely beautiful. hue, then layered with reduced safflower dye.’” Or: “The Author Katsumi Yumioka is a stylist and collector of antique kimono. Kimono and the Japanese name indicates a ‘pale greenish-blue embellished Colors of Japan showcases his personal collection, and is structured by traditional colour with the color of flowers’ telling us that the material was divisions in a way he describes as “colors of the Japanese heart” or “Japanese Kokoro dyed with colorant squeezed from the dayflower (spiderwort no Iro”. In the way I imagine a traditional tea ceremony to unfold, these are carefully family).” considered. “Black communicates the poignant darkness that covers all things. Yellow is Glimpsing the complexity with which antique and the joy of harvest...Brown articulates the land, green the trees, and blue the sky and sea.” traditional clothing was made gives, for me at least, a Idly flipping its pages is pleasant enough, letting colours, patterns, and designs wash newfound respect for clothing in general. Making a kimono over you; reading Yumioka’s insightful descriptions of the historical significance to the was clearly a sophisticated and luxurious artform. This book use of particular colours in Japanese culture is like tasting a snowflake in a blizzard— is similarly a work of art. there is so much more to know. — Matt J. Simmons
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Stunnin youthfu & cellis Carneg
PRINCE SMITHE BURNS
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backwords is sponsored by
Books, Coffee, Friends. “Northern BC’s Living Room”
Are we forgetting anything? Nope.
One of folk art & soari for brin throug
BURNS
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Resona from M edge & A charm songs i
BURNS SMITHE
Prince George 1685 3rd Avenue 250-563-6637 • Quesnel 371 Reid Street 236-424-4444 36 Fall 2018
SA VE w NO O wh N ith W ere S T ap IC pli KE ca ble TS!
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There is only one thing better than music.
LIVE MUSIC! MARK PERRY
SHANE KOYCZAN
EAST COAST KITCHEN PARTY
11 album release tour for this northern BC singer-songwriter inspired by our landscape & history & well-known for capturing our hearts by telling our stories with humility & humour. QUESNEL (Occidental) SEPT. 21 PRINCE GEORGE (ArtSpace) SEPT. 22 FORT ST. JAMES SEPT. 23
Canadian spoken word poet, uses personal narrative to engage themes of social justice, mental health, & love. Koyczan is famous for his anti-bullying poems & his performance at the 2010 Winter Olympics Opening Ceremony.
The Pilots of the Bow, The Bev Hughes Highland Dancers, The Hampsters & the Tweedsmuir Fiddlers. Tap your toes, dance if you dare, & join the fiddlin’ kitchen party for this 3pm Sunday afternoon show!
th
FORT ST. JAMES SEPT. 20
RITA CHIARELLI Canada’s highly-acclaimed female roots & blues JUNO performer known for her 3 octave voice that can both growl at her demons or soar with the angels.
BURNS LAKE SEPT. 30
CROW’S NEST AND OTHER PLACES SHE’S GONE Contemporary storytelling, dance & theatre presents an intimate portrayal of 2 women’s experiences of transition, woven together thru an Indigenous lens.
JENIE THAI BLUES BAND A combination of contemporary & traditional blues piano & a fiery passionate voice, Jeni writes & sings tough & tender ballads, direct from her heart to yours.
QUESNEL OCT. 3 SMITHERS OCT. 4
PRINCE RUPERT OCT. 13
FORT ST. JAMES OCT. 20
BC WORLD MUSIC COLLECTIVE
THE GREAT CANADIAN SONGBOOK
TARA CHEYENNE PERFORMANCE
Musicians from Cuba, Mexico, Brazil, Africa & London–Adonis Puentes, Celso Machado, First Nations rapper Ostwelve & more.
Ken Lavigne, Tiller’s Folly & Diyet perform great Canadian songs by Leonard Cohen, Stan Rogers, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Buffy St Marie, Anne Murray, Stompin Tom, Bare Naked Ladies & Blue Rodeo.
“I can’t remember the word for I can’t remember.” A one woman dance performance called “stand up comedy with dance breaks.” Opening act: Jeanette Kotowich performs “Eloise”.
PRINCE GEORGE OCT. 20 QUESNEL OCT. 21 • BURNS LAKE OCT. 22 SMITHERS OCT. 24 • PRINCE RUPERT OCT. 27
PRINCE RUPERT NOV. 15 BURNS LAKE NOV. 16 • QUESNEL NOV. 17
SMITHERS NOV. 16
CHENG2 DUO
MG3: MONTRÉAL GUITARE TRIO
SALTWATER HANK AND BAND
Stunning artistry, generous spirits & youthful enthusiasm – pianist Silvie Cheng & cellist Bryan Cheng have performed Carnegie Hall & are hailed by CBC. PRINCE RUPERT JAN. 17, 2019 SMITHERS JAN. 20, 2019 BURNS LAKE JAN. 21 • QUESNEL JAN. 22, 2019
Described by CBC as the “hottest” guitar ensemble in Canada, the trio’s virtuosity, rigour, creativity & impressive stage presence have been winning over audiences around the world.
Tsimshian folk artist resurrects stories of the land, loss & absurd circumstance, spinning them into timeless folk songs with a penchant for a jig.
PRINCE RUPERT JAN. 26, 2019
FORT ST. JAMES FEB. 2 , 2019
JJ SHIPLETT
COLDSNAP 2019
DOUBLE DOUBLE DUO
Rugged, raspy, reserved, & unapologetically himself, the Alberta born singer-songwriter & performer is both bold in range & musical creativity & has a passion & reverence for the art of music & performance.
the Prince George winter music festival
PRINCE RUPERT FEB. 8, 2019
LIZZY HOYT
This is not a Starbucks order. Each is a’double threat’ on two instruments: Kornel Wolak (clarinet & piano) & Michael Bridge (accordion & piano). Classically trained, they use comedy, virtuosity & musical sensitivity to bring their wide-ranging repertoire to life. QUESNEL FEB. 19 • BURNS LAKE FEB. 21, 2019
JOIN US DURING THE COLD NORTHERN BC WINTER FOR EIGHT DAYS & NINE NIGHTS OF HOT MUSIC & WARM HOSPITALITY!
LUKE MCMASTER
Ranked one of Canada’s best winter parties, this is a passion-driven winter music festival that promises to pull you out of the deep freeze.
One of Canada’s most powerful Celticfolk artists with the voice of an angel & soaring melodies, Hoyt is known for bringing Canadian history to life through her music.
McMaster takes the Motown & soul influence to a new level. The performance, ICONS, uniquely marries contemporary songwriting with legendary artists. You’ll be snapping & singing along. PRINCE RUPERT MARCH 8, 2019 QUESNEL (Occidental) MARCH 11, 2019
From the next big thing in indie rock to jazz veterans to Celtic, traditional folk, hip-hop, & beyond. Musicians from around the world & the region storm the stages & streets for a full week of entertainment plus a series of free workshops.
BURNS LAKE MARCH 7, 2019
RAINE HAMILTON TRIO Resonant, acoustic chamber folk music from Manitoba, with an otherworldly edge & a lyric presence that cuts deep. A charming story teller, performing songs in English & French. BURNS LAKE MARCH 21, 2019 SMITHERS MARCH 23, 2019
JOHN MCLACHLAN & MARC ATKINSON
PRINCE GEORGE JAN 25 TO FEB 2, 2019
One is a folk singer with original songs hand-woven with the west coast’s salty air. The other is a multi-instrumentalist/ composer/arranger/producer, with a fiery but elegant guitar style, infused with a catchy blend of influences. FUN! QUESNEL APR. 24, 2019
Quesnel Live Arts TICKETS & INFO www.lakesdistrictarts.com
TICKETS & INFO www.coldsnapfestival.com
TICKETS & INFO facebook.com/FortArts
TICKETS & INFO www.qla.ca
TICKETS & INFO www.bvca.me
TICKETS & INFO www.lestercentre.ca
John & Sandra Barth 250-692-3371 jbarth46@telus.net & sdsbarth@telus.net
Prince George Folkfest Society thru Books and Company 250-563-6637 info@coldsnapfestival.com
250-996-4321 popemountainarts@gmail.com
250-747 2207 qlarts@shaw.ca
Season Tickets $90 @ Mtn Eagle Books 250-847-5245 bvconcertassociation@gmail.com
Season Tickets $100/$50 250-627-8888 info@lestercentre.ca Fall 2018 37
MARKETPLACE
Eagle Bluff B&B
Prince Rupert getaway Come to the coast for the perfect winter getaway! Our tastefully appointed guest rooms and warm hospitality of your hosts will make you feel at home. 250.627.4955 . 1.800.833.1550 eaglebed@citytel.net eaglebluff.ca
Chef Abhi’s
HornCraft Music
Classic Indian cuisine
Professional repairs, rentals, and sales of violins, brass, and woodwind instruments
Come join us! Experience the beautiful tastes and aromas of southern India at Chef Abhi’s, at the Lodge at Skeena Landing, open for lunch and dinner Tuesday to Sunday.
Interested in renting an instrument for the upcoming music season? Contact us or visit our website for details. Call early to reserve your instrument for the fall!
Located at The Lodge @ Skeena Landing, Thornhill (Terrace) 4055 Motz Road | 778.634.2999 skeenalanding.com
3877 13th Avenue, Smithers 250.847.0318 . michael@horncraft.ca horncraft.ca
TruHealthSpan
Sheryl Yaremco, RN, Board-certified Restorative Health Practitioner TruHealthSpan is committed to changing lives by finding the root cause of your health concern. Personalized and patient-centred health care includes a full functional workup, lab tests, bio identical hormone therapy, patient education, and follow up. 250.845.8360 | yaremco@gmail.com truhealthspan.com
Little House Antiques / Antiques, Artisans & Oddities Two downtown TERRACE locations:
George Little House — VIA Rail Station
A beautiful lodge and on-site restaurant set in the woods in Thornhill minutes from Terrace. Closest accommodation to YXT, the Terrace/Kitimat Regional Airport.
Antiques, Artisans & Oddities
The lodge is the perfect quiet getaway for any traveller. A few steps and you’re at the doors of great shops, services and a cafe. Visit our website for online reservations.
First Nation Fine Art, Jewelry & Maps 3100 Kalum St. | 250.638.8887
Antiques, Fine Art, Jewelry, Pottery, Vintage Toys, Country Chic Paints, & Stencils. 4626 Park Ave. | 250.631.9116 Find us on loveterrace.com & Facebook
38 Fall 2018
The Lodge
The largest rooms in Terrace!
Skeena Landing, Thornhill (Terrace) 250.638.0444 skeenalanding.com
MARKETPLACE
Before
After
Vet to Pet Mobile Service
Wood Wizards
Using high performance, environmentallyfriendly cleaners & wood oils, we stain all wood exteriors—log homes, post & beam, siding, decks & railings. Rotten log replacement & structural repairs. 20+ years of experience. Servicing all of northern BC. Roger Jaques 250.846.5944 woodwizards.ca | rogeryogini@gmail.com
Naturopathic Family Medicine
Mobile veterinary services
Making weathered wood look good
Dr. Kathy Graham ND
NEW LOCATION: 8 to 5 and Saturdays 11-5 at 1283 Main Street in Smithers (in the corner, by Louise’s Kitchen). If you need a fast answer, please call or text. Caring for your pets for 36 years.
Naturopathic medicine blends centuries-old natural and non-toxic therapies with current scientific advances in healthcare. Treatment plans are individualized and take into account the whole person. Detailed informaton can be found on my website.
778.210.1883 vettopetinfo@gmail.com vettopetmobile.ca
Smithers Co-Working Space
Shared office space in Smithers
The Smithers Co-Working Space is a quiet, bright, and modern place for you to work. Desk and office space for rent, by the day or by the month. Flat, affordable rates. Includes wi-fi, utilities, desk, lockable filing cabinets, and the use of a meeting room. Suite #200, 3848 3rd Avenue, Smithers 250.845.2522 . nadina1@cfnadina.ca coworkhere.ca
3839 Second Ave., Smithers 250.847.0144 | SmithersNaturopath.com
Bulkley Valley
Hospice Society
se Cl$o ,000 for 2 s to ving$ 0! a y 2 s in onl
Child Development Centre
2018-2019
ELEVENTH EDITION Sponsors
Baker Extraordinaire
Bulkley Valley
InteriorNEWS THE
Community Spirit Coupon Book
69 Participating businesses in Houston, Smithers, Telkwa and Hazelton
Baked fresh every day!
Support and save!
Fruit pies made with fresh or frozen fruit. When available we use local fruit and berries. Delicious cream pies too! Call ahead for orders.
The 2018-19 edition features 69 participating businesses in Houston, Smithers, Telkwa and Hazelton. All proceeds go to support the BV Hospice Society and the BV Child Development Centre. Contact the BVCDC to find out where you can get a copy.
Tues. to Sat. 10am-6pm 4630 Park Ave., Terrace (across from Dairy Queen) 250.615.0419 . 1.877.775.3535 www.bakerextraordinaire.com Find us on loveterrace.com & Facebook.
1471 Columbia Drive, Smithers 250.847.4122 . www.bvcdc.ca
Fall 2018
39
photo: Simon Ratcliffe
Get good natured. www.TourismSmithers.com