Carving a Future

February-March 2003

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.
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by Jacqueline Windh

Carl Martin shapes the stern of the canoe, which will be fitted on to the hull (he wears a traditional cedar bark hat made by his sister Mary Martin).

A couple of tourists park their SUV and stroll across the parking lot to watch the men chipping away on a dugout canoe. They survey the area and see two giant logs being worked and an array of hand tools and power tools spread on the bench. One of them looks at the chainsaws. "You're cheating," he says.

Carl Martin's black eyes flash a grin as he answers. "I didn't see you arrive here on your horse."

Carl and his brother Bill are master canoe carvers, and are working here with four young apprentices. Along with their brother Joe, they are among the few Nuu-chahnulth (the traditional inhabitants of the outer west coast from Neah Bay, Washington to the Brooks Peninsula on northern Vancouver Island) who know how to carve traditional Nuu-chah-nulth canoes, using authentic designs and traditional techniques (aside from the odd power tool). They learned this from their father and their grandfathers, by researching canoe designs from books and museums, and also by trial and error.

Cultural knowledge, such as the art of canoe carving, was traditionally passed down through families by parents and grandparents. However, a century of removing children from their families and putting them into Christian residential schools not only disrupted this transfer of knowledge, it also subjected generations of children to physical and sexual abuse. Although the residential schools have been closed now for several decades, the psychological damage that their students sustained lives on in the form of addictions to alcohol and other drugs, and continuing cycles of abuse that pass through the generations today. Carl and Bill's canoe-carving projects are, to them, an important part of the healing from generations of abuse - for themselves, for other family members, and for their community.

Carl Martin and his nephew Francis work side by side hollowing out the interior of the dugout.

The brothers are working on two canoes, both being carved from a single 800 yearold red cedar log. The dugouts have been commissioned by the Tin Wis Best Western Resort, with funding from the Nuu-chahnulth Economic Development Corporation, and are being constructed in a carving shed beside the hotel's parking lot in Tofino. The smaller canoe is 18 feet in length, and the larger one is 34 feet.

The Martins usually carve their canoes in remote inlets, close to where the giant trees grow. It is not often that a canoe is carved in town where people can watch the progress, and these two canoes havegenerated a lot of interest. Members of local First Nations communities come to learn about parts of their culture that were nearly lost, Tofino locals check in periodically to witness the process, and tourists are fascinated to learn about the local native culture. Carl, Bill and their apprentices are happy to take time to show visitors around, explaining the techniques they use and showingphotos of other canoes they have built and canoe gatherings they have attended.

The Tin Wis canoe project is a special one for Carl and Bill. Although the three Martin brothers and their late father have carved over thirty dugouts, until recently this knowledge seemed to be stuck at their generation. Now they are working with four young apprentices, including their nephewFrancis Martin. For Carl and Bill, the canoe project is not only about producing canoes, it is about reclaiming their culture and passing traditional knowledge on through traditional means.

Using a plywood cut-out to design the prow piece for the big canoe. L to R: Carl, Francis, and Bill Martin.

Carl gets a hard look on his face. "Residential schools took so much away from us. Kids were taken from their parents, and didn't get to know their grandparents. We didn't learn the things our ancestors knew. We were punished for speaking our language. They said they were going to teach us other more important things at school,like writing and mathematics, but they didn't care about teaching us that either. They just pushed us through and said that they educated us. They didn't care if we actually learned anything there."

Carl tells me about the shame he learned to feel at the school, shame for where he came from and who he was. "It took a long time for me to feel good about who I am. I had a lot of anger I had to deal with about what happened to me. "Carving these canoes with my brother and my nephews, to me is part of the healing. Residential school affects all of the generations, even the young people who never went there, because their parents were affected by it. Our culture has been changed, ever since the beginning of European contact - so much that was there was taken away. Now all this money is put into counselors to help people heal, but as far as I am concerned this is my healing. We are taking back what was stolen from us, and keeping it alive for the next generation."

For Francis, this is a new opportunity. He is carving his first model canoe under Carl's watchful eye, as well as working hard on both of the big canoes with his uncles. He speaks quietly, with a shy smile. "I always watched when I was a little kid, watching my grandpa and my uncles. I've always wanted to do stuff like this."

Francis and Bill Martin shovel hot rocks into the water in the canoe.

Carl adds, "These canoes are creating a lot of possibilities for young people, using them within the tribe for Tribal Journeys and for tourism. There is a lot of opportunity for all the young people now." He looks at Francis. "That opportunity wasn't there when we were young. It was trial and error for me and Uncle.

"Finally the day has come that everyone has been waiting for: the steaming of the canoes. Months of work come together today. The logs have been dug out, first roughed out by chainsaw then painstakingly planed, adzed and sanded by hand. The prow and sternpieces were carved separately, then fitted exactly to the hull, to give the bow and stern greater strength and more height. Cracks propagating as the logs dried were stopped by holes drilled at the crack-tips, and knots and other imperfections in the logs have been cut out and the holes patched.

The autumn day is crisp and the sun shines golden. Other members of the Martin family have come out to support the carvers. Brother Joe, an experienced master canoe carver himself, is here to help with the work, as is Carl's son Marcel. Once the fires are built and the stones are hot, the action will be fast, and Carl and Bill will need helpers who are both strong and experienced, knowing just what needs to be done and able to do it quickly.

The last week has been spent preparing for the steaming. Bill hastravelled up the inlets and collected 150 rounded volcanic rocks that will hold heat without cracking. The men have been busy all week gathering firewood, and lots of it. A huge fire is raging, and Joe and Bill tend to it, poking the rocks buried deep within the flames.

Now hot and flexible, the canoe is adjusted for width by brothers, Joe and Carl Martin.

Someone calls out that it is time, the rocks are hot enough. Water is poured into the canoes, just enough to cover their floors, and the men get to work, using a pitchfork to pull the rocks out of the fire and carrying them to the canoes on shovels. The water hisses and the sun quickly disappears, obscured by swirls of hot, white steam. Sweat beads on the brows of the men, and their hair drips. They work quickly and efficientlywith few words spoken, filling the canoes with the hot rocks, then covering them with tarps to hold the steam in. The canoes are soon soft and flexible, and Carl and Joe work together with ropes and a metal ruler to control them as they spread and widen. Finally, as the canoes cool, they take some careful measurements. They have widened the larger canoe by 9 inches, and the smaller one by 8 inches - enough to enable two paddlers to sit side by side. They are happy with their work.

The canoe masters have added two more dugouts to their fleet, helping to clear the path towards healing for their community. Each canoe built opens new opportunities for First Nations people: to learn traditional carving skills, to paddle to a canoe gathering, and to generate employment by offering guided cultural tours. The Martins are not only carving canoes, they are carving a future where self-respect and pride are returning to their people.

Ed. note: The Tin Wis Resort is 100% owned by the Tla-o-qui-aht First Nation in Tofino, privately managed, and franchised with Best Western International. The goal is to someday have the resort completely operated by First Nations people. During peak season, Tin Wis employs approximately 50 people, 60% of whom are First Nations.