Home at the Edge of the World

June-July 2004

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.
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by Jean-Louis Martin and Sylvie Blangy

Kayaks nested cosily on top of capacious wheelhouse.

THE BEAR

The bear was fifteen feet away. For the past hour or so, Soline (ten years old), Sylvie and I had drifted quietly on our kayaks, noses close to the water’s surface, contemplating the profusion of life, colors and shapes of the underwater world. It took a slight movement and the crunching noise of breaking crab shells to make us aware that we had drifted close to shore and close to a healthy black bear enjoying a crab feast. We were in one of the rich sushi bars the tides uncover twice a day in this remote and uninhabited corner of Haida Gwaii, the misty archipelago tucked in the northeastern corner of the Pacific Ocean. As uninvited guests we did what we felt was best—nothing—pretending we were not there, watching, enjoying the privilege of the moment.

THE SHIP

A while later, the bear decided to explore another corner of shoreline and we paddled to catch up with the rest of our party in the next bay. After sharing with the others our discoveries during this early morning paddle, we decided to head for ‘home’, ready for our own breakfast. No crabs on the menu but a variety of delicacies a black bear would not shy away from. ‘Home’ had two masts and a wide hull to comfortably accommodate 6 to 8 people and their paddling crafts. The ship was under the careful attention of our host, Barb Roswellof Anvil Cove Charters. The galley, our focus for the moment, was Heidi’s domain.

‘TOUGH LIFE’

We had left Queen Charlotte City under bright sunshine a few days ago. We got acquainted with life on a ship and with each other as we went by the six new Haida totem poles that proudly face the ocean at second Beach in Skidegate.

This wasn’t my first visit to these islands. Over the last ten years I had spent parts of most summers in the archipelago, trying to understand the ecological consequences of the recent introduction of black-tailed deer to a world without predators and with only a few human hunters. I was probably the most wary traveler on the boat. I wondered how I would handle my mutation from researcher to eco-traveler with no other agenda than enjoying the day and the company of people brought together by a motivation to learn more about this part of the world. I was quickly reassured. The company was great—relaxed and eager to fully enjoy a dream come true. The luxury of both living on a ship and spending the best part of most days paddling bays and shorelines became rapidly obvious. Each time the mothership dropped us and disappeared around a rocky point on its way to our next meeting place

Off loading the kayaks .

In the wintertime, when she is not chartering the Anvil Cove, Barb Roswell is part of a team dedicated to the development of a Tourism Heritage Strategy for Haida Gwaii. This strategy was recently adopted in the Land Use Plan. When the National Park Visitor Centre was returned to the local community, she helped develop a new vision and business plan for the centre. Barb also acts as the local coordinator of a research program on the impact of introduced deer (Research Group on Introduced Species: www.rgisbc.com) and with her husband, Keith, charters the boat to scientists and government agencies. She willingly shares the knowledge she has gathered during these experiences with her guests.

, we were left with the whispers of our paddling strokes, the calls of bald eagles and ravens, the barking of seals and, some days, the deep breathing and thunderous breaching of humpback whales. Stops ashore took us to Haida heritage sites, where people from the Haida Watchmen program communicated their love for the place. During walks among the giants of the forest we shared the silent glance of an owl or the ethereal song of the hermit thrush.

BEYOND THE LANDSCAPE

Life on board was as gentle as the pace of our ship. The rich collection of natural and local history books in the ship’s library soon became the second most used resource on board—just after the galley. We also used any opportunity to probe the knowledge Barb had accumulated over all the years she has lived and worked here. Little by little, the search for an icon of wilderness gave way to an awareness that these islands were a place where many people had lived rich and probably comfortable lives for most of the last six thousand years. These lives had left signatures in the land that became easier and easier to read as our eyes became trained.

Some of these features, such as culturally modified trees or old village sites, were subtle and could easily be overlooked by a naive traveler. When the southern Haida had to move to the northern island over a century ago, decimated by imported diseases, what they left behind them was absorbed into the forest. Other signs, easier to read, witnessed the short period of time during which miners and loggers ruled the place.

But the most striking change since the islands emerged from ice and water 10,000 years ago has probably resulted from the introduction of deer. This expanding population has patiently browsed away the formerly dense forest understory, and given birth to the open cathedral-like atmosphere that strikes the first time visitor. By doing so, they impoverished not only the plant life but also the insect and songbird communities that depend on it.

The knowledge gathered while reading or listening to our host became a discrete but invaluable companion of our paddling

forays. During these times of contemplation, reflection and communion with the place, the alchemy between knowledge and first hand experience silently operated. Imperceptibly, the southern shores of Haida Gwaii had ceased to be ‘just’ a landscape of unrestrained beauty or an ocean teeming with life, but had become a place with a rich history, a complex present, and an uncertain future: a place alive.

MISSING THE ‘ADVENTURE’?

But what about the ‘Adventure’—fighting foul weather, challenging the elements and roughing it? Well, there was not much opportunity for that. First, we hit the longest stretch of sunshine that occurred that summer. Second, Barb knew all the local tricks to avoid situations that test ship and passengers. Third, the whole point of the mothership is to free minds and bodies from the challenges you inevitably set for yourself when you go out there on your own means and steam. Such challenges have their virtues—if you know what you are doing. They teach you lessons of their own, even, sometimes, relief that the trip is over. That is precisely where travelling with a mothership has its major drawback: the odds are very high that you will have many reasons to regret that the trip is over.

REFLECTING ON THE MOTHERSHIP EXPERIENCE

Coming home to France, we reflected on how this kind of mothership package relates to ‘best practice’ in ecotourism and can serve as an example of ecotours in the future. The core principles of ecotourism are defined by The International Ecotourism Society (TIES):

• Minimize impact

• Build environmental and cultural awareness and respect

• Provide positive experiences for both visitors and hosts

• Provide direct and indirect financial benefits for conservation

• Provide financial benefits and empowerment for local people

Sleeping on board definitely reduces the pressure on the land, in particular the stress on campsites.

The knowledge and love Barb and Keith have for the islands, and the ability to share it, are a model of guiding and interpretation. The awareness of guests is reinforced every day, with a more lasting impact than a one-time orientation at the outset of a stay. The hosts accompany the guests in their discovery in a gentle way and at their own pace. Of course this is also true of a guided kayak camping trip, but a great on-board library is an additional asset of mothershipping.

The combination of kayaking, hiking inland, wandering along the shore and beachcombing, provides diverse opportunities to see wildlife. Observing from the ship reduces disturbance.

Motherships offer flexibility and safety. Visitors can choose their activity, stay on board or paddle with others. Tired paddlers can be picked up. The ship can choose the best bay for the night or the safest route according to weather conditions.

HAIDA GWAII

In the Queen Charlotte Islands, most operators work in the Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve and Haida Heritage Site, where the tourism strategy is based on a quota system to minimize impact on the sites. The Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve and Haida Heritage Site is administered by a co-management board with equal representation of Parks Canada and the Council of Haida Nation. Half the staff is Haida. The Haida Watchmen program, developed to protect the old Haida village sites scattered around the archipelago, maintains a presence that welcomes and educates the visitors. All watchmen belong to the Haida community.

© Jean-Louis Martin is a researcher in ecology at the CNRS, the National Centre for Scientific Research in France, working on the impact of introduced species and on consequences of land use changes.

© Sylvie Blangy is a freelance journalist and an international ecotourism consultant conducting research on community based tourismand land management. The photos in this article are hers.

TIES, The International Ecotourism Society, defines ecotourism as ‘responsible travel to natural areas that conserves the environment and the well being of local people’: www.ecotourism.org.