The Darkening Archipelago

by Stephen Legault

  Enclosed is a package of information that I have compiled, in part through my own research and in part through “brown envelopes” passed to me by provincial employees. These should help you start building a file on this matter. I have some maps that might interest you, too, but I haven’t made copies yet.

  I need your help, Cole. I can’t trust anybody in Port Lostcoast, with the exception of Gracie. Cassandra is above reproach, but she’s got a history with one of the people from Stoboltz that’s getting to her. Most others in town don’t care about the ravings of an old man. They’ve heard it all before! And Greg is on the pad with Stoboltz. There’s some email documentation here that proves it. I think they may have even rigged the election last fall to get him on council to influence how the band deals with future salmon-farming applications.

  I know this sounds like one of my conspiracy theories, Cole, but you know me well enough by now to realize that I’ve got good reason for my suspicions. I’m asking you to help me find out the truth about what Stoboltz is up to, and why. Then I need you to help me stop it.

  I’m going to head out to Jeopardy Rock tomorrow to look into what is going on there. I believe that Stoboltz is using the old Department of Fisheries research station as a base for their genetic engineering work. I’m going to case the joint, confront Dr. Darvin Thurlow, and try to get to the bottom of this. I’ll call you if I learn anything. In the meantime, have a look at the enclosed documents and see what you can make of it all.

  It will be good to work together again, Cole. I haven’t forgotten our friendship.

  Hi-ee’chka.…

  “It’s just signed Ravenwing,” said Mary, finishing.

  Cole closed his eyes.

  “What do you want me to do with this, Cole?”

  He was silent a moment. Mary Patterson knew Cole well enough not to interrupt.

  Finally he said, “Make a copy and get that package back up to Port Lostcoast as soon as you can. I’ll look around Archie’s office for the original file. He wouldn’t have sent that.”

  “Okay, Cole. What about this cheque?”

  “Don’t cash it. Not yet.”

  When he finished the call he finally opened his eyes. Genetic engineering of Atlantic salmon to make them more disease resistant? And what about sea lice? Why would anybody want to mess with them?

  And what exactly had Archie learned when he had visited Jeopardy Rock on the day he had gone missing?

  9

  They met at the Port Hardy Motor Inn. It was the only accommodation in the northern Vancouver Island town with a conference room, but even so they were crammed one on top of the other. The minister of agriculture had arrived the day before and spent the day meeting with representatives of the salmon-farming industry. Stoboltz Aquaculture had made a boat available, and, together with the heads of three of the largest salmon farming companies, the minister had spent the afternoon on the water, motoring between several of the fish farms in Hardy Bay and around the southern tip of Nigei Island. A television crew, alerted to the possibility of an announcement on the future of fish farms, captured an image of the minister dressed casually, a broad smile on his face as he rode on the flying bridge of the Stoboltz boat flanked by industry representatives.

  The mood the following morning was more sombre. In the morning, the minister had invited representatives from industry from the Chamber of Commerce, the North Salish First Nation, and environmental groups in the area to attend a briefing session.

  Archie Ravenwing and Cassandra Petrel weren’t on the invite list, but they were there anyway. As the media was ever alert to potential conflict, Archie had received calls from c bc radio and television, Global tv, the Vancouver Sun, and the Globe and Mail less than an hour after the minister’s voyage. Everyone wanted to know if he was going to be at the meeting. Everybody wanted his opinion.

  Archie and Cassandra had taken the Inlet Dancer to Port Mc-Neill, then caught a ride up the island with Carrie Bright, the locally based leader of the Save Our Seas coalition. Ravenwing called Lance Grey as they drove north to let him know that he would be attending the meeting, and that if Grey or the minister had any trouble with that, they had better call the RCMP.

  “No trouble at all, Archie,” Grey had said.

  “And the media, you can expect calls from the media too if you don’t let us in.” Archie was nearly belligerent.

  “Take it easy, Archie. The minister will be happy to see you again. Simple oversight, I assure you.”

  When they arrived to find places on the sticky vinyl chairs, there were a dozen other people in the cramped room. The meeting started poorly and went downhill fast.

  “It’s bloody hot in here,” complained Lance Grey, heaving on a window that refused to open. “I thought it was supposed to be cool up here, even in August.” Disgusted, he peeled off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. “The minister is on a call with some of his cabinet colleagues right now, but he’ll be down in a minute. Are we waiting for anybody else?” He looked around the crowded table.

  “Nobody that I can see,” said Jerry Cooper, who was sitting at the far end of the table. He was a giant of a man whose bulk threatened to make matchsticks of his chair. “But then there’s some here that weren’t invited in the first place.”

  “Why is Archie here, Lance?” asked Dan Campbell. Seated next to Cooper beside the open door, Campbell wore jeans, a plaid shirt, and a ball cap sporting the bc Wildlife Federation logo. “And what about her?” said Campbell, nodding toward Cassandra Petrel.

  “Why don’t you ask them yourself, Dan?” said Grey, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

  Both Dan and Jerry looked across the table. “Well, Archie?”

  Archie smiled. “I’ve missed your charming disposition, Dan. I don’t see you nearly enough around Lostcoast, so I figured I’d come to the big island to bask in the warmth of your adoration.”

  “Come off it, Archie. You’re not on the a at f anymore. You’ve been replaced. The band found someone who wasn’t so openly hostile to industry. It’s bad enough we’ve got to put up with the enviros getting in our way here, but to have you throwing up roadblock after roadblock — you’ve been replaced, Archie,” said Dan Campbell, looking over at Greg White Eagle. “Don’t you know when you’re not welcome?”

  Archie maintained his smile and shrugged. “I guess I don’t, Dan.”

  “I don’t think it’s right for Archie to be in this room,” said Jerry Cooper, who was sweating profusely in the summer heat. “He’s going to leak what goes on here to the media.”

  “Really, Jerry,” said Carrie Bright. “Do you really think the media doesn’t already know what’s going on here? You think the minister was just out for a pleasure cruise yesterday? I watched the news out of Victoria. The ministry has already leaked their announcement, softening up the public. I got half a dozen calls last night. This is just a formality, Jerry, and you know it. I don’t like the tone you guys are taking here. Save Our Seas isn’t about roadblocks. We’re about protecting wild salmon.”

  “Save the sermon,” said Dan, taking off his hat and running a hand through his sweaty hair. “We’re not on camera now, Carrie. We’re behind closed doors. Your group will not be happy until you shut down every single fish farm on the bc coast. Don’t try to deny it.”

  “Who’s denying it?” said Carrie, leaning back in her chair. “It’s on our website. It’s our policy. No open-pen salmon farming. We’re not trying to hide our position. We don’t like open-pen aquaculture. It’s killing salmon. It’s killing the ecosystem. And frankly, I don’t think the fish are all that healthy for human consumption. What I don’t get is, what is your agenda, Dan? If anybody has a hidden agenda, it seems to be you.”

  “I’m here as a voice of reason,” said Dan.

  “Reason?” blurted Archie Ravenwing. “Reason? You’re here to protect your own ass, Dan. That’s the only reason you’re here.”

  Dan looked at Archie sideways, his face twisted in
to a vile knot. “Look who’s talking about protecting his own interests. Look who’s talking about protecting his own ass. The noble savage speaks about protecting interests. Whose interest are you protecting by building that fancy addition to your house on the bluff, Archie?”

  Archie grinned, but his words didn’t match the smile on his face. “You know, Dan, my people have had to put up with trash like you coming onto the islands that we’ve called home since the beginning of time, taking what you want and leaving your filth in your wake. Cutting our trees, killing all the wildlife. Now you’re killing the salmon. We welcome you into our community, and still you hate us. If you loathe us so much, why stick around?”

  “Okay, folks, this is getting a little personal,” said Lance Grey. “Let’s remember our ground rules for our meetings. Hard on the issues, easy on the people.”

  Dan Campbell shook his head. “Jesus Christ, why are Jerry and I sitting in this room listening to this? I’m a guide outfitter and he’s a logger, and we’re arguing with Archie and Carrie about fish farming. Aren’t you guys going to say anything?” He looked at Erik Nilsson and Darvin Thurlow.

  Nilsson was standing, looking out the window. “You know,” he said, “in Sweden, we have air conditioning for when it gets this hot. Don’t you have that here?” He turned and smiled and walked to his chair next to Darvin Thurlow.

  “Why are the logger and the hunter fighting with the Indian and the fish-kisser about salmon farming?” Dan edged forward in his chair.

  “Because you like to argue?” suggested Nilsson.

  Dan sat back heavily, shook his head, and blew air out between his lips.

  “We don’t need to argue, Dan,” said Darvin Thurlow, his face cool, his hands pressed together as if in prayer.

  “Why’s that?” Dan Campbell shot back.

  “We won,” said Thurlow, without a hint of guile.

  The minister walked into the room just then. He was a tall, stately man, his pressed dark suit showing no sign of the heat that hung in the tiny room. “I’m sorry to keep you all waiting,” he said, shaking hands with Dan and Jerry, who were closest to the door, then making his way around the room. His smile was wide and genuine, and he spoke a few words to each of the people gathered in the room.

  “Archie, it’s good to see you again,” he said, taking the man’s hand and holding it a second. “You understand we didn’t invite you because your colleague Greg White Eagle is now on the committee, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome here.”

  When he got to Cassandra Petrel, she rose and he took her hand. “Dr. Petrel, I’ve heard a lot about you, and read many of your reports. Thank you for coming.” She smiled thinly.

  “Please, let’s get started,” the minister said, taking his seat. “I trust Lance has been entertaining you while I was being sedated by my cabinet colleagues. You know, I think they call it the cabinet because it’s big and awkward and when it falls on you, it’s really hard to get out from under it.” A ripple of laughter went around the room. The minister turned to Lance Grey. “It’s pretty hot in here, Lance, could you see about getting some air in here, please?”

  The assistant nodded and left the room in search of help.

  “First,” said the minister, “I want to acknowledge that our meeting today is on North Salish traditional territory. I want to give our colleagues Greg and Archie special greetings and thanks.” The minister stopped a moment to acknowledge the two men. “As you know, we’re here to talk about salmon farming. Over the last two years, you folks have met a few times down in Victoria, up here, and, as I understand it, over on the mainland in Bella Bella. I want to thank you all for your time and the energy and thoughtfulness that you have provided during this process. I know this hasn’t been easy. And I know that some of you will be disappointed with what I am going to announce tomorrow morning back in Victoria. But I want you to know that regardless of which side of the coin you are on, your input has been carefully considered, and I value your contribution.”

  Lance Grey returned at that moment, followed by a man with a screwdriver, who proceeded to pry the painted windows open. They creaked and groaned in protest as he did. Otherwise, the room was silent. The minister sat quietly, reviewing notes on a piece of paper in front of him. Archie looked around the room. His eyes caught Dan Campbell’s. Dan lived on Parish Island most of the year. He used the island as a base for his own guiding operations. During hunting season, Dan shuttled Americans and the occasional Canadian up Knight Inlet in search of their quarry. In the fall, he and his clients hunted grizzly bears along Knight Inlet’s many salmon streams. Dan made no effort to hide the contempt he felt toward the North Salish people he lived among. He reminded Archie of the men who, a century before, had banned the potlatch ceremony, referring to the North Salish as savages. How a man with such obvious disdain, even outright bigotry, could live in a community that was more than 90 percent First Nations was deeply perplexing to Archie.

  The window was finally convinced to open, and refreshing air rushed into the room. The man from the hotel smiled and departed, and the minister said, “Well, that’s a little better.

  “So,” he said, resuming, “as you know, our government made a commitment to consult with the people of bc , and to take under advisement all the opinions that we heard, and all the research that we have conducted and compiled. Our determination is that, if done properly with strong environmental regulations in place, salmon farming can be expanded in the Broughton Archipelago without adversely affecting wild-salmon populations.

  “We’re going to be implementing some stringent regulations on how this can happen,” he said, looking first at Archie, then at Carrie and Cassandra. “This isn’t the wild west.” He smiled. “But we are going to have more salmon farming. The demand is high, the economics of the operations are good, and we believe that any negative impacts can be mitigated with regulations.”

  “Minister,” said Carrie Bright, “did you consider closed-containment aquaculture, where the fish are kept on land in large man-made ponds?”

  “We did, Carrie,” he said. “We looked at all the options. While closed containment would largely eliminate any of the negative impacts of farming, we felt that it was unnecessary. The output from the farms — I guess there’s no way of skirting it — the fish poop —” he smiled and so did Lance, Jerry, and Dan — “is localized in its impact. The area directly below the farms do suffer some, but it’s a tiny, tiny area.”

  “Minister —” Cassandra Petrel raised her hand tentatively.

  “Yes, Dr. Petrel,” the minister said, though Lance Grey frowned.

  “Minister, closed containment certainly addresses the pollution issue, but more importantly, it keeps the Atlantic salmon, their diseases, and their parasites from coming into contact with the migrating pink, chum, and sockeye. Sea lice are becoming a huge issue, as you know. More salmon farming on the migration routes of the wild populations could be disastrous.”

  “Thank you for bringing that up, Doctor,” said the minister. “Tomorrow, together with making the formal announcement, our government is also going to announce a research project, to be funded in part by my ministry and in part by industry, that will look more closely at the impacts of sea lice and how we can mitigate for those impacts. We’ll be funding this research at the University of Victoria.”

  “Due respect, Minister,” said Petrel, “but we already know enough about the life cycle and impacts of sea lice to say pretty clearly that fallowing these farms during migration periods — taking the fish and their pens right out of the water — is necessary to prevent the transfer of disease and of deadly levels of sea lice from the farmed Atlantic to the wild Pacific salmon. We don’t need another study.”

  The minister was silent a moment. “You know,” he said finally, “politics is the art of the possible. We have many interests to balance as we’re making these decisions, many points of view to consider. The world has a growing appetite for our salmon. The health benef
its of eating salmon are well known. Our friends in the industry, and in health promotion, have done a wonderful job telling people how good salmon is for us. The level of demand is far greater than our wild stocks could ever endure. I’ve got people telling me that there should be no harvest of wild salmon whatsoever. That the number of wild salmon left on our coast is at an all-time low, and that we should close the season entirely. The federal minister of fisheries and oceans was on the phone this morning saying that this year’s harvest could be the smallest in a generation, if it happens at all.” He poked his index finger on the table with each of his words. “If it happens at all. Those were his words.

  “And yet the world wants our salmon. So, we need a solution. We’re going to need to feed those people somehow. They can’t all go out with Archie and catch their own.” He smiled. “They can’t all afford wild salmon. Not if stocks continue to decline. So, we’ve got to have a solution. We’re going to have more farmed salmon to meet demand. It’s going to bring a lot more wealth and prosperity and employment to the coast. The North Salish First Nation and other bands up and down the coast are all going to benefit from that prosperity. People will find work on the farms. We’ll do our best to address your concerns, Dr. Petrel, and yours, Archie and Carrie. We’ll take everybody’s ideas into account. You know that you can always contact Lance with any concerns.” Lance nodded, his eyes on the doodle he was drawing on a pad in his planner.

  “Minister,” said Archie, smiling, “I don’t have to tell you that you have a responsibility to protect those wild salmon. It’s a legal responsibility. The Fisheries Act lays it out.”