"Following the Words of Our Elders":

A cooperative land management model in Northern Canada

The following story takes place entirely on federally-recognized and unceded territory of the Dene people, who occupy a large area of the Northwestern Territories and Nunavut in northern Canada. The region we traveled in is known locally as the Dehcho, meaning big or sacred river (referring to the river otherwise known as the Mackenzie). Other place names in the Dene language are used here when available. Our recreation and entry onto this land has been made possible by the historical process of colonial violence and expansion by force, including the designation of the Nahanni National Park Reserve, which originally excluded any First Nations input. This reality is something we participate in every time we recreate on public lands.

Honeymoon Lake, our drop off site.

There was light coming through the cabin window. In fact, it had been there all night, dim but persistent, while we slept. Only now were our eyes opening to the morning, the northern sun beginning to pour into the cracks and panes of the old building.

Someone was stirring out in the yard. I hurried to put clothes on, went out to greet him: “I’m Sean, your pilot,” he says. “When do you want to get going?” I say. “What about now?” 

An hour later we’re in the air, 28 days of gear and food packed into a little float plane rattling high above the ragged peaks of the southern Yukon. This clear day of early July, a journey we’ve been anticipating for months is beginning: to follow the Nahʔą Dehé (nah-ha-deh, or South Nahanni River) from deep within the Dehcho (Mackenzie) Range to the vast boreal forests of the Nácháh Dehé (nay-cha-deh, or Liard River) valley; to follow the narrative of the land, to uncover a new and exciting piece of its story, and to meet the people who are changing the way we think of this place. 

Day 1, Honeymoon Lake.

We’re dropped at the northern end of the Nahanni National Park Reserve, on a lake adjacent to the Nahʔą Dehé. We watch our pilot take off and are left in sudden stillness. Finally feeling real, we contemplate what lies ahead of us: paddling upwards of 250 miles through some of Canada’s most remote wilderness in small inflatable boats, and finding people who can help us piece the story of this park together. What we’re intending to investigate is a recent agreement, developed and signed by Parks Canada (the national parks administration) and the Nahʔą Dehé (Nahanni Butte) Dene Band, a small First Nations village that lies just outside the park boundary. The agreement, called Ndahecho Gondié Gháádé (“Following the Words of our Elders), outlines a plan for Parks Canada and the Nahʔą Dehé tribal government to co-manage the park, creating new programs, facilities, job positions, and guidelines to facilitate this goal. From what we could tell, this agreement seemed like a laudable example of a cooperative land management model, and we wanted to find out more. What was the impetus for the agreement and how was it developed? How are the various communities involved responding to this new development? How does the agreement take into account the histories of colonialism and exploitation, the futures of tribal sovereignty and decolonial conservation? 

We would do this by connecting with people, and with the land itself. By talking to park rangers, park users, and the tribal government at Nahʔą Dehé, we hoped to uncover pieces of this story. But first, hundreds of miles of wilderness and winding river lay between us and the village of Nahʔą Dehé—the rangers and others would be somewhere in between. For now, we had the land around us, the bodies of mountains and songs of water falling from glaciers above. And this we knew we had to experience, before anything else could be known. 

A cloudy day on the South Nahanni

Days later, the land still enveloped in smoke, we came across a park staff cabin with two rangers sitting on the porch next to a lake called Gahnįhthah Mıę́ (gah-nee-the-me-ay). The placename means Rabbit Kettle, after a spring just across the river that the rangers are stationed to lead hiking trips to. Soon enough, we were on our way to the spring with them, chatting about the nature and significance of this place. The spring is a sacred and spiritual spot for the Dene. While traveling up or down the river, one must stop here to gain passage from the spring, which is granted only if the water at the spring is flowing.

Gahnįhthah Mıę́

Barefoot, we scampered gently up the fragile mounds of tufa, offered some tobacco to the spring water, and rested our feet in the warm water of a chasm that descended continuously 3,000 feet into the earth. One of the rangers, Tina, had been with the park for 5 years and was quite knowledgeable. The flowing spring water hugging our feet stimulated a lively conversation about park management that answered many questions and created many more. 

The governing body of Nahanni National Park Reserve is a collaborative entity called the Nahʔą Dehé Consensus Team, comprised of 3 members: the Nahʔą Dehé Dene Band (the village where we are eventually headed), the Dehcho First Nations tribal leaders (of the larger surrounding First Nations area), and Parks Canada. All members have equal voting power in all management decisions, meaning Parks Canada is actually outnumbered 2:1 by indigenous voices in “their own park.” Not to suggest that their agendas necessarily conflict; Tina tells us the three parties work very well together. Up until last year when the co-management agreement was signed, Parks Canada technically had veto power on any decision—but they never used it. 

One thing Tina said stands out: “Relationships move at the speed of trust.” Repairing the trust between the Canadian government and First Nations groups whose communities and livelihoods have been razed by development and conservation alike is a long, difficult process. The Consensus Team and the co-management agreement are integral parts of this process, but they must be developed alongside real, human relationships between all parties. Here lies the ground for real, lasting trust.

Continuing down river...

The smoke arrives

The village of Nahʔą Dehé lies near the confluence of two mighty rivers, the Nahʔą Dehé (Nahanni) and the Nácháh Dehé (Liard). Two more weeks of paddling, four impressive canyons, and a flood swelling the river into a muddy torrent have brought us here. Our communication with our interview contacts here has been a little uncertain, so we wander into the village in the mid-afternoon heat to see who we can find. Outside the Parks Canada trailer office we’re approached by a congenial, smiling man who introduces himself as Ray. Inquiring what he does around here, we find out he’s the executive director of the implementation of the co-management plan! He tells us to find him in the tribal office in the morning tomorrow, and we walk away thrilled to talk to the perfect person we didn’t even know existed. 

Nahanni Butte

Ray is plenty busy but happy to talk. We get right into it: how did the idea of a co-management agreement between the tribal and federal parties come about? “They wanted to expand the park,” Ray says. In all the publicity and news articles about the agreement, this important detail never surfaced. Parks Canada was convinced into the idea by local First Nations people whose land they wanted to expand into. The expansion was significant: 4,766 square kilometers to 30,000 in 2022 after the agreement was signed. Through a historical lens, this detail seems too important to be left out. Most often, even in today’s world, progressive policies are implemented as a result of impacted parties using their leverage against the government to accomplish goals for their communities. 

Another interesting facet of this story that Ray illuminated for us comes in the form of a classic triangulation of interests: tribal, conservation, and industry. The Prairie Creek Mine, just 20-odd miles from the village of Nahʔą Dehé, has one of the richest concentrations of zinc anywhere in the world. A large piece of the impetus for expanding the park was to eliminate mineral extraction in the region once and for all, by incorporating the mine into the national park land. After at least a decade of litigation, Parks Canada was forced to allow the mining company Norzinc to keep their site at Prairie Creek as they completed expansion, creating a donut of private mining land surrounded on all sides by park land. Further complicating the story, the Nahʔą Dehé government is supportive of the mine on the condition of environmental sustainability, since it provides much needed economic opportunity in the region. The solution within the agreement was to designate new job positions for First Nations Dehcho employees to monitor Norzinc’s mining practices on Parks Canada’s behalf. 

In terms of local impact, Ray thought that the addition of 10 new employment opportunities for Nahʔą Dehé Band members would be perhaps the most significant piece. In a community of 75 people, that’s a big deal. In addition, and elder’s lodge will be constructed in the town, a gathering spot for elders and cultural/information center for tourists; a “Guardians on the Land” program will employ 6 staff as First Nations park rangers; and important changes will be made to the Nahʔą Dehé Consensus Team to ensure all regional First Nations communities, but especially the village of Nahʔą Dehé, have proper authority to lead and participate in management of the park. 

The Ndahecho Gondié Gháádé Agreement represents a positive shift towards indigenous-led conservation, finally vesting tribal groups with the authority to manage the land their ancestors have occupied since time immemorial. We were inspired to see how a small community had pushed for decades to bring something so vital to fruition. Fighting to be more than a roadside placard or trinkets at a gift shop, indigenous people in this park have achieved a real human presence, both on the ground and in the office. And as visitors, through all we had seen of the park—from Dene names in Parks Canada guidebooks, to the required company of rangers to visit the sacred springs, to cultural talks by Dene rangers at a popular camp spot—the message was increasingly clear: this is Native land. When indigenous people are not just represented or “consulted” by others, but actively engaged in and with the land that is theirs by ancestral right, this is the beginning of real justice at work. Ray nods in agreement with this sentiment, adding, “That’s one of the reasons I took this job. I know I’ll sit back on my porch in 20 years and say, ‘Hey that was pretty cool.’” 

Day 1, Honeymoon Lake.

A cloudy day on the South Nahanni

Continuing down river...

The smoke arrives