Doug Ramage
Now is the time to visit Nunavut, Canada's newest territory. What appears to be a barren territory is actually a land teeming with life. Much mining exploration is currently being done and there is no time like the present to have a close look for yourself.
I landed in Nunavut on June 1st to what appeared to be a barren landscape of snow and ice. As an AREVA Resources Canada summer student it was the first day of my field season, and I had never been north of Prince Albert, Saskatchewan before, aside from a summer camping trip in La Ronge, Saskatchewan. Now, I found myself in Canada's arctic.
The mighty Thelon River was virtually indistinguishable, the wind was whipping around, and I thought: how can anything live, grow and survive in such a hostile environment? It was like being in a desert, but instead of sand it was snow. The tundra appeared flat, and posted far above the tree line; I could see the jagged horizon miles away. The 24-hour sunlight offered no relief, and the cutting wind often whipped the snow off the tundra, creating white-out conditions and leaving snow dunes in its wake.
As the snow started to melt over the course of the "spring," in July, more wildlife appeared. Ptarmigan began littering the landscape around our field camp while the arctic fox kept a beady eye on them. Arctic hares roughhoused around, and the odd caribou strolled on the horizon. Suddenly, this barren landscape was springing to life. Wolves, grizzly bears, muskox all made their appearance as if out of nowhere. Arctic poppies began blooming, and birds got underway their nesting season.
While I was out fishing for char one weekend, it began to rain. Shortly after the 10 minute hard shower stopped, the ground start lifting and moving. The rain had disturbed all the black flies lying around on the tundra and they were now swarming. After the rain clouds I was now surrounded by black flies clouds. Luckily I had a bug jacket, but unfortunately some of the locals didn't and had to retreat to their nearby tent.
By August, the caribou were everywhere. While trekking across the tundra between field sites I had the opportunity to photograph two caribou. I sat down with my camera and watched as they grazed on the land. Undisturbed and unaware of my presence, they wandered within 25 yards of where I was sitting. What an awesome experience that was!
Part of my summer position was to perform site inspections and environmental monitoring. This experience has given me a greater appreciation for mining with a sustainable approach respectful of the environment. I have had the opportunity to see and experience what very few people may ever have the chance to and am thankful for that.
Nunavut is alive and abundant. Nothing can truly describe this land in words; it is just a place one should experience. It is dynamic and its landscape is ever changing. With the current and future exploration in the area, now is the time to experience something that you will remember for a lifetime.
Alex Flett
In 1971, men came north to Cluff Lake looking for a previous metal – not gold, but uranium. One man was there before the surveyors. He watched the mining project develop and bring a community to the shores of Cluff Lake. Now, with mining complete, he'll be here to watch them leave.
Alex Flett is a small Aboriginal man in his eighties. He's almost always grinning. He was already living and trapping around Cluff Lake when the first prospectors came to the area in the early seventies. That's when he started a long relationship with what would become the Cluff Lake Mine. He started out cutting lines through the bush for the surveyors, and witnessed the discovery of three of the open pit mine sites. As the mine grew, he worked for eleven years as a handyman until they retired him at age 65. He still seems a little put out about retirement; it's not in his philosophy.
"I'd still be working if they didn't push me away," he says. "I like working...I'll trap my whole life."
The community around the AREVA mine consisted of only the miners and contractors who work there. They have a grand sense of humour – the landing strip has a hand-painted green and white sign that reads "Cluff International." Everyone referred to the main administration complex as "City Hall." No one has a personal vehicle up here, and it can be hard to find a free company truck, so if you are going in the right direction you may be called into impromptu taxi service via the CB. In a community like this one, everyone watches out for everyone else. That's why, before the mine shut down, they decided to build a new house for Alex.
The cabin is bigger than his old one – three rooms instead of two – and has a propane stove and heater instead of kerosene. It also has electricity from the Cluff Lake generator. Through the mine is shut down, there continues to be a monitoring station. Neither cabin has running water, since Alex is often gone for months at a time. He hauls all of his water from the lake and says he's glad that the new cabin is closer to the shore. Though there's no indoor plumbing, Alex does have a small TV and satellite dish. He says he likes to watch wrestling.
Alex was born in the early 1920s. His mother died when he was young, and he and his sister were raised in a mission in Fort Chipewyan, Saskatchewan. When he was 12, his father took him out into the bush. He taught Alex the bush lore – how to rap, how to find your direction and how to survive when the temperature drops. Alex's father trapped in the Athabasca region of Alberta, and Alex did too until 1958, when he moved back to Fort Chip so his children could be closer to a school. Four of Alex's eight living children have since worked at Cluff Lake – three of the boys in the mine, and one girl in the administration office. Ed, one of Alex's boy, worked at the Cluff Lake Mine for 22 years. It was in '58 that Alex started his trap line around Cluff Lake. He has travelled back and forth between his family at For Chip and his trap line at Cluff every since. There are no roads this far north – if you want to cut through the bush, you are dependent on your own two feet. It takes about a week for Alex to hike the distance along the Douglas River, and when it snows he will take his snowmobile. "Many years ago, my father and I travelled by canoe or dogsled in the winter. We also used dogpacks. A dog can carry about 100 lbs," relates Alex. "We had about twenty dogs. There were six in a sled team. And, believe it or not, I used to take the mail plane to for Chip for fourteen dollars. The mail goes by weight, so it's a good thing I'm skinny!"
Getting around the bush isn't a problem for Alex, either. He seems to have an innate sense of direction. "I just watch the sun," he explains, "and the wind also. You have to watch the wind, sometimes it changes." He doesn't use a map or a compass, though he says he tried out a compass once. "I don't need it. Used one once to go to Athabasca Lake. I left it behind in the bush."
Alex buys a trapper's license every year, and the season opens November 1st. The money isn't as good at it used to be – a pelt may be worth less than half of what it was twenty years ago. He traps fox, martin, bear, wolf and squirrel. "But not mice," he says with a grin. "Some of the younger trappers come up here but they don't like going in the bush."
It takes about two weeks to hike around the trap line. Alex looks for tracks and sets his traps there; once an animal has travelled a path, it's likely to do so again. Whitefish is used for bait. It's netted and dried at Cluff Lake – mining hasn't compromised the fish or wildlife in the area.
Sometimes out on the trap line, the temperature can plunge to -50°C. "There's some hard times." Alex says. "It's not an easy job." Alex uses four of the original surveyors cabins around the area, but often at night there is nothing over his head save the starry sky and the cold northern lights. All he has is a warm blanket at his back and a good fire in front. He uses a special feather blanket that his wife made for him out of duck feathers.
Now that the mine is closed, Alex isn't worried about being left alone again in the wilderness. "Lots of people say, 'How you goin' stay there? There's no one to talk to.' I just say..." He trails off and waves his arms as if to dismiss unwanted concern. "I can talk to people when I go to town. When I hear a wolf calling in the bush, then I'm glad."
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