Latest news with #ChampagneAndAishihikFirstNations
CBC
3 days ago
- Science
- CBC
As Canada's thickest glaciers melt, Yukon First Nations wonder what will happen if they disappear
Ron Chambers understands the power of the St. Elias glaciers, because he's experienced it first-hand. He felt it when he camped next to Logan glacier during one of his trips into the vast St. Elias mountain range that extends from the southwestern coast of Alaska inland to the border of Kluane National Park in the Yukon. "We heard huge booming sounds travelling down through the glacier. We also heard sounds like motors, we thought airplanes were coming and nothing showed up. And it was the sounds that the glacier was making." Chambers is a Champagne and Aishihik First Nations citizen and served as the park warden for Kluane National Park for 22 years. He was also the first Yukoner and First Nations man to summit Mount Logan, Canada's highest peak, deep in the St. Elias range in 1975. Now, he says he wants to raise awareness about what's happening to the glaciers that lie just beyond his home. "Even looking out my window in Haines Junction there's a small glacier on the mountains just in front of me — and some of those are disappearing pretty directly," he said. For generations, glaciers in the St. Elias mountain range have shaped the lives of the First Nations people that lived next to them, but human activity is also changing the glaciers. Today, those glaciers are melting at rapid rates due to climate change and local First Nations have been left wondering what their future could look like if the glaciers disappear. For two weeks this July, researchers stayed at the Kluane Lake Research Station on the outskirts of Kluane National Park to study how the glaciers are changing as they melt. Luke Copland, a professor at the University of Ottawa, has been studying these glaciers for almost 20 years. He says he's watched some of them get smaller and smaller each year. "The big ones will be around for a long time — many, many centuries into the future. But these really small ones, those ones are melting away really quickly," Copland said. "And you project that another century there won't be any [glaciers] left of that kind of size." Climate change affecting glacier movement The St. Elias mountain range is home to the largest non-polar icefields in the world. Those icefields are made up of multiple glaciers, which wind through the mountain range like arteries, supplying water to rivers and lakes. The glaciers are dynamic, they can surge forward and retreat, altering the landscape as they move and creating a lasting impact on local ecosystems and communities. Copland wants to understand how glacier motion is being affected by climate change, because that could have an impact on nearby communities in the short term. Glaciers could advance or retreat more rapidly, or more slowly, as they continue to melt, he says. Local communities are already seeing the effects of rapid climate-induced melting. In 2016, warm weather caused the Kaskawulsh glacier to melt even more quickly, creating a gorge. The gorge diverted the water away from the Ä'äy Chù, or Slims River, which feeds Kluane Lake. Since then, water levels in the lake have dropped by a metre. Alyce Johnson, a Kluane First Nation elder and teacher, says she's worried about how chum salmon in Kluane Lake are being affected by lower water levels. "Chum come from the ocean and they come all the way here to the end of this lake. That's where they spawn," she said. "And so with the decrease of water flowing through, that impacts the fish." Glaciers intertwined with Yukon First Nations culture Johnson says her people's stories "live in the glacial system." "The glacial system is a resource. It's a body of water, of frozen lands that are still there that were used as transportation routes," she said. "In our oral histories, our grandmothers talk about going to potlatches or going to a funeral … they would come across the glaciers." Johnson wonders what will happen if in another century some of the glaciers her ancestors once travelled across no longer exist. "How does that impact the language? How does it impact our culture?" she said. "It's going to change, you know, because we rely on that water, we rely on having that relationship to the land." John Fingland, a Champagne and Aishihik First Nations citizen and historian says his nation also has stories and lessons related to the glaciers. This summer, he's been sharing those stories with youth in his community. Despite his understanding of glaciers' importance to Champagne and Aishihik First Nations culture, Fingland says he's not afraid of what could happen if the glaciers disappear. "When you study history, you realize that everything is change…. Our culture is adaptation to change," Fingland said. "When you stand on the glacier that's right beside Mount Logan, you're more than 1,000 meters above the bottom of the valley. And so I'm like, this won't happen in my lifetime, but at some point, if that all melts out, there's a whole other world." Local melting has global ramifications Local communities may be most directly affected by melting glaciers in the St. Elias mountain range, but as these massive icefields melt, researchers say the impacts could be felt around the world. "Globally, about one quarter of all melt coming from glaciers and ice caps – so this excludes ice sheets – is coming from the mountains in this area," said Copland. For Copland and other researchers, a priority now is to take long-term measurements and document what's happening locally, and then apply that to understanding the bigger picture. "The message is that the glaciers are important to everything, locally and globally," Copland said. For Johnson, Chambers and Fingland, it's also about telling others why the glaciers matter. "It's important for glaciologists to come in, understand the stories, understand the landscape, and build that relationship with the Southern Tutchone people and those of us that reside here," Johnson said.
Yahoo
19-07-2025
- Yahoo
Outdoor Indigenous museum in Yukon celebrates 30 years
Every year, between 5,000 and 10,000 visitors make their way to Long Ago Peoples Place, an outdoor museum in the Yukon. Saturday marks its 30th anniversary. Inspired by the teachings of their elders, Harold Johnson and Meta Williams manage the museum and teach visitors about Southern Tutchone culture. The site is a few kilometres off of the Alaska Highway between Haines Junction and Whitehorse, on the territory of the Champagne and Aishihik First Nations. The sprawling camp is a collection of traditional dwellings, traps and tools — everyday objects for their ancestors. It's also a cultural touchstone for the nearby community. "We have young First Nation kids, when they come walking outta here, you'd think they were like six feet tall or something," said Johnson. "They're pretty proud, happy to just see this because it's history, their history." Traditional lifestyle Thirty years on from the museum's opening, tours still begin around a campfire. A large chocolate-coloured dog wags its tail as it greets guests, who may also catch the exquisite smell of fresh bannock emanating from a nearby building. Williams breaks the ice with slow, precise movements as she tells the story of the wolf clan, of which she's a member. A quick glance over to Johnson and he seamlessly takes over, inviting the group to follow him into the forest that extends into the mountains. Even after all these years, he's still amazed by the ingenuity of his ancestors. "This is a summer house. That's a winter house," he said, pointing toward traditional structures that he rebuilt. "That's a caribou fence. There's a fish trap over there, a deadfall trap. So it's everything kind of in one area," he explained. He took a moment to admire the land that surrounds him before walking deeper into the bush. Keeping the culture alive An hour later, Johnson was back around the fire and he unfurled a map of the area. He said he's working with "younger kids" to keep growing the camp, and hopes this new generation is willing to keep it going. "I don't have to be the main person, I'll get the kids to do it and I'll kind of step back and just be a helper," he said. For Williams, it's not an easy decision to hand over the reins. "It's pretty hard to walk away from your life… how do you walk away from it?" she asked, with a tremor in her voice. "It's who you are. So I'm still going to answer that one. I got to figure that one out." Still, Williams knows that for the camp to succeed, it will one day have to go to someone else. "The next generation is going to be the ones that need to take it over. And I hope that they get just as passionate about the process and about the learning and add more to the experience for visitors," she said. To Williams, oral storytelling is a crucial part of that experience. "Practicing oral history is learning to listen very, very carefully and then being able to tell the story as you were told," she said. "That's a really important part of being a messenger. And then plus, to share it with the world so that we don't lose it. Because if we don't share it, people will never know and they'll never learn." Williams and Johnson recognize the work that they've done over the past 30 years, teaching and changing minds. "The non-First Nation community are very grateful because they probably were wondering, how do people live in the North? So most people that come through the camp, when they leave here, they have more respect for the First Nations people," said Johnson. It's a job worth doing, he adds, considering the history of colonization. "They really tried to kill the culture." Passing the torch Whitney Johnson-Ward also recognizes the effort her parents Johnson and Williams have put into the camp and wants to honour that work. "Growing up here, it's very important to me and just keeping alive what my parents started is important to me," she said. "How they did it, so grassroots, almost like just on their own and it's really beautiful." As she takes on more responsibility, she said she'd like to see a bigger language component at the camp, even hosting a kind of immersion camp. She also hopes to involve more family members, like nieces and nephews, with her parents serving as a guiding light. "We're just gonna be working on the next phases together. I don't know how far they think they're stepping back, because they are my mentors — and I'm gonna expect them here a lot," she said with a laugh.
Yahoo
19-07-2025
- Yahoo
Outdoor Indigenous museum in Yukon celebrates 30 years
Every year, between 5,000 and 10,000 visitors make their way to Long Ago Peoples Place, an outdoor museum in the Yukon. Saturday marks its 30th anniversary. Inspired by the teachings of their elders, Harold Johnson and Meta Williams manage the museum and teach visitors about Southern Tutchone culture. The site is a few kilometres off of the Alaska Highway between Haines Junction and Whitehorse, on the territory of the Champagne and Aishihik First Nations. The sprawling camp is a collection of traditional dwellings, traps and tools — everyday objects for their ancestors. It's also a cultural touchstone for the nearby community. "We have young First Nation kids, when they come walking outta here, you'd think they were like six feet tall or something," said Johnson. "They're pretty proud, happy to just see this because it's history, their history." Traditional lifestyle Thirty years on from the museum's opening, tours still begin around a campfire. A large chocolate-coloured dog wags its tail as it greets guests, who may also catch the exquisite smell of fresh bannock emanating from a nearby building. Williams breaks the ice with slow, precise movements as she tells the story of the wolf clan, of which she's a member. A quick glance over to Johnson and he seamlessly takes over, inviting the group to follow him into the forest that extends into the mountains. Even after all these years, he's still amazed by the ingenuity of his ancestors. "This is a summer house. That's a winter house," he said, pointing toward traditional structures that he rebuilt. "That's a caribou fence. There's a fish trap over there, a deadfall trap. So it's everything kind of in one area," he explained. He took a moment to admire the land that surrounds him before walking deeper into the bush. Keeping the culture alive An hour later, Johnson was back around the fire and he unfurled a map of the area. He said he's working with "younger kids" to keep growing the camp, and hopes this new generation is willing to keep it going. "I don't have to be the main person, I'll get the kids to do it and I'll kind of step back and just be a helper," he said. For Williams, it's not an easy decision to hand over the reins. "It's pretty hard to walk away from your life… how do you walk away from it?" she asked, with a tremor in her voice. "It's who you are. So I'm still going to answer that one. I got to figure that one out." Still, Williams knows that for the camp to succeed, it will one day have to go to someone else. "The next generation is going to be the ones that need to take it over. And I hope that they get just as passionate about the process and about the learning and add more to the experience for visitors," she said. To Williams, oral storytelling is a crucial part of that experience. "Practicing oral history is learning to listen very, very carefully and then being able to tell the story as you were told," she said. "That's a really important part of being a messenger. And then plus, to share it with the world so that we don't lose it. Because if we don't share it, people will never know and they'll never learn." Williams and Johnson recognize the work that they've done over the past 30 years, teaching and changing minds. "The non-First Nation community are very grateful because they probably were wondering, how do people live in the North? So most people that come through the camp, when they leave here, they have more respect for the First Nations people," said Johnson. It's a job worth doing, he adds, considering the history of colonization. "They really tried to kill the culture." Passing the torch Whitney Johnson-Ward also recognizes the effort her parents Johnson and Williams have put into the camp and wants to honour that work. "Growing up here, it's very important to me and just keeping alive what my parents started is important to me," she said. "How they did it, so grassroots, almost like just on their own and it's really beautiful." As she takes on more responsibility, she said she'd like to see a bigger language component at the camp, even hosting a kind of immersion camp. She also hopes to involve more family members, like nieces and nephews, with her parents serving as a guiding light. "We're just gonna be working on the next phases together. I don't know how far they think they're stepping back, because they are my mentors — and I'm gonna expect them here a lot," she said with a laugh.
