MILE 519: Athabasca Glacier
Last week while Phil and I were working on the campaign, we talked about how interesting it was that it has taken until now to uncover some of the footage, and to be sharing more from this epic, life-changing journey in 2015. I became emotional when I mused that while we’ve shared a lot of stories over the years, it has also taken until now for me to be willing to face some of what we experienced—to process it, and to share more of the stories in earnest.
While this project has been very time consuming, I am incredibly honored to be given the responsibility of holding space for our team to be doing this work, and to be given the responsibility for supporting Phil in the campaign. I am grateful to have been given the chance to do this guest blog too. Here we go!
After leaving the town of Jasper, AB and the respite it provided, the bicyclists and the documentarians parted ways, slated to reunite in Edson, AB. I accompanied Erika and Lou into the heart of Jasper National Park to visit the Athabasca glacier. We had heard stories that the Columbia Icefield is known to native peoples as the beating heart of western North America because it is the source of all of the major river systems in the region including the Columbia River, the Frasier River, the North Saskatchewan River, and the Athabasca River.
We chose the Athabasca glacier because it is specifically the headwaters of the river that flows north into the Athabasca river basin, which covers about one-quarter of Alberta, passes through tar sands extraction sites, and terminates in Lake Athabasca where the Athabasca Chipewyan First Nation resides, and whose people, animals, plants, water, land, and air have been polluted by the fossil fuel industry.
In some ways, this journey was inspired by the film Elemental (2012) which both depicted a pilgrimage along the Ganges River in India, and the plight of the Athabasca Chipewyan people. To be able to touch the pristine glacial meltwater now, follow the river, and later witness the tar sands tailings ponds—which we wouldn’t dare touch—was an awesome and bewildering experience reminiscent of Elemental.
When we arrived at the glacier, there was no glacier to be seen. Instead, we passed sign after sign starting with 1890, and continuing past 1935, and so on indicating the year the glacier was at that location. After a seemingly long road to a parking lot, we began the trek up a rocky path to the glacier itself. This walking journey itself felt as a pilgrimage within the pilgrimage that was The Road to Athabasca. It also came with a gravity of its own knowing that this place is at the frontlines of the impacts of global warming. According to Skeptical Science, the snout of the glacier has retreated about 200 meters since 1992, and retreats approximately 10 meters a year.
It felt inappropriate to speak, so we walked in silence. Many people were on the same path we were, no doubt quietly facing the same stark and visceral reactions we were—doing this knowing many other people were doing so at the same time amplified its spiritual effect.
Looking forward, we saw how much (or little) of the glacier remained, and looking back, we saw just how much has already been lost. In the video below, I explain this glacial retreat, and how the ground laid bare is another form of one of the themes of the journey: making the unseen, seen—the ground we stood on hasn’t been exposed for thousands of years, until now.
At the glacier’s edge, there were cones and a chain prohibiting visitors from crossing due to the dangers an active glacier can pose. Erika discovered that one of the cones had a sticker on it: Enjoy Denial. It was so classic and telling about the resistance that "outmoded mainstream" people in power have to taking climate action, and it was something to meditate on along with everything else we were taking in.
When we arrived in Jasper, BC, the skies became hazy, and the smell of smoke intruded on our senses, as did the obscured views of what otherwise would be one of the most beautiful places, something we missed entirely. Instead, for several days and hundreds of miles our initial experience of Alberta was clouded—or smoked—by the fires from the record setting Okanogan Complex Fire, which surpassed the record setting Carlton Complex Fire just one year earlier (and less than a year later further north, the Fort McMurray Fire, the most costly wildfire in Canadian history).
On our way out, we saw the rivulets form into streams form into a river, which we followed to Fort McMurray over several days. Downstream at the same time, Phil and Kyle had also stopped at the river to pay homage and collect a sample of water which would later be used in a water ceremony at the Healing Gathering in Anzac, and later taken by an Athabasca Chipewyan tribal member as part of a ceremony to heal the waters at Lake Athabasca. The Athabasca river used to be navigable, but with the fossil fuel industry drawing down the pristine water to extract tar sands oil, and with the glacier retreating, only a fraction of the waters that once flowed are present to sustain the peoples of the Athabasca river basin.
Two weeks hence, we would connect with Jean L’Hommecourt from the Fort McKay First Nation to connect these stories together. Much to my horror, I found out that fossil fuel companies proudly state that they “recycle” the water by dumping the toxic water untreated in the vicinity of where it was taken. At the same time, I have and continue to take solace in learning about and knowing firsthand how the water connects all life—Water Is Life is indeed the truth, and it lives with me every day.
Please stay tuned to the Return to Athabasca as we continue to unpack and share the personal stories from along the Trans Mountain pipeline route. If you are able, please consider making a contribution now to support frontline activists.