Voices for wilderness
Stein Alpine Festival Aug. 31-Sept. 3, 1985
By Rob Rainer
The Stein River Valley is an unblemished corridor of vast mountains and glaciers, virgin forests and rugged side-valleys. It remains essentially the same as it was thousands of years ago, a 460 square mile unlogged, relatively unknown wilderness watershed. Yet it is located just a few hours drive from what is now the largest population center in western Canada.
For at least 7,000 years the Natives of the Lytton-Lillooet area tapped the Stein Valley for the spiritual power that is still present today. Their pictographs along the banks and in the adjoining canyons of the Stein is one of the finest collections of early native communication remaining in B.C.
For years the Stein was a well kept secret, largely unappreciated for its unique virtues by the incoming B.C. immigrants. But as the population and economy of B.C. boomed, especially in the Lower Mainland after World War II, the Stein gained recognition as an area of outstanding ecological, aesthetic, and cultural value. This pristine valley is now threatened by logging, on the verge of being lost forever.
For the last eight years the logging interests and those who seek to preserve the Stein as it is have been engaged in an increasingly intense battle over the valley's future. At stake is not only the last major unlogged wilderness water-shed in southern B.C., but also the .ability of people who live closest to the threatened area to retain control over their destiny.
To bring public attention and awareness to the Stein Valley, and to create better understanding between Native and non-natives working to protect the Stein, the Lillooet Tribal Council sponsored a "Voices For the Wilderness" Festival. The event, held on the Labour Day weekend in 1985, was unprecedented in B.C., Canada and maybe even North America. Nearly five hundred spirited individuals completed a not-so-easy five kilometre hike over a boulder-strewn alpine pass to reach the Festival site, a meadow situated at approximately 6,500 feet altitude beside a large alpine lake in the upper reaches of the Stein watershed.
Many who came already knew of the Stein's treasures. Some had previously taken the trail up the valley from the junction of the Stein and Fraser Rivers through lovely Ponderosa pine forests, to the jewel-like lakes surrounded by glaciers and peaks at the river's headwaters. They knew, as the Natives knew, that the Stein is a place of strength, mystery, and great beauty.
Those who spoke for the Stein, Native leaders as well as environmentalists, detailed not only the Stein's pristine nature and heritage but also the valley's place within the overall provincial wilderness picture. That picture shows a province that has protected just five percent of its land in parks. Only one-half of one percent is protected in national parks. Less than half of the park lands are forests. Asking that the Stein's timber be spared the rip of the chainsaw is not asking too much. Indeed, if all of B.C.'s principal wilderness conflicts South Moresby, Meares Island, the Stikine River, and many others were resolved and parks created, their combined park area would add up to less than two percent of B.C.'s land.
The Stein seems especially entitled to preservation because, unlike Meares and South Moresby, there is no economic justification for `harvesting' its timber. It will take three years of costly road building, a cost the taxpayer will bear to the tune of three million dollars, before the first merchantable timber is reached, twenty kilometres upstream from the confluence of the Stein and the Fraser. Without further government subsidies, B.C. Forest Products, in an effort to keep alive their mill at Boston Bar (which has yet to turn a profit), will lose approximately $46 million over the next few decades by logging the marginal Stein timber.
In addition to the aesthetic and spiritual arguments against logging, it is obvious that logging the Valley makes no economic sense. But why does the government persist?
Around the fires of the second evening, while the air temperature dropped to a numbing sub-zero, an eagle feather was passed amongst those who wished to speak about ways to protect the Stein. They voiced their views on tactics in the battle, what they thought was necessary in order to achieve preservation of the Valley. Tasks and strategies were discussed, tentative plans were made. Perhaps never in the short history of the B.C. wilderness movement had so many people -most of them strangers to one another-spoke so passionately and clearly for one particular place. Strength was shared around the fires. Most slept with the confidence and conviction that the Stein would be saved, especially as the circle of people who know the facts of the issue continues to grow.
Others came to the Festival out of a sense of curiosity. Some had never hiked before. Some hadn't hiked in twenty years. But all of them made it over the pass to the campsites in the alpine meadows. Amongst them was a six-weekold baby, toted by her outdoor-weathered parents. A blind man hiked the distance, led by his friend over the rocks and roots. Another man, from Edmonton, hobbled his way on crutches over the path. One two-year-old came with her parents, recent immigrants from Hong Kong on their first wilderness hike. They had no backpacks, only duffle bags slung over their shoulders. Their tent poles (not the usual backpacker variety) weighed fifteen pounds. They, too, made it, helped by others, and smiled like everyone else when it came time to shed the weight and set up camp. Wilderness preservation is for the elite?
Native peoples, particularly the elders (one even in a wheelchair) who were brought in by helicopter, brought with them their different cultural outlook and experience. For many of the non-natives at the Festival, a highlight was sharing with the Native elders and leaders their traditional pipe ceremonies; hearing their reflections and hopes for the Stein and other areas similarly endangered. As with the Meares Island issue, the Stein controversy is bringing together people who share similar feelings for their environment. From Washington State came a spiritual leader of the Lummi people. From the west coast of Vancouver Island came members of the Nuu-Chah-Nulth people. And, of course, from the Lytton-Lillooet region came the native leaders whose land is so very much threatened now.
That first night the Lillooet Tribal Council gave a feast. Heaping platefulls of barbecued salmon, potatoes, corn and bannock. High in the alpine, 500 people feasted away, while the day faded into night, the stars glimmered slowly into view and the temperatures slowlyto happy rhythms. Around the eight camp fires, singing and music-making drummed into the night.
Sunday, principal fighters for the Stein addressed the Festival participants. Bundled in warm sweaters and jackets, huddled beneath blankets, many listened to the speakers addressing the economic, ecologic, cultural and spiritual consequences of a logged Stein Valley. In the distance children clambered on the slopes of the mountains ringing the lake and the Festival site, while the dedicated cooking crew fed the fires, preparing for the next feast. The north wind, clouds and hints of rain could not dampen the mood. When the rain did fall it was taken as a blessing, a sign that the hopes and dreams for the Stein's preservation would be realized.
Monday morning, time to depart. The sun took a long time to rise above the ridges and warm the earth and its friends. The last gathering brought forth a strong message from Festival organizers and Stein campaigners. The Festival participants must take the power they had gained from the weekend, using it in their schools and offices, in their cafes and conference halls, in their letters to editors and their votes to change political consciousness and government action.
Hailing the rainbow and the good weather it brings
As people shouldered their packs they picked up the last bits of their presence at the Festival site. Leaving the valley as they found it, they began the trek away from the lake, back over the boulder-strewn pass to the waiting transportation at the trailhead. It would be down hill almost all the way. As everyone left, a young Native boy pounded the drum, singing one more sacred song to end the Festival. But it will not be the last song sung for the Stein.
Photos contributed by: Martin Roland, Adrian Borst, Eugene Rogers, Barb McCandless, Judith Willington Patrick Morrow
