What does 240 pounds of raw bison meat look like? Above, three of four of our very large cut chunks of freshly butchered bison from southern Alberta arriving at camp in the back of my pickup truck. Once we saw the size of these cuts, we realized it was going to be a long night. Cooking this massive amount of meat could take some time.
How Hard Can It Be?
Reading about history is simple enough. Replicating historic events, weaponry, clothing, or food practices is often much more challenging.
So, my friend Bob Dawe, Royal Alberta Museum, and I asked ourselves:
How hard can it be to pit roast approximately 240 pounds of fresh bison meat the traditional Blackfoot way?
We read the historic literature describing Indigenous pit roasting. Bob bought the bison. I drove down to southern Alberta to help. We also had help from twenty-five archaeology field school students at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump; they dug the roasting pit, collected the cooking rocks, firewood, sage, and willow needed for a successful roast.
While camping near the World UNESCO Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump in June 2026, we took up the challenge: roast all this meat in a pit and then have a feast with over fifty people attending.
Here’s an account of what went well and what we would do differently.
A Brief History of Pit Roasting Food
For thousands of years, people worldwide have prepared meats and vegetables in pits they dug into the ground. The food was either steamed, slow-cooked, or roasted depending on how the pit and food were prepared.
The hangi is a Māori earth oven, used to cook meat and vegetables. The photograph on the left shows Māori people steaming potatoes, eels, fish heads, etc., on hot stones before covering with flax mats and earth. 1 The cutaway diagram on the right shows the components of a Māori steam oven. 2
Here is a list (by no means exhaustive) of the traditional names of pit cooking and some of the regions/cultures that pit-cooked/boiled/roasted their food:
Huatia – Andes region
Curanto – Chiloé Archipelago
Nakakoyonki – Aztec
Rosvopaisti (robber’s roast) – Finnish
Tandoor – India
Imu – Hawaii
Pib – Yucatan region, Mexico
Asado – Argentina
Mumu – Papua New Guinea
Kleftiko – Greece
Hangi – New Zealand (Māori)
Barabicu – Caribbean (Arawak and Taíno people)
Barbacoa – Mexico (Spanish)
Baalbak’Kaab – Mayan term (meat covered with soil)
The modern word barbecue might have originated from one of the last three words on the list. Its origins and meaning, however, are debatable. Only the Caribbean Baribicu refers to the more popular North American method of cooking food over coals. The Mayan/Mexican versions refer to pit-roasted meat and vegetables.
The Taíno term barbacoa, or “framework of sticks,” was applied to a wide range of wooden structures, including a raised wooden grill for roasting and smoking foods. 3The Mexican barbacoa refers to roasting a variety of meats and vegetables in a pit. Its history dates back to Aztec and Mayan civilizations. It eventually found its way north into Texas.
By the 1755, barbecue was incorporated into the English language dictionary. It denoted smoking (low and slow), grilling (direct heat), or pit roasting (steam and heat) food.
North American Prehistoric Great Plains Pit Roasting
In North America, Indigenous people also devised various types of underground cooking systems that baked, steamed, and smoked food using retained heat. These methods go back thousands of years.
Texas
In southwestern Texas, for example, ancient burned rock middens are common. Archaeologist James E. Pearce of the University of Texas called these features kitchen middens. They were low, donut-shaped mounds of heat-fractured rocks and other cooking debris that accumulated over time from many baking episodes around a pit in the center of the midden. He believed they were made from numerous fires built within circles of stone to keep the fire contained for cooking and warmth. 4
This image and diagram are taken from: “What is a Burned Rock Midden”, in Texas Beyond History (https://www.texasbeyondhistory.net/bowie/middenwhat.html). The following is the author’s description of the burned rock midden: “At left, artist’s view of cooks laying large stones atop a fire within an oven pit. Once the fire has burned down and the rocks are red hot, they will be covered with layers of plants and earth, forming an earth oven capable of holding heat and steam for 24-48 hours. On the right is a schematic cross-section (side view) of a burned rock midden. As earth ovens are built, opened, and later rebuilt in the central feature (or baking pit), the spent cooking stones—fist-size heat-fractured rocks—are cleaned out and tossed to the sides, forming a debris ring. Over time, this process can create large midden accumulations that are more than 20 meters (66 feet) across and up to 1.5 meters (5 feet) deep. Drawing on left by Charles Shaw for TBH; graphic on right, by the Center for Archaeological Research, University of Texas at San Antonio.”
Southern Alberta, Canada
Closer to home, at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump (HSI), in southern Alberta, Canada, my colleague and friend Bob Dawe from the Royal Alberta Museum found evidence of meat-roasting pits while excavating in the jump’s processing area. Some pits dated back thousands of years.
Excavation of a roasting pit at Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump (left). The entire pit was eventually encased in plaster and moved to the new Royal Alberta Museum (center). A schematic drawing of the construction and components of the meat roasting pit (right). For a fascinating read, go to: “The recovery for display of a 1,600-year-old roasting pit feature from Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump,” by Robert J. Dawe, Carmen Lia, and Darren H. Tanke. In Archaeology on the brink: Papers in honour of John W. Brink, ARCHAEOLOGICAL SURVEY OF ALBERTA OCCASIONAL PAPER NO. 42. 5
Ethnologist, Clark Wissler, American Museum of Natural History, recorded Blackfoot accounts of cooking bison in a pit:
“A method of cooking in a hole was sometimes used for meats. At the time of the buffalo drive, a hole might be dug in the ground, many hot stones placed in the bottom and over these a layer of willow branches and grass. Next, a layer or two of foetal and newly born calves over which again were spread branches, grass and finally earth. This was spoken of as a dry cook. The hole was usually filled in the evening and by the following day it would be ready to uncover. A variation of this was similar to the mode of roasting camas. A hole was dug to the depth of four spans of the thumb and fore finger and lined with hot stones and brush as before. Dressed calves were wrapped in fresh hides, two hides spread over the brush, water poured in, the calves quickly placed and the whole covered with two more fresh hides. The upper hide was stretched and staked. Then the earth was heaped over all and a fire kindled on top”6
Certainly, other variations of this method likely existed, but were never recorded.
How to Pit Roast Two Hundred and Forty Pounds of Bison Meat
Below is a blow-by-blow description, and accompaying photographs, of our bison roasting pit experiment. We started our little adventure around 3:30 pm on June 19th, 2026.
First, we (well, the students did the digging) dug a sizable hole in the prairie. Fortunately, the sediment was not prairie clay, but a mixture of sand and some gravel. The digging was relatively easy.
Students digging the pit. When finished, the pit was 3m long, 1.7m wide and approximately one metre deep. We used a considerable amount of chopped wood for the fire, evident in the photograph to the left. A spruce fire burns around 1,148°F or 620°C. A poplar or aspen wood (very common in the Old Man River Valley) fire burns between 1,470°F and 2,012°F (800°C and 1,100°C). Surprisingly, a dred bison dung fire (also used by Indigenous people) reaches temperatures between 930°F and 1,180°F (500 °C and 640 °C). Historically, these were the most likely candidates for heating the rocks in the pit.
Next, we lined the bottom of the pit with a layer of large rocks. We chose quartzite because, unlike limestone, sandstone, or shale, quartzite may crack when fired but won’t explode sending dangerous shrapnel in all directions.
We lined the bottom of the roasting pit with 57 large quartzite rocks weighing 363.3kg or 798,7 lbs. The rocks are crucial for maintaining and storing the heat for long periods to cook the bison meat. At Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, people lined the pits with sandstone slabs. If the slabs were relatively dry, they likely wouldn’t explode. They also used heated quartzite cobbles for boiling.
We then built a roaring fire over the rocks to heat them and create a hot bed of coals.
Even the simple task of collecting rocks for the roasting pit is important. For example, at Head-Smashed-In, whose cliffs are made of limestone, people hauled suitable rocks for boiling and campfires from the Oldman River, approximately three kilometres away.
After about two-three hours of burning, the pit temperatures reached over 1,000°F. We then threw in a second layer of smaller quartzite cobbles on top of the coals. The 140 cobbles weighed 358.3 kg or 790lbs. We then placed more wood on top of the quartzite cobbles and, for the next several hours, continued to feed the fire until the quartzite cobbles were red hot and the wood was reduced to glowing coals.
Bob and students doing the quartzite cobble toss some distance from the pit. The fire pit was so hot it was virtually impossible to get too close.
Meanwhile, a few students and Bob prepared the meat for cooking. Our butcher had cut a bison forequarter and hindquarter into approximately two halves for cooking. On average, each piece weighed approximately sixty pounds.
Schematic drawing of the meat cuts on a bison. The forequarter was cut in half (shown by the blue line) and consisted of the chuck, brisket, and parts of the shank. The hindquarter was also cut in half (shown by the blue line) and consisted of the flank and parts of the hind shank. We didn’t weigh each piece of meat. But according to Bob, one of the hind cuts weighed closer to ninety pounds. In all, we prepared 240 pounds of meat. There were some very large pieces which required hours of cooking before they were done.
According to nutritional facts, bison meat is very healthy. It is very low in fat, calories, and cholesterol when compared to other meats. Also, it is very high in iron. 7
Our cooks rubbed coarse salt into thin linear incisions cut into the outer surface of the meat. Then they wrapped each large chunk of meat in layers of wet burlap. They further fastened the entire bundle with wire wrapped around it to keep it from falling apart.
I inserted two thermometers into the densest pieces of meat to monitor the internal meat temperature while it cooked. The wires attached to the thermometers stuck out of the covered pit and could be attached periodically to electronic displays.
Students preparing the bison meat with salt rub. Electronic thermometer probes ready to be inserted into the meat (left). The meat was then wrapped tightly in wet burlap and bound with wire. We worried that the wire might melt and the meat not be retrievable. As it turned out, the meat was barely retrievable, even though the wire did not melt. There were other problems, however, that hampered our attempts to remove the bundles from the pit.
Once the fire burned down and the coals and rocks were red-hot, we covered them with a layer of wet willow branches. The willow had been soaking in the cattle trough for twenty-four hours. Next, the students placed the four chunks of wrapped meat on the wet willow bed, creating searing-hot steam which made it very difficult to get near the pit.
The pit temperature reached over 1,000°F, and when wet willow was placed on the hot rocks and embers, it created dangerous plumes of steam. The students placed the heavy meat bundles into the steaming pit by using a 2 x 4 pushed through the wire loops around the meat. It was just too hot to go near the edge of the roasting pit.
Once we placed the meat in the pit, we added another layer of wet willow branches to cover it. I also added about four handfuls of crushed prairie sage to give the meat some flavour. I was careful, however, about how much to use. Too much of the strong-scented sage might give the meat too strong a taste. There was no recipe to follow, so I erred on the conservative side. Once we tasted it, we didn’t notice any sage flavour in the cooked meat.
I took internal temperature readings of the forequarters and hindquarters (42°F and 44°F, respectively) with the two electronic probes before we covered the meat. For it to be well done, the bison meat internal temperature needed to reach 170°F or slightly higher.
I worried that because my probes were on top of the meat near the edge of the pit so I could reach them, they might not accurately read the internal temperatures of meat lying further from the pit’s edge. But there was no way around this problem. The wire couplings weren’t long enough to extend further into the roasting pit. I also wanted to determine the roasting pit ambient temperature during the cook, but my third thermometer failed.
After taking my readings, we covered the wrapped meat with at least 15cm (~six inches) of sediment. The objective was to seal the pit completely with the sediment to prevent any heat or steam from escaping. We did not add a tarp or other fireproof covering to prevent heat loss. Once the students had filled the pit in and the dirt slightly packed with shovels, we saw no evidence of heat escaping anywhere. It was now 10:55 pm, June 19th, 2026.
The top layer of wet willow branches covered the wrapped bison meat (left). The students then filled in the pit with sandy sediment to seal it (right).
Bob and I stayed up all night and checked the internal temperature of the cooking meat approximately every two hours. At first, progress was slow. Even after two hours, the surface sediment of the pit was still cool to the touch and internal meat temperatures remained low. The cold ground surface caused a little consternation. But then we realized this meant the pit was well sealed to retain the internal heat, not escaping to the surface. Below are our readings of the internal meat temperatures over the next 19.5 hours.
Date/Time
Probe #1 (°F)
Probe #2 (°F)
June 19, 10:55 pm
42
44
June 20, 1:04 am
59
60
June 20, 3:00 am
73
93
June 20, 4:00 am
119
109
June 20, 6:00 am
149
145
June 20, 3:24 pm
167
170
June 20, 5:01 pm
168
170
June 20, 6:31 pm
168
170
During the last three hours of cooking, our internal meat temperatures did not significantly rise. By six-thirty pm, the over fifty people who would partake in the feast were getting hungry.
It was time to open up the pit and hope for the best….
Students busy uncovering the burlap-wrapped bison meat. The extremely hot, burlap-wrapped, well-cooked meat was very difficult to handle. The students had to slide several shovels under the bags and then put the meat on a plywood sheet. In hindsight, firmer wrapping is necessary to handle bundle of meat, which turns into kinda a wet noodle once cooked.
Once we got the meat back to camp and unwrapped it, it fell off the bone and was still very moist. Bison meat is leaner and finer grained than regular beef. Bob and I were worried the lean meat would dry out after 19.5 hours of cooking. But because the pit was sealed, releasing little moisture, the meat stayed moist and tender.
Bison hunting and driving was a communal affair. Everyone chipped in to help. Our pit roast was somewhat symbolic of this communal effort. Everyone helped out, either preparing the pit for roasting, collecting rocks and wood, tending the fires and rocks, preparing the meat and finally getting it to the kitchen and cutting it up for our feast.
Well done, HSI field school students, 2026. Well done!
It was only fitting that the students excavating a Canadian Plains bison jump try bison cooked in one of the traditional Blackfoot ways. Most even tried the fat-rich marrow, which was a delicacy for Indigenous peoples and the first traders in western Canada.
Students, staff, and guests enjoying the bison pit roast. In the foreground, Professor Shawn Bubel, of the University of Lethbridge, leads this internationally renowned field school. She is, however, not normally accustomed to this much meat still on bison bones when supervising excavations at Head-Smashed-In.
Despite it being our first attempt, the bison pit roast was a success.
In retrospect, we would do a few things differently to improve it:
We need to devise a better method to lower the heavy bundles of meat into the large, dangerously hot roasting pit.
The meat portions should be more securely wrapped and tied, making them easier to handle when removing them from the pit. We weren’t prepared for well-cooked meat falling off the bone in wobbly burlap that tore easily after nearly twenty hours of cooking.
Placing a thermometer in the pit to record ambient pit temperature would reduce guesswork. The internal meat temperatures stopped increasing after about fifteen hours. I wasn’t sure if it was because the pit ambient temperature had dropped or if we hit that point in cooking where internal meat temperatures often stall while trying to break down toughest fat and muscle tissue. This happens to me when smoking brisket. Temperatures will often stall at the end of the cook before the meat is finally done and falling off the bone.
Drinking less scotch throughout the night might have led to more regular monitoring of the meat cooking the next day. However, this suggestion shouldn’t be taken too seriously.
The northern Great Plains once teemed with large herds of bison. This photograph looks north toward the southern tip of the majestic Porcupine Hills, where Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump is located. These hills near the eastern slopes of Canada’s Rocky Mountains were ideal for bison jumps.
Footnotes:
In 1949, Ewan MacColl wrote ‘Dirty Old Town’ for his play ‘Landscape with Chimneys’ about his hometown of Salford, England. The song, later popularized by the Pogues and other bands, captures the drabness of 19th-century industrial towns in England. Drab though it may be, industry has long been indispensable for a country’s economy. However, some people view a country’s industrial history with disdain because it often created pollution and long-term health effects.
As the above image conveys, a country’s industries are often dirty, ugly, and not very romantic. Yet, for a society’s economy and well-being, they are of the utmost importance. The question becomes: once they run their course, do we recognize or erase them? It’s never an easy choice.
Canada’s Rich Industrial History
Every Canadian province and territory had/has its industrial or economic strength and history. From the shores of Newfoundland to the West Coast of British Columbia, north to the Arctic Ocean, major industries have powered our economies: Fisheries and whaling, mining, lumber, steel and fabric factories, distilleries, the fur trade, oil and gas, potteries, and so many more. Many of those early industries have vanished. Recognizing and preserving Canada’s industrial past is important for tourism but also for our identity as Canadians. It confirms our long ties to our land and its resources. Undoubtedly, some of those industries led to human hardships and severely impacted our environment.
Red Bay, Labrador, is one of Canada’s earliest industrial sites: “Red Bay Basque Whaling Station is an outstanding example of the tradition of whale hunting established by the Basques in the 16th century for the production of oil, which was transported for sale in Europe. In terms of the diversity of its archaeological remains, this is the most extensive, best preserved and most comprehensive whaling station of this type.” — UNESCO World Heritage Committee1
The Powell River Paper Mill (c.1912-2015), in British Columbia, Canada, the topic of interest in this story, falls into this category. It was once the world’s largest paper mill, setting production records and developing groundbreaking technology. It has left behind an undeniable historic legacy but not always a positive one.
The Powell River Paper mill in full operation on Canada’s West Coast. While the mill produced some of the best newsprint in the world, it was a polluter.
We are often conflicted about how to deal with these historical industrial complexes once they are no longer operating. Yes, they were important economically. But they also come with considerable social, political, and environmental baggage.
You only have to read the local papers and chat boards to realize that the citizens of today’s Powell River, British Columbia, Canada, are also conflicted about how to deal with the aftermath of this industrial behemoth.
PRESERVE AND RECOGNIZE IT OR WIPE IT OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH? THE VERDICT IS STILL OUT!
Let’s journey back to the early 20th century to see why the Powell River Paper Mill and adjoining mill townsite are an integral part of municipal, provincial, and national history. 2
A Historic Overview of the Powell River Paper Mill and Townsite
The terms ‘Powell River’, ‘Townsite’, and ‘Westview’ refer to locations on British Columbia’s upper Sunshine Coast. Powell River in the gathet Regional District refers to the overarching name of the greater municipality, while Townsite and Westview are two distinct neighbourhoods within it. This area was the traditional lands of the Tla’amin Nation of British Columbia. The paper mill sits on the northwest corner of Townsite, labelled as the Powell River Historic District on the map below.
The area was named after Dr. Israel Wood Powell, Superintendent of Indian Affairs. Its original name, “gathet” (pronounced “KA-thet”), came from the Tla’amin Nationmeaning “working together.”
Powell River Townsite
My story starts in Townsite, British Columbia, Canada, which, during certain times of the year, is my home. I live in one of the one-hundred-year-old houses in the historic Townsite area, built by the then Powell River Company (which eventually became MacMillan Bloedel Limited in 1959) for its workers.
The Powell River Paper Company built homes for their workers, which it then rented out to them. This model was common for industrial complexes in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.Construction of the Powell River townsite, early 1900s, looking up what would become Sycamore Street.
In 1995 the Federal Government of Canada designated the entire Townsite area as a National Historic District. It is an exceptionally well-preserved, mostly intact example of an early 20th-century planned single-industry company town. Developed by the Powell River Company starting in 1910, the community showcases early modern town planning and corporate paternalism tied to a massive pulp and paper operation. Over 97 percent of the buildings predate 1940. Approximately 400 original employee homes are still standing today, many in nearly their original condition.
In 1955, the new mill owner, McMillan Bloedel, sold the homes and buildings to mill workers. Fortunately, some of the homes’ owners saw the value in historic preservation. I always feel I’ve stepped back in time when walking down the streets of Townsite today.
Our house in Townsite, Powell River, British Columbia, built in c.1926, sits on Maple Avenue and is typical of the homes built by the Powell River Company for its workers between c.1910 and 1930. The original housing plans and neighbourhood placements reflect the distinct social stratification typical of early 20th-century single-industry company towns.The inside of our house. These houses were built from sturdy old-growth forests and are very durable. Some of the window and door casements are cut in dimensions not used today. We found this original fir floor still intact underneath a couple of layers of linoleum and carpet. After refinishing, it is still durable and beautiful. In 1940, workers earned between $1,100 and $1,400 for steady full-time work, depending on exact job classification and hours. They rented company houses such as this one for $10 to $25 per month.Established in 1913, the Patricia Theatre is now the longest-running movie theatre in Canada. The Powell River Paper Company needed to attract workers. It therefore ensured its workers had all the amenities of a prosperous community – public spaces, golf courses, hospitals, schools, recreation facilities… 3A walking view of some of the streets in historic Townsite today. A variety of house styles and sizes reflect the economic class structure present during the mill’s operation. The landscaping and vegetation along some streets, such as Marine Drive (left) are beautiful. The Company started and owned a garden near today’s lawn bowling club. It served as a nursery for the mill where plants, trees, and landscaping materials were cultivated and tested for the preplanned company town. The townsite itself was designed following the Garden City Movement, emphasizing green spaces, public gardens, and planned landscaping. 4
The Powell River Paper Mill Site Complex
By the late 19th and early 20th centuries, pulp replaced recycled rags as the dominant raw material for manufacturing paper products. The Powell River region was an ideal spot to build a paper mill. It contained vast timber resources. It had access to direct ocean transportation. The Powell and nearby Lois rivers, if dammed, would provide the necessary electrical power. And there was an increasing demand for newsprint in the world.
In 1909, construction of the mill was underway, and by 1912, Paper Machine Number 1 produced the first saleable newsprint at the new plant. In its first year, the plant produced 17,000 tons of newsprint. Production required hundreds of people to operate it with a budget of between 1.5 – 2.5 million dollars per year. In these early days, the average mill labourer made 22.5 cents per hour.
British Columbia’s wealth of forests was recognized and tapped by the late 19th century. Today, British Columbia’s forestry sector annually contributes $17.4 billion to the GDPand supports 95,000 direct, indirect, and induced jobs across 340 communities. 5The Mill Site under construction in 1911. The site is located near the mouth of the Powell River, which was eventually dammed to produce hydroelectricity to run the mill. This area was also the original site of a Tla’amin Nation village, which was likely destroyed by the construction of mill infrastructure. The Tla’amin Nation only recently signed a treaty in 2016, but the mill site and their historic village of tiskʷat were not included. In 2025, the Tla’amin Nation signed a historic land agreement with the mill’s corporate owner, Domtar (formerly Paper Excellence). The deal returned 120 acres (16 parcels) of the 300-acre waterfront property to the Tla’amin Nation.This is one of the few photographs (date unknown) of the Powell River as it emptied into the Pacific Ocean, now the site of the Powell River Paper Mill. On the left side of the photograph there stands a First Nations dwelling. Most river mouths were important gathering places for First Nations, especially during the annual salmon runs. Powell River was no exception.
There isn’t enough space to go into great detail about the paper production process, which has been documented in numerous other publications, including Bill Thompson’s detailed book, entitled: The Powell River Mill Story, about the mill’s history, construction, and operation. 6
Crew, some of them barefoot, standing between Numbers 3 and 4 paper machines at the Powell River Company Mill in 1914. In 1913, paper machine number three was producing 40 tons of newsprint per day. Obviously, occupational health and safety standards have changed over time.
The mill’s technology and production, however, warrant some comments because, by world standards, it was often at the forefront. For this reason, and because of the still-standing infrastructure, some residents feel it should receive more provincial, national, and even international recognition.
The technology and paper production statistics of this paper mill are truly staggering, and at such a scale that for many of us, they are hard to even fathom. Here are some highlights about the paper mill over its lifetime, found in Bill Thompson’s (2001) book: 7
The largest single-unit newsprint facility in the world: At its peak, one in every 25 newspapers worldwide was printed on its paper. The iconic mill housed the world’s most advanced paper machines, setting both speed and volume records.
Commissioned in 1912: It was the first newsprint mill in Western Canada.
Paper Machine Number One(1912): It produced a 150-inch sheet of paper at 604 feet per minute, faster than any other paper machine in the world at that time.
Pre-planned Company Town: To support the mill’s massive output of paper and workers necessary to operate it, the Powell River Company built an entire town complete with all the conveniences necessary for comfortable living.
Deep Sea Port: The Company dredged the sea bottom 32 feet below low tide and constructed two 450-foot wharves capable of bringing in large ships to load their paper for international markets.
Two Dams to Generate Power for the Mill: The mill’s power came from damming up the Powell River in 1924 (creating Powell Lake) and the Lois River in 1941 (creating Lois Lake). By 1985, the Powell River dams plus two steam turbines in the mill made Powell River the fourth largest electrical power utility in British Columbia.
Highest Wages in the Industry (1951): Workers received $1.40 an hour and also a cost-of-living bonus adjusted every four months.
A Leader in Research and Innovation: The mill constantly tried to reduce its emissions. In 1954, the company introduced a gas scrubber to eliminate 95% of its sulphur dioxide emissions. It then turn it into sodium sulphate used to process pulp. By 1971, the company had a pollution control department of nine people spending millions of dollars per year reducing its emissions, noise pollution, and constantly monitoring the water.
Number Nine Paper Machine (1957), the World’s Fastest: This paper machine spat out 2,000 feet of newsprint per minute.
The Largest Single-Unit Plant: By 1960, the mill operated nine paper machines with an annual capacity of 500,000 tons, cementing its status as the largest single-unit newsprint facility on earth.
‘The Monster’, Number Ten Paper Machine (1967): Number ten paper machine produced 3,000 feet of newsprint per minute continuously for 48 hours, setting a Canadian record. The newsprint was 324 inches wide.
World’s Fastest Machine (No. 11): Commissioned in 1981 as a digital, computer-operated prototype, Paper Machine No. 11 was an industry titan. By the end of 1981, it was running at 3,510 feet per minute (roughly 56 km/h).
Global Production Record (1983): In August 1983, Paper Machine No. 11 set a world record for the highest one-month production volume of newsprint.
Global Benchmark: By 1985, the No. 11 machine was officially rated as the best in the world, with No. 10 also recognized as a “top 10” global producer.
A Floating Breakwater (the largest in the world): In 1965, the Company built a floating breakwater consisting of ten concrete-hulled ships anchored and cabled together. The ships were constantly inspected, and nine are still anchored in place today.
The Company Sawmills: The Company also operated several sawmills to feed their paper mill. In their Barkermill sawmill complex, a crew of experts changed the sixty-foot-long headsaws every two hours and sharpened five in an eight-hour shift. The smaller 37-inch band edgers were replaced every four hours, and 24-inch slasher saws were filed every four days.
These are just a few of the mind-boggling statistics about the paper mill.
Paper Machine Number 11 became the world’s fastest newsprint producer. The project involved 700 workers and cost $163 million to construct. This machine could produce one mile of paper every 90 seconds or 40 miles of paper every hour. In August 1983, it set a world record for one month’s production.These concrete-hulled ships, often referred to as the ‘Crete Fleet ‘, were brought in during the Second World War to form a breakwater for the Powell River Mill. These ships are unique as they are concrete-hulled. “There are nine concrete ships in the breakwater today, seven of which are the hulks of Dry Cargo Steamers that had been built by McCloskey at Hookers Point, Tampa, Florida, during WWII. A concrete barge, Quartz, built by Barrett & Hilp at South San Francisco, makes the eighth and the last surviving floating USWWIera concrete ship, SS Peralta, the ninth.” 8
The Powell River Paper Mill drove the region’s economy. But, like all industry, the good times wouldn’t last. As the graph below shows, one of the main reasons for the mill’s demise was the sharp decline in the demand for newsprint. The mill was slow to adjust and either didn’t have enough capital to refit its machinery for other paper products or was unwilling to do so.
Left graph: Canadian production and exports of newsprint (tonnes) and other paper products, 1990 to 2012. Sources: FAD n.d. and Statistics Canada n.d. 9
The Powell River Mill as a Major Polluter and Environmental Hazard
The Powell River Paper Mill produced some offensive odours, according to this headline in the local newspaper. We bought our house in 2015 when the mill was winding down. When the wind blew in the right direction, there was a mild odour in the air. There was also a constant hum emitting from the plant. Not loud, but always there.
With the ‘good’ there is often the ‘bad’ surrounding an industrial complex as large as the Powell River Mill. These facts should be viewed within the context of the times, when there was little knowledge of industrial health effects. Below is a summary of the negative impacts this industrial monster produced:
Airborne and Waterborne Dioxins: During the chlorine bleaching process of the pulp, the mill generated highly toxic airborne and waterborne dioxins. These pollutants are very persistent and strongly linked to human endocrine disruption, immune system damage and elevated risks of soft-tissue cancers.
Occupational Higher Rates of Cancers: A study by the Scandinavian Journal of Work and Environmental Health (2001) found statistically higher rates of cancer (prostate and stomach cancers and leukemia) in mill workers than the general population. 10
High Rates of Asbestos Exposure: Also responsible for Pleural Cancers.
Volatile Gaseous Compound Emissions: The mill generated over 43 million kilograms of greenhouse gases annually and discharged substantial particulate matter into the regional air basin every day.
Contamination of Seafood and Shellfish: By 1988-1990, the Government of Canada closed both commercial and recreational fisheries and shellfish in the Strait of Malaspina due to the polluting Powell River Mill Site.
Liquid Chlorine Incident: On February 18, 1975, a towboat named Chieftain III lost four pressurized railway tank cars containing 374 tonnes of liquid chlorine during a fierce storm while en route to the Powell River pulp mill. Rather than sitting in the shallow waters right at the mill site or harbour, historical sonar sweeps showed they sank into deep coastal waters and thick mud. According to marine and fisheries scientists, after decades underwater, the heavy steel tanks have likely rusted through, and their contents safely reacted with seawater. The chlorine neutralized long ago without creating surface hazards. At least that is the theory. No one really knows for certain.
Landfill Leaching: Government monitoring has flagged multiple permit violations regarding the mill’s Wildwood landfill, where contaminants have routinely leaked into local groundwater. 11
Industrial Toxins: The mill infrastructure contains industrial toxins, including widespread asbestos and fly ash, which pose significant hazards to long-term community health if left untreated. 11
The pollution issues undoubtedly affected the surrounding population, but experts say such effects are notoriously difficult to isolate from other contributing contaminants. However, throughout its long history, there were never staged demonstrations or lawsuits registered against the company about its role as a polluter potentially endangering the local population.
But that doesn’t mean things always ran smoothly between mill management and mill workers either: 12
Despite economic windfalls for the company, public opinion and workers’ rights organizations were not always flattering about its operations, as the above article in The British Columbia Federationist (1912) points out. As with many companies, there was a constant push and pull between mill workers and management. However, the company eventually did build good housing for its employees to live in. 13
1910s–1920: Early workers pushed for an 8-hour workday, resulting in the company locking out union members of the International Brotherhood of Paper Makers.
1921: Union workers belonging to the International Brotherhood of Pulp, Sulphite and Paper Mill Workers went on strike for company recognition, a union shop, and better wages. The company responded by firing union workers, bringing in strikebreakers, and cutting wages.
1935: A major dispute and lockout occurred involving dock and transport workers over non-union handling of Powell River newsprint, which triggered broader coastal waterfront strikes in British Columbia.
1957: Mill workers staged a major three-month strike seeking improved wages and working conditions. Local institutions like the Powell River Credit Union and the union-backed sick-benefit society helped support families through the lengthy walkout.
Powell River Paper Mill workers began demanding more rights. Industrial workers of the world poster, 1912. 14Longshoremen in Vancouver clash with police brought in to escort strikebreakers in 1935, leading to some very ugly incidents. They refused to unload the non-union Powell River mill’s paper products. 15
Who Protects and Preserves our Industrial Historic Heritage?
Protection of our National Historic Sites falls under the mandate of Parks Canada. This government agency aims to ensure the ecological and commemorative integrity of historic protected spaces for present and future generations. For historic industrial sites, this means preserving at least some of their physical structural assets (machinery, architecture) and accurately communicating their historical context to the world.
As impressive as that sounds, many of these national historic sites, even if designated by the Federal Government, do not receive any legal protections under the Historic Sites and Monuments Act if privately owned. The designation of a National Historic Site under this Federal Act is strictly honorific and commemorative. It provides no statutory protection against demolition or alteration. Unless the land on which the industrial site rests is owned by the Crown, the protection and preservation of the site rests on the whims of the owner or the community.
British Columbia’s Heritage Conservation Act (HCA) is the provincial legislation that governs the protection and conservation of cultural heritage, archaeological sites, and historic objects. Other provinces have similar acts. The Act prevents the damage, alteration, or excavation of protected heritage sites, but only those sites dating prior to 1790.
And herein lies the problem and danger to the Powell River Paper Mill industrial site complex:
It is neither protected under Federal nor Provincial Heritage Legislation.And is there enough public goodwill, given its impact on community health and the environment, to protect it (or parts of it) in the future?
I’m certain that those working in provincial or federal heritage legislation are aware of the importance of this industrial complex. But there are many hurdles involved in protecting, preserving, and presenting it to the public: part of it is owned by the Tla’amin Nation, on whose traditional lands it sits, and Cranberry Business Park Ltd who recently purchased it from Domtar (formerly Paper Excellence). The site is dangerous and highly polluted. It encompasses a massive footprint with considerable infrastructure. Simply stabilizing this existing infrastructure is a large, costly undertaking. And much of the older equipment and artifacts have already been removed.
Once a world leader in paper production, the largest paper mill of its kind, and the first paper mill in western Canada, this truly unique Canadian Industrial site finally shut down in 2015. It now faces an uncertain future. 16
My personal reasons for writing about this industrial site stem from my interest in industrial history. I have also had experience, when working for the Government of Alberta as a heritage officer, in dealing with historic industrial sites. There are real horrors and nightmares facing municipal, provincial, and federal governments when deciding what to do with sites such as this. There are no easy answers or solutions.
Our Canadian Industrial History, Warts and All – Protect It or Purge It?
The mill hired many workers and provided Canada and the rest of the world with paper products. The mill exposed workers to danger and was a major polluter.
I have dealt with similar situations elsewhere in Canada. The question many people have is: Why are you preserving or recognizing an Alberta Oblate Mission (Lac La Biche Oblate Mission) that served as a residential school for Indigenous youth? Why are you preserving a pottery site (Medalta Potteries, Medicine Hat) that was a ‘sweat shop’ for its workers?
The reasons for preservation are difficult to articulate and justify to Canadians. The heritage legislation’s core message does not discriminate between a ‘good’ or a ‘bad’ history. For example, Parks Canada’s heritage designation process doesn’t suggest that a selected particular piece of history is an ‘honour or trophy for good behaviour.’ Designation is supposed to act as an archive of national significance, whether that significance or legacy is good or bad.
What my colleagues and I have always argued in such cases, and is applicable here, is that denying the Powell River Mill’s historic status, because of colonial, labour relations, and environmental harms, erases its historic accountability. By preserving it (or at least parts of it), we can talk about colonialism (the land the site sits on was taken from First Nations Peoples), labour unrest, and environmental issues that still plague this site and region today. If all evidence that it even existed is eradicated, will anyone remember what happened here fifty, one-hundred, two-hundred years from now?
Moving Forward
What might seem as the ideal solution for the Powell River Mill site, in terms of historic preservation and recognition, does not always align with reality. Eventual decisions for this site’s future involve many stakeholders – First Nations, cities, municipalities, Provincial and Federal governments, and private business owners. Each stakeholder has a legitimate say and often a different perspective on what should happen to the mill’s infrastructure and land. Not many of these visions include preservation or protection.
The Tla’amin Nation got some land back, which they claim was unlawfully taken from them in 1878. Under colonial and provincial land laws of the 1870s, the Crown explicitly prohibited the sale of occupied Indian villages or settlements to private settlers. Private investors applied to buy a massive block of timberland, designated as Lot 450, which directly encompassed tiskʷat—the permanent, ancestral home and vital salmon-fishing hub of the Tla’amin people. 17
The City of Powell River wants to recoup potential tax losses after the paper mill closed by developing the site into new industrial businesses. It has absorbed a multi-million-dollar structural tax revenue deficit since the mill stopped production and its property assessment values plummeted. Historically, the mill was the municipality’s economic backbone, contributing a massive share of the city’s annual property tax revenues. When the mill permanently shut down and deconstruction began, its property assessment value crashed from historical highs down to roughly $2.4 million.
Cranberry Business Park Ltd operates as the primary commercial developer and site manager for the industrial core of the former mill site. They own roughly 75% of the property, which includes the central gates, the massive paper machine buildings, and the heavy utility grid infrastructure. The legal and financial responsibility for cleaning up the pollution at the former Tis’kwat mill site is divided between the previous corporate owner, Domtar (Paper Excellence), and the private buyer, Cranberry Business Park Ltd. 18
The Provincial Government of British Columbia’s stance on the mill site is focused on enforcing environmental accountability and advancing economic reconciliation, rather than bailing out private interests or preserving the physical mill structures. 19. The province views the site’s transition as a high-stakes balancing act: it must prevent another bankrupt “orphaned” industrial liability (which has previously cost B.C. taxpayers hundreds of millions at other coastal mills) while helping the region pivot to a post-paper economy. 20
The Federal Government of Canada’s position on the Tis’kwat mill site aligns with the province’s stance. It does not support the preservation of the mill’s buildings. Ottawa defines its role through strict corporate oversight, national resource regulation, and a formal legal acknowledgment of Indigenous land rights. The federal government deliberately excluded the heavy industrial mill site footprint from heritage protections. Ottawa’s stance is that preserving obsolete 20th-century paper manufacturing structures holds no national historical value, and the site must be allowed to undergo deconstruction to adapt to a modern economy. And yet, in other parts of Canada they do just that!
Residents from Local Communities are deeply divided about the future of the mill site. For example, for some residents: ‘It is an icon of the Townsite and a defining feature of Powell River’s identity.’ Many families have multi-generational roots in the community related to the mill. For them, the demolition of the mill feels like the erasure of their identity. These residents feel that at least some of the century-old brickwork or unique industrial facades should be preserved to maintain visual continuity with the adjacent Powell River Townsite National Historic District.
Conversely, for the Tla’amin Nation, the 20th-century industrial history of the mill is not something to be celebrated or protected. For them, the physical mill buildings represent a colonial infrastructure that was built on top of a fraudulently seized ancestral village (tiskʷat) and actively destroyed a vital salmon river. They want to tear down the heavy industrial footprint, remediate the toxic soil, and allow the natural riverfront environment to heal.
Industrial/Business Development
A large portion of the community, including local business owners and real estate developers, view the mill complex as a ‘backwards-facing trap’. The prevailing sentiment among this group is that “you can’t eat history.” They argue that keeping obsolete, decaying industrial buildings standing purely for sentimentality creates safety liabilities and discourages modern investors.
Another segment of the community supports Cranberry Business Park’s strategy. They argue that the interior machinery should be scrapped as long as the large mill sheds are saved and repurposed for such things as indoor agriculture or data centres to bring back jobs and rebuild the tax base.
The Circular Economy Hub is a community organization that wants to bridge the gap between those who want to save history and those who want to get rid of it. From what I’m reading and hearing, the community has largely embraced the circular economy salvage project. By partnering with local groups to save clean timber, industrial artifacts, and building components from demolition, residents feel a piece of the mill’s physical legacy is being kept alive.
Obviously, because of land claims, hazardous conditions, and high costs in maintenance and upkeep, a lot of the original mill can no longer be maintained. The unwillingness of the Province of British Columbia and the Government of Canada to provide any protective measures or economic support for preserving some of the infrastructure leaves its future to the local community, and decisions about what to save and what not to save solely in the hands of site owners. Is this the best way to go forward?
Are There Precedents in Other Parts of Canada?
1. Rossdale Powerplant, Edmonton, Alberta
The Powell River scenario is not uncommon. It is reminiscent of my dealings with EPCOR’s Rossdale Powerplant in Edmonton, Alberta. This industrial plant, located in the heart of Edmonton, provided much of the city’s electricity for many years. And like the Powell River Mill, the community was undecided on how to move forward once it was no longer operational. There were many stakeholders, and emotions ran high. The debate ranged from completely scrapping the site’s infrastructure to maintaining some of the buildings in hopes of eventually repurposing them.
EPCOR’s power generating station sitting on the banks of the North Saskatchewan River sits empty. Decisions on what to do with this industrial site were compounded because the North West Company/Hudson’s Bay Company Fort Augustus Edmonton sites were located in the same location. Then, when it was determined that part of the plant encroached on the historic cemetery containing fur trade burials (including Indigenous interments), all hell broke loose. And so it sits empty…
Unlike the Powell River Mill, specific structures of EPCOR’s decommissioned Rossdale Power Plant have been designated as both a Provincial Historic Resource by the Government of Alberta in 2001 and listed on the City of Edmonton’s Inventory of Historic Resources. Only the Low Pressure Plant (Turbine House and Boiler House), Pumphouse No. 1, and the Administration Building are protected. 21 This compromise has ensured that this part of the industrial site is preserved while awaiting repurposing.
However, that’s precisely where the hang-up is occurring – what to do with these buildings within the confines of historical protection. The site was decommissioned in 2001, and the City of Edmonton took full ownership from EPCOR. The city spent six million dollars to stabilize and reinforce the facility. It has only seen temporary use for pop-up-events. The city has issued a request for development proposals. We are still waiting…
2. Medalta Potteries, Medicine Hat, Alberta, Canada
I have written previously about this site, but it is worth repeating to make a few crucial points about industrial history and preservation/protective measures.
Here’s an example, from Medicine Hat, Alberta, of how certain biases often get in the way of national recognition and when the Federal Government actually steps up to preserve industrial history and archaeology.
‘Nothing But A Human Sweatshop’: Medalta Potteries, Medicine Hat, Alberta, Canada
Like many industrial jobs, work in the Medalta Potteries was repetitive, boring and tiresome. The writing on a table in this photograph reads, “between the machine and conveyor line could WEAR THE SOLES OUT OF YOUR SHOES!“
Many of us working in the heritage profession realized in the 1970s the historic importance of Alberta’s Medalta Potteries. Constructed in 1916 and operating until 1954, this pottery factory was the first in western Canada to send products to eastern Canada. Its pottery clays came from southeastern Alberta and Saskatchewan. The raw clay was fired using the extensive natural gas reserves present in the Medicine Hat area.
The brick kilns at the Medalta Potteries site, Medicine Hat, Alberta, Canada. Designated a National Historic Site in 1985, recognition of this site’s historic importance was not without some controversy.
The Medalta industrial site met the criteria outlined in the Canadian Government’s recognition of National Historic Sites. However, some politically powerful individuals in the community felt that this part of Alberta’s history was better left untold. It was considered an example of ‘dark history’. The sentiment was: why promote and raise a place to Provincial or National Historic status where people laboured hard and were often paid poorly?
My first glimpse of the inside of one of the kilns at Medalta Potteries left me speechless. A thick layer of molten glass covered the entire inside of one of the kilns (not this one) from a past firing. The acoustics inside the kiln were eerie, to say the least.
The story becomes even more perverse. Because of this political pushback, the Province was reluctant to acquire and preserve this site when the opportunity arose, which would have made it a Provincial Historic Site. 22 In 1985, however, the Medalta Potteries Site was designated a National Historic Site and its history is being interpreted to the public.
3. The Britannia Mine Story
A look closer to home at a great historical industrial development is the Britannia Mine complex. This is a good example of the community working together with governments to turn a bad industrial polluter into solid regional history.
Located on Howe Sound on Canada’s West Coast, the Britannia Mine operated from 1904 to 1974. It was once the largest copper mine in the British Commonwealth. Over its history, more than 60,000 people from over fifty countries lived and worked in this remote and self-contained community.
Britannia’s story is one of innovation and resilience — from groundbreaking advancements in ore extraction to record-breaking copper production. It’s also a story marked by visionary and authoritarian managers, devastating fires, floods, and a tragic rockslide.
Today, it is one of Canada’s most successful environmental remediation projects. Thanks to these efforts, salmon and trout have returned to the local creeks. The museum contains approximately 7,000 mining artifacts that interpret the mine’s history and the life of its miners. The Britannia Beach Historical Society founded the Museum in 1971. The society also collected 9,500 photographs and 3,000 archival documents, making this one of the most comprehensive sets of records of Canadian mining.
The Britannia Mine Museum has preserved 23 historic industrial, administrative, and domestic buildings, safeguarding the technological footprint of what was once the British Empire’s largest copper producer. This has cost the community and governments millions of dollars.
The massive, 20-story gravity-fed concentrator built into the rock face of Mount Sheer is the site’s major building. Designated a National Historic Site, it showcases early innovations in industrial engineering, including the historic bulk froth flotation process. The photograph on the left shows the building in 2009 and what it looks like today.
The Britannia mine site’s history does not always conjure up a rosey picture. Like the Powell River paper mill, there were labour and environmental problems. But the community has embraced the idea that the mine would act as a centrepiece to tell the story of Canada’s mining legacy.
What, If Anything, Should be Saved of the Powell River Paper Mill?
Should some of this site be preserved? Given the historical importance of this mill, both to the development of the paper industry and the surrounding community, perhaps yes? You could adapt the statement from the Britannia Mine to fit Powell River: “to preserve the material and social history indicating the importance of the pulp and paper industry in British Columbia.”
If, and that is the big question, anything is to be saved that best represents and symbolizes the Powell River paper mill’s history, the following pieces of infrastructure come to mind:
The Kraft Mill Smokestack: The massive concrete mill smokestack is a major flashpoint. Many residents have fiercely advocated for its preservation, arguing in local forums and letters to the editor that the stack is a defining icon of the Townsite’s skyline. To them, it stands as a monument to the working-class generations who built the city. “Rather than erasing the past, the smokestack invites consideration of where Powell River has come from, the land it stands on and how its history can inform a more thoughtful and inclusive future.” Loy Leyland, architect, Vancouver. 23
The dismantling of the paper mill infrastructure. The immense brick smokestack towers behind the mill complex. 24
“The Hulks” – The Concrete Ship Breakwater: The historic collection of sunken or moored concrete ship hulks (such as those from WWII eras) protecting the log pond area uniquely captures the West Coast’s maritime-industrial collaboration. 25
These ships require maintenance, which requires money. But there is uncertainty about how best to deal with them. One plan is to sink them and use them as a maritime dive destination. Others want them saved and interpreted, as they are a unique type of shipping in North America and are part of the Powell River Mill Complex. “At the risk of turning this into an ‘OpEd’, the view of the author is that in the event that any more of the concrete ships become ‘surplus to requirements’, then rather than being scuttled, however valuable ‘artificial reefs’ are seen to be, at least one of the McCloskey Dry Cargo steamers, SS Peralta and Quartz should be moved to a suitable location, a place of safety, where they can become a ‘living maritime museum’ so that people can understand and marvel at their history. This could of course be at Powell River.” 26
The Original Hydroelectric Dam/Power Infrastructure: Signifies the harnessing of local water power that made establishing a remote, state-of-the-art newsprint mill possible in 1910.
The Historic Townsite: The townsite is mostly intact and has received recognition as a National Historic District. The homes and a few of the community buildings are privately owned.
Over the years, the Townsite endured primarily because it was owned and maintained by the mill management. That changed in 1955 when the new owner, MacMillan Bloedel, no longer wanted to retain ownership and opted to let renters buy their properties. While many of those homes still retain their historic look, I can see many changes as I walk down the streets of Townsite. Porches, decks and new stairs have been added, making these houses more comfortable to live in in the twenty-first century. Pride in this community and its history keep these historic buildings upright.
Individual buildings such as the old post office have received historic recognition within this district. However, the building itself does not have individual legal heritage protection, as is the case for the privately owned homes.
Many of Powell River Townsite’s historic public buildings still stand today. They are individually owned, and some of the larger ones, such as the old post office building, have been repurposed. All that remains of the original infrastructure is the building shell, while the interior has been renovated to suit the needs of its current owner, Townsite Brewing. This is one of the models being considered for preserving some of the industrial mill buildings.
A Few Closing Comments
It has been my experience with historic industrial sites such as this that decisions on their future often undergo various stages: 1) shock at losing an economic icon; 2) varying emotions on what the site’s future should look like, which result in considerable turmoil within the community; 3) a grudging reality about decisions on the future of the site, that are based on community input, environmental and economic realities, and how best to preserve its historic legacy.
I think the community of Powell River is between stages 2 and 3, as emotions and reality are still often in conflict with one another.
As an outsider looking in (although I own property in Townsite and am a taxpayer), I see a few major issues with this process thus far that concern me:
No professional Input on historic protection (at least that I am aware of). As it stands, members of the public and private sectors are deciding what, if anything, might be important to preserve/protect of the mill site. Members of the public have every right to have input, but consulting with historic preservation experts might provide them with new ideas and more insight and options on what is historically important and how it might be incorporated into the larger community master plan. As of yet, I have seen no master plan outlining exactly how the ‘circular wheel model’ will work. The problem with the current approach is that infrastructure is already being torn down that might, if not dangerous or contaminated, add to the historic story. Not identifying what is important first before salvage begins is not the best way to proceed.
Unlike the Rossdale Power Plant in Edmonton, Alberta, there is absolutely no provincial or federal protection or support of either the paper mill site or the historic townsite. It seems everyone is relying on goodwill to protect and preserve these valuable historic resources. But what will happen ten, fifty, or one-hundred years down the road if no government protective measures are in place? What if property values change, promoting rapid sales or development on the townsite? What if businesses or developers decide to remodel the industrial buildings to the point where they lose most of their historic integrity (which any heritage act would curtail)? I don’t envision these historic resources lasting very long before economics take precedence. There needs to be some government oversight, or all could be lost. Both the provincial and federal governments aren’t consistent in protecting these historic resources.
Like the Britannia mine example, community members have to show interest in protection and preservation. Is there enough community interest to preserve some of this history? If so, some pressure needs to be put on provincial and federal heritage branches as well as municipal and provincial politicians. Right now, no one has a clear idea what proportion of the population would support preservation and what that might look like.
My final comment goes out to the Indigenous community. I acknowledge that you have every right to hate everything about this part of the area’s history. I can understand why you might want to ‘erase’ and ‘eradicate’ it. But by eradicating it, you lose an opportunity to teach others about that part of your history.
Why not use parts of the standing paper mill infrastructure and tell the story of colonialism from your perspective? This is a more powerful way of getting the message out there about the wrongs that happened to your culture, your people, and how this place fits into that history.
For more information about the future of this historical industrial complex, there are many chat sites such as “Vanishing History Powell River” where people discuss and debate the history and future of the paper mill site. I just ran across this new website below that makes big promises. I hope it fulfills them. Hopefully it will also act as a public forum for the community to debate the future of this site.
Are we missing an opportunity here to interpret the history of Canada’s paper industry, like the Britannia Mine interprets Canada’s mining to Canadians and the world? The Boréalis, Center for the History of the Paper Industry, is the only other museum in Canada that interprets the history of paper. And it does it with much less historic infrastructure than exists in Power River.
This quote summarizes the museum’s statement: “Boréalis, a museum of memory, presents the exhibition Transformations. From yesterday’s mills to tomorrow’s forests, journey into the heart of the pulp and paper industry that shaped the history of Trois-Rivières and Quebec. Through a redesigned, immersive path, experience the authenticity of the century-old building while discovering this epic that left its mark on generations of people and landscapes.”
When you first drive into historic townsite, no words are further from the truth than ‘Dirty Old Town’. This gorgeous part of Canada has a deep and complex history. Come and visit this most beautiful area of Canada and walk down the beautiful trails in old-growth forest back through some of that industrial history.
There is a trail cutting through old-growth forest between today’s historic townsite and Westview’s Willingdon Beach. Along that trail are some of the logging and mill artifacts. Silent reminders of this region’s deep connections to the logging industry and the production of paper.
Footnotes:
I am even willing to go so far to suggest that this historic industrial complex is of international importance because it was a world leader in paper production and evolving technology.[↩]
Left photographs, courtesy of: https://www.sunshinecoastcanada.com/listing/the-patricia-theatre/183/. Right photograph, courtesy of: https://coastculture.com/member-profile/the-historic-patricia-theatre/[↩]
The Garden City movement was a utopian urban planning concept created in 1898 by Ebenezer Howard in the United Kingdom. It combined the best parts of town and country living while removing their downsides. The Powell River Company used these principles to keep workers healthy, happy, and productive. The design countered the dark, dirty image of traditional industrial cities by embedding nature directly into the urban grid. In this beautiful setting, that wasn’t hard to accomplish.[↩]
Photo Credit: Campbell River Museum and Archives 11146 Campbell River Museum-and-Archives 11146.[↩]
printed in 2001 by the Powell River Historical Museum and Archives.[↩]
The Powell River Mill Story, published by the Powell River Historical Museum and Archives.[↩]
From “The Crete Fleet”. https://thecretefleet.com/blog/f/hulks—the-breakwater-ships-of-powell-river—john-a-campbell[↩]
From: Bryan E. C. Bogdanski. 2014. The Forestry Chronicle, Vol 90(6). Right graph: World production of paper and future projections. From: Lauri Hetamaki, Marc Palaphf and Robert Nasi. 2020. Seeing the Wood in the Forest. Knowledge to Action.[↩]
Band, P.R., Le, N.D., Fang, R., et.al. 2001. Cohortt Cancer Incidence Among Pulp and Paper Workers in British Columbia.[↩]
images from https://www.facebook.com/groups/265954608981514/posts/1035678555342445/[↩]
from: A Blue-Collar History of Powell River. Our town’s story, from the perspective of the workers who built it, by Craig Turney, September 30, 2024. https://www.bchistoryboy.ca/p/a-blue-collar-history-of-powell-river[↩]
City of Vancouver Archives: CVA 371-1127. From A Blue-Collar History of Powell River. Our town’s story, from the perspective of the workers who built it, by Craig Turney, September 30, 2024.https://www.bchistoryboy.ca/p/a-blue-collar-history-of-powell-river[↩]
For more details on the history of the mill site, readers should refer to Bill Thompson’s (2001) book, entitled The Powell River Mill Story, published by the Powell River Historical Museum and Archives.[↩]
The Government of Canada formally validated the legitimacy of this claim when it officially accepted the Tla’amin Nation’s Specific Claim for Lot 450 (the mill site) for formal negotiations. In the Canadian legal framework, a specific claim is only accepted if the federal government reviews the historical and legal evidence and acknowledges that it breached its lawful fiduciary duties to a First Nation. Sources: Deception, Delays and Theft. The truth about tiskwat you won’t find in history books, by Davis McKenzie, https://www.tlaaminnation.com/deception-delays-and-theft-the-truth-about-tiskwat-you-wont-find-in-history-books/; Government of Canada and Tla’amin Nation will begin specific claims negotiations on tiskwat. The parties commence negotiations 145 years after Tla’amin was displaced from its original village site. https://www.tlaaminnation.com/deception-delays-and-theft-the-truth-about-tiskwat-you-wont-find-in-history-books/[↩]
Under British Columbia’s “polluter pays” principle—codified in the provincial Environmental Management Act—a company that causes industrial contamination cannot simply walk away from its environmental liabilities by selling the land. The cleanup of the site operates under a strict, multi-layered regulatory framework.[↩]
From The Nightmare Mess Left by One Closed Pulp Mill. Documents expose the huge cleanup BC faces for Port Alice and 11 more shut mills. Will new projects also slip off the hook?, in The Tyee (https://thetyee.ca/News/2025/07/14/Nightmare-Mess-Closed-Pulp-Mill/[↩]
From Tla’amin Nation, B.C. commit to working together to safeguard future of tiskʷat site, in BC Government New (https://news.gov.bc.ca/releases/2023IRR0061-001672[↩]
Provincial and municipal designation means the buildings are protected under the Historical Resources Act. They cannot be altered in any way without the consent of the government[↩]
Only those sites owned by the Government of Alberta and run as functioning historic sites or museums are designated Provincial Historic Sites. Because the Provincial Government never bought the site, it is not a designated Provincial Historic Site.[↩]
PEAK, Letter to the Editor, January 2026. https://www.prpeak.com/opinion/letter-smokestack-one-of-the-communitys-recognizable-symbols-11804654[↩]
From: Hulks – The Breakwater Ships of Powell River – John A Campbell. https://thecretefleet.com/blog/f/hulks—the-breakwater-ships-of-powell-river—john-a-campbell[↩]
Whenever I think about large rocks on our Canadian prairies, I often think about the Okotoks (meaning rock in Blackfoot) erratic near Okotoks, Alberta, Canada. It is part of a train of rocks deposited by the last glaciers stretching 650 kilometres (400 miles) from Hinton, Alberta, down along the eastern slopes to northern Montana, USA.
Nestled between the towns of Okotoks and Black Diamond, Alberta, the Okotoks erratic weighs 15,000 tonnes, is made from quartzite and is one of the world’s largest known glacial erratics.
Many other glacial erratics of various sizes are present along Alberta’s Front Range. Calgary has an abundance of them. For more information on these erratics, see “The Glacial Erratics of Calgary – Ice Age Mementos”, written by Dave Slaght. 1
As spectacular as these large boulders are, there is nothing mysterious about them. Although there are stories…
In Blackfoot mythology, the “erratic train” was formed when Napi, the Blackfoot supernatural trickster, gifted his buffalo robe to a giant boulder, then tried to take it back. The angry boulder chased Napi, splitting in two when struck perfectly in the middle by bats. (This is an AI-generated image which was then posterized.)
Ribstones: The Mysterious Pecked and Grooved Rocks of the Canadian Parklands and Prairies
Some of the largest single-piece artifacts found on the Canadian Prairies are the most mysterious. 2
These boulders, referred to as Ribstones, occur mostly in central Alberta but occasionally in southern Alberta, Saskatchewan, and northern Montana.
The Viking ribstones derive their name from their proximity to Viking, Alberta, Canada. They have nothing to do with Vikings. Formerly, there were three ribstones, but the smaller one was stolen. These are the only ribstones still near their original location on the Canadian prairies. Made from very hard quartzite, people pecked and incised long grooves and cupules into the stone. The grooves are thought to represent the ribs of the buffalo, and the cupules are puncture marks from a weapon to kill them. For more information on the Viking Ribstones, go to this link. 3
There is a lot of speculation about the history of these stones, but nothing definitive. Here’s what we don’t know about them:
When were they made?
How long were they used?
Who made them?
Where were they made?
How were they made?
Why were they made?
There are very few historical accounts of how Indigenous Peoples made and used these objects, although they were most likely of spiritual significance. When I took the Blackfoot elders out to view the Viking ribstones, they had no answers or any oral accounts about them.
James R. Murie, a Pawnee ethnologist, told of a buffalo-calling ritual among the Pawnee South Bands who used a stone buffalo found on the plains, surrounded by a circle of buffalo skulls.
This is a modified AI-generated image based on Murie’s description of prayers and offerings given to the ribstones for a successful buffalo hunt.
According to Cree, Solomon Bluehorn, Little Pine Reserve, Saskatchewan, ribstones were the Guardian Spirit of the Buffalo. 4
The other problem archaeologists face when investigating the ribstones is context. By this, I mean their lack of association with other archaeological features and remains. We have rarely extensively excavated near one of these ribstones to find other artifacts that perhaps might tell us more about them. Glass trade beads were present near one of them (Endiang Ribstone). Archaeologists found evidence dating back over 8,000 years at another ribstone. At the Pine Coulee ribstone, a Besant projectile point found on the ground surface suggests a date of approximately 2,500 to 1,350 years ago.
If there is any direct association between the ribstones and these artifacts (and that remains the big question), then they were made and/or used by Indigenous people for thousands of years into the historic period (first arrival of European trade goods) in Alberta.5
The location and images of known ribstones in Alberta. Note that the Ironcreek meteorite, while not a ribstone, was a highly venerated object on the Canadian Prairies by Indigenous Peoples. There has been speculation that the capules on the ribstones mimic those on the Ironcreek meteorite and that it might be the template for the ribstones. For a full description and analysis of the ribstones, see the article by Fedirchuk and McCullough (1991). 6
“For ages the tribes of Blackfoot and Cree have gathered their clans to pay homage to this wonderful manitou [Ironcreek Meteorite].” (Methodist Missionary, John McDougall 1888, brackets mine)
There is a high concentration of ribstones in central Alberta. Because of our limited knowledge of these objects, we currently have no sound evidence for why this high concentration occurs here. Ideas and theories abound, but proof does not. Certainly, suitable large quartzite boulders are necessary to construct a ribstone, and do abound in this very hummocky terrain. But their distribution is not limited to central Alberta alone.
High hills are also necessary (this area of Alberta possesses many) since most of these ribstones were placed on top of them. However, there are many other spots in Alberta that have high, very visible hills suitable for placing the ribstones on.
All ribstones, including the Ironcreek meteorite, sit on top of prominent hills, such as the Wolf’s Ears (left photograph) or Viking ribstone hill (top and bottom right photographs). If you stand on top of the Wolf’s Ears and look northwest, you can see the Viking Ribstone hill approximately 35km away. If you stand on the Viking Ribstone hill and look southeast, you can see the Wolf’s Ears. Some historians believe that this visibility between ribstones and the meteorite site means that they are somehow related. But it might simply mean they were all put on prominent high hills and represent separate events.A view from the top of Straw Mountain, thought by some to be the resting place of the Ironcreek Meteorite (left photograph). The aerial photograph shows the position of the Wolf’s Ear Hill and Straw Mountain. When I recently visited both sites, there were prayer flags and offerings only on Straw Mountain.
If the ribstones were intended as a talisman to pray for the successful bison hunt, then presumably the hunt must be relatively close by. During certain times of the year, large herds of bison roamed the parklands of Alberta. Their presence drew prehistoric hunters into these areas for food. One of the most prevalent ways of Indigenous communal hunting was the buffalo jump and the buffalo pound.
Both the buffalo jump and the buffalo pound worked best in steep-cliffed and hilly terrain. According to early explorers (David Thompson, Peter Fidler, Alexander Henry, and Duncan M’Gillivray), bison pounding was a major industry in the parklands and parklands-prairie transition zone of the prairie provinces. 7 These communal hunts had prehistoric origins.
The location of twelve of the sixteen known bison pounds in Alberta. While not all are in the parklands, a high proportion occur in the Battle River-Red Deer River area, where there are also many ribstones, stone effigies and medicine wheels. The relationship between ceremonial sites and communal hunting, such as pounding, is likely not coincidental. Unfortunately, this map represents only what we have found, not what was there. We do not know the total number of bison pounds or ribstones and their distributions. For more about Alberta’s bison pounds, go to this link. 8
Indigenous Spiritual Connections with the ‘Grandfather Stones’ Persist
Fedirchuk and McCullough interviewed Cree Elder, Fred Fiddler, who told them that the Cree still placed offerings of tobacco at the ‘grandfather stones’ on the Frog Lake Reserve in Alberta, Canada.
This photograph of Cree elder, Fred Fiddler, Frog Lake Reserve, Alberta, Canada, courtesy of Heinsburg History. 9
I met Fred several times during my tenure with the Government of Alberta. On one occasion, when a certain oil company wanted to drill on the Frog Lake Reserve, Fred took us to a spot on the reserve and pointed to a large boulder. He made it quite clear to the Company executives not to touch that rock. It was probably one of the Grandfather Stones he had mentioned to the archaeological consultants (who were Fedirchuk and McCullough).
Despite the church’s and the Government of Canada’s brutal efforts to suppress Indigenous traditional culture in Canada, not all was lost.
My History with the Viking Ribstones
My relationship with the Viking Ribstones, the only ribstones still in their original locations (more or less), goes back many years. As Parkland archaeologist for Alberta, I was responsible for the protection of these valuable artifacts from vandalism and theft. This was not always easy. On numerous occasions, I was called out by Beaver County Bylaw officers only to find that that someone had rolled all of the smaller stones down the hill, and the smaller of the two ribstones had moved.
The Viking Ribstones almost became the ‘Rolling Stones’. We were afraid of losing them.
The fences surrounding the Viking Ribstones to protect them. The outer fence was painted according to the traditional colours and directions of the Cree. Photograph courtesy of Beaver County Heritage 10
To prevent possible theft and further vandalism, the Government of Alberta, in consultation with Cree elders, constructed a fence immediately around the Viking ribstones and a larger perimeter fence depicting the colours of the cardinal directions of the Cree (seen in the background). All the smaller stones are no longer in their original positions.
No one knows exactly how the cupules and grooves on the ribstones were carved. My closer inspection of both, and my recent research, making a grooved quartzite maul, suggests that the cupules were pecked (showing a coarse rough surface) and the grooves were ground or somehow polished (showing a very smooth surface).
The time and effort required to fashion these ribstones was considerable. This process was likely not a single event. However, there’s only one way to learn more about how these objects were made:
It’s time to carve a quartzite ribstone!
Over the years I have visited the Viking Ribstones with Cree and Blackfoot elders, teachers, historians and writers. Each time I visit, I notice more offerings and prayer flags tied to the metal fence railings and surrounding trees. The ribstones have once again become a place of spiritual gathering.
On the trees behind the ribstones, my prayer flag along with many others, flutters in the breeze. On that occasion, I prayed that these truly unique, precious objects would be protected from theft and vandalism, and that all visitors would respect their history.
Many offerings, including sweetgrass, tobacco, money, food, etc., can be seen at the Viking Ribstones. Photograph courtesy of Ember Archaeology. 11
Footnotes:
A bison pound is a large corral made of various materials where bison are driven into by means of drive lanes and then slaughtered. It was a highly effective way of acquiring large amounts of meat.[↩]
“Poetry is language condensed; Blackfoot cartography is landscape distilled.”
Cartographic Poetry is the first book-length, multidisciplinary study of five maps drawn in 1801 and 1802 by several Blackfoot and Gros Ventre people for the Hudson’s Bay Company. Representing some of the oldest documents created by Indigenous people on the North American prairies and foothills, these maps preserve invaluable evidence about places on the landscape, and about historic Blackfoot views of their territories. The maps were intended as navigational tools, but the landforms and locations on the maps hold significance for the Blackfoot well beyond wayfinding, and have for many centuries. Exploring their content and utility from historical, linguistic, and archaeological perspectives, Ted Binnema, François Lanoë, and Heinz W. Pyszczyk analyze the maps, their place names and features, and the tours and trips they may have supported, along with providing present-day photographs of many of the maps’ landforms. A final section of the book outlines how Indigenous maps contributed significantly to Western geographical knowledge and maps of North America from the 1500s onward. Cartographic Poetry will appeal to anthropologists, archaeologists, geographers, historians, cartographers, and to all readers interested in how Indigenous peoples perceived and navigated their territories in this early period of colonial encounter. With a Foreword by Jerry Potts Jr. and an Afterword by Dr. Eldon Yellowhorn.
This book is a compilation of ten stories of historical fiction about the 18th and 19th-century fur trade era in western Canada. As a historical archaeologist who has excavated at Fort Edmonton, Vermilion, and Dunvegan (among others), I have walked in places that Peter Pond, David Thompson, Alexander Mackenzie, and Peter Fidler once frequented. I often found myself imagining the interesting lives they led. These men often had a more personal or lesser-known side. In the first two stories, Mr. Pond’s Finest Set of China, and Mr. Pond’s Most Magnificent Map, I explore how the American, Peter Pond, known for his unpredictable, violent temper, and his considerable skills in cartography, finally manages to control his moods (or does he?) when dealing with his Canadian adversaries in today’s northern Saskatchewan and Alberta. In We’ll Build Us a ‘Yole’ the Hudson’s Bay Company trader and mapmaker, Peter Fidler, tackles the daunting transportation logistics of the fur trade, becoming one of the first men to build the York Boat at Buckingham House on the North Saskatchewan River during the 1790s. Considered a calm, quiet, intelligent man, in my story, I ask and explore the question: What if Peter had a more calculating, aggressive side lurking within him?
I also write about the histories of the First Nations and Métis men and women who did not write down their stories and histories, and who, through their efforts, contributed considerably. In Better Days Ahead, Elizabeth, the Metis wife of Clerk Colin Campbell at Fort Vermilion, uses her Native knowledge to save the fort inhabitants from certain starvation. In Pick Your Poison: Louis’ Peculiar Tobacco Pipe, I explore the life of a French-Canadian voyageur, Louis, at Fort Vermilion, whose peculiar tobacco pipe is the envy of his comrades – until it isn’t. Beware Those Bearing Gifts describes the initial move by the major fur trade Companies up the Peace River into today’s northern Alberta in the 1780s. It tries to capture the turmoil, the violence and tension existing between the local Dunne-za and the first white traders entering the region. In the mid-19th century story, entitled, My Boy Twist, I chronicle the coming of the first missionaries to the central Peace River Region in northern Alberta, and the ensuing clash between traditional Native spiritualism and Christianity. The central character, named Twist, a young Metis interpreter, negotiates a path riddled with conflict between both worlds.
I have, for many years, through my writing and lectures, championed the idea that Canadian history contains objects (artifacts, food, buildings, etc.) that enable us to write about history. In my stories, there is one object, be it a tobacco pipe, cattail, or York Boat, which drives the narrative and plot. In The‘Little Emperor’s’ Toothbrush, I conjecture that the Governor of the Hudson’s Bay Company, George Simpson, who, while visiting Fort Vermilion in 1822, carried with him a rare bone toothbrush like the one found at Fort Vermilion. In The Trader’s Private Stock, trader Angus Shaw, while at his North West Company post, Fort George (1792-1800) overlooking the North Saskatchewan River, runs short on alcohol. He becomes overly suspicious that some of his men might be pilfering it and makes plans to stop the thieving. In The Sampleman’s Gambit, a young German businessman (known as a sampleman) attempts to entice the women of Fort Edmonton to buy his glass beads during the late 1840s. While all three stories contain a bit of ‘tongue in cheek’, they bring out the excessive abuse of power by an elite fur trade officer class; excessive use of alcohol by the Companies to boost trade; and excessive and ruthless competition for furs using whatever means to encourage Indigenous populations to trade.
Book cover. An adaptation of a 1879 painting by Francis Anne Hopkins, entitled “Shooting the Rapids”.
This is the original painting that the cover art is based on. Francis Anne Hopkins, 1879.
NEW BOOK RELEASE
Finally! It only took about six years. I am happy to announce my new self-published book, available as an ebook and in print-on-demand. It should hit the market on May 31st, 2026. Below is a brief synopsis of the book’s contents.
BOOK SYNOPSIS
This book is a compilation of ten stories of historical fiction about the 18th and 19th-century fur trade era in western Canada. As a historical archaeologist who has excavated at Fort Edmonton, Vermilion, and Dunvegan (among others), I have walked in places that Peter Pond, David Thompson, Alexander Mackenzie, and Peter Fidler once frequented. I often found myself imagining the interesting lives they led. These men frequently had a more personal or lesser-known side to them. In the first two stories, Mr. Pond’s Finest Set of China, and Mr. Pond’s Most Magnificent Map, I explore how the American, Peter Pond, known for his unpredictable, violent temper and his considerable skills in cartography, finally manages to control his moods (or does he?) when dealing with his Canadian adversaries in today’s northern Saskatchewan and Alberta. In We’ll Build Us a ‘Yole’ the Hudson’s Bay Company trader and mapmaker, Peter Fidler, tackles the daunting transportation logistics of the fur trade, becoming one of the first men to build the York Boat at Buckingham House on the North Saskatchewan River during the 1790s. Considered a calm, quiet, intelligent man, in my story, I ask and explore the question: What if Peter had a more calculating, aggressive side lurking within him?
I also write about the histories of the First Nations and Métis men and women who did not write down their stories and histories, and who, through their efforts, contributed considerably. In Better Days Ahead, Elizabeth, the Metis wife of Clerk Colin Campbell at Fort Vermilion, uses her Native knowledge to save the fort inhabitants from certain starvation. In Pick Your Poison: Louis’ Peculiar Tobacco Pipe, I explore the life of a French-Canadian voyageur, Louis, at Fort Vermilion, whose peculiar tobacco pipe is the envy of his comrades – until it isn’t. Beware Those Bearing Gifts describes the initial move by the major fur trade Companies up the Peace River into today’s northern Alberta in the 1780s. It tries to capture the turmoil, the violence and tension existing between the local Dunne-za and the first white traders entering the region. In the mid-19th century story, entitled, My Boy Twist, I chronicle the coming of the first missionaries to the central Peace River Region in northern Alberta, and the ensuing clash between traditional Native spiritualism and Christianity. The central character, named Twist, a young Metis interpreter, negotiates a path riddled with conflict between both worlds.
I have, for many years, through my writing and lectures, championed the idea that Canadian history contains objects (artifacts, food, buildings, etc.) that enable us to write about history. In my stories, there is one object, be it a tobacco pipe, cattail, or York Boat, which drives the narrative and plot. In The‘Little Emperor’s’ Toothbrush, I conjecture that the Governor of the Hudson’s Bay Company, George Simpson, who, while visiting Fort Vermilion in 1822, carried with him a rare bone toothbrush like the one found at Fort Vermilion. In The Trader’s Private Stock, trader Angus Shaw, while at his North West Company post, Fort George (1792-1800) overlooking the North Saskatchewan River, runs short on alcohol. He becomes overly suspicious that some of his men might be pilfering it and makes plans to stop the thieving. In The Sampleman’s Gambit, a young German businessman (known as a sampleman) attempts to entice the women of Fort Edmonton to buy his glass beads during the late 1840s. While all three stories contain a bit of ‘tongue in cheek’, they bring out the excessive abuse of power by an elite fur trade officer class; excessive use of alcohol by the Companies to boost trade; and excessive and ruthless competition for furs using whatever means to encourage Indigenous populations to trade.
I hope you enjoy my stories and support my work.
POTENTIAL BOOK COVER ART
A book’s cover is important for book sales. It represents the first glimpse into what the book may contain. I have chosen the above cover for my book, but for quite some time, I wanted to use the cover art below. Remember, these covers come out as thumbnail images on ebooks. So, simplicity and clarity are imperative.
What do you think? Which one would you choose? This one or the one above?
This cover art is an adaptation from Carl W. Bertsch’s wood engraving of Canadian voyageurs in Grace Lee Nute’s book, The Voyageur.
WHY I CHOSE TO SELF-PUBLISH
Not to put it too bluntly, but I’m tired of the gatekeepers. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve published peer-reviewed articles in journals. Recently, the University of Alberta published one of our books, Cartographic Poetry… I’ve had my historical fiction books accepted by other publishers. But I have always stepped back from the latter publishers. They all do a remarkable and professional job. But they also control the show. Every part of it. And by the time you’re done, you will be lucky if you break even.
Let’s take this book, for example. I’ve listed it as an ebook at $6.46 US, which comes to about $8.93 CAN. A pretty reasonable price for a 392-page book. With Draft2Digital Self-publishing, I make a adequate royalty off the sales because I essentially did all the work. As soon as I send it out for print-on-demand, this same work as a book jumps to $18.00 US. And I receive less than $1.00 per sold copy. If I sold 40,000 copies, I wouldn’t be complaining. But that will never happen.
In short. The people who do all the creative work and writing – the authors – often benefit the least from getting their work out there. Somehow that just doesn’t seem right. Yes, publishers and printers must get paid. I get that. But so must we, the people who create all the stories. Fortunately, I don’t do this for the money. But I now understand why many artists (artists, musicians, writers) live on the edge of poverty.
The other issue I have is giving publishers sole power to reject or accept manuscripts. Let the reader decide. If my work stinks, I’ll soon know.
The publishing business kinda reminds me of the farming model of economics!
ABOUT THE BOOK’S ARTWORK
All the original artwork for the print-on-demand book has been changed to greyscale. To print the images in colour would make the printed book even costlier. For those of you who might buy a printed copy of my book, below are the original versions of the book’s artwork. For those of you thinking of purchasing my book, here is a glimpse of what’s inside, chapter by chapter.
Chapter 1. Mr. Pond’s Finest Set of China
American explorer and fur trader, Peter Pond, drew this crude map of Lake Athabasca, Alberta, Canada in 1785. This segment of his map shows a long, narrow lake at the bottom of this image, which is Ile-a-la-Crosse. The orange writing is mine.
Part of the Churchill River canoe route, through Ile-a-la-Crosse, up the Churchill River into Churchill Lake and Peter Pond Lake, northern Saskatchewan, Canada. The yellow line marks the routes Pond and Paul Black took, searching for a way into the Athabasca drainage.
Chapter 2. Mr. Pond’s Most Magnificent Map
Peter Pond’s map of parts of North America, including the Saskatchewan, Athabasca and Peace River basins, 1785. Remarks by Saint-Jean de Crèvecoeur on Peter Pond’s map were incredibly positive: “Copy of a Map presented to the Congress by Peter Pond, a native of Milford in the State of Connecticut. This extraordinary man has resided 17 years in those countries & from his own Discoveries as well as from the reports of Indians, he assures himself of having at last Discovered a passage to the N.O. Sea; his gone again to ascertain some important observations. New York 1st March 1785. The original Map being incumbered with great deal of writing, I have thought it best to transcribe it separately with the references marked, by the numbers. – Copied by St. John de Crevecoeur for his Grace of La Rochefoucault.” (National Archives of Canada/ MG 21, Add.Mss. 15332, Vol. 9, p. 5)
Chapter 3. Beware of the Gifts You Give, the Gifts You Receive
Often referred to as a Hand Dag in the fur trade, this metal trade knife was hafted to a bone or wooden handle and occasionally also used as a spear point by First Nations Peoples during the 18th and 19th centuries in western Canada.
Chapter 4. ‘Pick Your Poison’: Louis’ Unusual Tobacco Pipe
Eighteenth century French-Canadian Habitant smoking his clay tobacco pipe readapted (from the original by Carl W. Bertsch, first printed in Grace Lee Nute’s, The Voyageurs).
This the original artwork that the above image is based on.
This story is based on a tobacco pipe base, missing the bowl, found during our archaeological investigations at the North West Company/Hudson’s Bay Company Fort Vermilion I site (c.1798-1830) by our crew from the University of Lethbridge in 2016. The style resembles the stone platform tobacco pipes used by the Iroquois along the St. Lawrence River in Canada. The material, method of manufacture, and use of this tobacco pipe are shrouded in mystery. The material could be lead or a lead alloy (zinc?); we have not conducted chemical tests on the metal. The pipe could have been carved/filed from a single piece of metal and holes were drilled for the stem and bowl. Or it was cast from a mould. The pipe looks used based on the blackening near the pipe stem insert. However, consider these facts: 1) Temperatures inside a tobacco pipe range from 380C – 6200C; 2) Lead melts at 327.500C and gives off fumes at 482.200C.; 3) A lead/zinc alloy melts at 419.500C. These facts raise the possibility that the smoker was slowly being poisoned when using this pipe. However, more analysis of this artifact is required before definitive answers can be provided.
Chapter 5. The Little Emperor’s Toothbrush
Dog sled teams were an essential part of transportation in the winter in the Canadian West, especially in the northern boreal forest. This image, readapted from an image by painter, Paul Kane, shows a dog team and musher leaving Fort Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.
Bone or ivory toothbrush found at NWC/HBC Fort Vermilion I (c.1798-1830). Currently this is the oldest toothbrush found in Alberta.
Chapter 6. Better Days Ahead
Canada’s northern lakes and marshes abound with life. Most of the plants and animals are edible. Indigenous people relied on beaver and muskrats, multitudes of waterfowl and an assortment of edible, nutritious plants for their sustenance.
Chapter 7. The Trader’s Private Stock
The layout of the North West Company Fort George (c.1792-1800) built on the banks of the North Saskatchewan River near today’s Saskatchewan-Alberta border. This fort plan is based on extensive archaeological excavations undertaken at the site. Historic documents do not describe the fort’s construction or layout in any detail. What could the presence of the passageway found by archaeologists between the Big House and storage cellar mean?
Chapter 8. We’ll Build Us a Yole
The York Boat, eventually replacing the birchbark freight canoe, was specifically designed for the Canadian inland fur trade to haul large loads of supplies inland and furs along Canada’s lakes and rivers. This image was readapted from a woodcutting by W. J. Phillips.
This is the original wood cutting by W. J. Phillips, created in 1930.
Chapter 9. The Sampleman’s Gambit
Glass trade beads came in considerable colours, shapes, and sizes. They were an integral part of the fur trade and either gifted or sold in the thousands. The glass manufacturers in Venice, Italy dominated the glass bead industry. Their monopoly was challenged in the mid-19th century by Bohemian bead makers in today’s Czech Republic. Multi-faceted beads were one of the popular types of beads produced in Bohemia. The image above is readapted from of multi-faceted Bohemian glass trade beads.
Chapter 10. My Boy, Twist
And there you have it. Warts and all. The great thing about having a publisher is that many people look over your work. Self-publishing is a little scary. Fortunately, my wife, Gabriella, has done a lot of editing and proofreading. If you purchase a copy and see any major errors, don’t hesitate to get in touch with me. The beauty of this publishing format is I can make revisions immediately.
Canada’s western rivers served as the major inland travel routes for the 18th and 19th-century fur trade. Then, later, their banks were covered by prairie cities – Edmonton, Calgary, Medicine Hat, Saskatoon, and Prince Albert.
The distances the early traders travelled in their flimsy-looking, but effective, birch bark canoes were legendary. Imagine, along with your seven companions, starting at the Grande Portage on Lake Superior. For the next 40-60 days you paddle 40-45 strokes per minute, first downstream, then upstream, to reach Fort Edmonton. Hopefully, you will arrive, after covering over 1,600km, before freeze-up.
Last summer, Mike Donnelly canoed one of these rivers. Unlike the early traders, his was a shorter, less strenuous, solo adventure. Mike set his canoe in on the Bow River near Bassano, Alberta, Canada. He canoed east down the South Saskatchewan River. Finally, after 41 days, he ended his journey east of the Forks of the Saskatchewan. The distance following the river, if driven by car, is nearly 700km. By canoe, it’s 1,228km.
Here are a few stories Mike collected on his travels. The numbers on the map below correspond to the numbered places on his photographs and titles.
The Saskatchewan River Drainage, western Canada
Postcards From the Saskatchewan: Mike Donnelly
1. Day 2 – August 7th – Bow River
“The Prairie proper ends at Calgary, among the cattle-ranches, mills, breweries, and three million acre irrigation works. The river that floats timber to the town from the mountains does not slide nor rustle like Prairie rivers, but brawls across bars of blue pebbles, and a greenish tinge in its water hints of the snows.” (1907, Rudyard Kipling travelling west on the CPR) 1
I put the canoe in two hours east of Calgary, below the Bassano Dam. The Bow no longer brawls over pebbles here, but slides and rustles like a prairie river should. I didn’t step onto a sand bar for ten days; not until the Alberta border, at the Forks, where the South Saskatchewan and the Red Deer Rivers meet. Until then, it was just sticking, slipping, sliding, squishing—mud.
2. Day 5 – August 10th – South Saskatchewan River
The drilling crew struck gas in January of 1909. They called the well Old Glory. It was the largest producer in the country and the beginning of the Bow Island Gas Field. By 1912 a pipeline was completed running 170 miles 2 up to Calgary, and 12,000 people gathered on a summer’s evening to watch the lighting of the inaugural flare. 3
Gas Town had been just upriver from where I was camped; a little village of company workers and their families. By the 1930s, there was a double row of houses, vegetable gardens, green lawns, and hedgerows. There’s nothing there now, just prickly pear and prairie grass. Setting up camp, I had to watch where I stepped, and still ended up pulling a few cactus spines from my foot. The wind began after midnight and was soon battering the walls of the tent. By morning, all was calm again.
3. Day 6 – August 11th – South Saskatchewan River
It was a cow that woke me up. It woke me from my bent-up, mid-afternoon siesta in the bottom of the canoe where I’d grounded along the shore. I lifted my hat and looked down at the bleached exoskeleton of a dead crayfish just under the water. I looked around, there was no cow, it was dream-cow, I was starting to dream cows now.
Later, I was told this ruin was the old Wallwork ranch house. They had come east from Lethbridge and, before that, England. In photographs, Nathan has the confident mien of a riverboat gambler. Rachel looks like a sturdy and imposing woman. She’s draped in a long dress with ruffled sleeves. A wide hat, like a fancy gateau, sits perched atop her head.
In the spring of 1903, a railway car carrying all their possessions was dropped in the siding at Cherry Coulee—a lone box car on the open prairie. Everything (including an organ, for Nathan was an accomplished pianist) would be unloaded and carried by wagon down to their new home by the river.
I picked up the handle of a porcelain cup. In the next room the floorboards were falling through to the cellar and canvas scraps, still clinging to the walls, fluttered in the breeze. Outside in the grass, I stepped over the bottom of an old shoe and kicked at a tin can. Rusted bed springs had been stuffed down the well. Kingbirds chattered and flitted from the cottonwoods to the sagebrush and back again.
4. Day 8 – August 13th – Medicine Hat
I watched the old green bus drive away, ‘Watch More Sunrises’, counseled the bumper sticker. I’d lost my wallet, and now my ride into town. The family was from a northern Ontario railway-turned-lumber-turned-mining town. There were solar panels on the roof, four bicycles hung from the hood, and inside was a full fridge, home-made cabinets, a table, and bunkbeds. Dad pointed at the passenger seat, “Found that at the dump, it’s from one of those three-wheelers for handicapped people.” They seemed real nice. I was sad to see them leaving without me.
Later, after having found my wallet, my way into town, and stocked up on supplies, I took a taxi back. Debbie, driving, pointed out the historic barn with its rounded gambrel roof, white clapboard, and brown trim:
“I had to paint that barn one summer, as punishment.”
I assumed underage drinking.
“No, I hit my sister in the mall.”
“And your parents punished you?”
“No, the cops saw. The judge was hard on me; he also gave me a $500 fine.”
“Wow, you must have really decked her.”
It was 37 degrees out, the small lake was full of kids, and there were signs warning of Swimmer’s Itch. I walked a mile back to the campground and followed my shadow the entire way.
5. Day 15 – August 20th – Lancer Ferry
The crickets buzzed all afternoon. In the middle of the river I passed a rattlesnake; head up and sidewinding its way over the brown, choppy water. By six o’clock, I had tied up at the ferry landing, a 54-kilometre day. The guys at the last ferry had called ahead and warned of my approach. Dinner was ready: corn on the cob, homemade sausages from the air-fryer, and a beer. Our phones all sounded the alarm at the same time:
“Emergency Alert. Severe Thunderstorm Warning, 8:08 p.m. DESTRUCTIVE WINDS in this mobile coverage area. Take immediate cover in a basement or interior room if weather threat approaches. Shelter from flying debris if outside.”
I sheltered in the Ferrymen’s shack. There was nowhere else to go. Back to the Future was on the T.V. and the rain came down hard on the roof. We missed the worst of it, and the dark clouds soon passed away to the southeast, while the mosquitoes reappeared.
6. Day 21 – August 26th – Lake Diefenbaker.
It was just after 9 am, and with the tickle of a breeze behind my ear, I raised the sail. It wasn’t much, but I was moving. Soon enough, I was becalmed again. This was usually the case, or else the wind was in my face. Which was fine, I guess; I had been told stories about the wind and waves on Lake Diefenbaker. Leaving the town of Elbow at the head of the lake I passed a man on the beach with his dogs: “You picked a good week, these last six days. Usually, it’s windier than hell out here!”
I missed the cows and the beavers. I missed the talkative kingbirds, the nighthawks, the herons, and the soft sighs of the doves in the cottonwoods that lined the riverbank. There were no more robins, or peewees, or warblers. This was a 200-kilometre-long reservoir; there was no riverbank, there were no trees. Perhaps the songbirds had all flown south anyhow. Most of all I missed the current. At noon, I went for a swim—It was hot, hot, hot. Then I crawled ashore like a castaway, dragged myself into a tumbledown lean-to made of driftwood, and hid from the sun.
7. Day 34 – September 8th – Fish Creek
The breeze was out of the north and carried the hint of forest fire. The crickets were waking up, and a catbird mewed from the caraganas. There were starlings perched on the cross atop the steeple, pigeons strutted along the roofline, and flapped in and out of the gaps in the louvered shutters. The Church of the Immaculate Conception—Prairie Gothic. Father Brueck spent the summer of 1900 travelling, living in a tent, and ministering to groups of Métis and Galicians (Poles and Ukrainians). By winter, they had built him a log shack. In a letter to his superior, he wrote:
“Last Sunday I celebrated mass for the first time in the chapel. It is far from being finished. Roughly plastered with mud, it looks more like a barn than like a chapel residence. But our Lord did not disdain a stable at his birth.”
The church was built the following year. In 1920 it burned, was rebuilt, and then closed permanently in ‘57. To put off vandals, Jack Bozowski bought the church and the land. He planted wheat up to the walls and was quoted as saying,“If people do not respect old buildings there are still some who respect a crop of grain.”4
8. Day 37 – September 11th – South Branch House
“The men were all French Canadians with long red or blue caps, half of which hung down the head; they wore grey capots, or blanket coats, belted round their waist, their trowsers of grey cloth or dressed leather, and their shoes of the same. Our dresses were a coarse hat, tight blue jacket with leather trowsers and shoes, to which in winter was added a leather coat. We now cleared the ground to build a log house of thirty six feet in length by twenty in breadth, which when carried up to seven feet in height, was roofed with split logs, the ridge pole was placed on two upright Logs of twelve feet and gave to each side a slope of five feet. The whole was mudded and covered with earth.” (the building of South Branch House, from David Thompson’s, Travels) 5
The four canoes of HBC men arrived on the 28th of September, 1786. 6 A young Thompson spent the winter here, working as a clerk. Eight years later, South Branch House was pillaged, burned, and never rebuilt.
As I approached, the crows were streaming from the tops of the aspens that lined the high bench, flying away to the south. A ruckus of black birds. I counted one hundred, two hundred. The bank was steep, and I had to scramble up (and returning, fell my way down). The trees were still green, but the dogwood willows were a deep red, and the chokecherry leaves were turning to rust. The berries were ripe: black, sweet and furry on the tongue. An oat field of golden stubble stretched away to the east.
The bench led down to a flat, and in 1885, this was known as Gariépy’s Crossing. There is a photo of Riel taken here at General Middleton’s camp, following his surrender in the days after Batoche. He stands with his hands in pockets against the corner of a canvas tent, perhaps talking with someone out of frame. Bearded, dark vest, battered cowboy hat. He seems at ease. The soldiers stand a polite distance away with the river behind. Six months later, he was hanged.
9. Day 37 – September 11th – St. Louis
“One had to pass through the French settlements, after these sad events, in order to fully perceive the mourning and desolation that reigned there. I went to St. Louis around that time and, even if the enemy had not passed through there, even if there were no incinerated houses, the sight of all those sad and dejected faces, of those widows whose husbands were dead or in exile, of those wounded, lying inert and in pain, gave me the most intense impression of sorrow. And all these people had hardly any food left.” (Louis Schmidt) 7
It was 52 days by ox-cart from Red River when the first large group of Métis settlers arrived here in 1882. In 1870 Louis Schmidt had served as Riel’s personal Secretary in the Provisional Government at Red River. By 1885 he was working as an Agent of Lands in Prince Albert. He supported the Metis grievances but took no part in the rebellion:
“He condemned the recourse to arms and apostasy of Métis who had followed Riel in his heresy.” 8
As I paddled towards the bridge, I could make out, ‘CAR WASH’ through the tree tops, in bold, red-faded letters. On the far side of the river was a tumbledown yard and a barking dog. It felt humid and swampy. I pulled in to shore and spooked a flock pigeons out from under the bridge. A group of wading yellow-legs pew-pew-pewed away across the water. I was hoping to stop in at the old riverside hotel for a drink and something to eat. I’d sit with my elbows atop the well-worn countertop, and the bartender would ask, “You come up from the river?” (A canoe-trip is currency in any conversation.) Then, I would ask about the story of the Ghost Light of St. Louis. A Pepsi sign still hung out over the front door, but the hotel was closed. A crushed-gold-velvet swivel rocker sat out front on the sidewalk. It looked like it had been closed a long time. I never did get the story.
10. Day 41 – September 15th – North Saskatchewan River
I sat cross-legged at the tent door and watched as one star appeared, and then another. I looked away, and when I looked back again the northern lights had come—soaring, needle-like columns that hung low over the water—pale-green and luminescent. A curtain of glowing light that drifted and shapeshifted across the eastern sky. Then, after twenty minutes they were gone.
This was the time of the Goose Dance, Niskisimowin, of the Muskego (the Swampy Cree of the Hudson Bay lowlands and the lower Saskatchewan). 9 The traders called it the Rendezvous.10 It occurred in the spring and the fall, at gathering places along the river, with days of feasting, dancing, and ceremony.
“Each spoke addresses to Kitche Mantiou (The Great Spirit), thanking him for the gifts of food and supplies to his Indian children. Each of the winds were given a smoke by presenting the pipes to the four quarters of the compass. Then with a stately walk around the old men retired. The tomtoms struck up and four young girls came dancing into the ring each with a bag of down of fine feathers. Keeping time to the music as they circled, a bunch of down was placed on each visitors head. There was a pause and then bang went the tomtoms at full speed.” (Reginald Beatty, Hudson’s Bay Co. trader, 1870s) 11
It was my final morning and I paddled for five hours in the fog, sometimes unsure if I was pointed upstream or down. I heard wolves; a long, low howl that carried across the water, followed by another. Ten minutes later I rounded a bend and they started up again, all of them, right there, somewhere, in the fog and the spruce along the riverbank. A descending chorus of howls and song. And then suddenly, silence.
Footnotes:
Kipling, Rudyard. 1920. Letters to Family, from Letters of Travel: 1892-1913. Doubleday Page & Co. New York, pg. 197.[↩]
Petroleum History Society Archives: November 2002; Vol XIII, No. 5.pg. 2.[↩]
Lavigne, Solange. 1990. Kaleidoscope – Many Cultures, One Faith : the Roman Catholic Diocese of Prince Albert, 1891-1991. Diocese of Prince Albert, pg. 193.[↩]
Hopwood, David, Editor. 1971. David Thompson – Travels in Western North America 1784-1812. Macmillan of Canada, Toronto, pg. 86.[↩]
Moreau, William E. Editor. 2009. The Writings of David Thompson, Vol I. The Champlain Society, pg. 53.[↩]
Lavigne, Solange. 1990. Kaleidoscope, Many Cultures-One Faith – The Roman Catholic Diocese of Prince Albert 1891-1991. Published by the Diocese of Prince Albert, pg. 170.[↩]
Lavigne, Solange. 1990. Kaleidoscope, Many Cultures-One Faith – The Roman Catholic Diocese of Prince Albert 1891-1991. Published by the Diocese of Prince Albert, pg. 514.[↩]
Meyer, David. The Goose Dance in Swampy Cree Religion. The Journal of the Canadian Church Historical Society. Vol. XXXII No. 1. April, 1991, pg. 107.[↩]
Meyer, David & Thistle, Paul C. Saskatchewan River Rendezvous Centers and Trading Posts: Continuity in a Cree Social Geography. Ethnohistory, Vol. 42, No. 3. Summer, 1995, pg. 403.[↩]
Meyer, David. The Goose Dance in Swampy Cree Religion. The Journal of the Canadian Church Historical Society. Vol. XXXII No. 1. April, 1991, pg. 111.[↩]
Note: The author presented a version of this work as a keynote presentation at the 49th Annual Alberta Archaeological Association Meetings, Drumheller, Alberta, Canada, 2024.
“The prairies over which we travelled presented the same undulating, monotonous appearance.…To add to our discomforts on this day’s march, old Welsh, the guide, lost his bearings and led us miles out of the way. Indeed, for a considerable time we followed no track at all and were at the mercy of the Métis.” — Canadian Artist, Henri Julien, travelling west across the Canadian Prairies with the newly formed North West Mounted Police, 1874
The North West Mounted Police (NWMP) near the beginning of their trek west. Sketch by artist Henri Julien. He accompanied the police over endless stretches of Prairie. They traveled into what would become southern Saskatchewan and Alberta, Canada.
While researching our recently published book, Cartographic Poetry. Examining Historic Blackfoot and Gros Ventre Maps, 1 I became interested in Indigenous wayfinding (the process or activity of ascertaining one’s position and planning and following a route) and navigation skills. 2 Compared to the Blackfoot, I realized that our current society has lost much of its natural ability to navigate through space. Where would we be without roads and signs, maps or GPS systems to guide us wherever we wish to go?
LOST!
In our book, we examine four Blackfoot and one Gros Ventre map recorded in the journals of Hudson’s Bay Company trader and surveyor, Peter Fidler. Fascinated by these maps, I have delved deeper into Indigenous navigation and wayfinding. 3
If you wish to learn more about our book and its contents, and explore the details of how the Blackfoot viewed their world, click on the link below.
Imagine traveling across the vast, empty, and often featureless Canadian prairies or Arctic. Picture doing this hundreds of years ago. You would have no map, road, or GPS for guidance. How would you know where you were? How would you navigate across a barren landscape without any of these devices? In this blog, I will first explore how humans navigate. Then, I will investigate how North American Indigenous People navigated their prairie (and other) landscapes. 4
Part of my inspiration for this work came from reading a book written by M. R. O’Connor, entitled Wayfinding. The Science and Mystery of How Humans Navigate the World.5 I recommend this work to anyone who wants to dive deeper into this fascinating topic. I borrow examples from O’Connor’s work to place our Canadian Indigenous maps into a broader framework.
M. R. O’Connor is a journalist who has conducted extensive research, including fieldwork, on wayfinding in the Indigenous world. What I appreciate about her approach is her treatment of the work as journalism. She provides the reader with all relevant theories and viewpoints. Some of these are controversial, and she includes them from a wide range of disciplines. This allows readers to decide their validity.
How We Find Our Way Around
We don’t need to concentrate much when navigating through spaces we’re familiar with. However, when we travel greater distances and into unfamiliar territory, negotiating becomes more challenging. We have developed new technological devices. These devices help us navigate through unfamiliar spaces. They guide us to our desired destination effectively with little effort. We no longer need to plan and memorize our routes. Our instruments do that for us.
As a teenager in the 1960s, I lived in southwestern Saskatchewan, Canada. I would often explore the prairies on my dirt bike. Occasionally, I motored into the sand hills northwest of Cabri, Saskatchewan. I was soon surrounded by an endless set of similar-looking dunes, with no roads or tracks to guide me. Also, when out on the vast prairies, where often there are few landmarks, everything begins to look the same.
For a few moments, I realized I was utterly and totally lost.
My moment of panic at my predicament didn’t last long. With a few simple observations, I managed to find my way back.
Indigenous people throughout the world, on either the land or on the oceans, can’t afford to get lost when navigating their territories. Survival depended on knowing where you were or how to find your destination at all times.
In her book, O’Connor documents the early Polynesian’s profound knowledge of their watery environment and celestial navigation skills. “Seafarers might estimate their latitude and direction by looking at the positions of the stars, particularly those near the horizon in the night sky. The 32 principal stars and various secondary stars that made up the star compass served as a framework for navigation. This complex information enabled navigators to plan their course and make changes in response to the shifting positions of the stars throughout the course of the night.”6
What amazes me is the size of the territories Indigenous people navigated and their detailed knowledge of their surroundings. Take, for example, the Blackfoot Indigenous maps that I will explore in detail, as well as the size of the territory in question. Ki oo cus (a Siksika leader) drew a map for the Hudson’s Bay Company trader and surveyor, Peter Fidler, in 1802. It stretches as far north as Buffalo Lake in central Alberta, Canada. It extends down to the northern parts of Wyoming, USA, covering an estimated distance of 960km. Additionally, it spans from the Rocky Mountains to Manitou Lake in southern Saskatchewan. This distance is approximately 707km. The total area then would encompass a mind-boggling 678,720 square kilometres.
Can you imagine being at the fur trade post Chesterfield House (near the confluence of the South Saskatchewan and Red Deer River)? Picture yourself drawing a map of some key landmarks of this vast territory for Peter Fidler. How did Ki oo cus and others achieve this feat? How did he lead his band to the places they needed to be during certain times of the year? He had no maps. He kept all the knowledge of his territory and the landscape in his head.
These are the five maps we explore in our book. Some of the other maps encompass an even larger area than Ki oo cus’s map. These areas were not all part of these leaders’ traditional territories. They were places known to them or that they visited. The Ki oo cus map, for example, shows the travel routes his people took. This suggests they travelled as far south as the Judith Mountains in central Montana, USA. Some of them also travelled as far north as Buffalo Lake in central Alberta, Canada. 7
Three of the Blackfoot maps that cover parts of Canada’s Alberta and Saskatchewan (top) and modern renditions of the territories and places those maps encompass (bottom). From left to right: First, one version of Old Swan’s (Ac ko mok ki) map, 1802. Then, Ak ko wee ak’s map, 1802. Lastly, Ki oo cus’s map, 1802. 8
How Humans Navigate
How did humans, without today’s navigation aids, find their way around?
This somewhat controversial, complex topic touches many disciplines (genetics, otorhinolaryngology/physiology, psychology, geography, anthropology, and neuroscience, to name a few). It focuses primarily on one major part of our brain – the hippocampus (Greek for “seahorse” because of its shape), also known as the Horn of the Ram. This part of the human brain is primarily responsible for memory. It also facilitates learning and spatial navigation. I like to think of it as the area in our heads where memory happens, and navigation begins.
The hippocampus has special cells that store certain types of spatial information to help us navigate. These include: 1) Head-direction cells, which store the direction your head is pointed; 2) Place cells, which store landmarks, linear speed, and other spatial information; 3) Grid cells, which store information about space and distance; and 4) Border cells, which store information about distance and direction from a boundary.
Diagram on the left showing the location of the hippocampus, responsible for memory, and also other parts of the brain responsible for other functions. The photograph on the right of the hippocampus and the seahorse, showing the resemblance in shape between the two.
The size of the hippocampus in humans varies. For years, scientists believed that genetics determined the size of the hippocampus. This explained why some people had superior memory. It also explained why they could navigate better than others. That myth was shattered in 2006 when researchers 9 studied the hippocampus of London taxi drivers (who possessed vast spatial knowledge of London’s streets and neighbourhoods). They found that taxi drivers’ hippocampus was larger than their control group, larger in taxi drivers with more experience, and larger than that of bus drivers.
London taxi drivers must pass very stringent navigational tests before acquiring a taxi license. 10. The taxi study suggests that the hippocampus can expand if this part of the brain is active. What other studies also suggest, and is somewhat frightening, is that if not used, it will contract.
According to experts, if you don’t use the hippocampus to store certain types of memory information necessary for navigation, it can shrink. Relying solely on your mobile devices for navigation contributes to this shrinkage. That’s a scary thought, given how reliant we’ve become on our phones and GPS to guide us to our destinations.
Principles and Mechanics of Wayfinding and Navigation
A clear conscience is the sure sign of a bad memory.” ― Mark Twain
How does our brain process spatial information to find our way?
Have you ever walked through an unfamiliar city, park, or shopping mall? Have you then tried to retrace your steps back to your car? If you managed to find your way back, how did you do it?
Venice Italy. A City often called The Labyrinthine City because of its narrow, winding streets and canals, making finding your way or destination a real challenge. When I first visited Venice in 1971, we only had maps to guide us. Even with maps, we carefully noted the surroundings of our lodgings and memorized our routes so that we could find our way back again. When I visited in 2024, this was no longer a problem. With a phone GPS, you set your location and plan a route to a destination by using your GPS guide. 11
There are two theories to explain what is involved in human wayfinding and navigation: 1) Practical Mastery Theory – orientation in space is based on the experience of individuals in particular environments; and, 2) Mental Map – stored spatial information in the form of a mental map, and inferred information. Both theories have their supporters and detractors.
Route Knowledge, as part of Practical Mastery Theory, is the ability to construct a sequence of points, landmarks, and perspectives that make up a path from one place to another. The traveller uses a string of memories of landmarks or viewpoints to recognize the correct sequence for getting from one place to another. The traveller also must remember that at a particular landmark, they must turn a certain direction (i.e., left, right, east, west, etc., or continue straight ahead).
With Survey Knowledge, an element of the Mental Map, the traveller mentally organizes space into a stable, map-like framework, in which every point or landmark has a two-dimensional relationship to every other point. According to O’Connor, “While route knowledge is the verbal description you might give when telling a friend how to get to the post office, survey knowledge is the “bird’s-eye” map of the walk you might draw for that friend on a piece of paper.”12
I’m torn on the topic. I can imagine a mental map where I place certain places in space in order, relative to one another – landmarks, if you will, to help me get from point A to point B. I also agree with sociologists and anthropologists. They suggest that the wayfinder relies on visual memory. The wayfinder is immersed in cultural practices, habits, and knowledge. Direct perception of their environment helps reinforce that memory. This process aids in navigating and finding their way. 13
There’s certainly a lot of empirical evidence in support of both theories, which require a heightened awareness for spatial observation. According to famous Australian aviator Harold Gatty, “With nature as your guide, you need never be lost.” Gatty further believed that Indigenous Peoples (Native Americans, Australian Aboriginals, Polynesians, Inuit, Europeans, and Saharan nomads, etc.) had “…keener perceptions and more highly developed powers of observation than most of us…”
Gatty used a compass and other navigation instruments to help guide him on his long aerial journeys. However, he was also very interested in how Indigenous Peoples navigated. In his 1958 book, entitled Finding Your Way Without a Map or Compass, Gatty maintained that environmental pathfinding observations were only intended to supplement, never supplant, the use of a map and a compass. But Indigenous people didn’t have compasses and maps to guide them. So how did they manage to navigate accurately, often over thousands of miles?
Peter Fidler’s Blackfoot informants, who drew him maps of their territories, possessed route knowledge. They also had a certain amount of survey knowledge. This enabled them to find their destinations along a planned route. They used landmarks and other environmental indicators to guide them. They also depict those landmarks relative to one another in two-dimensional space (more on this topic later).
WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH A MAP IF YOU HAD ONE?
WHERE AM I? According to current research, a significant portion of the present population struggles with traditional map-reading skills. This is largely due to reliance on GPS and smartphone navigation apps. 14 Outdoor guides and military personnel have found that a high percentage of the general public struggles with orienting a map, using a compass, or interpreting topographic lines. Younger adults (18-24) are the most likely to rely exclusively on smartphone apps for navigation (83%).
Humans also use different methods of orientation, which are often culturally dependent, to help them navigate. The use of an Egocentric Perspective of space requires the individual to orient everything in space, relative to themselves (i.e., front, behind, up, down, left, and right). An Allocentric Perspective of space is more objective and map-like. Individuals place objects and landmarks relative to one another in their spatial locations. As a general rule, Indigenous cultures use an allocentric perspective while industrialized cultures use an egocentric perspective more often.
Different spatial frameworks for organizing and navigating space and time. E.G., INDUSTRIALIZED SOCIETIES – LEFT-RIGHT MENTAL TIMELINE (EGOCENTRIC). E.G., INDIGENOUS CULTURES – ABSOLUTE (ALLOCENTRIC) FRAMES OF REFERENCE – EAST = PAST; WEST = FUTURE. Imagine using an egocentric perspective to find a destination and then return home. Once you turn around and go home, everything is reversed. When going to your destination, objects or landmarks were on your right side. When returning, these objects or landmarks are now on your left side. This reversal often disorients individuals and leads to eventually getting lost. 15
Before examining our Blackfoot maps more closely and what they tell us about wayfinding and navigation, let’s examine some examples of the methods and cues humans use(d) to find their way around.
On Safari – 2022, Inyati Game Preserve, South Africa
In South Africa, I am on Safari at the wildlife sanctuary near Kruger National Park. I am with six other people in an open-roofed lorry. We are driving through the countryside and admiring the wildlife. At the end of the day, our driver drove quickly through the African bushland. It was total darkness as they navigated back to our lodge for the evening. I was totally lost. But my guides were not, despite not using any GPS equipment. Only their acute knowledge of the seemingly endless trails and a keen sense of direction guided them. This was a good example of practical mastery theory of navigation and route knowledge. These men memorized thousands of minute details on the landscape. They used keen observation to help them decide where they were at any given time. This also aided in choosing the trails needed to return to the lodge.
The Inyati Game Preserve in South Africa covers approximately 650 square kilometres. A major river and a lesser stream run through it. There are some hills, but very few other landmarks. A maze of trails runs through the bush, leading to various places on the preserve (top photograph of the location of the game preserve and trail system). Upon first arriving, once we left the lodge, I was totally lost in this wilderness and would have had a hard time finding my way back, even with well-worn trails. But after a few days, as we repeatedly drove over the same trails, I began to notice subtle landforms or objects which helped me distinguish one trail from the other. After a while, I knew that if I could find the river, it would eventually lead me back to our lodge, provided I went in the right direction and didn’t get eaten or trampled by the wildlife.Even in the dark, heading back to our lodge, our local guide and driver, George, always knew the way. I remembered then. In parts of my misspent youth, I barreled down the country roads on the very flat Saskatchewan prairies in the pitch dark. The many road crossings often looked the same to those unfamiliar with the area. But we were never lost, memorizing the many little details of our surroundings to help us find our way.
Songs and Stories Hold Our Memories
Wayfinding and navigation often involve memorizing a long sequence of places or landmarks in the right order of their occurrence along a route to another destination. Human cultures have devised ingenious ways to help them not only memorize but also keep everything in the right order. Many Indigenous cultures, including the Blackfoot, used songs and stories to remember places on the landscape.
Linguists and musicologists believe we retain details better in songs and stories. This should be a familiar concept even for our present societies. Remember how you learned your ABCs with that little song that went with it.
“By embedding story in landscapes and the actions of ancestor beings, the Aboriginal oral tradition of songlines is strikingly similar to other oral traditions—the ballads, epics, and children’s rhymes found in places like Ireland, Yugoslavia, ancient Greece, and numerous folk traditions.” — M. R. O’Connor
According to O’Connor, “In his book Memory in Oral Traditions, the cognitive neuroscientist Rubin thinks that oral traditions developed to avoid the weaknesses of human memory, which more easily records scenes rather than abstract knowledge. And these traditions utilize another strength of our brains: using rhythm and music to cue memory. Consider how many of us learn the alphabet as a child by singing it. With some practice, the notes become bound to the letters, the mind to recall them with ease.”
The Australian Aboriginals took song and travel one step further. They travelled across the continent with their songs and the night sky to guide them. To some neuroscientists, wayfinding resembles a song, which is temporally structured, as is travel.
How far back do the stories and songs go in Australian Aboriginal oral history? Some stories may go back 13,000 years. 16
According to Luise Hercus and her colleagues, stories about features and places on the landscape give “…deeper significance to ordinary geography and make it more memorable.”17 Those places help them remember their histories, and the stories and histories help them recount the landforms of the route to be taken. It’s a rather ideal synergetic relationship, if you will.
The Pawnee, a Great Plains Indigenous People in Nebraska, for example, were deeply connected to their land and travelled with their stories. Gene Welfish, in her book, The Lost Universe, describes Pawnee land and travel: “…the Pawnees had a detailed knowledge of every aspect of the land….Its topography was in their minds like a series of vivid pictorial images, each a configuration where this or that event had happened in the past to make it memorable. This was especially true of the old men who had the richest store of knowledge in this respect.”
Pawnee culture and history were deeply embedded in the landscape. Many landforms, such as Pawnee Buttes in Nebraska, had a story associated with it. As the people travelled from place to place, the history and stories helped them remember the landforms and their place in the Nebraska landscape. This story of Pawnee Buttes is recounted in Pawneeland (open footnote for story): 18
Some Australian Aboriginals signaled to others where they came from by painting abstract images of their territory on their bodies.
“Traditionally, the highly creative application of body paint has been used as a way for Aboriginal people to show important aspects of their lives, such as social status, familial group, tribe, ancestry, spirituality and geography.” 19
According to Luke Taylor, who studies Australian Aboriginal art forms, some body paintings contained information about Indigenous geography: “These paintings can be read on one level as maps of the way Kunwinjku conceive of the spatial organization of sites in their land in terms of an abstract model of divided yet organized related body parts of ancestral beings that created those lands.”20
Imagine standing and observing your surroundings, and then setting off in the direction you believe your destination to be. First, you must know where you are. Then you must know where your destination lies, compared to where you are.
This method of navigation is called Dead Reckoning or Path Integration. It refers to the internal computation that transforms a sense of motion into a sense of location. Some Indigenous People are known for their navigational skills. The Kalahari San Bushmen can directly navigate to another destination from their current position.
A Kalahari San man gazes into the bush, perhaps planning his route to some other place. Anthropologists have found that the Kalahari bushmen are never lost. Wherever they are in their territory, they know where they are. They orient themselves by landmarks or terrain. In the diagram on the bottom right, imagine taking a journey that starts at Point A and ends at Point D. One way to return to Point A is to retrace the route you journeyed on. But the bushmen and other Indigenous people, who are deeply connected with their landscape, stand at Point D. They examine the landforms, such as a river and two prominent hills. Then, they choose a direction that takes them back to Point A using a much faster, shorter route. The bushmen must have absolute knowledge of how these landforms relate to their camp (Point A) and to one another, and how their position at Point D relates to home camp. 21
Signs That Show the Way
Indigenous People are more attuned to their environment (than we are) and use various cues to find their way. The direction of shadows, places where lichen and moss grow, and even the direction the wind blows, all help to orient the Indigenous wayfinder.
The Inuit of Canada use snow orientation to navigate in the barren landscape. This is one of the more interesting examples of noticing little things. The alignment of snow formations known as Sastrugi helps the Inuit maintain a consistent course. They do this even when changing directions and moving around obstacles. Sastrugi are parallel wave-like snow ridges formed when winds blow over the surface of the snow, especially in polar regions. I have also seen them on our Canadian prairies.
All landscapes possess subtle indicators to help us navigate. In the bottom left is an image of a sastrugi and a route out and back from your home or camp (shown as dashed lines). Once you turn around to return to camp, you must keep the sastrugi at the same angle as when you ventured out. Even the direction of the wind, especially in the Arctic and Canadian Prairies, can help travellers maintain a constant direction (provided it doesn’t change direction). When journeying through a landscape with few defining landforms, wind and snow formations become important indicators of direction.
Humans also made signs and left them on the landscape to mark the way. In the Arctic, the Inuit constructed several types of rock formations, known as inuksuit, each with its own distinct meaning.
There are many types of Inuit rock formations in the Arctic, some thousands of years old. The nalunaikkutaq is the most elementary inuksuit. It literally means ‘deconfuser’. It is made of a single upright stone placed on its end (right photograph of single rock standing on its end). It functions to provide direction or mark a specific location in the vast, treeless Arctic landscape. There are Niungvaliruluit (which means ”pointer like a window“), (left photograph of nalunaikkutaq, Inuksuk Point, Foxe Peninsula, Nunavut, Canada). Many other types act as directional or trail markers.
On the Great Plains of North America, archaeologists also find various types of rock formations made by Plains Indigenous Peoples. Some functioned as trail and directional markers. Unfortunately, many were destroyed when a great portion of the prairies was cultivated. According to Wyoming archaeologist Dr. George Frison, “It was said that the Crows left such piles [rocks] scattered along the route by which they migrated.“ According to Alberta archaeologist Dr. Brian Reeves, stone cairns found on “…the summit of the South Kootenai Pass were perhaps erected as trail markers for ceremonial purposes.” Donald J. Blakeslee and Robert Biasing note that on the central plains in Nebraska and Kansas, rock cairns are associated with many historic trails.
On the Great Plains stone cairns were constructed for animal drive lanes. Some were caches or animal traps, while others served ceremonial purposes. Still others marked trails or served as directional markers pointing the way to a particular destination or resource. In the photograph on the right, a line of rock cairns lies on the prairies near Empress, Alberta, Canada. 22
Many historic trails were repeatedly used, leaving behind a visible track for others to follow. The earth would be trampled and disturbed. This was especially true with the use of the dog- or horse-drawn travois. It was a common mode of Indigenous transportation on the Great Plains. The tracks stay visible for years. Prairie and arctic ecology are quite sensitive to disturbance. They don’t heal very quickly.
Vegetation disturbed by trails and ruts made by wagons often takes many years to return to its normal state on the prairies. In Saskatchewan, Canada, Norman Henderson has conducted experiments to find out whether dog-drawn travois leave marks on the Prairie. 23 He believes that the dog travois left no permanent marks on the prairie. However, the larger horse-drawn travois with heavier loads would have left some marks, especially when an entire band moved their camp.
When is a Map Not a Map?
In our book, Cartographic Poetry…, we refer to the five Plains Indigenous drawings as ‘Maps’. The simplest definition of a map is “a diagrammatic representation of an area of land or sea showing physical features, cities, roads, etc.”24 In our Western definition, then, these are maps. They are a two-dimensional representation showing the locations of physical features and trails familiar to the Blackfoot and Gros Ventre. Like any map ever made, this endeavour (of drawing a map) is subjective. The mapmaker includes items of personal interest or familiarity on the map. Many other details about that two-dimensional space are left out.
Maps show us where things are and how to find them. Most conventional maps (physical or digital maps) show visual information about the types of physical features and their precise locations. Not all maps inherently contain explicit location information that is universally readable without requiring more context or a key. To understand these Context-Dependent Maps, you must rely on information provided in legends, scale bars, accompanying text or verbal instructions. If you don’t have the key, the map makes no sense.
Thematic Maps are highly abstract and visual data or relationships rather than depicting precise geography. These would include Diagrammatic Maps. For example, a simple hand-drawn sketch can guide someone to a destination. It uses landmarks and general directions without incorporating any precise location coordinates.
A portion of a 1802 map of southern Alberta and Saskatchewan, Canada (left). This is an example of a Physical or digital map that has a coordinate system. It is attributed to British mapmaker Aaron Arrowsmith. It is also based on landforms found on the Blackfoot maps. Peter Fidler sent these maps to him. Like a modern map, with this map, you can use a compass to find the precise location of specific places from your current position. 25The Ak Ko Wee Ak map (on the right) is considered a Diagrammatic Map. It contains geographical features and only an approximation of their locations. Note the position of The King on both maps. But is the Ak Ko Wee Ak map more than a rough sketch of southern Alberta and Saskatchewan? Could it also be a Concept-Dependent map, where we are missing the key? Some scholars think so. 26
The Blackfoot and Gros Ventre maps depict the Great Plains landscape in the simplest form. They include features that were important to the individuals who drew them. They may represent Memory Places, as much as denoting locational information, to help connect Blackfoot culture and history to the land. Or, they may do both. Hence, the key to unlocking these maps may be to view the depicted landforms as a series of stories and history lessons. They span the Blackfoot landscape and are not merely navigational devices.
This historic star chart created by the Skiri Pawnee has baffled scholars for some time. This elk-skin map, dating back to the early 17th century, was initially thought to be a star map to help the Pawnee navigate. As researchers explored the chart’s deeper meanings, they now believe it is a storytelling device of Pawnee history. For the Pawnee, the sky holds more than just celestial bodies. “…it reveals the intertwined knowledge of seasons, rituals, and the cosmos. The chart’s complexity challenges the way we think about maps, memory, and meaning itself.”27
The Blackfoot and Gros Ventre maps may have similar functions as the Pawnee star chart. They connect Indigenous history and stories to places and landforms. According to some ethnohistorians and archaeologists, memory, “…explicitly incorporates the materiality of remembering through object and place (e.g., Meskell, 2003; Oetelaar, 2016). Scholars refer to this process as “memory work”…. because remembering requires that individuals engage in materially mediated social practices in order to make memories from experience, recall them, and transfer them to others. Memory work is discerning: certain experiences are best forgotten or stored while others are crucial to survival and cultural reproduction.”28
“…historic memory lives because it is firmly and purposefully anchored in places where events and cultural practices occurred, and in objects.” –Maria Nieves Zedeno, Evelyn Pickering, and Francois Lanoe 29
Parts of the original Ki oo cus map (with modern revisions) shows parts of southern and central Saskatchewan and Alberta, Canada. This map covers an enormous area. But how much, and what types, of navigational information does this map convey?
Whenever I look at Ki oo cus’s map, I am surprised he left out certain landforms (which would have helped the Blackfoot navigate) and included others (which did not help the Blackfoot navigate). Why would he do this if the map was only a navigational device? 30 Take, for example, Pakowki (#16), Sounding Lake (#32), and Manitou Lake (#31) depicted on the Ki oo cus map. The location of these lakes is inaccurate on his map when compared to a current map. They are not visible from any great distance, in this case, relative to Chesterfield House.
The vector position of the three lakes, relative to Chesterfield House on the Ki oo cus map, is shown by the black dashed arrows. The vector position (but not actual distance) of the three lakes on a contemporary map is shown by the solid blue arrows.
In other instances, he leaves out very prominent landforms, such as the Neutral Hills (which are 55 miles or 88.5km long, and approximately 180m high). Instead, he notes only the buffalo nose (#30), a prominent hill on the western end of the Neutral Hills. Many places on his map might act as a memory or gathering place. They are included because they are steeped in Blackfoot lore and knowledge.
The Neutral Hills, central Alberta, Canada, looking south (left). The Buffalo Nose (#30) on the Ki oo cus map (right). Both are prominent geographical features. Yet the lesser visible one is depicted on his map, while the other, larger, more prominent one is not.A topographic map showing the Neutral Hills, the Buffalo Nose (Nose Hill) and Sounding Lake (#32 on Ki oo cus’s map). The red dots represent known archaeological sites in the region. A high density of sites are present across the Neutral Hill, including near the Buffalo Nose. Indigenous stories linked to all three places. All three are visible places, although Sounding Lake is the lesser of the three. Yet only Sounding Lake and the Buffalo Nose appear on Ki oo cus’s map. However, the Buffalo Nose may have been a better reference and preferred travel destination point than anywhere further east. By navigating to the Buffalo Nose, the Blackfoot would have avoided the more hilly terrain.
Maps help us navigate and find places. But a two-dimensional map among the Blackfoot, or those of other Indigenous Peoples in the world, was unnecessary to navigate:
“In our ways we had land maps. That how it was marked, the Blackfoot people used rivers, hills, and the mountains those are what we refer to [the Blackfoot people say] are lands maps–they are written on the earth.”— Blackfoot elder, Andy Black Water.31
Nor was every place a reference point for navigation:
“People say that particular area is where someone received a gift or it was transferred to that person. We were pitied with a mysterious power from these sites [and we need to maintain those sites].” — Blackfoot elder, Andy Black Water 32
These ‘particular’ places often evoked stories, such as the creation of the Blackfoot territory. 33 Like the Australian Indigenous Peoples, sacred sites were also often (but not always) the primary references for navigation for the Blackfoot.
Many places on the Ki oo cus map had spiritual significance. Ground Squirrel Hill (#3 on the Ki oo cus map), south of Stettler, Alberta, Canada, was likely such a place (left photograph). On top of the hill, there once was a stone outline of Napi (now destroyed). Napi was a Trickster and aTransformer: “He made the Milk River (the Teton) and crossed it, and, being tired, went up on a little hill and lay down to rest. As he lay on his back, stretched out on the ground, with arms extended, he marked himself out with stones, —the shape of his body, head, legs, arms, and everything. There you can see those rocks today. . . .”34The Napi stone effigy that was placed on the top of Ground Squirrel Hill was Napi resting after creating the Blackfoot territory. It was placed there to remind people when they passed of their history, but also to help them know where they were and find their way.
What the Blackfoot Maps Tell Us About ‘Places’, Wayfinding and Navigation
Our conventional maps, and our reliance on them to navigate, really have no place in the Blackfoot world. The maps drawn for Peter Fidler were more for his benefit. The Blackfoot rightly claimed that the land was their map.
Despite this, is there anything we can glean from them about the importance of Blackfoot places and travel? I examine this question using the Ki oo cus map. This map covers an area of southern Saskatchewan, Alberta, and Montana (shown above).
To wayfind, we must remember places and describe them to others in a way they can recognize them. Ki oo cus uses descriptive names for many places on his map. Much like the Inuit of Arctic Canada, the names were purposely descriptive. This allowed others unfamiliar with those landforms to visualize them. They could then remember and easily find them. 35
Many places on the Ki oo cus map have descriptive names, helping others find them. Verbal communication between individuals about the landscape is often an integral part of Indigenous navigation and wayfinding. The pictorial descriptions helped people recognize places they might never have been to before.“If you are an Inuk who understands the language,” said [Lynn] Peplinski, “…chances are you’ll be able to have a mental image of what that place looks like from the name.”36 Similarly, some of Ki oo cus’s descriptions of places are also informative. For example, Stinking Lake (#16), near Manyberries in southeastern Alberta, refers to Pakowki Lake, which contains a high amount of sodium sulfate and, at times, would have ‘stunk’. The Blackfoot also called it ‘bad water’. Further north, his map lists the nose, body and tail of the buffalo, referring to Buffalo Lake (#7), Tail Creek (#8) and buffalo nose (#30). All these places are located along the northern edge of Ki oo cus’s map in south-central Alberta, Canada. 37
According to Practical Mastery Theory, familiarity with one’s landscape and specific landforms is part of successful navigation. Ki oo cus’s territory was mostly in southern Alberta and Saskatchewan. His travel routes suggest he journeyed as far south as the Judith Mountains in Montana. There are more recorded landforms and places located in the northern part of his territory than further south. This could be because he is more familiar with places in today’s Alberta and Saskatchewan, Canada. His band traveled there more often.
On the Ki oo cus map, approximately 85% of the places he notes are north of the Canada/USA border. This number continually increases from south to north on his map. The above map is a modern rendition of the original Ki oo cus 1802 map showing the places and their locations. 38
Knowing which route to take to get from one place to another is essential for accurate navigation. Memorizing critical landmarks for guidance is also crucial. Ki oo cus shows several routes his people took to move through their territories. If the Blackfoot used these routes repeatedly, there likely would have been physical signs of this continual use on the landscape (i.e., stone cairns, tipi rings).
Nonetheless, Ki oo cus would also have used key landforms to help guide his band to their destination. Let’s take a part of his route north, starting at the Judith Mountains (#24), Montana, to Chesterfield House (located on the confluence of the Red Deer and South Saskatchewan Rivers, Saskatchewan), as an example (see the route and map below). Leaving the Judith Mountains, his band travelled in a northerly direction, constantly watching for major landforms, such as the Highwood Hills, Bearspaw Mountains, Sweetgrass Hills and Cypress Hills, along the way. Ki oo cus, and other members of his band, would have memorized on what side of their route these major landforms should occur. He also kept track of the order they appear to stay on the right track.
Parts of the 1802 Ki oo cus map showing his route from the Judith Mountains to Chesterfield House. His route is shown as a series of small circles on the map. Each dot represents one day’s travel. Some of the landforms to keep him on track were visible from considerable distances. But if he used them to guide him to Chesterfield House, he would have had to memorize on which side of his route they occurred. His route takes him over/through the Cypress Hills, and not around them.Many of Ki oo cus’s landmarks were visible from great distances. For example, the location of {Cut to yis} (the Sweetgrass Hills) can be seen from the western edge of the Cypress Hills looking south, approximately 90 kilometres away. If you look closely at this photograph, the Sweetgrass Hills are barely visible on the prairie horizon. Photograph by Ted Binnema. 38Stretching across the northern Great Plains of North America, there were many prominent landmarks that the Blackfoot people could see from a great distance while travelling on the plains. Judith Mountains (top left); Highwood Mountains (top right); Bearspaw Mountains (bottom left); Sweetgrass Hills, viewed from Writing-on-Stone National Park (bottom center) and the Cypress Hills (bottom right). The view from the top of the Cypress Hills is towards the west, showing the plains below and the Rocky Mountains in the hazy distance.An aerial view of Ki oo cus’s route (dashed line) from the Judith Mountains to Chesterfield House. Note that the route is a relatively straight line towards the north to Chesterfield House. We noticed, while driving along parts of this route, that major landforms are rarely out of sight. As soon as one disappears, another comes into view. Note also on the Ki oo cus map, his band travels over/through the Cypress Hills on their way to Chesterfield House. If you were travelling with all your belongings and with the old and young, you would not want to travel over these hills. However, if you examine more carefully the topography of the Cypress Hills, there is a gap of prairie that is less rugged and lower between the hills. If Ki oo cus took this route through the gap, he would be aligned north to his destination, Chesterfield House. The Blackfoot referred to the Cypress Hills as the Striped Earth Hills, Hills of Whispering Pine, and Divided Mountains. All names are appropriate, but the last one is the most descriptive one for travelling through these hills.
Putting these landforms in the right order, as you travel along your route, is also important, especially if you are describing a route to someone else. The landmarks along Ki oo cus’s route from the Judith Mountains in Montana to the Buffalo Nose in Alberta occur in the same order as they do on a current topographic map (see map below).
The thirteen major landmarks, including rivers, on the Ki oo cus are all in correct order (from north to south or the opposite).An aerial view of the confluence of the South Saskatchewan and Red Deer Rivers, Alberta, Canada (top left). Chesterfield House, whose exact location remains a mystery, is located somewhere on the north side of the Red Deer River near the confluence of the two rivers. 39 An aerial photograph of the Roy Rivers medicine wheel, also near the confluence of the two rivers (top right). As Ki oo cus’s band left Chesterfield House to travel north to the Buffalo Nose, it would have been virtually impossible to miss this landmark, which rests on top of the highest hill in the area. This medicine wheel also contained a stone Napi figure (bottom right). Napi figures, outlined in stone, occurred in many places in Blackfoot territory, such as the one near Cabri Lake, Saskatchewan, Canada, not far from the Roy Rivers medicine wheel. What is often perplexing about Ki oo cus’s maps is the many important places he leaves off them. Was it because this was not a ‘selective memory’ place for his people? Was the medicine wheel and effigy not his story to tell? Or did it even exist in 1802?The white line indicates the general route taken by Ki oo cus on his way from Chesterfield House to the Buffalo Nose (top left). This route would have crossed mostly relatively flat terrain, as shown near the Misty Hills (bottom left; photograph courtesy of Ted Binnema). If his band had journeyed further east toward the Neutral Hills, they would have had to cross some very hummocky/hilly terrain. It was crucial to follow the easiest path where shelter and resources in the nearby hills and creeks were nearby and accessible. The Buffalo Nose was part of the Neutral Hills chain, stretching approximately 89km east-west, and was an imposing barrier, but rich in resources (top right and bottom right). They were not a solid formation (and similar in this regard to the Cypress Hills), but travelling on them would have been extremely arduous. Exactly what route Ki oo cus took to Manitou Lake is unknown. If it were from the Buffalo Nose, he would have followed the Neutral Hills east, but on either side of them, on the flatter terrain.Indigenous choice of trails and travel routes needed to take terrain into account. Images of the Rumsey Natural Area, between Drumheller and Stettler, Alberta, Canada. This very hilly terrain contains natural shelter, abundant resources (water, wood and food), but would have been very difficult to travel through. Gopher Head Hill is located on the east edge of these hills (just west of Stonelaw, Alberta) and would have been easily accessible when travelling on the flatter prairies to the east.
Survey Knowledge, or the ability to estimate the correct distance and direction of landmarks and places from a fixed point and relative to one another, is the most difficult method of navigation to master. The Blackfoot maps contain distance and direction to particular places (relative to one another). And if we compare these places on a Blackfoot map to a modern map, they are rough estimates at best. Nor should we expect more, given the Blackfoot’s lack of instruments to accurately measure either one (i.e., an odometer for distance and a compass to determine accurate directions). Did the Blackfoot need to know a route with pinpoint accuracy? Did they need to know the precise location of places along it beforehand to navigate? I believe they did not, because their routes to various destinations were not using dead reckoning (i.e., from their location taking a direction in a straight line to destination and knowing how far away it was). Instead they relied on various landmarks and places to guide them in the right direction. 40
The Blackfoot’s estimation of the distance between landmarks and places, or from any given place, was also very general, if you rely on the locations on the maps. But we may be misinterpreting what Ki oo cus’s idea of distance was. It certainly wasn’t any specific fixed spatial distance (e.g., miles, kilometres, leagues)
Ki oo cus portrays distance from one place to another by days’ march. To mark his major travel routes, he draws small circles that denote one day’s march on his map. One day’s march for the entire band meant how far everyone (young and old) could walk in one day, because not everyone had a horse to ride. The distance covered would have varied from day to day depending on the weather conditions and terrain. The circles only show the number of days walking or riding took between locations. They do not indicate how long the journey actually took. The band may have stopped at certain places for more than one day to recover, gather resources or conduct ceremonies.
This expanded part of Ki oo cus’s map shows day’s march from the Judith Mountains (#24) to Chesterfield House, and then continuing north to the Buffalo Nose (#30). It took him 10 days’ marches to travel from the Judith Mountains to Chesterfield House and then another 10 days’ march to travel from Chesterfield House to the Buffalo Nose. The distance from the Judith Mountains to Chesterfield House is ~421km, and the distance from Chesterfield House to the Buffalo Nose is only ~163km. However, on his map, he draws them a relatively similar distance apart. Is there a reason for this discrepancy?
The Blackfoot didn’t require precise distance knowledge because they measured everything in terms of a day’s march. Days’ march contained much more important information than the actual distance. The Blackfoot had no way of measuring distance accurately. Several places noted on Ki oo cus’s map are vastly different in distance when compared to a modern map. He portrays them as being equal in days’ marches. Was it because some routes were harder than others, taking longer to complete? To the Blackfoot, the length of time and energy it took for them to reach their destination was vital. 41
Comparison of Ki oo cus’s map to a modern map, showing his journey from the Judith Mountains in Montana, USA, to the Buffalo Nose in central Alberta, Canada. If we scale the modern map to his map between the Judith Mountains and Chesterfield House, and then to the Buffalo Nose, it is clear that distances (using Chesterfield House as the central point) on his map are relatively similar when in fact they are considerably different on a modern map. But the number of days’ march (from the Judith Mountains to Chesterfield House, and then Chesterfield House to the ‘Buffalo Nose‘ are similar. Ki oo cus had to know quite accurately how long it would take his band to reach a certain destination, regardless of distance. Certain routes, or parts of routes, would have required more time and energy to traverse, perhaps explaining why he drew his maps in this manner. Is this a time and energy map instead of a survey map showing exact distances? Is this the KEY to understanding his maps?
Ki oo cus’s method of estimating distance is not unique. For many Indigenous Peoples, time (often expressed as travel time) is often more important and a more natural measure than abstract, fixed distance or specific clock time. 42
“…when asked for the distances between places they usually answered in terms of travel time, expressed as days or “sleeps.” And generally, when Indians provided explorers like Lewis and Clark with time-distance-direction information, that information was shaped by the Indians’ own experience.”–John L. Allen, Emeritus Professor of Geography, the University of Wyoming, Laramie 43
TRAVEL ROUTE
DISTANCE (KIOOCUS MAP IN MM)/RANK ( )
DAYS’ MARCH
ACTUAL DISTANCE (KM)
ACTUAL DISTANCE RANK
Judith Mts. – Pakowki L.
85 (1)
10
240
2
Judith Mts. – Chesterfield H.
80 (2)
10
421
1
Chesterfield H. – Buffalo Nose
79 (3)
10
162
3
Sweet Grass Hills – Pakowki L.
17 (7)
4
47
7
Pakowki L. – Chin Coulee
26 (6)
5
88
5
Chesterfield H. – Sounding Creek
45 (4)
5
88
5
Sounding Creek – Buffalo Nose
35 (5)
5
72
6
Bearspaw Mts. – Sweet Grass Hills
35 (5)
5
118
4
In this table, using Ki oo cus’s map, I measured and ranked the distance of eight travel destinations, where there was sufficient and accurate data, and also the number of days’ marches on the map. While there is some sense of scale and distance between the Ki oo cus map and a contemporary map, there are also some considerable discrepancies between the two. These discrepancies can be explained best by considering Ki oo cus’s distances as time. They are understood as days’ march instead of actual distance (in miles or kilometres).
Allen also points out, using the 1804 Lewis and Clark expedition as an example, the importance of historical context or having the key to understanding Indigenous maps:
“Native movements in space—especially long-distance movements—were undertaken at certain times of the year. Therefore, when they gave directions with reference to sunset or sunrise, they understood those directions in terms of the sun’s path in the sky at the times of the year when they took their journeys.”— John Logan Allen. 44
The diagram on the left (courtesy of John Logan Allen, Indian Maps) shows the difference in the position of the setting sun relative to a fixed point. If you are giving people directions relative to the setting sun and don’t specify the time of year, the amount of error in your directions would be considerable. The same error might occur when giving directions relative to the rising sun, as the photograph of the rising sun during each month of the year shows (right).
One of the major problems we have with the Indigenous maps is determining what specific frame of reference these Blackfoot leaders used when drawing their maps for Peter Fidler. Did they use days’ march to measure distance? Did they position the places on the maps based on certain times of the year? Did they visit them using the rising or setting sun to guide them? Or did some other constellation guide them? Unfortunately, Fidler did not record these details.
‘Sky Beings Guide Us’
The Blackfoot used celestial bodies for orientation, navigation, as a calendar, and storytelling. Eldon Yellowhorn is a Professor of Archaeology at Simon Fraser University. He talks about the strong connection between the night sky, his people, and the land: “Niitsitapi know our land through mental mapping, and that includes our sky country…. Archaeoastronomy is a subfield of archaeology that examines the way ancient people codified astronomical information in their folklore.” 45
According to Chief Earl Old Person, “Sky beings guide us on our journeys and define the seasons.” The Blackfoot knew of the North Star’s stationary position, which helped orient them to find the cardinal points in space and guide them. They called the North Star oo-YEES (The Belly Button of the Sky). The seven brothers (seven bright stars of the Big Dipper), often depicted on Blackfoot tipi flaps pointed to the belly button of the sky, and there are Blackfoot stories associated with it.
The Blackfoot knew of the North Star’s stationary position, which helped them find the cardinal directions and guide them. But exactly how did they use this information to navigate?
The North Star is in a fixed position over the north pole. If you turn or walk toward it, you are facing north. The angle of the north star, relative to the earth’s horizon, continually increases above the horizon as you travel further north. This change in the angle, however, is difficult to accurately measure without a sextant. And, it does not increase very much over great distances. In the diagram above, if the Blackfoot were camped in the Judith Mountains, Montana, the north star would be at an angle of roughly 47 degrees (relative to the earth’s horizon) above them. If they travelled north to Edmonton, Alberta (approximately a thousand kilometres further north), it would appear at 53.5 degrees above them – a minimal amount of difference to measure without an instrument. A simple way of measuring the angle is with an outstretched arm and clenched fist along the horizon. Each clenched fist width is about 10 degrees. Try it next time you’re out at night and see the North Star. 46
The Blackfoot used the North Star to orient themselves to the cardinal directions. They also aligned landforms with the positions of other stars and constellations. The seasonal positions of certain star clusters, like the Pleiades cluster (Mioohpokoiksi or The Bunched Stars), were depicted on tipi flaps and in Blackfoot stories. This constellation moved throughout the year (and during the summer was absent in the northern sky). Its appearance and position helped determine specific times for certain activities. For example, it was used to decide when to travel to large-scale communal buffalo hunts in the fall.
Ak ko Wee Ak, for example, noted a buffalo jump (‘steep rock where buffalo break their neck’) on his map, which likely refers to Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump (#12). During the fall, then, was the position of the Pleiades (seen above the western horizon just before dawn), the direction his people took to reach Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump to begin their hunt? He knew the position of Head-Smashed-In relative to the west, but he also needed to know its position relative to a North-South direction. He could do this by using either the angle of the North Star to find out how far north or south he must travel before heading west, or find prominent landforms that were directly aligned north-south with Head-Smashed-In.
Ak Ko Wee Ak’s map (left) and a modern rendition of the area with his landmarks on it (right). Number 12 marks where the Blackfoot went to hunt buffalo in the fall. The position of the Pleiades in the western sky near dawn in the fall would have told his people when it was time to go to the bison jump and also guide them west toward their destination. They could have used numerous landmarks in their territory to determine their north-south position accurately to find Head-Smashed-In. If they were coming from the south, they needed to first find Chief Mountain. Chief Mountain is along the front range of the Rocky Mountains. It can be seen ~100km (60 miles) away on a clear day. From Chief Mountain, taking a route directly north, they would reach Head-Smashed-In on the southern edge of the Porcupine Hills (which reach ~1,000m above sea level and also could be seen from about 60-100km away).The southern end of the Porcupine Hills and Head-Smashed-In buffalo jump rise high above the surrounding plains. These hills would have been visible from quite a distance (top left and right). Once you were near the majestic Chief Mountain and travelled due north, you would reach Head-Smashed-In. The total distance from Head-Smashed-In to Chief Mountain is approximately 75km, so you could see both landmarks from far away.
Without a compass, ruler, or protractor, it is difficult to measure and draw places accurately on a piece of paper. It is little surprise, then, when we examine the location of places on the Ki oo cus map relative to one another and to a modern map or satellite imagery, that they lack absolute accuracy. For some places, they are highly accurate, and for other places, less so. However, as in the case of distance, it wasn’t necessary to be within a few degrees of a destination when planning a route. One could use visual cues along the way for guidance. Additionally, utilizing either the sun at noon or the north star helped to orient oneself to the cardinal directions.
The location of four places on the Ki oo cus map (Manitou Lake, Buffalo Nose, Buffalo Lake, Gopher Head Hill), shown by the dotted yellow lines, superimposed on a modern satellite image in relation to the location of Chesterfield House on the confluence of the South Saskatchewan and Red Deer Rivers (where Ki oo cus drew his map for Peter Fidler). Vectors drawn in solid black lines show the actual location of those places. When oriented to one fixed point (from Chesterfield House), such as Manitou Lake, the direction of some of the places, such as the buffalo nose, is quite accurate on Ki oo cus’s map. In others, they are merely approximations. 47The position of three places relative to Chesterfield House. Black solid arrows mark the actual position of these places on a contemporary map. The dashed arrows mark Ki oo cus’s positions of these places.
Navigation and the Human Experience
Humans developed incredible natural abilities to wayfind and navigate to their destinations. The techniques they used vary and depend on the nature of their environment, their cultural norms, and personal abilities.
Today, with our electronic navigation devices, are we losing some of that natural ability to find our way around? Many scientists think so.
As O’Connor points out, navigating and wayfinding are not just about finding your way from Point A to Point B. They build familiarity and connection with one’s surrounding environment. They create what she refers to as “treasure maps of exquisite memories”. Whether we walk, drive, or fly to our destinations, the journey and experiences along the way are becoming far less important than they once were.
The Blackfoot and other Indigenous Peoples throughout the world connected deeply with their environment. They constantly related to it by travelling through it. They also developed ‘exquisite memories’ or histories about certain places and landmarks surrounding them while travelling. 48
For more details about each of these maps, please read our book, Cartographic Poetry. Examining Historic Blackfoot and Gros Ventre Maps (University of Alberta Press, Edmonton).
Footnotes:
Ted Binnema, Francois Lanoe, Heinz W. Pyszczyk. 2025. University of Alberta Press[↩]
Wayfinding refers to the planning/decision-making part (e.g., choosing a route), while navigation entails the physical movement or execution of that plan.[↩]
For more information on these maps, readers can also refer to my CanEHdianstories.com blog entitled, “Historic Maps: Alberta Places Through the Eyes of a Siksika Mapmaker, Ki oo cus (Little Bear)”, where I examine one map in particular and a few of the historic Indigenous places shown on it.[↩]
At the outset, I must emphasize that wayfinding and navigation are universal human traits. We all do it and have done so throughout our human history. Yet, the ability to carry out these tasks effectively varies significantly among individuals. The strategies used also vary among different cultures and throughout history.[↩]
Quote and photograph courtesy of SHAKA TRIBE. The Art of Polynesian Navigation: Exploring Ancient Seafaring Techniques[↩]
This map is courtesy of Judith Beattie. 1985. “Indian Maps in the Hudson’s Bay Company Archives: A Comparison of Five Area Maps Recorded by Peter Fidler, 1801 -1802.” Archivaria.[↩]
Source: HBCA E.3/2. fos. 106d-07; HBCA B.39/a/2 fo. 92d; HBCA B.39/a/2 fos. 85d-86. The bottom three modern renditions of these maps are from our book.[↩]
Eleanor A. Maguire, Katherine Woollett, and Hugo J. Spiers, “London Taxi Drivers and Bus Drivers: A Structural MRI and Neuropsychological Analysis,” Hippocampus 16, no. 12 (December 1, 2006): 1091–101, doi.org/10.1002/hipo.20233.[↩]
Even with modern GPS, the tests are still required. Known as “The Knowledge” test, requiring memorization of over 25,000 streets and landmarks, taking years to finish[↩]
Although there is no scientific evidence to prove this, I have wondered whether the hippocampus of pre-GPS Venetians was larger than the average Italian hippocampus.[↩]
M. R. O’Connor. Wayfinding. The Science and Mystery of How Humans Navigate the World. p.30.[↩]
The core of this idea comes from the French sociologist, Pierre Bourdieu.[↩]
Which begs the question: if you can’t read a map to help find your destination, how would you ever navigate and find you way without one?[↩]
From: “Lecture 2 – Can you trust your memories?” Quizlet. https://quizlet.com/gb/325532459/lecture-2-can-you-trust-your-memories-flash-cards/[↩]
Here is an excerpt from O’Connor about Australian Aboriginal oral history: “But even the most conservative estimate makes Aboriginal oral history the oldest in the world. Until very recently, there was a consensus that the longest time period that human memories can be transmitted between generations before their meaning has completely changed or become obscured from the original is five hundred to eight hundred years. But in 2016, two Australian researchers published a paper in the journal Australian Geographer that upended this idea. Patrick Nunn and Nicholas Reid recorded stories from twenty-one locations around coastal Australia, from the Gulf of Carpentaria in the north to Kangaroo Island in the south. In each place they found stories about a time when parts of the coastline now under the ocean were actually dry land. The researchers matched the stories to geological evidence of post-glacial sea-level rise. It seems that these stories have been repeated from one generation to the next for a minimum of seven thousand years, but possibly for as long as thirteen thousand years and represent “some of the world’s earliest extant human memories.” Nunn and Reid explain these nearly unbelievable figures by pointing to several characteristics of Aboriginal culture that elucidate how such a faithful oral transmission was made possible. They point to the great value Aboriginal people place on precision in telling stories “right.”[↩]
Hercus, Luise, Jane Simpson, and Flavia Hodges. The Land Is a Map: Placenames of Indigenous Origin in Australia. Canberra: ANU Press, 2009. http://www.oapen.org/search?identifier=459353.[↩]
https://pawneeland.wordpress.com/2016/11/13/the-moon-magic/ “…a Skidi [Pawnee] man called Taihipirus had been blessed by Spider Woman as a youth, and he had grown up with “womanish ways.” Becoming respected as a war leader, he took an expedition into the south of Pawneeland and there they were driven onto Pawnee Rock by a vast coalition of “ten or eleven tribes” who encamped around the hill….The Skidis endured great thirst, and one night Taihipirus received a vision from Spider Woman. He watched her come down her rope from the moon, and she told him about a “great rock” that could be moved to one of the sheer edges of the hill. Following Spider Woman’s instructions, Taihipirus and his companions escaped by tying together their ropes and attaching them to the stone.” From: A narrative of the Pawnee Buttes told by Roaming Scout. This version was written in Pawneeland. History of the Pawnee Nation and Beyond. . The Moon Magic.[↩]
The Story Behind Aboriginal Body Art. Posted by Mbantua Gallery on 2021 Mar 08th. (https://mbantua.com.au/aboriginal-art-blog/the-story-behind-aboriginal-body-art/?srsltid=AfmBOoqlPeVFE-WSbZHvNNHlC2KIeHADuqFLC1eJ7vuKyNCMWXh3hsUj[↩]
From: Seeing the Inside: Bark Painting in Western Arnhem Land. 1996. Clarendon Press, Oxford.[↩]
Anthropologist Thomas Widlok experimented to determine the accuracy of Kalahari Bushmen navigation. In O’Connor’s own words:“The Hai||om, a group of about fifteen thousand people living in the Kalahari Basin, and other San groups had a reputation for nearly mythical powers of navigation. Widlok had read the literature documenting these skills. One hunter claimed that his San guide’s sense of direction was better than his handheld GPS device. Widlok also knew that during the border war in Angola and northern Namibia in the mid-twentieth century, the South African Army had created what was an elaborate ideology around these skills and exploited them to track down their enemies in the bush. Widlok knew from his experience that the Hai||om could accomplish orientation tasks that seemed impossible to him, such as easily locating places they had never been before. But how much did the language of the Hai||om play a role in these skills? Widlok took a GPS to the Mangetti-West region and began a study, accompanying six men, three women, and a twelve-year-old boy into the savanna, walking anywhere from nine to twenty-five miles. Widlok asked them to point to twenty different places ranging from a mile to over a hundred miles away. The visibility across the bush was around twenty yards, and there were no landmarks to be seen. Show me where X is from here, Widlok would ask, and then he noted the direction they pointed in and compared their estimates to his GPS reading. Again and again, Widlok found that the Hai||om’s dead reckoning skills were statistically barely different from the Guugu Yimithirr study group.” From: O’Connor, p.110[↩]
Photograph courtesy of Margaret Kennedy and Brian Reeves. From: “Stone Feature Types as Observed at Ceremonial Site Complexes on the Lower Red Deer and the Forks of the Red Deer and South Saskatchewan Rivers with Ethnohistorical Discussion.”[↩]
Norman Henderson. 1994. “Replicating Dog Travois Travel on the Northern Plains.” Plains Anthropologist Vol. 39, No. 148:145-159.[↩]
Even by the turn of the 19th century, Western maps such as Aaron Arrowsmith’s were not entirely accurate. While the latitude of landforms was relatively accurate, their longitude was often not very reliable.[↩]
At the annual 2024 Plains Anthropology Conference, held in Lethbridge, Alberta, Canada, Dr. Gerry Oetelaar from the University of Calgary argued that parts of the Ak Ko Wee Ak map were a metaphor for a tipi. He suggested that the rivers represented the lodge’s poles and not just as a purely locational map.[↩]
From: IDR News. “This Ancient Native American Star Chart Holds a Mysterious Secret That Has Experts Stumped.” https://indiandefencereview.com/this-ancient-native-american-star-chart-holds-a-mysterious-secret-that-has-experts-stumped/[↩]
“Oral tradition as emplacement: Ancestral Blackfoot memories of the Rocky Mountain Front.” Journal of Social Archaeology. June 2021: Maria Nieves Zedeno, Evelyn Pickering, and Francois Lanoe[↩]
From: “Oral tradition as emplacement: Ancestral Blackfoot memories of the Rocky Mountain Front.” Journal of Social Archaeology. June 2021: Maria Nieves Zedeno, Evelyn Pickering, and Francois Lanoe[↩]
Low lying landforms like lakes are poor navigational devices because they are not easily visible from a distance.[↩]
From: Mirau, N. and D. First Rider. 2009. South Saskatchewan Regional Plan (SSRP) Traditional Use Studies Project. Prepared for Alberta Environment, Lethbridge, Alberta[↩]
From: The Blackfoot Confederacy Nations of Alberta in association with Arrow Archaeology Limited. December 2017. Traditional Use Studies Project. Prepared for Alberta Environment, Lethbridge, Alberta[↩]
For more on this subject, readers should refer to: “Oral tradition as emplacement: Ancestral Blackfoot memories of the Rocky Mountain Front.” Journal of Social Archaeology. June 2021: Maria Nieves Zedeno, Evelyn Pickering, and Francois Lanoe[↩]
Indigenous Napi story first recorded by Grinnell GB. 1962. Blackfoot Lodge Tales. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press.[↩]
Blackfoot language (Siksikaitsitapi) is highly descriptive, allowing speakers to visualize concepts. It also encodes rich cultural values, relationships, and detailed environmental observations, often creating imagery that English translations can’t capture. It’s an action-based language with unique grammar that reflects the worldviews and history of the Niitsitapi (Blackfoot people.[↩]
I have always felt, but can’t prove it, that referring to many buffalo names and parts of the animal across the parkland-prairie transition is symbolic of the many bison herds that would have journeyed to the Alberta parklands during certain times of the year.[↩]
From: Cartographic Poetry. Examining Historic Blackfoot and Gros Ventre Maps. Ted Binnema, Francois Lanoe, Heinz W. Pyszczyk. 2025. University of Alberta Press.[↩][↩]
For more information regarding our search for this fort(s), refer to: Heinz W. Pyszczyk and Gabriella Prager. 2023. “Peter Fidler’s Long Lost Chesterfield House: Have We Finally Found It?” In Saskatchewan Archaeology Quarterly. Volume 7:60-67.[↩]
Because of terrain dead reckoning to many destinations would have been impractical if not impossible. For example, Ki oo cus would have had to cross major rivers and streams along most of the routes. His band could only cross them at certain spots. They needed to maintain a certain direction along their route to do so.[↩]
The other possible explanation may relate to how the Blackfoot travelled from Chesterfield House to each of these opposite destinations. Did one group travel with only warriors by horse to the Judith Mountains? Did the other group travel to the Buffalo Nose with the entire band?[↩]
If I’m given a distance to a destination, the first thing I would ask is how long it would take to get there.[↩]
From: John L. Allen. Indian Maps. https://lewis-clark.org/sciences/geography/mapping-unknown-lands/Indian-spatial-concepts/[↩]
Indian Maps. https://lewis-clark.org/sciences/geography/mapping-unknown-lands/indian-spatial-concepts/[↩]
From: Jolynn Parenteau. 2023. “Miywasin Moment: Guiding Lights.” Medicine Hat News.[↩]
The size of people’s fists is roughly proportional to the length of their arms. A child with a small fist and small arm will measure approximately 10 degrees. An adult with a larger fist and longer arm also measures 10 degrees from their point of view.[↩]
Could you sit down and draw the directions of places familiar to you, relative to one another, more accurately? Probably not, but you still would find those places while navigating your landscape. The locational inaccuracies on the map doesn’t necessarily equate to a poor knowledge of those places when navigating.[↩]
We still do this to some extent in our modern world, but less and less so. Whenever you take a walking tour through an unfamiliar city or landscape, your guide will point out certain places and tell stories about them. As I walk past the old Clarke Stadium grounds in Edmonton, Alberta, I share stories with others, how the great quarterback Warren Moon, then playing with the Edmonton Eskimos, lit up visiting teams in the Canadian Football League at this particular place.[↩]
(Note: I have included an interesting article by Forrest Hagen, Donalda, Alberta, Canada about some of our historic trails in western Canada. Before railways and roads reached today’s Canadian Praries in the 1880s, extensive cart and wagon trail networks connected major fur trade sites and Métis settlements. Some portions of these trails are still visible on the Canadian Prairies today.)
A 17th-century half-timbered house in Bamberg, Germany (left). The Delorme House, a Métis 19th-century half-timbered log house, is located south of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada.
“Each new situation requires a new architecture.”
– Jean Nouvel
ON THE RHINE RIVER, 2025
On a bright fall day,2025, our cruise ship gently glided down the Rhine River in southern Germany. The view was spectacular. The hillsides were covered with vineyards, churches, and castles, in various states of repair. I sipped my drink, taking in this beautiful, glorious historic landscape. What caught my eye, however, were the many magnificent half-timbered framed buildings, some centuries old, standing along the river’s edge.
Beautiful half-timber-framed buildings, majestic churches, and vineyards on the hillsides, along the Rhine River, in southern Germany.
Whenever travelling, I always get caught up in a Country’s history. My trip up the Danube River, then along the Main River, and down the Rhine River was no exception. While the magnificent churches and castles, representing the elite few, are impressive, it’s the country’s folk history that I find intriguing. Part of that history is preserved in its architecture.
This story is about the history of European and Canadian timber building methods. What is the historical connection, and how does it manifest in folk log building architecture? What factors were responsible for the different log building construction techniques present on both continents during specific periods in history?
I’ve been a long-time admirer and student of historic folk architecture in the Americas. This fascination began when I first read about the 18th and 19th-century log construction techniques present during the western Canadian fur trade era. 1
My interest in folk building techniques didn’t stop with historic log construction methods. After visiting Iceland in 2022, I became fascinated by historic turf/sod houses in the Nordic countries and in Canada. But, to some degree, many of these structures, too, were timber-framed with sod infill. 2
Glaumbaer farmstead, northern Iceland (left). The Icelandic buildings are timber-frame with sod infill. A rare wood-framed house, with sod infill for walls, east-central Alberta, Canada (right).
LOG/TIMBER BUILDING TECHNIQUES
Before delving into the bewildering array and genesis of historic log or timber construction techniques, let’s first examine the composition of the most basic building log construction techniques.
1. Full-Timbered Horizontal and Vertical Log Buildings
Full-timbered buildings are entirely built of large, rounded or squared logs. The beauty of this method lies in its simplicity, which requires few tools for construction (e.g., axe, knife, drill/auger). There are two main types: 1) horizontally laid log walls, which were notched together at the corners of the building; 2) vertically oriented logs either resting on a horizontal foundation or placed into the ground. Both methods are referred to as Piece sur piece construction by the French and also described as ‘massed‘ log building construction.
Full-timbered horizontal log house with saddle-notched corners, Alberta, Canada (top left). Full-timbered church and rectory, with dove-tailed corner notching. St. Charles Oblate Mission (1867-1903), Dunvegan, Alberta (top right). Full-timbered clerk’s quarters (c.1878), with dove-tailed corner notching. Hudson’s Bay Company, Fort Dunvegan (1878-1918), Alberta (bottom left). Full-timbered vertical-walled dwelling, Fort Michilimackinac (c.1715-1781) (bottom centre). This method was also referred to as Poteaux-en-terre (post-in-ground) or Poteaux-sur-sol (post-on-sill) construction by the French. It was used in Europe (dating back thousands of years) and in early colonial North America.
While few tools were necessary to construct them, full-timbered log buildings required large, long, straight logs and either a pulley and rope system or many men to lift the top layers of heavy timbers into place.
2. Half-Timbered Building Construction
This technique uses rounded or squared timbers for the building’s skeleton or frame. The spaces between the frame timbers are filled with short, horizontal logs, brick, clay, rocks, or other materials. 3 The earliest forms were often filled with short horizontal logs when wood in Europe was plentiful (but large, long, straight trees were becoming scarce). As timber resources dwindled in Europe, other materials (listed above) were used as infills between the log frames. This building method was referred to as Colombage by the French. When we visited small Bavarian towns, we saw beautiful examples of half-timbered houses, some built in the 14th century (and still standing and occupied).
Examples of half-timber framed buildings in Canada. The squared or round log frame is filled in with horizontal round or squared logs. In western Canada, this building method was also referred to as ‘Red River Frame’. It was common at Canadian fur trade forts and also used by the Métis people in western Canada. Fort Edmonton (1830-1915) warehouse, with large vertical squared timbers with horizontal infill logs, is being dismantled in 1915 (left). A Métis Red River Frame log house belonging to Andre Nault, Manitoba, Canada (bottom right). 4A fine example of a half-timber framed house in Bamberg, Germany (left), dating back to the 17th century. The half-timber-framed house on the right features wattle and daub, brick, and stone infill. The infill was then coated with a layer of plaster, leaving the timber frame logs exposed. This building is located in Bad Langensalza, Germany. 5
Half-timbered building construction techniques had several advantages over full-timbered building construction techniques: 1) they required less timber; and, 2) they allowed more variation or artistic freedom in the building’s facade. However, they were much more labour-intensive to build and required more joinery skills than the full-timbered horizontal log buildings with corner notching. 6 Also, because the timber frame was exposed to the elements, and the fill was of poor insulating quality, these houses were not as warm as a full-timbered log house.
Examples of half-timber-framed houses in Bamberg, Germany. The oldest structure (top left) was built in 1333. The wood timbers are remarkably well preserved because rot-resistant wood, such as oak, was used. They were often charred, and some of the top stories of buildings had overhangs to keep log frames below them dry (bottom right). Also, the timbers were connected with wooden dowels and not iron nails, preventing rot around the nails. Note also the different styles of decorative infill on these houses – a means of expressing the owners’ individualism and wealth. Many of these houses belonged to the rich German gentry. The houses of the common people, though built using similar techniques, would have been less decorative and ornate.A close-up photograph of a German half-timber-framed building with squared log infill showing the considerable detail in log joinery methods. 7
In the German and French countryside, half-timbered farm buildings were common, but not nearly decorative as those in the towns and cities. Also, the farm house/barn was common in Germany and France, joining both the house and barn together for practical purposes and a lower expenditure of buildings resources.
The farm house/barn, also known as the fachhallenhaus, Einhaus (single-house) or Wohnstallhaus (residential barn house) by the Germans, Mas (Masia in Catalonia), and the English term Tithe Barn. These half-timbered farm structures, with a variety of infill, were common in Europe, but as we will see, were quite rare in Canada. Thatched Fachhallenhaus, built 1779, near Gifhorn, Germany (top left). The Riek’sches Haus, built 1553, in Hamburg-Bergedorf, Germany (top right). A side- and end view of the house/barn consisting of half-timbered construction with brick infill. 8
A cursory examination of European log construction building methods through time and space indicates the following: 1) both methods were used in many European countries throughout the centuries; and, 2) the full-timbered horizontal log construction method with corner notching or vertical log timbered methods always preceded the half-timbered method.
And in every case, people abandoned the full-timbered construction method because by the Late Middle Ages (1300-1500 AD), suitable large, long, straight logs, necessary for full-timbered construction, became scarce in many areas of Europe, requiring people to use different materials for their infill instead of logs – hence the emergence of the half-timbered or the Colomblage building construction method. In regions where forests were patchy, the full-timbered and half-timbered method with horizontal log infill often occurred together, as it did in parts of western Ukraine.
We must also keep in mind that, all things being equal, the full-timbered horizontal corner-notched or vertical log building method produced a relatively warmer living environment than the half-timbered method. This was especially true if a layer of plaster or mud was applied to the outside and inside of the building’s walls.
This diagram shows the main timber building construction through time. It should be kept in mind that these techniques overlapped and coexisted in some regions in Europe (i.e., at a certain period in history, some regions, for example, maintained good timber resources while others did not.)
Europeans Settle North America
The first Europeans to settle in the northern parts of North America in the early 17th century originated primarily from England and France. They brought with them their culture and traditions, including their building construction techniques. In historic Canada, we find both full-timbered and half-timbered building construction techniques, and hybrids thereof.
In France, Piece sur piece building construction was used in areas with abundant timber. In many regions, both styles were used concurrently, depending on local resources and the specific needs of the building. Half-timbering (of the Colombage style) became more common in areas where timber was less abundant or in cities where fire risk was higher (a combination of wood with non-combustible materials like stone and brick was safer). 9
After the medieval period (fifth to fifteen century), full log construction became less common in the British Isles, also because of a scarcity of suitable, large, straight timber. Alternatives were sought, and half-timber-framing, which used smaller, more efficient wooden members, or replaced them altogether with wattle and daub or brick infill, became the most common method of building construction.
A half-timbered house in Thaxted, Essex (c.1462-1465) (left). 10 Old half-timbered, 15th-century Grammar School in Ledbury, England. 11
CANADIAN FOLK ARCHITECTURE – DOES HISTORY REVERSE ITSELF?
Before I dive into the intriguing history of folk log/timber building in Canada and its origins, I introduce the concept of Nature versus Nurture. This concept, originally developed in the field of psychology, questions whether the human personality is a function of genetics or environment, or both. It has been readapted and applied to anthropology and history: are human traditions and customs a function of our collective culture history, personalities, our environment, or a bit of all of them?
In other words, when we examine folk architecture in Canada, why were certain techniques adopted, abandoned, or modified? This question has piqued my interest for many years. After visiting parts of Europe and studying the history of log/timber building construction methods in Canada, I’m convinced that in some (but not all) areas of Canada, the history of log/timber architecture is reversed from its historic development in Europe:
The half-timbered building construction method (Colombage) was first introduced in French Canada and then was replaced by the full-timbered (Piece sur piece) method, or modified adaptations thereof.
The Reason: A very Harsh Climate and Unlimited Timber Building Resources
Let me lay out the facts of my argument for you.
Early French Canada
According to C. W. Jefferys (1942), the earliest known log buildings, consisting of half-timbered buildings, were constructed in the 17th and 18th centuries in New France.
The Maison de Jeanne is a medieval half-timbered house in Sévérac-le-Château, France, dating back to the 15th century (left). An artist’s rendition of Samuel de Champlain and Guillaume of Caën’s farmstead in 1626 (based on archaeological investigations). Erected downstream from Quebec City at Cap Tourmente, the farm buildings have a thatched gable roof, half-timber frame with clay infill, set between vertical posts at approximately three-foot intervals. 12
However, soon the French colonists, particularly in Quebec, adapted traditional Norman half-timbered techniques (known as maison à colombages or pan de bois) to the materials and climate of North America. They replaced traditional infill materials, such as wattle and daub, with local wood, stone and mortar (pierrotage), or a mixture of mud, moss, and animal hair (bousillage). But this transition to new building methods did not stop there.
This half-timbered Lamontagne house in Rimouski, Quebec, Canada, built in 1732, has a vertical timber frame with the vertical timbers spaced close together with little infill. It appears that building methods were reverting to more wood and less infill, making them more suitable for Canada’s harsh winters. 12
As settlers adapted their building methods to the local climate and available materials, the half-timbered style evolved into more practical forms better suited to the harsh Canadian winters. The half-timber frame and infill methods were replaced by full-timbered horizontal or vertical logs (pièce-sur-pièce), offering better insulation. 13
Later types of French Canadian building architecture, modified from the original Colombage styles, consisted of full timber-framed buildings with timber infill logs. The frame was either built on a horizontal sill log or vertical corner and wall poles set into the ground (the latter known as poteaux en terre (posts in the ground). 14
To make the full-timbered or half-timbered house even warmer, the logs were covered with a layer of mud plaster.
I think French Canadians abandoned the traditional half-timbered building construction method to better cope with the harsh Canadian climate. There was also an unlimited supply of large, long, straight timber resources, which made the construction of full-timbered corner-notched buildings possible.
In French Canada, the history of log building construction technique was in the reverse order when compared to Europe. It started with the half-timbered method and then progressed to the full-timbered, corner-notched method.
In this case, it seems, Nature prevailed, necessitating this adaptation in French Canada.
Late 18th-Century and 19th-Century Western Canadian Fur Trade
The same log building pattern repeats itself in the early 18th and 19th-century fur trade and later 19th-century settlement in parts of western Canada, initially consisting of half-timbered building methods (using post-on-sill and post-in-ground foundation construction). Infill between the timber frame was, however, always logs because of suitable, abundant timber. 15
Half-timbered buildings at the Hudson’s Bay Company Fort Edmonton (c.1830-1915), Alberta, Canada (left). A side view (pretend you’re looking at a building wall) of the half-timbered post-in-ground and post-on-sill construction methods (right). Post-in-ground construction was used during the early period of the western fur trade and was replaced by post-on-sill construction. It isn’t clear why it was replaced. In Europe, post-in-ground construction was an older building method, particularly for French colonial buildings. Post-on-sill construction was considered more substantial and was often used on less stable ground or for more permanent structures. After 1821, western Canadian fur trade posts became more permanent, perhaps reverting to the post-on-sill construction method.
And, in some fort dwellings, the entire inside and outside walls were covered with thick layers of mud held in place by a willow latticework. 16
Our archaeological investigations at the NWC Fort George (1792-1800), central Alberta, Canada, uncovered large amounts of baked mud plaster (baked when the building burned down) along the dwelling walls. The negative imprints on the plaster revealed how the mud was applied and whether logs were round or square (left). Also, we found that Chief Trader Angus Shaw’s Big House, built in the post-in-ground construction method, was better insulated than the labourers’ quarters (also using the same construction method). Wealth and status also came into play in the choice of log building construction methods.
Then, around the 1870s, full-timbered horizontal log building construction began to appear at many fur trade posts in central and northern parts of western Canada, replacing the half-timbered building method. It is currently uncertain why this transition occurred. The greater permanence of forts may have led to the adoption of this technique. Also, a full-timbered horizontal log building, covered with a layer of plaster, would have been warmer than the half-framed building. For those who have experienced a northern Canadian winter, any insulation advantage would be important. However, why it took nearly 100 years to adopt it remains unclear.
Western Canadian Métis
“Our house, like all the others at that time in St. Norbert, was built from logs well squared off with a large axe and held superimposed by tenon and mortise joints and what we called in those days a ‘dovetail’. It was one and a half stories high, two times longer than wide and covered with earth and straw.” (Louis Goulet, born along the Red River in 1859) 17
The western Canadian Métis, whose origins are connected to the fur trade (where the companys’ male employees took First Nations female partners), also constructed their buildings using either full- or half-timbered construction methods. Log building traditions would have been passed down from father to son. In northern Alberta, Canada, with its vast timber resources, during the late 19th century, the Métis built their houses with full horizontal log walls with various types of corner-notching. 18
A Métis house built by the Jean Baptiste family, c.1940, Turtle Mountain, Manitoba, Canada. It had horizontal logs held together by corner notching (top left). The outside, and perhaps the inside of the structure, were mudded for warmth. Inside a reconstructed Métis cabin, Fort Walsh historic site, Alberta, Canada (top right). A late 19th-century Métis full-timbered horizontal log house, Carcajou, Alberta, Canada (bottom left). A late 19th-century full-timbered horizontal log Métis log house, Fort Vermilion, Alberta, Canada (bottom right).
In Alberta, Canada, even during the 1930s, some Métis constructed their buildings from logs. The Baptiste River Métis used full-timbered horizontal building construction methods. They connected the large, round poplar logs covered in bark, at the corners, with an axe-hewn saddle notch.
The Baptiste River Fluery family (c.1942) (Top left). All the buildings were full-timbered, constructed from horizontal logs joined by saddle-notched corners (top and bottom right). By the 1990s, the buildings had collapsed (bottom left). As these images show, the poplar logs were large and only the cracks between the logs were chinked (bottom right). 19
Full-timbered horizontal log construction was the primary method used by Alberta Métis at the late 19th-century settlements, Carcajou, Buttertown (north Vermilion), Buffalo Lake, Tail Creek, and Baptiste River in Alberta. However, in parts of Saskatchewan and Manitoba, Canada, late 19th-century Métis half-timber framed buildings (where infill consists of short logs) often coexisting with full horizontal log-walled buildings.
When we look closer, for example, at the Métis settlement of Batoche (c.1872-1920), Saskatchewan, Canada, both construction methods were used. According to all sources the earliest Métis houses were of full-timbered horizontal log construction. Only the Saint Antoine de Padoue Church and the St. Antoine de Padoue Rectory, constructed later in 1883-1885, were built in the red river frame, but both buildings were built by the Oblate missionaries and not the Métis.
Historic photographs of Batoche and Métis log buildings in the surrounding settlement. Batoche in 1888 (top left). Saint-Antoine de Padoue Church and rectory (1883-85) built in the Red River Frame (top right). Métis cabin at Fish Creek (near Batoche) with corner notching (bottom left). Metis cabin near Duck Lake (and Batoche) with corner notching (bottom right). 20
If my observations have any credence, adequate timber resources may have been the defining factor in the choice of log/timber construction methods by the late 19th century Métis. 21
Other Métis buildings in Saskatchewan. Log cabin (top left). Log buildings, northern Saskatchewan (top center top right, bottom left). Log cabin near Batoche, North-West Rebellion (bottom center). Métis dwelling at Wood Mountain, 1874 (bottom right). 20
Late 19th-Century Settlement in Western Canada
Ukrainian Settlers
A Ukrainian family in Manitoba, Canada, is putting on the finishing touches to their first log house. Generally, both the inside and outside of these log dwellings were coated with a layer of mud and plaster consisting of clay, mixed with straw or even horse manure. This is a rare photograph of a half-timber frame log house. Most of the houses were of full-timbered horizontal log construction with corner notching. 22
Parts of western Canada were opened for settlement in the late 19th century. Large numbers of Ukrainian immigrants, primarily from the western regions of today’s Ukraine (originally the provinces of Galicia and Bukovyna of the then Austro-Hungarian Empire), settled in what was or would eventually become Manitoba, Saskatchewan, and Alberta. They brought with them their traditions, including their log/timber folk architecture. 23
Typical Galician farmhouse, 1920s. The log construction work is hidden beneath a thick layer of plaster, but would likely be of either half-timbered or full horizontal log construction with notched corners. This might be a house/barn (house and barn joined together as one building).
Whenever I travel through parts of western Canada, I often come across mostly old full-timber structures having large horizontal logs with beautiful dovetailed corner notching. Many of these buildings are disappearing, but some refuse to go down easily. They speak to how well built they are and of Canada’s considerable ethnic diversity.
The Lawrence Babiak residence, Manitoba, Canada, 1900 (left). This Ukrainian house features a horizontal corner construction style. 24 Collapsed Métis log buildings, late 19th century, Carcajou, northern Alberta, Canada (center and right).
Like other parts of Europe, Ukrainians traditionally built their log buildings using various methods: “In the western Ukraine, where the majority of the immigrants to Canada originated, log construction was most common. There were three different construction methods used: horizontal log construction with dovetailed or saddle‐notched corners, post and fill (known as Red River Frame in western Canada) and vertical log construction in which the walls were secured by top and bottom sills. The horizontal construction method was favoured, but in areas deficient of good timber, post and fill construction was common. The vertical log method was used only occasionally.”25
A map of Europe in the 1920s (left). 25 The locations of the former Ukrainian provinces of Galicia and Bukovyna are close to the Polish-Romanian border. Examples of folk houses in the districts of western Ukraine at the close of the nineteenth century (right). 26
Early Ukrainian pioneers migrated to the western Canadian parkland and homesteaded large tracts of forested land. They had to clear the land, but for them, this was like finding a gold mine. There were many beautiful stands of mature trees to build their homes and farm buildings. During the time of immigration, many parts of Ukraine no longer had such vast timber resources.
Examples of early Ukrainian folk architecture in western Canada. These buildings, where the logs are visible, were constructed using the full-timbered horizontal log corner notching style.
In central and parts of northern Alberta, the early settlers built full-timber horizontal structures, even though many of them came from areas in the Ukraine where half-timbered building construction existed. I believe the reason people reverted to full-timber construction was its simplicity, requiring fewer tools. It was less labour-intensive and required fewer joinery skills than half-timbered construction. Also, there were abundant suitable timber resources in the Canadian parklands necessary for such construction. And of course, the brutally cold western Canadian winters likely played a role in the choice of log construction methods. Many of these houses contained a thick layer of plaster on the inside and outside walls.
However, according to John C. Lehr, in areas of Manitoba where Ukrainian full-timbered horizontal log construction and half-timbered construction coexisted, suitable wood for construction determined which building method Ukrainians chose:
“The type of log construction used by Ukrainian pioneers in Manitoba varied considerably. Horizontal logs corner-joined by saddle notchings was most widely employed but in areas where good building timber was difficult to obtain, post and fill, known locally as Red River Frame or Hudson’s Bay frame was often used. In some of the more marshy areas where any kind of mature timber was absent the Ukrainians used stockade walling with vertical timbers, but this method was used only infrequently. The Ukrainian immigrants were familiar with all three of these construction methods from their homeland…” 27
Ukrainian folk house near Arbakka, Manitoba. Vertical timbering in the construction of both the house and the attached shed lean-to (shanda) (left). Abandoned Ukrainian farmhouse, near Vita, Manitoa, showing half-timbered or Red-River Frame construction and exterior mud plaster (right). 28
The same scenario is also present in parts of central Saskatchewan, Canada. A few years ago, Professor Emeritus, Dr. David Meyer, University of Saskatchewan, sent me images of half-timber framed buildings in the Radisson/Hafford area, northwest of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada. 29
Ukrainian half-timbered houses with log infill from the Radisson-Hafford area, central Saskatchewan, Canada. Photographs courtesy of Dr. David Meyer, University of Saskatchewan.
At first, I thought these were old fur trade or Metis buildings, since a half-timber frame with log infill, also known as Red River Frame, occurred at many fur trade posts. Also, a few Ukrainian half-timbered buildings were present in Manitoba, but in Alberta, there are no recorded Ukrainian half-timbered buildings. But the written and oral evidence were irrefutable. These houses were built by Ukrainians who settled in central Saskatchewan during the early 1900s.
The wall infill of the Ukrainian houses in Saskatchewan consisted of short timber pieces mortised into the vertical corner and wall logs. This was a modification of the traditional half-timber framed buildings in the Ukraine that, because of declining forests, used other types of fill between the logs. Mud plaster also covered both the outside and inside of the building walls, making them quite comfortable to live in during the cold winter months. However, the exposed timber frame still acts as a cold bridge between the inside and outside of the house.
Details of log frame construction methods and materials. The building on the bottom right consists of both half-timber framed (right side) and a horizontal dove-tailed corner construction method (left side). The full-timbered dovetail building was built first and the half-timbered addition was added later. This sequence of building events might have occurred because the timber resources necessary for full-timbered horizontal log construction, were dwindling. Photographs courtesy of Dr. David Meyer, University of Saskatchewan.
To make a long story short, it is possible that the central Saskatchewan half-timbered Ukrainian buildings were a product of inadequate timber resources required to construct the full-timbered horizontal log and corner-notched buildings. We base this interpretation on history, that, given a choice when adequate timber resources are present, humans will revert to the full-timbered corner-notched building methods, especially in a harsh winter climate such as the interior of western Canada.
Mennonite Settlers
Early Mennonites, immigrating from various parts of Europe in the late 18th century, also maintained some of their traditional building techniques while readopting others, such as log building construction in Canada. For example, they brought with them the conventional house/barn, which they built of full-timbered logs. Even though the house/barn was common in France and England, it was rare in historic Canada. 30
An early Mennonite house/barn built in Manitoba, 1878, with log construction (left). A sketch depicting a Mennoite house/barn on the left and another dwelling made of full-timbered log construction on the right (right). (Provincial Archives of Manitoba) 31
TIMBER BUILDING CONSTRUCTION: NATURE OR NURTURE?
Whenever we ask questions of history, especially why someone did something in a certain way, or in this case, why people in historic Europe and Canada built their houses in a particular way, we nearly always eventually confront the ‘nature versus nurture’ issue. When asked why they built a specific kind of house, people might say, ‘Well, that’s how my father built them and that’s how I learned to build them,’ Or, ‘I have to build this way now because good trees are sparse’, or, ‘There is a another way to build that make the house warmer in cold weather.
We humans are often reluctant to change the way we live or construct our dwellings. Our traditions hang heavy on us. But sooner or later, perhaps after freezing your arse off in the new French Canada, and spending endless hours cutting down trees for firewood to keep warm, it dawns on you that a different, more sustainable building technique was required to cope with the Canadian winters. The half-timbered framed houses of French, English and German Europe, with their various types of infill, were unsuitable for the harsh Canadian climate.
And once out west, any log structure, whether it was half-timber framed with log infill, or full-timbered horizontal log construction with notched corners, required thick layers of mud both on the outer and inner walls to be comfortable in the winter.
And, how far have we come when considering our modern building methods? Take a look at the photograph below. Yes, we have replaced logs with milled lumber, and mud, straw, stone, or brick infill with modern insulation. The cladding is wood, and still mostly plaster inside the house. But the building framing system is reminiscent of the historic half-timbered houses in Europe and North America.
These thoughts flashed through my mind as we drifted down the Rhine River or strolled through the streets of small towns in southern Germany, admiring the wonderful folk architecture.
Yes, the European castles and palaces are lovely, but they don’t represent the entire architectural histories of the peoples of either continent.
One of the many castle ruins standing on prominent hills overlooking the Rhine River, in southern Germany. Some of the buildings inside this castle are also of half-timber framed construction. Even the European aristocracy used the half-timbered framed construction method.
Footnotes:
For those of you interested in more details, read my blog: My Little Wooden House: Wood Building Techniques in Canada, published 2020/02/28[↩]
For more information, see my blog: Ancient Turf Houses and the Canadian Connection, published 2022/09/20.[↩]
Technically, if the infill was also of logs, the building would be full-timbered, since half-timbering refers to only the frame constructed of logs and infill consisting of other materials.[↩]
Photograph on the right, courtesy of https://www.wikiwand.com/en/articles/Timber_framing[↩]
However, once the Colombage construction was adopted, fewer joinery skills were required.[↩]
Photograph courtesy of Ukrainian Farm Buildings. An Architectural Theme Study. Ed Ledohowski & David Butterfield. Historic Resources Branch, Manitoba Culture, Heritage and Tourism.[↩]
All images courtesy of Wikepedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Low_German_house[↩]
Areas in Normandy, Alsace, and Brittany had half-timbered houses during the medieval and Renaissance Periods. Examples still exist in towns and cities such as Strasbourg, Rouen, and Tours.[↩]
Courtesy of Ontario Barn Preservation: Traditional Barns in Quebec. 2023. Arthur Plumpton[↩][↩]
2015, Architecture in New-France. https://maisondeplaisancedenouvelle-france.blogspot.com/2015/05/architecture-in-new-france.html[↩]
Source: Early Building Construction, Jefferys, Charles W., 1942. The Picture Gallery of Canadian History Volume 1:82.[↩]
In western Canada, the Hudson’s Bay Company and particularly the North West Company hired many French Canadians from French Canada, including carpenters.[↩]
for more details on these methods, readers should refer to my earlier blog on log building construction techniques: My Little Wooden House: Wood Building Techniques in Canada, published 2020/02/28[↩]
Louis Goulet in Guillaume Charette, Vanishing spaces: Memoires of a Prairie Métis. Winnipeg: Éditions Bois-Brûlés, 1976: 3-4.[↩]
To my knowledge, the Métis in Alberta did not build half-timbered buildings, which they did in other parts of western Canada.[↩]
I was involved in having this Métis historic settlement designated as a Provincial Historic Site, in recognition of Métis history in Alberta. At the time, my actions didn’t endear me to some of my colleagues at the Historic Resources Branch, Government of Alberta, who believed that the remains did not warrant protection and recognition. Currently, we have come a long way in recognizing that folk history, in its various forms, is as important to recognize and protect as the more grandiose buildings and places in Canada. Photographs courtesy of Beth Hrychuk, 1995. THE BAPTISTE SITE, ALBERTA, FdPs-1. RECONSTRUCTING TWENTIETH CENTURY &TIS LIFEWAYS IN ALBERTA. PERMIT 95-067. Archaeological Survey of Alberta.[↩]
Photographs courtesy of: Gabriel Dumont Institute of Native Studies and Applied Research. https://www.metismuseum.ca/browse/index.php?id=624[↩][↩]
However, without a larger sample size, and accurate building dates, it is currently impossible to say whether this is an absolute rule (i.e., all buildings…) or a relative rule (i.e., most buildings…) [↩]
I have a soft spot for early western Ukrainian folk architecture, partly because of my interest in log/timber construction techniques of any sort, but also because my father’s family immigrated to Poland from western Ukraine sometime after 1920. My father was born in Lviv, Ukraine, in 1920 (which was in the province of Galicia). The family considered themselves German, but as my last name belies, there’s a strong Ukrainian connection in there somewhere.[↩]
From: Ukrainian Farm Buildings. An Architectural Theme Study. Ed Ledohowski & David Butterfield. Historic Resources Branch, Manitoba Culture, Heritage and Tourism.[↩]
From Ukrainian Farm Buildings. An Architectural History Study. Ed Ledohowski & David Butterfield. Manitoba Culture, Heritage, and Tourism. https://www.gov.mb.ca/chc/hrb/internal_reports/pdfs/ukrainian_buildings_full.pdf[↩][↩]
From V.P. Samojlovych, Ukrains’ ke Narodne. Kyiv: Navakova Dumka, 1972[↩]
John C. Lehr. Folk Architecture in Manitoba: Mennonites and Ukrainians. https: dalspaceb.library.dal.ca/server/api/core bitstreams/30582121-0c38-4504-a08a-410c7895a59b/content[↩]
Photographs from: John C. Lehr. Folk Architecture in Manitoba: Mennonites and Ukrainians. https://dalspaceb.library.dal.ca/server/api/core/bitstreams/30582121-0c38-4504-a08a-410c7895a59b/content[↩]
We (David Meyer, Wayne Lerch, Heinz Pyszczyk) are currently preparing a research paper for publication on these buildings, so my descriptions here are brief.[↩]
French or English colonists in Canada rarely used this method of construction even though it was common in Europe.[↩]
From: Traditional Period (1880 – 1900). Early Structures (1880-1885). Province of Manitoba. https://www.gov.mb.ca/chc/hrb/internal[↩]
