Last week I was making my way through a 150-page document that involves the Lower Kootenay Band as a partner in a proposed wilderness adventure tourism scheme on a 70,000-hectare tenure near Gray Creek. Then the phone started to ring.
It was not a surprise that the proposal has generated interest—and controversy—particularly among Gray Creek and Crawford Bay residents. But their concern didn’t really mesh with my thoughts as I read through the proposal, wondering why anyone would take on such a plan, which is complicated by countless requirements to address concerns about animal and plant life, water, transportation and nearby populations.
One caller, whom I suspect is envisioning a development like Whistler or Banff, was adamant. I’ll have to move if this project goes ahead, he said. I came here for the quiet and I will have to leave.
But when I talk to friends who have experience in heli-skiing and other backwoods recreational activities, they tell me that if you didn’t know what was going on in those areas, well, you wouldn’t know what was going on. The footprints are small—no infrastructure other than paths and a few flat spots for helicopters to land on.
This is a classic case of the sort of development that polarizes people, and I’ll be danged if I know what the answer is. Do I believe the stated commitment of the applicants to be environmental and cultural stewards or the folks who worry that any such change will ruin the peace and quiet that they seek (and lose to other forms of tourism in the summer months)? Do I trust the people I know and admire in Lower Kootenay or the Wildsight folks who tell us that the government needs to keep any additional human activity out of these wilderness areas?
Like most people who choose to call the Kootenays home, I love the outdoors. My favourite physical activity is hiking and, while I prefer to stay close to home and repeatedly use a few favourite trails, I like the idea at least of being able to get into the backcountry, away from the sounds of traffic, sawmills and power boats. I presume that the hiking trails in the proposed tenure would also be available to the general public, it being implausible that access could be monitored and controlled.
I am not particularly offended that the proposal would seem to be geared to people with plenty of disposable income. Better they spend their money in my backyard than elsewhere, I say. But is it worth it if their recreation is undertaken to the detriment of animals and plants that can’t cope with more human interaction?
Ay, there’s the rub, as Hamlet said, as he pondered suicide. It’s an apt segue, I think because it seems to be more and more apparent that our species is committing slow suicide with each additional step we take into what remains of the natural world. Biological diversity is vital and, as the climate changes, it becomes more precarious. I might not be losing sleep over a transplanted herd of mountain caribou, but perhaps I should be. The butterfly effect is undeniable at this point, I am convinced even tiny changes can contribute to dangerous losses.
But still, we can’t deny that we live in this world, and perhaps by offering people ways to experience nature in a gentle way (although, admittedly, using the terms gentle and fuel-guzzling helicopters in the same thought is oxymoronic, with the emphasis on the last three syllables of the word) will help spread the word about the need to avoid more invasive development.
So this proposed development is either a good thing, a way to get into the backwoods without hacking our way through, or a bad thing, the end of the world as we know it. Just don’t ask me which.
