TSAWWASSEN, B.C. — Pushing off one morning from a beach riddled with dead eelgrass, skipper Larry Nahanee plunked a scientific probe into the water and steered the hand-carved cedar canoe toward the next landing.
His ancestors, the Coast Salish Indians, had paddled the same waters to Washington for hundreds of years before him, using canoes as spiritual vessels.
This summer, as dozens of Northwest tribes make the same journey, their canoes will tow U.S. Geological Survey equipment to measure the health and quality of the water.
It’s melding science and native traditions and, participants say, a call to restore the waters between Washington and British Columbia, often referred to as the Salish Sea.
“The health of the Salish Sea is a very serious concern for us,” said Brian Cladoosby, chairman of the Swinomish tribe in LaConner. “All tribes have been affected by the loss of natural resources that we have always lived on forever.”
“It’s not only a project of significance to the tribes but to all peoples that live here,” he said.
Every year, more than 100 canoes from Coast Salish tribes in Washington and British Columbia paddle for days from all directions to gather. When they converge at Suquamish near Seattle on Monday, five of those canoe families will also carry a wealth of data about Puget Sound, the Georgia Strait and the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
The USGS probes they trail will take GPS readings every 10 seconds and test temperature, salinity, pH, dissolved oxygen and turbidity. Some also measure chlorophyll levels.
“A survey like this has never been done so extensively across such a large area all at the same time,” said Eric Grossman, a USGS geologist and science adviser for Coast Salish Water Quality Project.
“I don’t think there’s any group that spends so much time on the coastal waters,” he said. “Who else to ask about the health of our coastal environment?”
He said it would cost tens of thousands of dollars to collect the same amount of data, simultaneously, across such a range, from Puget Sound to Vancouver Island to the Pacific Ocean.
The measurements will offer a snapshot of environmental health, helping to identify areas where plant life thrives or doesn’t, where sediment can potentially suffocate fish and other marine life, where low nutrient levels are a concern.
“With several years of this tribal journey, we’ll begin to see patterns and trends,” Grossman said. He hopes the project, now in its second year, will be a regular part of the tribal canoe journey.
Tribal members say healthy water is crucial to their livelihood, and the study is a natural complement to their long environmental stewardship.
“Our whole livelihood depends on marine resources — clams, fish, waterfowl,” said George Adams, language director for the Nooksack Indian tribe, near Bellingham, Wash. He said they’ve seen a marked decline.
As water quality has deteriorated over the decades, salmon, orcas and sea bird populations have declined. Shellfish have been poisoned.
“On this journey, we’re trying to re-educate the general populace, as well as our kids, by teaching them to respect what feeds us,” Adams said.
It’s a sunny morning when members of the Squamish Nation in North Vancouver, B.C., say prayers on the beach and thank their hosts from the previous night. The nine paddlers of all ages board the canoe and swiftly pull away from the beach near the Tsawwassen Ferry Terminal, falling into a slow, steady rhythm. Other canoes pull alongside them.
The view from the water gives an intimate knowledge of the coastal environment, and for Donna Moody, also of the Squamish Nation, it hasn’t been a pretty sight.
The previous day, they encountered dead smelt, dead crab, dead eelgrass beds, along with miles-long jetties that have altered the shoreline.
“We noticed dead fish in there,” said Moody, who lives in North Vancouver, B.C. “I don’t even want to go swimming in the ocean after seeing all that.”
Paddling toward Blaine, Wash., they come across water of curious, distinct colors: chocolate brown, deep red, dark green, bright blue.
Grossman isn’t sure why there’s such a variability in the water. He wonders aloud whether the red color signals a toxic algae bloom or something else.
The scientist follows the canoes in a support boat and takes water samples every 10 kilometers to analyze dissolved nutrients and phytoplankton.
More than seven hours later, the canoes pull onto a beach at Birch Bay State Park near Blaine, Wash., and are welcomed by dozens, including their host, the Nooksack Indian Tribe, whose members will join the canoe journey the next day.
“It’s a way of connecting not only on a human level but with our spirit, with Mother Earth,” said Dennis Joseph with the Squamish Nation.
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