Ravenspeak near the Inland Passage

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power the world will know peace.”
—Jimi Hendrix
On July 25, 2024, we headed for Terrace, British Columbia, where our youngest son served part of his mission. We could see why he loved it so much with the mountains wreathed in clouds and thick, tall-pine forests.
The weather had turned cooler, in the 50’s and 60’s, and it rained, a great help in dousing the wildfires and clearing the smoke.
We drove mile after mile through forests and along lakes that seemed as enormous as inland seas. After the intense summer heat and wildfires, I felt my entire being relax.
When we arrived in Terrace, we checked into the Northern Motorway Motel and then headed for Kitimat, a 50-minute drive south from Terrace.
The name Kitimat comes from Haisla First Nation, meaning “People of the Snow,” and for good reason. The area averages 128 inches of snow each year along with 74 inches of rain.
The town is located on a deep, glaciated fjord, and as we explored the beach, we came across the Rio Tinto Aluminum boat launch, not what we expected in that remote area. We later discovered that Kitimat once consisted of small Haisla fishing villages, but in 1951, the BC government asked the Aluminum Company of Canada (Alcan) to develop hydroelectricity there.
After rejecting another site which would have impacted spawning salmon, the company constructed a dam across the Nechako River, a 10-mile tunnel under Mount Dubose, a hydroelectric power plant, and an aluminum smelter. It also helped build the contemporary town of Kitimat. The project cost $500 million.
In 2007, Rio Tinto, a British-Australian based company which operates in 35 countries, bought the smelter from Alcan. Using hydroelectric power, the Kitimat smelter currently produces three tons of aluminum each day.
As we finished our walk across the rugged beach, we spotted a carving on a downed log that looked like a goddess, perhaps from India. It surprised us as much as the aluminum industry.
The next morning, my hubby turned our 4-Runner northward, and we drove to Prince Rupert, 90 miles from Terrace. Prince Rupert, also known as the City of Rainbows, is a port town on Kaien Island. It borders the Inside Passage just south of the Alaskan Panhandle. For 5,000 years, the Tsimshian wintered in the area, returning south to the lower Skeena River when the salmon were running.
In 1910, the Grand Trunk Railway purchased 14,000 acres from the First Nations Reserve, and the BC government granted them another 10,000 acres. The town grew, but not without ups and downs.
One of those downs literally came when its primary promoter, Charles Melville Hays, president of the Grand Trunk Railway, put his wife, daughter, and women staff members aboard a lifeboat when the Titanic began to sink and then returned to the ship and drowned along with his male staff members and approximately 1,500 other people. It took time for the town to recover, but after World War II it became a center for the fishing industry and even later a cruise ship destination.
The town’s history seemed evident in many buildings, including the Totem Pole Lodge and the Moby Dick Inn with lush plants growing on the roofs of some houses. A gentle mist fell on us as we walked along Cow Bay, named for a failed dairy from the early days.
Because Prince Rupert was built on muskeg, or boggy soil, the owners had to feed the cows imported food, making their milk too expensive for most people. Old photos exist of the cows wading into the bay, but now yachts, fishing vessels, tugboats, and sailboats bob on the water.
As we ambled along the boardwalk, greeting other folks, a raven talked to us from one of the trees. I’d never heard one vocalize like that with a full-blown monologue in raven language. In the Tsimshian culture, Raven is both a trickster and creator, and I wondered what he might be speaking into existence. It sounded like something beautiful.
With the raven continuing its soliloquy, we climbed metal stairs to a high bridge which crossed to the upper level of the town. As we sauntered across the grassy area, three elderly men sat at a table with black plastic bags holding their belongings.
“Hi,” my hubby said, “looks like it’s going to rain.”
“We’re used to that,” one responded.
“Rain’s good,” Ted said. “It makes your hair grow.”
The three men nodded. They were still laughing as we walked away.
To say I fell in love with Prince Rupert’s people, history, and exquisite island location is an understatement.
I could have stayed forever, but we had places to go and things to see. Little did we know that once we were home, our time in the northland would seem like an idyllic dream, and the news would depict images of an ever-escalating war.
I often reflect on Raven’s melodious monologue we heard on Cow Bay’s boardwalk. One of the Tsimshian origin stories relates how Raven, through his cleverness, managed to steal sunshine from a chief in heaven who kept it in a box near his chimney.
Back on earth, Raven broke the box open, and the world – which had been in darkness – filled with heaven’s light. We can only hope for that light now in those war-ravaged countries.