Cultivating Community Newsletter- ‘Harvesting Resilience: Gwa'sala-'Nakwaxda'xw Salmon Canning’
Amanda Shankland
Good day,
I am writing today to share the third edition of my monthly newsletter. The ‘Cultivating Community’ newsletter provides commentary on how community-centred thinking and action can drive sustainable environmental and food movements forward.
For those who don’t know me well, I am a writer, consultant, and educator specializing in environmental water policy, sustainable agriculture, and food systems. I live in the traditional territory of the Algonquin-Anishinaabe in what is now called Ottawa. I hold a Doctor of Philosophy from Carleton University and am an adjunct professor at Carleton University and the University of Ottawa. I am also a freelance consultant and editor offering guidance on agricultural and environmental priorities. Please feel free to contact me if you would like to retain my services.
I am committed to efforts towards decolonizing our food system and the affirmation of traditional knowledge of foodways. I seek to advance a notion of community that includes all plants, insects, animals, and people.
I hope you enjoy this short article. Thank you for supporting my work!
Best regards,
Amanda Shankland Ph.D.
‘Harvesting Resilience: Gwa'sala-'Nakwaxda'xw Salmon Canning’
The Fraser River run north of Port Hardy, is shared by many communities, each with its own run. Sockeye, Pink, Coho, and Chum are fished and sometimes traded but never sold. Each year, when the Sockeye salmon arrive at the end of August, members of Gwa'sala-'Nakwaxda'xw Nation gather at the band office to pick up their fish. All nation employees are given three days off work to process the fish and everyone has a role in this effort, whether it's washing jars, sharpening knives, cutting wood, or preparing fire pits.
In my last year of elementary school in 1994, my teacher, Mr. Rousseau, planned for a group of students from the Gwa'sala-'Nakwaxda'xw Nation in Port Hardy to come and stay with us in my hometown, just south of Vancouver. We welcomed a girl my age, Crystal Walkus, into our home, and we formed a strong connection. The following summer, I planned to stay with Crystal for a month. I travelled to Port Hardy on my own and had an unforgettable summer. One of the experiences that left a lasting impression was helping with the annual salmon canning. Almost thirty years later, I spoke with my old friend about her experiences with this ancient tradition.
Most years, community members are involved in processing the run of Sockeye Salmon. Every member is entitled to receive 5 to 10 fish. The fish are gutted, measured, and cut into pieces. Everyone in the community has a role to play. The older children cut the fish, while the younger ones ensure that the jars are free from any residue to ensure proper sealing during the cooking process. The fish is cooked in a large metal barrel with a hole in the side. It is propped up with a metal stand, and the wood fire is kept going underneath. It takes a long time to heat the canning jars, which are kept at a rolling boil for six hours. The older men often take care of the fire, making sure to top up the water with just enough cold water to remain at a boil. After the jars have boiled, the water must cool for 12 to 18 hours. Inevitably, some jars split open, and all the jars need to be cleaned with water and soap.
Only Sockeye salmon is prepared this way because it is the biggest fish and is ideal for cutting into larger chunks to be canned in jars. Pink salmon is usually hung and smoked over an alder fire earlier in the season. Chum has a longer run and is tougher, gamier meat, and is typically cold smoked and made into candied salmon. Coho is available all the time and is usually cooked fresh.
For Crystal and her community, these activities are a way of life that will be passed on through the generations. For Crystal, involving her children in fish preparation has revealed the importance of time spent together—time for connection, community building, and knowledge sharing.
During the three days devoted to fish processing, all other responsibilities are set aside as the community works toward their shared goal. This goal extends to supporting members of the community who cannot be present, including the elderly and those experiencing homelessness. In a community that has experienced significant loss in recent years—whether through physical passing (returning to the spirit world), addiction, or homelessness—this tradition serves as a unifying force, bringing the community together and passing down essential traditions. With 1300 nation members, roughly half participate in the three days of communal effort.
Last year, Crystal and other members of the K’wala'sta Healing Centre took a step further by involving young adults who have lost their parents and adults experiencing homelessness. Alongside the land and resource office, the group provided a full day of teaching as part of their efforts to heal and revive their culture. There are no words in her language for things like ‘crisis’ or ‘harm reduction.’ Instead, they emphasize gathering generations together as a form of healing and harm prevention. There is no word for children being ‘bad.’ Instead, they say “dtlexsala,” which means “walk with me and learn with me.” There is no shame-based discipline; a way to respond to so-called ‘bad’ behaviours is simply to be present with the person and show them a better way. Canning salmon provides the ideal time and space for these important practices.
The Gwa'sala-'Nakwaxda'xw Nation's history is marred by forced relocation by the government in 1964. Crystal’s father’s family was from Smith Inlet, and her mother’s family was from Blundon Harbour. Other members of the nation also came from Seymour Inlet. These areas were isolated from the Indian agents, so the government convinced the people to move to Port Hardy. They were promised homes and employment, but these promises were never upheld. Instead, their children were stolen from them and sent to a residential school in Alert Bay.
Once in Port Hardy, the community's once-seasonal migratory lifestyle was replaced with confinement and restrictions. They could not leave the reserve without a pass, and many hunting rights were taken away. Indian agents burned down their longhouses to prevent them from returning to their traditional homes. Their connection with the land and its resources was severed.
Before contact, the Gwa'sala-'Nakwaxda'xw people thrived on a diet of traditional foods like duck, seal, and salmon, which provided a healthy regimen. Today, processed foods have taken over, leading to skyrocketing rates of diabetes and heart disease. Crystal and her sons strive to maintain a traditional diet, consuming fish soup, fried halibut, salmon, and fermented ooligan (herring) grease to preserve their health and heritage. Crystal's sons are also involved with the guardian program, learning to reconnect with the land. However, she worries that as the salmon fisheries become further decimated, her people will become further divided; “People fight for what is left, and the traditional becomes political. Salmon fishing is about connection, love, culture, and tradition. Taking it away will mean the opposite.”
In a world where ancient traditions are threatened, the Gwa'sala-'Nakwaxda'xw Nation's commitment to salmon canning is a powerful testament to the enduring importance of culture, community, and connection. Crystal's story reminds us of the vital role food traditions play in maintaining identity and a way of life.
Crystal's son and his friends cutting the fish.
Fish prepped and ready
Crystal is pictured on the far right.