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Mining Thjreatens Alaskan Waters
Published: August 22, 2007
Donnall Thomas said it best when he wrote, "there is no silence so impressive as that which lingers after the departure from a float plane in the bush."
We had just flown over Alaska's Lake Illiamna, a body of water the size of Lake Erie and home of giant rainbow trout, then across miles of tundra, which resembles what I think the prairie may have looked like before the invention of the plow.
We'd followed the river for several miles. It appeared red from 500 feet, colored by the incredible numbers of sockeye salmon that had spent time in the ocean and somehow found their way to their natal areas.
Every hundred yards or so, we'd see a brown bear fishing salmon.
Channing, our pilot, expertly dropped onto a nearby lake and taxied to the shore, where a brown bear lingered, leaving the area only after we'd climbed from the Beaver, a powerful plane that is the Alaskan bush workhorse.
Then we hiked a quarter mile to the river, and as we peered over a bluff, saw a pair of young bears engaged in mock battle some 30 yards away. While it was hard to take my eyes off the bears, the sight of a pair of giant rainbows below a huge pod of red sockeyes did get my attention. These were fish of about 10 pounds and with coaching and direction from my friends atop the bluff, I managed to spook both. Tim Bristol of Trout Unlimited, a friend who lives in Juneau, Alaska, didn't spook the fish in his spot on the stream and I watched as his 9-foot fly rod bent double. He landed a stout 5-pounder.
Paul Oster and I wandered upstream about 50 yards and I began to cast my egg-sucking leech fly in hopes of catching one of those rainbows when I spotted movement on the far shore. Two large brown bears were heading our way. The pit in my stomach disappeared only when they passed by. However, at one point I was within sight of five grizzly bears, one as close as 30 yards, though they were, as described by my friend and guide, Anders Gustafson, "gentle giants."
I managed to hook up with just one trout when a poorly tied knot failed, and the next day, found myself on Lake Clark, some 60 miles north, catching 2 pound grayling on dry flies. They are small but decent fighters. It is their attitude I like. Drift a fly, wet or dry, by them, and they fight over it.
Lake Clark is long, narrow, and glacier fed. It holds lake trout, grayling and northern pike, along with the occasional sockeye salmon. It lies within the shadow of an active volcano and a short hop by float plane to one of the most egregious things I've ever seen.
There, literally on the fault line in an area where earthquakes are frequent, a Canadian company, Northern Dynasty, hopes to mine gold and copper. We flew over the mining site, much to the annoyance of the helicopter pilots below, who let us know, via radio, that we were unwelcome.
We landed on a small nearby lake where the same company plans the largest earthen dam in the world, one more than twice as long as that which spans Lake Oahe near Pierre. That dam will likely become the largest toxic waste dump in the world. There, the tailings from the mining activity will be stored. Copper is equally bothersome, for in quantities as low as two parts per billion, it destroys salmon's ability to navigate and find their natal rivers.
To understand the impact of this mine, you need to understand the importance of the sockeye salmon to Alaska. The mine site sits atop a hill overlooking the headwaters that host the largest sockeye salmon runs in the world. Salmon attract thousands of anglers a year and Alaska's tourism industry prospers.
However, few will come to see a mine. We did see what appeared to be some nasty stuff running from a drill site and spreading across the area as it followed the law of gravity.
The salmon is the basis of a complicated food chain, for once they enter freshwater, they feed the Lake Illiamna population of freshwater seals. They also feed the bears and the gulls that pick the carcasses of what's left when the bears finish. Anything remaining decays and provide nutrients to sterile waters. The salmon also feed the Athapascan Native Americans, who have fished these waters for 10,000 years.
Not surprisingly, the Athapascans are united in their opposition to Pebble Mine, which unfortunately enjoys the support of Alaska Sen. Lisa Murkowski and Rep. Don Young. Surprisingly, Sen. Ted Stevens, who has never been viewed as a strong conservationist, is on record as opposing the mine. What is it about elected officials almost everywhere, that they are willing to trade priceless resources for a handful of temporary jobs?
Why should we care? The answer is simple. This isn't about us; it is about the legacy we leave for our children and grandchildren.
Alaska is one of the last great places and we should be vigilant in keeping it that way.
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