Demon Spirit, Devil Sea

by Charlene D'Avanzo

  Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up. “Appears to sometimes?”

  Ah, I thought. Smart lady.

  “Right.” Ted went on. “It’s extremely hard to know if fertilization experiments work in the open ocean. Adding fertilizer to a field of corn is one thing. You can stand there and measure stalks. Large scale iron, um, enrichment like you’ve done here, is quite another.”

  Gene said, “Please explain that.”

  “Haida Gwaii sits right on the edge of Canada’s Pacific continental shelf where cold, rich waters of the northern Pacific mix with Japan’s warm offshore currents. You all know this place teems with life. Seabirds in the millions nest on your shores, and there are over twenty species of whales and dolphins. Besides salmon, you have large numbers of herring, halibut, rockfish, and crab. So if you add iron to the water and the salmon run in abundance, that might’ve happened naturally anyway.”

  Gene looked directly at Ted. “We do this in the spirit of Lagua who taught the Haida how to use iron long ago. We saw with our eyes what happened when that iron went into the ocean. It greened up.”

  “As Dr. McKnight explained,” Harvey said, “phytoplankton blooms are common here so it’s very hard to know if that would’ve happened anyway.”

  Gene simply nodded. I didn’t think we’d convinced him but was impressed with his professionalism.

  William hadn’t said a word since he introduced us. He stepped away from the wall. “There’s something really important that’s gotten lost here. Global warming is a worldwide crisis. Carbon dioxide in the air keeps going up and up. If the iron project works, the Haida Nation will lead the world in a new way to decrease greenhouse gases. With dangers people face with melting glaciers and all the rest, why don’t you see our experiment as a good thing?”

  The longhouse was quiet as a church as all eyes turned to us. Harvey faced William. “That’s truly an excellent question. You’re right. If marine carbon sequestration works here, the Haida will be recognized as international leaders in the fight against global warming. You deserve a lot of credit for facing up to an environmental crisis of this magnitude. We should have said that, and I apologize.”

  Shoulders back, William acknowledged the comment with a quick nod.

  Harvey went on. “But William, you used the word ‘experiment’ and that’s the problem. Scientists conduct experiments in very particular ways because it’s so hard to know if an intervention—like adding iron slurry—actually has an impact. As Dr. McKnight said, if you saw more salmon in your rivers after the fertilization, how could you know if that would’ve happened anyway? That’s why the UN declared that any marine iron fertilization projects must be done by trained scientists experienced with this type of work. The man you worked with, Roger Grant, has no training like that at all.”

  William opened his mouth as if to say something, and closed it again. He returned to the shadow of the wall.

  Gene took over again. “From what we’ve asked, you get a pretty good idea about our concerns. You work as oceanographers. It would be helpful for you to explain how you view this ocean world around us.”

  I’d dealt with this issue in a high-profile public speech a few months earlier, so I answered. “First off, this is the most spectacular marinescape I’ve ever seen. The coast of Maine is truly beautiful, but the abundance you have is astounding. Although Maine is home to the American lobster, of course.”

  Gene grinned. Jennie frowned. Charlotte stared at me.

  I held out my hands. “As scientists, we rely on one thing: solid evidence, data. Scientists have done numerous iron enrichment experiments, both large and small scale. Results have been mixed and confusing. So we must conclude that solid evidence is just not there.”

  Jennie said, “But Roger Grant showed us a scientific study where iron from an Alaskan volcano increased salmon runs in British Columbia. Besides that, there’s the carbon credits.”

  Maybe because he was tired of sitting on his butt, Ted pushed himself to a standing position. “Look, there’s no clear link between iron addition and increased salmon runs. That study you mentioned got a lot of press, but most fishery biologists don’t think the connection is there. And carbon credits are bought and sold to reduce carbon dioxide emissions by businesses, governments, and the like for accepted processes that remove carbon dioxide from the atmosphere.”

  The front door opened. Cold air swept across my neck.

  A raspy male voice bellowed from behind. “And accepted means what?”

  We turned. Caleb Peterson marched toward us, his long face blood-red, eyes narrowed.

  We swung our heads back in Gene’s direction as he called out, “Not now, Caleb. You know you’ve got to wait ‘til the full meeting.”

  Caleb tromped forward and stopped just short of the council. He crossed log-sized arms across his chest and growled, “Why should we listen to some know-it-alls from the states? They know nothin’ about us, why we’re doing this.”

  Gene strode over to Caleb and stood before him, toe to toe. “That’s not how we treat visitors to Haida Gwaii. These people are just doing their jobs.”

  Caleb was the first to look away. He dropped his hands to his side, turned around, and stomped out.

  Gene returned to the front of the room. “Sorry about the interruption. Caleb is passionate about this business, but that doesn’t excuse his behavior.”

  How many other Haida felt like Caleb?

  “We understand,” Harvey said.

  “I’d like to answer the question about accepted processes for carbon credits,” I said.

  Gene nodded.

  I stood and directed my answer at Jennie. “Tree planting is a recognized type of carbon credit practice. As trees grow, they take carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere. With trees you have a decent idea how much CO2—carbon dioxide—the trees will take up, and you can measure their growth. Hence the acknowledged carbon credits.”

  Jennie looked confused. “But algae take up CO2 too when they grow.”

  I was about to answer, but Ted interrupted, which annoyed the heck out of me.

  “Yes, they do,” he said. “But there are two big problems with your scheme. First, you would have to show that iron made the algae grow. As we’ve said, that’s very difficult to do.”

  Charlotte lifted her chin. “And the other problem?” Apparently, she’d been paying close attention to this discussion.

  It looked like Ted was going to respond again. I raised a finger, but he didn’t notice. I jumped in.

  “Sure,” I said. “Charlotte, think about a tree—a sapling. As the tree grows, it takes carbon dioxide out of the air, as we’ve said. But if you cut down the sapling and it decomposes—or you burn it in a fire—that CO2 goes right back into the air. No carbon credits. A major hitch in Roger Grant’s scheme is tracking the algae. If they sink and are decomposed—which is highly likely—there is no net removal of CO2. That means no money for carbon credits.”

  I turned to look at William. He reminded me of a student who’d just failed a major exam. His shoulders sagged, and his glance in my direction was painful to look at.

  Gene took over again. “We’ve been at this a while now. Don’t know about anyone else, but there’s a little building out there calling to me.”

  From the pace of Charlotte and Jennie’s movements to the door, it looked like Gene wasn’t the only one who needed to visit the outhouse. Ted, Harvey, and I walked into the clearing in the front of the longhouse.

  “Think I’ll use the facilities too,” Harvey said.

  When she’d disappeared down the path, I turned to Ted, hands on hips. “Do you know you cut me off?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “When?”

  “William’s question about algal uptake of CO2.”

  “Huh. Sorry.” He bit his lip.

  Ted looked so guilty, I felt like a jerk. “The back and forth is hard,” I said. “There’s a lot going on. What do you think so far?”

  “Gene’s doing a great j
ob. Hard to say about the others. That Caleb’s a piece of work, though. Here they come. Back to work.”

  We all filed into the longhouse.

  After we were seated again, Jennie got up. From the serious expression on her face, she could have been addressing the UN assembly. She spoke in the slow cadence of the older Haida. “As visitors, you can’t know our history. Over and over, people from away have decimated our islands of trees, fish, and wild creatures. But finally, we are the ones who have the power over Haida Gwaii. This iron project, it’s ours.”

  I got to my feet. “Jennie, we do realize we’re outsiders who know little about your struggles.”

  Jennie nodded her head once. “I will tell you about bears. This dance will help you understand in ways my words cannot.”

  The door opened behind us. Bent over, a bare-chested man stepped through the opening, straightened up, and thrust blackened hands above his head. A massive mask perched on his torso—a red-snouted creature with round white eyes set in bright blue and an open maw that exposed spiked white teeth. The dancer was naked except for a grass skirt that swished with each step. Bear stomped toward us, grunting with each step, and stopped inches from my face. It stunk of carrion and hissed with each breath, but I didn’t back away.

  The creature swung around. Spinning like a top, it circled the longhouse once, twice, three times. Every eye fixed on the whirling dervish. On the fourth circuit, a wild bear bounded around the circle, its shiny brown fur rippling with each leap. Just short of the door, the man reappeared, stepped through the door, and was gone.

  I fell onto the bench.

  Jennie began, her diction more pointed. “Hundreds of hunters came here to shoot black bears. Places like Graham Island Lodge bragged that hunters killed so-called ‘trophy animals.’ This disgusted us. Bear is chief of the forest, a relative we never eat. Haida are bears. Bears are Haida.”

  She paused to drink water from a glass. “Bears here are special—a rare type of black bear found no place else with huge jaws and teeth.”

  I knew this and more. Ecologists called northwest bears a keystone species. They ate salmon on riverbanks, and scientists had traced the flow of nutrients from thousands of salmon to the upland. In that way, bears brought the richness of the ocean to the rainforest.

  Jennie went on. “British Columbia’s government ignored the Haida nation’s demand for an end to the bear hunt. We flooded them with thousands of letters and e-mails—and won. In two thousand thirteen, the Ministry of Forests, Lands, and Natural Resources shut down bear hunting here forever.”

  Jennie took another sip. “Then there’s logging. When companies ran out of big trees on the mainland, they slashed our forests, and the Crown approved it. It was a land grab. Evil. But in two thousand four, Canada’s Supreme Court sided with us and against Weyerhaeuser Lumber.” Chin up, eyes shining, Jennie looked straight ahead at something we couldn’t see. She put her hand on Gene’s shoulder and took her seat. Her speech was succinct, heartfelt, and effective. I guessed she’d given something like it before.

  “Maybe,” said Gene, “you better understand now why we believe that we should control our own waters.”

  Given the history of white domination Jennie accounted, I itched to ask why the Council agreed to work with a non-native from the States.

  It was as if Charlotte read my mind. “What do you think of Roger Grant?”

  Harvey took that one. “Mr. Grant isn’t a scientist. He’s an American businessman. We strongly believe projects of this scale and importance must be carried out by trained scientists who are impartial.”

  The word “impartial” hung in the air. Gene stroked his chin. Jennie shook her head. Charlotte’s face was expressionless, impossible to read.

  We described the report we were asked to write. Gene outlined their next step—a meeting with the larger Environmental Council in two days. After that, there would be another Council vote on the iron project.

  Gene announced the meeting’s end, and we walked up to thank him, Charlotte, and Jennie. When I told Jennie she was a powerful speaker, she looked grateful but tired. Harvey, Ted, and I headed for the front of the building. Dissection of the meeting was on hold until we were alone. I waited for Harvey and Ted to get through the little doorway, stepped out into the clearing, sniffed the air, and took in the pungent smell of rain. Billowy dark clouds raced by overhead.

  Gene joined us.

  “Sure looks like rain,” I said. “Are there signs you look for that tell you it’s going to rain? Bird calls, that kind of thing?”

  “Well,” he said, “There is one thing that works pretty well.”

  “Yes?”

  “Environment Canada’s weather radio.”

  Gene enjoyed my open mouth for a moment. Then he put his hand on my shoulder, threw back his head, and laughed.

  8

  For dinner, we gathered around a long picnic table on the protected porch of a dining building in the bathhouse compound. Rain pelted the wooden roof above. Our sleeping bags and pads, plus our clothes, were dry and waiting for us in the longhouse, thank goodness. I was also grateful for the fleece pullover and pants I’d changed into back there.

  As if we’d never debated their iron fertilization venture, nine of us—Harvey, Ted, and I, plus Gene, Jennie, Charlotte, William, his girlfriend Anna, and Bart—shared a traditional Haida meal. Three dark blue platters decorated with black animal icons were already on the table when we arrived. They held three items I guessed were appetizers.

  William pointed to each one. “Dried seaweed called sguu, pickled sea asparagus, and octopus balls.”

  I leaned over to examine the closest platter and squinted at what looked like skinny pickles, crunchy black kale, and fried balls. I started with the one that looked familiar, selected a pickle, and took a bite. Everyone but William, Ted, and Harvey was already eating and chatting. The trio waited for my reaction.

  Sour and salty, it had a nice crunch. “William, this is great. In Maine we use Salicornia as a fresh garnish in salad. It’s a salty succulent. Never had it pickled, though.”

  Harvey and Ted picked up some sea asparagus, nibbled, and tried the seaweed and octopus.

  I put a bit of seaweed in my mouth. It melted into a salty flavor with an unusual zing. “Wow. This tastes like the sea.” The octopus was last because what I’d had before was leathery. I slowly chewed one of the balls. It was tender and juicy. I licked a finger. “Terrific. How do you collect and prepare this food?

  “We get octopus under large rocks at low tide,” William said. “But Charlotte’s the expert.”

  Charlotte reached across the table and touched William’s arm. “And you’re my top student.” She picked up some seaweed. “We collect this in May from the surface of the smoothest rocks and dry it in the sun until crispy. Sea asparagus is best early summer.”

  Three women in black jeans and red t-shirts removed the empty platters and passed around plates of salmon and roasted root vegetables. I caught one of their names—Lynne—when another server called to her. Lynne, who had intently watched William and Anna in the longhouse, dropped a plate in front of Anna with a loud clunk. William flinched.

  With a toss of her waist-length black hair, Lynne turned and marched toward the kitchen. I’d considered the young woman attractive, but the ugly scowl and searing black eyes turned her into a witch. I shivered.

  Ted speared a chunk of bright orange fish with his fork and held it up. “What kind of salmon is this?”

  William, who appeared to be the local James Beard, said, “Chinook. It’s barbequed with bacon jam made with bacon, vinegar, brown sugar, and onions.”

  We all tucked in. The salmon was melt-in-your-mouth delicious. Seated next to Charlotte, I finished eating and tried to think of something to say to her.

  Charlotte held the edge of the table with purple-veined, deeply wrinkled hands and beat me to it. She spoke deliberately and slowly. “Tell me, Mara, why are you an ocean scientist?”


  Until that point, this woman showed no personal interest in the three of us. The question caught me by surprise.

  “Um, my parents were both oceanographers. We always had people over for dinner. As a kid, I’d sit on the top step of the stairs and listen to them talk about fishing, boats, seals, whales—other creatures—how humans were damaging the ocean. I guess it got in my blood.”

  “They died.”

  I covered my chest with my hand. “Well, yes. In a submarine accident.”

  “When you were—”

  “Nineteen.”

  “Ah,” she said, as if that explained everything.

  I figured it was my turn to probe. “What is your, um, role here?”

  She leaned toward me, and I smelled earth. “As the oldest woman in Kinuk, they call me Revered One. Women are powerful in our society. During the time when fewer than five hundred Haida were left, women held onto the songs, crests, and stories.” She straightened up, ran a hand down her braid. “I whisper and people hear me.”

  The next question out of my mouth surprised even me. “What do you care about most?”

  Unblinking, Charlotte stared at the bay below us. She was quiet so long I thought she was in some sort of trance. When she spoke, I had to lean closer to hear her. “The Haida came from the ocean. The sea feeds our bodies and that feeds our souls. Out there is the only thing that is important.”

  Charlotte studied my face. “You and I, Mara, we’re the same that way.”

  I sucked in a quick breath. Charlotte was perceptive, but her earlier statements about my parents made me feel uneasy.

  Charlotte turned to Bart, seated on her other side, and William, opposite her. She chit-chatted with them like a completely normal old lady.

  Voices got louder as the locals called out, teased, and laughed with each other. I guessed most were probably related in one way or another. As an only child with no parents, living alongside extended family was as foreign to me as a fourth of July picnic to the Haida.