Fort Chipewyan is a community born of the water. On the northwest shore of Lake Athabasca in Alberta’s far north, people have long subsisted off the lake and its tributaries by fishing, hunting, trapping and gathering medicine. But for decades, the tiny community — including the Mikisew Cree First Nation, Athabasca Chipewyan First Nation, Fort Chipewyan Métis and settlers — have found themselves at the forefront of the climate crisis. They’ve watched as warmer winters have eaten away at their ice road, the only road into the community; as increasingly frequent and intense wildfires have engulfed their town in smoke — this year, the town was evacuated for three weeks; as their water has receded and the health of their people and wildlife has declined. The ravages are human caused: climate change, the damming of parts of the watershed and, perhaps most damaging of all, Fort Chip’s location downstream from the Alberta oilsands. Studies have found high levels of contaminants in the waterways and in the fish and animals people eat. These contaminants have been linked to high rates of rare cancers. In February, Fort Chip residents learned that, nine months before, wastewater containing arsenic, hydrocarbons, sulfates and sulfides had flowed into the watershed and nearby land from an Imperial Oil tailings pond at its Kearl Lake project outside of Fort McMurray. By the time the leak came to light, community members had been consuming food harvested from the region for months. Here, Elders and residents tell the story of Fort Chip’s water in their own words.

The water here is our highway. I know the delta; I know its every bend and who’s there and what’s there. The water is like everyone else in this community. Water is life. Water is the boss. We respect the water. When we go out on the water, we pay a tribute to the water. Put a handful of tobacco in the water, or anything, you know, just ask the grandfathers to help us. Give us a safe journey.

In the late ’60s, the Bennett hydro-electric dam was being built on the Peace River in northern B.C. I remember my Uncle Fred, who was the chief at that time, said that the B.C. and federal governments said our delta would not be affected. But almost immediately, when the Bennett dam started filling up their reservoir, our delta started to dry out. And no water means no muskrats.

Since the 1970s, we’ve lived downstream from the oilsands industry, and Lake Athabasca is their toilet bowl. I worry about the medicines I pick from the water. The industry has us in a corner. As Indigenous Dene people, for us to try to fight them, we would just lose out. And so, we have to compromise and come to [an agreement] where they’re willing to help us. It’s a very degrading feeling.

My grandparents, my mom, my dad, my grandma [all] told me that I was put here by the Creator to look after Mother Earth for our grandchildren and those yet to come. And that’s why I don’t work at Syncrude. I don’t need to; I’m comfortable. I’m not rich, but I’m rich in history. I’m rich with grandchildren.

— Alice Rigney, Elder, Athabasca Chipewyan First Nation