Gateway to ruin

A couple of days ago, I wondered about a luscious red shoot on the Gunderson Slough side hill. Hugh tells me it is probably Japanese knotweed.


As he says, "Yikes!" This is an attractive large perennial, bearing plumes of white flowers in season; it was imported to BC as a ornamental shrub. But it is not content to "bloom where it's planted"; it rapidly goes wild, sprouting as far as 7 metres from the original plant, and crowding out native vegetation, especially along riverbanks. It can send up new shoots even through pavement; it will clone itself from a piece of root an inch long; digging it out is more likely to spread it than to kill it.

Invasive, and noxious. One of its many names is "Hancock's curse." I don't know who Hancock is, but I know what he meant.

Sometimes I am filled with a feeling of despair, seeing our green land and its inhabitants disappear under our onslaught. We are an invasive species, like the knotweed.

In the Delta area, on my doorstep, the beaches are polluted, the wetlands where once waterfowl raised their young are now growing what my grandmother called "similarity houses," tall ones with barely space between for an adventuresome sparrow or two. Purple loosestrife clogs the waterways; malls the high ground. Even in the depths of Watershed Park, the roar of traffic drowns out bird calls.

And now we are threatened with the Gateway project; a system of highways going from Golden Ears in the east to Deltaport, 3 km out to sea, providing, so the politicians say,

"a balance of transit, road and bridge improvements, to keep traffic moving, our economy strong and our region liveable."

I don't believe them.

The transit they are thinking of is trucks and large container ships. Gas guzzlers. Major polluters. And a way of moving things around that we need to re-think, in this time of depleted oil reserves and a changing climate, given an already decreasing volume of shipping, and a current trend away from trucks back to railways.

Liveable? Just in Delta alone, the highway will wipe out Gunderson Slough, filling it in and paving it over. Then it travels along the shore of the river, clearcutting and terraforming the green hillside where now eagles stand guard. After the Alex Fraser bridge, it turns south to skirt Burns Bog, the largest domed peat bog on the west coast of North America, an important wildlife home, and a regulator of our lower mainland climate. The highway will cut the Bog off from its seaward opening.

Map (homemade) of the Delta section of Gateway. With birds. Click for full size.

Not content with that damage, the developers plan to cut across the rich farmland of lower Delta, diking, paving and eradicating bird breeding grounds as they go. They then move out into the water, over Roberts Bank, home to several pods of orcas, to double the size of the port there at present, even in the face of decreasing usage due to fuel costs.

A farmer's field, near Ladner, waiting for spring.

"Liveable"? I guess, if you don't mind pollution, if you can take your money and run, if you have never stood and marvelled at the creak of a sandhill crane's wings as he flew over your head, if you think green things, wet things, crawly things are "Ewwww!", if the purpose of land and sea, in your view, is to get across it rapidly, well, yes, then the project will make the Lower Mainland more liveable.

Not for us, though. Nor for the myriad small creatures we share the land with.

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Update: Link to the next "Gateway" post, Deltaport, before Gateway.
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Disappearing Act: Finn Slough

Wetlands. Endangered species. Sinking islands. Developers and fishermen. Language barriers. Common law and lawyers with writs. Bureaucracies, old and new. And a long struggle and desperate hope; the tale of Finn Slough has it all.



The story starts 120 years ago, in the 1890s, when a group of Finnish fisherfolk pooled their savings to buy land on the south shore of Lulu Island, near where Woodward slough meets the sea.

Photo from David Dorrington.

Now, Lulu Island is flat terrain, at sea level and prone to flooding; early settlers built dykes by hand to protect their fields from the salt water. The dykes went up both sides of the slough, which wasn't dammed; a convenient setup for fishermen, who could bring boats right up to their doors.

They set about carving homesteads out of the forest, and began to build fish boats. One of the men towed two float houses up the slough for his family; others built from scratch, on pilings. And of course they built a sauna for the community.

At high tides, the sea invaded. Chickens had to roost at times on the roof of the henhouses. Plank walkways were built above the tide level, and drawbridges with removable boards to permit boats to go on past and into harbour.

Life was good there; salmon were plentiful and the water calm. The community thrived.

In 1900, a local farmer had a dam built at the foot of #5 Road, and floodgates set in the entrance to Woodward Slough. It is doubtful whether the Finnish-speaking residents had any advance notice of this, since they didn't read the English newspaper, where it was publicized. At any rate, they could no longer bring their boats up the slough, and instead found a handy harbour between Whitworth Island (just a gravel bar, really) and the mainland. They built a walkway over to the island for access.

New immigrants arrived. Many could not afford land, and lived in float houses or on their boats. A school was started. Gasoline motors revolutionized the work; the first powered gill net drum was invented and built here. #4 Road was extended to the dykes; now the fishermen could drive to Steveston or Vancouver.

Now, here arises a problem. Whitworth Island, or Gilmore Island as it is also called, was never purchased by the residents; it was just a spit of land in the river where they could pull up their floating houses and docks. In fact, it moved around as the river ate at it, so that the surveyed area of the island no longer exists; it is underwater.

In 1989, a developer managed to obtain a deed for the property. Four years later, the residents found notices pinned to their doors: "... all individuals without written consent (must) leave the Island." This was the first they knew of a proposal to build a condominium and marina complex on Finn Slough.

They fought back, of course. They managed to get jurisdiction over the slough transferred to the Fraser River Harbour Commission and to have the site inspected and designated as an environmentally sensitive area. They formed the Finn Slough Heritage and Wetlands Society, and have been enlisting support of artists, environmentalists, historians and the general public.

The water of Finn Slough is brackish; all of the island, except for about half an acre, is underwater at high tide. So it is home to salt-tolerant plants, several of which are rare or uncommon. One of these is the chocolate lily, Fritillaria camschatencis, which I included in yesterday's post, and which grows now in very few places in the Fraser delta.

Yesterday, as we walked, we were charmed by the singing of birds, a choir of different voices, each with his own tune, yet all harmonizing. I read that we could find the black-headed grosbeak there, and the yellow warbler. I don't think I have ever seen the first.

However, the deed still rests in the hands of the developers. There was an attempt made to invoke common law, which gives continuous residents for more than several decades a deed to the land they occupy, but so far, no luck.

Next generation of fisherfolk, learning the trade.

Today, I found the latest proposal by the developers: an "Executive Summary" outlining 4 possible projects.

* Raise Gilmour Island and put in estate lots similar to the lots developed at Deering Island. The Deering Island lots sold for a minimum of $500,000 during the last real estate recession Vancouver had in 1993.

* Raise Gilmour Island and build a higher density complex. The City of Richmond feels that on this site it is realistic to build townhouses.

* Raise Gilmour Island and develop a residential plus marina and yacht club facility.

* Raise Gilmour Island and build a private residence with water access.

Note that all these proposals start with raising "Gilmour" Island. Killing the plants, burying them under tons of cement.

No mention is made of the community presently living on the Slough; even the name has been somehow "forgotten" and the ancient name of Tiffin Slough is used instead. The Island is called by a misspelling of its alternate name, Gilmore; no doubt to circumvent researchers into the actual status of the land. A photo taken from high above gives no hint of the heritage buildings and structures, nor of the unique characteristics of this wetland.

I would laugh, if it didn't make me so angry: they write,

"The City of Richmond feels that on this site it is realistic to build townhouses."

Realistic, on a site that shifts around with the tide, that is mostly in, not beside, the river? In an area that already needs to be protected by dykes, and at a time when weather patterns may be changing?

But they won't care, I'm sure, once they've built and sold the property; it will be the new owners who are the losers.

Financially, that is. The real losers will be the residents; the birds, the lilies and other plants, the fish and the fishers. And with them, all the rest of us.

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Finn Slough Heritage & Wetland Society

Natural History of Finn Slough

Islands in the Stream

Life on the Fraser