The 16 minute video “this is the story of. . .” records the mechanical
destruction of the book Salmon Our Heritage at the Goose Bay Cannery in
Goose Bay, Rivers Inlet in July 2001. Once part of a string of salmon
processing plants from Steveston to Alaska, the Goose Bay Cannery was
built in 1926. Now redundant, its canning equipment is dispersed between
the North Pacific Cannery Village Museum at Port Edward just south of
Fort Rupert and the Gulf of Georgia Cannery Museum in Steveston.
The video of Salmon Our Heritage destroyed by being repeatedly
dropping by a mechanical winch was made for Salmon Stock, a two-part
exhibition curated by Corrine Corry for the Richmond Art Gallery and the
Gulf of Georgia Cannery Museum in September, 2003. The Goose Bay
performance video was installed at The Richmond Art Gallery alongside
reports, by members of the Desolation Sound Salmon Enhancement Society,
of the first return of Coho from their salmon enhancement project. A
vitrine contained the remains of the destroyed copy of Salmon Our
Heritage.
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“this is the story of. . .” 16-minute video by Judith Williams |
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Those without high-speed internet
can see images from the work in the slide show below.
To view
a 5-minute segment of the video,
CLICK HERE. |
By “Rivers Day”, September 28, 2003, the winch that drops the book was
working in the Boiler Room Theater of the Gulf of Georgia Cannery
Museum. During the following week the machine dropped and destroyed a
second copy of Salmon Our Heritage at intervals between showings of a
film on the history of the museum. A public round table discussion of
the relationship of the project to salmon research, salmon farming and
the future was held at the museum.
A new video “shadow” was made of the second book drop at the Gulf of
Georgia Cannery and is in the editing process. While “this is the story
of . . .” was shot in an empty shuttered venue, “shadow” records the
book’s destruction on a public set with the interaction of the museum’s
historical movie. The imagery is undercut by the repeated sigh of the
boiler itself.
Section 3 of Salmon Stock, “net”, is still in the filming stage
but much material was shot in 2000 and 2001 at the North Pacific Cannery
Village Museum at Port Edward. The video is built around the image of a
woman shortening a net at Port Edward in 2001. In that year fishermen
were directed by the Department of Fisheries and Oceans to use half nets in truncated ½ hour sets due to a
shortage of salmon in the Skeena River - one of the BC coast’s major
salmon runs.
The Salmon Stock project had its genesis in my work as Chairman
of the Desolation Sound Salmon Enhancement Society which has cleaned and
rehabilitated five salmon streams on West Redonda Island. We
reintroduced the Coho once native to these streams with the help of the
Department of Fisheries, the B.C. Fisheries Renewal Program and the
Pacific Salmon Foundation. The fall of 2008 we will be taking broodstock
from our own returning Coho for further stocking of Desolation Sound
salmon habitat.
In the process of learning the salmon system and studying the relevant
literature I found acres of reports, interminable “briefs” to the
government and beautiful pictures of what was being destroyed. I came to
the conclusion salmon had been studied to death and that many careers,
both academic and bureaucratic, had been built on the backs of dwindling
salmon stocks. I could not shake the sense that the accumulation of
paper had helped destroy the stocks and that paper salmon were replacing
the salmon cycle. The book I chose to illustrate this, Salmon Our
Heritage, is a lushly produced effort by Cecily Lyons once secretary
to various salmon industry executives. A sober effort to document the
industry, it ignores eons of native harvesting and fish management
techniques and nowhere gives voice to those of actual fishers who,
during our round table at Steveston, spoke eloquently of their
experience.
The book’s title and its content made it an ideal actor for the
performance. The robustly sewn binding provided for a slow and painful
appearing demise that mimicked the initially subtle and then
accelerating stock loss. The increasing readability of the book
available during its baroque deconstruction seemed to parallel my
understanding of the salmon cycle as I had observed the physical decline
of salmon reentering fresh water. The compromised immune systems of the
still swimming fish can cause an actual loss of skin and flesh. After
spawning their decomposing bodies feed a series of other creatures some
of who will provide sustenance for young salmon.
Most people find the destruction of books abhorrent. It is my hope that
the viewers of Salmon Stock find the economically driven
destruction of salmon stocks and habitat equally objectionable and that
they acquire the strength to influence our scientific, business and
political leaders to preserve one of the wonders of the world.
Appendix A: SALMON ARE A
WONDER
A talk given at the at the Gulf of Georgia Cannery
Museum, September 29, in conjunction with Salmon Stock a dual
exhibition/installation at the Richmond Art Gallery and the Gulf of
Georgia Cannery Museum September/October, 2003
Salmon are a WONDER.
Salmon are leaping Coho, striped Chum, schools of crimson Sockeye and
the graceful Pinks whose males transform into the livid, surrealistic,
hook-nosed “Humpies”. Salmon are the wily, fat Springs that came to
Desolation Sound each May like clockwork, and come no more. All these
salmon species, at different times, end their sea journeys and, prompted
by some ancient internal pattern, return up rivers and creeks to clean
and rearrange the gravel, lay their jewel-like eggs in carefully banked
redds and, at the end of their lives, become nourishment for an
astounding range of animals and plants.
It has been my privilege, for the past 6 years, as Chairman of The
Desolation Sound Salmon Enhancement Society to help some very dedicated
workers restore the creeks in Refuge Lagoon on West Redonda Island and
restock them with Coho. We rebuilt our lagoon dam, created a natural
fish ladder so fish could enter and exit at will, turned logging roads
back into the creeks they had once been, and then raised eyed coho eggs
to smolts and placed them in the lagoon. The first year our Coho
returned, a school of Chum joined them which was very fortunate as one
of my project gurus, Terry Glavin, had told me --- as our DFO advisor
had not --- that we needed both Coho and Chum to remake our system. As I
learned more and more about salmon I became aware that no one thing
could bring a specific run back - that, in fact, what we proposed to
intersect with was a series of interacting systems. How did that work?
Where did we fit in?
Well --- when we placed smolts in the lagoon creeks, every eagle in the
vicinity turned up for lunch. The usually reserved herons looked
downright enthusiastic and resident cutthroat trout took an up-close and
confrontational interest in this possible addition to their diet. Seals
lingered at the exit of the lagoon.
We were alarmed.
Heh! Our babies.
However, given our stated commitment to the whole island eco system we
let them all be. The question was: would there be anything to return?
When that time came, we watched and watched. Finally some straying Chum
appeared. Well - that was interesting. Then came our Coho. Wow!
You set them free, they feed themselves, mature - and then they come
back?
And, day by day and night by night, footprints left in the mud announced
the arrival of animals who’d not seen a fish in our creeks for 25 years.
There were martin and mice tracks, eagles lurked in trees. Carcasses
were chewed to the bone. Coming to count spawners one day, I arrived to
find paw prints next to a dead Chum hauled out on the bank. Pink flesh
oozed out of puncture marks in its side and the tall grass of the creek
mouth still quivered at the exit of a wolf whose late breakfast I had
disturbed. Up stream, a small bird, the Water Owsell, bobbed on the
gravel, ran under water, pecked out newly deposited salmon eggs and ran
out chirping with satisfaction. How had it so quickly found the spawners?
West Redonda Island is home to black bear and cougar as well and it soon
became clear that all these animals could sniff out a sashimi dinner.
They’d instantly homed in on the returning fish, taken their share ----
and not more we hoped --- and gone off into the forest. There they would
spread the marine nitrogen far from the streams. Birds would carry it
further.
Salmon are creatures of the sea but, due their mounting of the vast
inland river systems and creeks of British Columbia, they are also
forest creatures. New tree core research has proven they benefit forests
many, many kilometers from spawning sites.
Well, what of the eggs we’d seen so carefully deposited and fertilized
in Refuge Lagoon? If the Water Owsell didn’t get them all, they’d become
eyed eggs and finally baby salmon which, of course, must also feed. And
this brings up the importance of the decaying carcasses on the creek
banks. They bred grubs and insects that become food for the baby fish.
No fish carcasses on the creek beds mean no grubs and bugs and a creek
or river can become dead. But different species of fish spawn in
different places and different runs at different times. The Chum who
came to the Lagoon died right where they’d spawned but our Coho exited
into the lagoon so their bodies decayed there. But, the Coho spawned
above where the Chum had died. The Chum byproducts were, therefore,
available as food for the newly hatched coho.
Now it might occur to you at this point that, if salmon are a lynch pin
in this wide, wild food system, and they cease to participate in any
given stream or river complex, the rest of the local creatures are going
to be short of dinner and the surrounding forest short of fertilizer.
What we will have is a bear looking for a handout.
Much is going to said about salmon farming this afternoon but I want you
to hold a question in your mind. How could salmon raised in a pen, their
carcasses sold far from this coast, replace the salmon in the extended
salmon/animal/plant system? The Desolation Sound Salmon project, like
dozens on the coast, was fueled by donated labour and seed money from
the Fisheries Renewal Project. When the incoming Liberal government
cancelled that project they announced a 5 million dollar fund for the
study of fish farming. To privilege farmed salmon and neglect the care
and protection of the wild system is to create an ecological gap. The
two forms of salmon are simply not equivalent. And we do not need any
more DFO reports, Federal commissions, doctoral theses or coffee table
picture books of salmon spawning. We need protective action to allow the
salmon to remain the lynch pin in its interactive structure.
As an artist and writer it is my job to find ways to present issues,
images and emotions so they suggest how things might be seen
differently. I asked myself how I could make you feel that the loss of
the salmon stocks is a tragedy, not just an economic downturn, but the
loss of a natural wonder. I wanted you to ask why these enormously
clever fish, with an elaborate system they ran efficiently on their own,
were being allowed to dwindle and be replaced by sickly fish we have to
pay people to tend, feed and medicate. Could that make economic sense?
One day I went to the UBC Woodward library searching for the books and
papers written on all aspects of salmon research. The relevant shelves
groaned. What an incredible number of people had built their careers on
the backs of salmon!
Oddly, it did not seem that what was written had really slowed down the
decline of salmon stocks. Had it, perhaps, added to the decline?
Alarmed, I decided it would be appropriate to publicly destroy a book
I’d found called Salmon Our Heritage. Although there were many other
candidates, the substantial, Salmon Our Heritage, written --- and rather
well --- by Cecily Lyons, once secretary to fishing industry executives,
seemed right. Privately printed on the very best paper and well
researched, it unfortunately neglected to provide the point of view of
the fishers themselves and it simply slid over the surface of several
thousand years of accomplished native fishery and conservation
techniques.
But, you know, I like books. I write them, I even hand bind them. It
hurts to destroy that book. That discomfort is important.
As you have, or shall see, Salmon our Heritage, at the will of a small
electric winch, rises slowly and falls fast, its disintegration almost
imperceptible at first. Then it crumples and starts to break down. At
the end it rapidly gives up form and coherence, rips and scatters its
pages. It becomes debris. The disintegration mimics the life of the
salmon but, tragically, it also mimics the fate of the salmon stocks.
I hope the book’s fate makes you aware. Maybe it makes you angry.
Hopefully it makes you want to let wild salmon be. Perhaps it will
inspire you to act to protect their right to their system. I hope you
see yourself as but one consumer in that whole interactive system and
that you need that system to maintain the viability of your environment
and the purity of the air you breathe. Be selfish. Save wild salmon and
their habitat for yourself.
You need Wonder.
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