The Unuk River Pictographs and the Sacred Duty of Salmon Peoples

Along the banks of the Unuk River, a pictograph of the rising sun has watched over the Téikwedí Tlingit Clan for thousands of years. This ancient image, carved by hands long returned to the earth, speaks to a relationship with the land that transcends borders, politics, and the fleeting ambitions of extraction. For the Sáanyàa Kwáan, the people of the Unuk River, this is not merely a historical artifact—it is a living testament to their eternal stewardship.

The current conflict over mining expansions in British Columbia reveals a profound spiritual divide. On one side stand the salmon people, whose identity is inseparable from the rivers that sustain them. “The expansion of Red Chris means more risk in the headwaters of a river that has sustained our people since time immemorial,” reflects Esther Aaltseen Reese, Eagle Tsaagweidí of Ḵéex̱ʼ Kwáan. Her words echo an ancient understanding: that water is not a resource but a relative, and the salmon are not commodities but kin.

While Canadian authorities and mining corporations see opportunity in the earth’s depths, the Tlingit, Haida, and Tsimshian nations of SEITC see a sacred obligation. The ooligan and salmon that spawn in these waters have no voice in corporate boardrooms, yet their cycles have governed Indigenous lifeways for millennia. This modern gold rush asks us to consider: what is progress when it severs the threads that bind a people to their creation stories?