:
Thank you,
merci,
mahsi cho.
It's an honour to be here today to address this committee. My name is Glen Sibbeston. I'm the chief pilot at Trinity Helicopters in Yellowknife, Northwest Territories.
Trinity Helicopters is an aboriginal-owned business, and I, myself, am a Métis from the Dehcho region. I have spent much of my life in northern Canada. My background includes a nine-year military career as a Sea King pilot, a couple of years as a mechanical engineer in the Northwest Territories, and about 10 years of civil helicopter flying in northern Canada. My most extensive experience is in the Dehcho region of the Northwest Territories, between the Mackenzie Valley and the Yukon border, but I've worked through much of northern Canada.
As a civil helicopter pilot, I have worked for mining companies, energy companies, government land inspectors, geologists, park wardens, and wildlife biologists. Basically anyone who needs intimate access to wilderness areas beyond the transportation infrastructure of Canada finds a need for helicopters.
As a Métis person from Fort Simpson, I was raised with an aboriginal viewpoint but educated in the western tradition. I have what I think is a balanced view of the tension between aboriginal, business, and government concerns. My perspective comes from seeing dozens of exploration projects, from having had hundreds of conversations with people who are trying to accomplish things in northern Canada, and from having had thousands of flight hours over the wilderness.
I have chosen to focus on three issues that I think are key if Canada is to develop its northern natural resources in the most beneficial way. First is transportation into the vast expanse of forest, mountain, and tundra areas of northern Canada; second is making peace and aligning interests with the aboriginal peoples who have occupied these lands; and third is the complex and unpredictable regulatory process that a resource developer must face before being able to turn a stone. These three issues, in my opinion, comprise the most significant barriers to development in the north.
The north is vast. Over one third of Canada's land mass is located north of the 60th parallel. Most of it lacks transportation infrastructure such as roads, rails, airports, and seaports. Even Canadians think of Yellowknife as being a long way north, but from Yellowknife, the north pole is more distant than the Mexican border. The average distance between communities in the Yukon and Northwest Territories is in the order of 200 kilometres. This figure is larger in Nunavut.
Many communities are not served by all-season roads. In fact, most roads end without penetrating very far north of 60 degrees. The most northerly route is the Dempster Highway, which ends at Inuvik, having passed mainly through the Yukon Territory. The Yukon has the best developed road network, the Northwest Territories less so, and Nunavut does not enjoy the benefit of a single highway.
It costs about 10 cents to move a tonne of goods one kilometre by road. This service is fairly reliable and schedules are flexible. At the end of the road, air transport often becomes the best alternative. What does a miner face when exploring past these roads? Costs soar.
If the destination is served by a large runway, that same tonne of goods can be moved by large aircraft for about $2 per kilometre. If a runway is not available, a smaller bush plane becomes necessary and the cost goes up to $10 per kilometre. The worst case is a very rugged destination where a helicopter is necessary. In this case, the cost rises to over $20 per kilometre to move that same tonne of goods. Many a geologist has quipped that rich deposits prefer spectacular scenery, which can be found only at the most remote and rugged locations.
In approximate terms, at locations within 100 kilometres of highways, transportation costs exceed $1,000 per tonne. If you're nearer than 100 kilometres to a highway, you can get your goods to site for less than $1,000 per tonne. Once you pass that line, the cost will tend to go above $1,000 per tonne. And by the time you're approximately 300 kilometres from the nearest road, you're looking at $5,000 per tonne to move your goods to site, and ever more so as you get further away from the road system.
Shipping is available to communities with sea access. Costs per tonne vary from $230 per tonne for Kivalliq communities to $665 per tonne for Kitikmeot communities, and the high Arctic is over $1,000 per tonne.
Nevertheless, if you've managed to get your goods to one of these seaports, the cost of transport just outside of these communities remains in excess of $5,000 per tonne because staging logistics in air transport are difficult, uncertain, and expensive. Exacerbating the situation, the reliability and scheduling flexibility of the road system diminishes the farther afield one must go. Ice roads and sealift are available for only a few months a year. At the point where bush planes or helicopters are necessary, transportation is available only during daylight hours and when weather permits. These limitations impose serious restrictions, uncertainty, and additional costs on the mining company.
My thoughts on the situation are fairly straightforward. New roads would breathe life into the Canadian resource industries. Every 100 kilometres of new road would bring 20,000 square kilometres within the $1,000 per tonne area and push north the $5,000 per tonne line. The Manitoba-Kivalliq road is an example of such a project that is currently languishing and could be rejuvenated with decisive political support from the federal government. The Mackenzie Valley Highway is another.
I'll move on to my second point. The land claims process, whereby land is returned to the aboriginal peoples of northern Canada, is not complete—not yet. This is such a huge and complex topic. What I would like to do with my short few minutes is explore one idea, an incongruity that lies at the base of the misunderstanding between the first nations and Canada.
One fact that is not often observed in the context of land claims is that the aboriginal people of northern Canada did not practise agriculture; they were hunter-gatherers. This is important because the relationship between a hunter-gatherer and the land is profoundly different from the relationship a farmer has with his land. Both rely on land to earn a living, but the hunter moves over it from place to place collecting what the land offers. The farmer chooses a spot and then progressively improves the land, first by breaking the ground and eventually by creating fences, roads, and buildings. In order for the farmer to invest years of hard effort into his land there needed to be some assurance that he would be able to enjoy his investment, so property rights and legal systems evolved to meet this need.
The hunter has no need for such ideas since he makes little investment into lands, and due to very low population densities, interaction with neighbours is infrequent. In fact, the very idea of a single person owning land seems repugnant to the hunter, as it obviously belongs to all equally. Looking at it another way, the hunter owns a bit of land completely the moment he stands on it, and then it is returned to nature as he moves on.
In the industrial age, property rights and a dependable legal framework became increasingly important as capital investment and the means of production necessarily increased. The farmer adapted easily as the ideas and virtues required to farm transferred neatly to industrial production. The farmer became the industrialist. The hunter-gatherer became the trapper, an activity well suited to his skills and requiring little property. To this day the hunter-gatherer has no property; it's being held in trust.
I move from the abstract to the personal and specific. In the last decade the Mackenzie Valley gas pipeline was proposed, studied, debated, and rejected. I watched the Dehcho land claim negotiations from my then home in Fort Simpson. I watched in frustration as opportunity passed the whole region. The land claim in the Dehcho was not settled, and as a result no consensus could be reached between the first nations, the federal government, and Imperial Oil. The pipeline was not built. I moved away.
The Dehcho First Nation was trying to apply the land ownership concept of the hunter-gatherer at a time and place where the industrialist was looking to invest billions. Rather than offer good counsel, the federal government made a lowball offer that seems to have been designed to take advantage of a lack of awareness on the part of the Dehcho First Nation of the value of resources under the ground. No agreement was reached. The time was not right.
If Canada is going to make best advantage of its resources, we need to align our interests with those of the first nations. This means completing the land claims in such a way that aboriginal people prosper as their lands produce.
The federal government should take a more generous tack rather than the hard-nosed adversarial attitude that has predominated. The first nations have not been right about everything either. Consensus management strategies and the hunter's concept of land ownership are anachronistic. The industrialist concept of land ownership must prevail, since it is industrial activities that the land is destined for.
My third point centres on the regulatory process that resource developers face. Resource extraction and even exploration are subject to laws that essentially make these activities illegal. The process is then to apply for licences, that is, government permission to engage in illegal activities. These illegal activities include using water, cutting trees, storing fuel, and operating machinery off road.
In these licensing processes, all of the obligations rest with the proponent and none with administrators. Due process can be used by the boards as a tool to stall an application. Public servants can and do use their office to promote personal agendas, such as an extreme environmentalist viewpoint, or as a platform to exert aboriginal rights.
Requests from resource developers to have access to land and water can take years to be approved or declined. Often these are just simple requests for a tent camp and a few drill holes. Clear standards do not always exist, and regulatory compliance is a moving target. The process is expensive as well as time consuming for the proponent.
One way to promote investment in exploration and reduce strain on the broken licensing process would be to raise thresholds for which licences are required. A lone prospector is free to come and go on crown lands, camp where he or she wishes, and break rocks with hand tools. Above the threshold of 400 person-days, licensing an exploration camp becomes a significant obstacle.
I once provided helicopter services to a junior exploration company that was using a very small drill to explore magnetic anomalies that they had identified by airborne survey methods. This small drill was being used because it fell under a weight limit, half a tonne, above which permitting would be necessary. Unfortunately, the small drill was not adequate to collect the needed data and the project was abandoned. I last heard that the company was exploring in northern Alberta. If larger equipment had been allowed onto lands without following a full licensing process, perhaps this project would have attracted more significant investment.
I have two suggestions for improvements. First, I would propose higher thresholds within the regulations before licences are required. For instance, that 400 person-day camp limit could be raised to 2,000 person-days, still a very small camp. There is a 4,000-litre limit for fuel storage. This could be raised to 10,000 or 20,000 litres.
My second suggestion would be standardized licensing for routine activities with lower environmental risk. Exploration drilling comes to mind. These camps all work in much the same way; they have similar facilities, follow similar schedules, and use the same chemical products. Standardizing the licence and conditions of licence would make the system faster, more responsive, and leave the boards free to think about larger projects with more serious and complex consequences.
Once again I thank you for this opportunity to appear here today.
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Thank you, Mr. Chairman.
I'm Brad Gemmer. I started Gem Steel back in the early 1980s and actually have been in business since the 1970s. I know I don't look that old, but it's there anyway.
I started working in the Arctic in the early 1980s—about 1980-81—with Echo Bay's Lupin Mine, for which I did most of the plate steel work and all the big orange tanks that people use as...I don't know what you call that.
Anyway, they are there in Lupin, and since then, I've evolved to most of the major mines in western Canada, as well as all of the diamond mines, which have fuel storage that I supplied. Subsequent to that, we supplied Newmont up near Cambridge Bay, and as well we have just completed the first tankage up at the north end of Baffin Island.
I feel the best way to address the plight of the mining industry would be to go into a circumstance, which I have as kind of a sideline in conjunction with the business and the effort to have a placer mine as well as develop mining equipment to sell to placer miners both in Canada as well as internationally. There are companies in Vancouver; one is Goldlands. There are Knelson concentrators and Falcon Concentrators, all of which have been derived from placer miners trying to develop better equipment.
I started to be involved with the placer mine in the Yukon, in the southwest corner of the Yukon, about 12 years ago—initially with a partner and a couple of years ago I made a deal to take his position over. Subsequently I have been developing some pretty good machinery that will both enhance recovery and leave a cleaner footprint on the ground.
Everything was fine until I applied for a renewal of my licence. I applied in November of 2009 and I received the licence in 2010 in June. The licence was fine except it said that I could only go in there between the June 15 and July 15, which is the equivalent of telling your wife she can only go for groceries in one month of the year and she's going to have to pack and buy everything necessary....
I'm sorry, I didn't mean to discriminate against the women with that remark, but you would have to buy and plan every repair, everything you needed, and everything you might need in anticipation of only having a month of access. In addition to that, the access that was provided was in the flood time of the river, when the river that I have to cross is impassable.
The cause of this problem was an intervention by the Department of Fisheries and Oceans, which decided that after 12 years of going across the Tatshenshini River, without flaws, implications, or any detrimental effect on anything, they didn't want us crossing anymore.
We went—when I say “we”, that is myself and my advocate—to see the Department of Fisheries and Oceans, and we were promised last year and all through the winter, at least six times, that they would provide a letter of intervention to the water board that would allow expanded access across the river.
Gold was found on Dollis Creek, which is where the claims are, in 1926. Some of the biggest nuggets in the Yukon came out of that creek and it employed many people for many years. I had a crew of five or six people up there when I could work.
If we kept trying to get some assistance out of the Department of Fisheries and Oceans, things actually kept tightening up rather than opening up. I had built a large rubber-tired vehicle to safely cross the river in an area that was away from the land claims area of the Champagne fisheries and wouldn't be bothering anybody, but it was a much more severe place to cross than where everybody else crosses, which is at the point called Dalton Post. It would be about 15 miles or 20 kilometres north of the B.C. border.
Anyway, I built this larger rig to cross the river there, and as it turned out, the recommendation by the fisheries department was not only that I had to use that, and that was the only thing I could use to cross the river, but now everybody else was going to have to have a big rubber-tired rig too. Now, they have yet to come up with any kind of evidence of any detrimental impact on the environment, on the fish habitat, or the fish migration. There are only suppositions of what might happen, in spite of the fact that in order to count the fish, they put the fish into what they call a weir and the fish that escape—which is actually called the escapement—is what they use to count the fish. That probably doesn't hurt anything, but the passage of this vehicle takes three or four minutes, maybe five minutes if you're going slow enough, and it would be a pretty trivial amount out of a 1,400-minute day, and when you figure that out for a week or two, it's insignificant at the best of times.
The problem with all of this is that you have basically no way to argue with a person who's been planted in that kind of a position and wishes to pursue his own private agendas. There's no recourse. You have no way to deal with that. As I said, the circumstances just get progressively worse.
Now, as it is we're basically—and when I say “we”, I mean my employees and me—just hoping to find a way to get the Department of Fisheries to go back to where it was before, as this fellow who is in charge there now states that he plans to have the Yukon regulated within three years. That would mean that every mining company in the Yukon would have to address every stream that it passes in order to try to accomplish anything it wants to do. And that's not just the mining industry, but also the surveyors, the prospectors, and even the camps and everything—any effort to get in, other than maybe on the ice in a river in the wintertime.
They've suggested that I could use an ice bridge. It's almost as if they're hoping I will try to do something that foolish and have a catastrophe so that they can point their finger at me. With an ice bridge and a fast-flowing river like the Tatshenshini, what happens is the ice is frozen at maximum water flow. In order for an ice road or bridge to work, you have to have the buoyancy of the water underneath to support anything that goes over it. As soon as the water goes down and starts to freeze, you've got huge caverns, and if people attempted to go across and fell through, they'd be gone and you'd never see them again.
This is the kind of advice we're receiving, as you can see in some of these documents that you either have or will be getting.
I can't really say much more about my situation there, other than that it's impossible to work within dates outlined on a calendar if you lose an engine or you need parts or you need a.... We have a legislated requirement to even cycle the crew every 26 days, I believe, in the Yukon. It changes from one jurisdiction to the other.
We cycle in the north. I have the diamond mines, and we try to do it every three weeks, but we can get permission for extended times. Nevertheless, people have to get out when they're in isolated areas.
The dates we've been provided are totally unworkable, and I believe Fisheries knows that and has the intention of driving and setting a number of precedents by locking me out of the claims, one of which is a free miner's access to his ground. That blocked, up until very recently, a through access, but it's still considered part of the Yukon highway system. Some of the cattle drives and such that went up to support miners in the gold rush times came through that very road. It even has its own name: the Dalton Trail.
This particular Fisheries individual—and I'm not saying he's by himself or with a group, because I don't know—has decided to close that to only one person, and that's me. Anybody else can go across that river at any time they wish without restrictions.
If I have a little more time I can make some comments on the rest of the Arctic, if you like, or whatever you think, Mr. Chairman.
Thank you, gentlemen, for being here. I really appreciate it.
Mr. Sibbeston, I really appreciated your two practical suggestions for improvement. It's exactly the kind of thing we're looking to hear more about.
Can I go back and explore a couple of comments made by both of you, just to get more clarity?
In your brief, Mr. Sibbeston, you talked about costs, the costs of shipping, the comparative costs of shipping, which were very helpful for us to understand. In this week's Hill Times there's another ad by a company out of Montreal, Discovery Air Innovations, who are now talking about remote shipping. They're claiming they're using 67% less fuel than traditional heavy-lift aircraft, without disturbing fragile permafrost, watersheds, or wildlife.
Can you give us an understanding, and Canadians an understanding, of how advanced this new industry, this new technology, is, and how feasible it is?
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It might be something a federal government might well want to consider supporting, in terms of its research, its design, its improvement, and so on over time, as we seek to open the north in more remote areas.
Just hold your thought on that one. I appreciate your insight.
I'd like to go to another comment you made about due process. You say in your brief:
Due process can be used by the boards as a tool to stall an application. Public servants...
—“public servants”, you say—
...can, and do, use their office to promote personal agendas—such as an extreme environmentalist viewpoint, or as a platform to exert aboriginal rights.
Now, we had another witness come here several meetings ago, Mr. Donald Bubar, from Avalon Rare Metals. Mr. Bubar made similar comments, except he said that in his view, there was a very strong bias against developers, in the Northwest Territories context—very anti-development. I didn't have a chance to ask him whether he wanted the panel to be pro-development, and I'm assuming that's not what he was suggesting. Do you have any evidence, practical cases, when you claim that public servants are promoting personal agendas, such as “extreme environmentalist viewpoints” or “a platform to exert aboriginal rights”?
This is a very serious claim to make. It would be very helpful for us to know if that's case, as we struggle with this question of regulatory reform.
Gentlemen, on that same subject—Mr. Kennedy brought up British Columbia land claims—it's a common assumption or understanding that over 110% of the land mass in British Columbia is under claim, because of the overlaps. To someone looking from the outside in, it would seem like an impossible situation, and at the end of the day perhaps it is.
What that means in the minds of some people is that the entire province of B.C., including downtown Vancouver, downtown Prince George, downtown Kelowna, is not crown land—whether it's municipal, provincial, or federal—but rather is owned by first nations. When I look at the word “conundrum”, I think of a perfect example, because there doesn't seem to be, first of all, any logic to the fact that this situation can happen. Secondly, there doesn't seem to be any way out.
I recall some land claims up in your area. I was involved in the Yukon land claims way back when, in the mid-nineties, and then the ones that were just south of the Yukon border in northern British Columbia. I can't remember the name of that particular area. Given the length of time it takes to sort those out, it seems like an impossibility. When you're talking about the exploration in the Arctic and you have the land claims, and then you couple that with the regulatory system, and then you couple that with the environment, and you couple that with, as you pointed out, people who appear to have their own agendas, it's a wonder we have anybody up there who's prepared to put in the investment in time and money to get the minerals out. I suppose if it weren't such a rich area for mineral exploration, there wouldn't be anyone up there.
I'm trying to think of a question here, but maybe you could just give me an assessment of some of the things that I've just brought up.
Talking about the length of time, it's no better in British Columbia. I have a mine in my riding. It's been 17 years and $100 million, and they just had another injunction thrown at them. So you wonder why they don't pack up their cash and head to another country; it's so much easier.
Anyway, could you give just an assessment?
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Are you speaking of me personally or of the company?
The variety of areas that I work in go from the west coast of Alaska to the north and east coast of Baffin Island, which encompasses all of Canada. We work...I shouldn't say in spasmodic fashion, but we do a big project here or there.
When we were working north of Yellowknife with the diamond mines, we were hiring people from the local communities there. In the eastern Arctic we had spotty, irregular workers. Either the work didn't interest them, or whatever. We tried our best, but they didn't seem to want to participate in that kind of work. It wasn't their forte, I guess you would say.
That's about all I can say. We try to the maximum, but it's highly specialized work, and people who are not familiar with machinery and equipment, cranes, welding.... There are many things to familiarize yourself with. Most of the people we take have been in the business for many years before they are able to participate fully.
We have tried. In all instances, we put a notice in the community—it might be in a Northern store or a community centre—that we are interested in hiring local people. We've had some success, but not a lot. This is how I got to the concept that the most success I had was when the company, a year ahead of time, developed a school to train people how to work, which is a skill in itself. You assume it—you take a lot for granted—but when people have never had to do anything, to measure a board or a piece of steel or something, all of these things are major things to learn, for people who have never done it before.
We tried and continue to try our best at this, but many of these places are a long way from any communities, and much of the native help in those locales come in from communities that might be 300 or 400 miles away.
In my exposure to the native people I find them family oriented, too; they don't like to be away from their families. They have a very closely knit organization among themselves, and sometimes being 20, 50, or 100 miles out of town represents another problem.
I want to relate something. I worked in the Arctic when I was younger—it's been a long time since I was up there. I was a fishing guide on Great Bear Lake when I was a university student. For everything we did, the utmost in planning had to be done. Everything you needed to have there that summer had to come in on an ice road during the preceding winter. So everything was a year out in planning cycles, when it came to transportation. The last thing you wanted in the operation of your organization was to have to pay for somebody to fly something in, because it was so expensive.
We flew people; that was the main thing. We used float planes, of course, because we could get by with float planes. We used gravel road airstrips at the mine in Port Radium. I don't know whether you people have been up to Port Radium at all. We would shuttle people back and forth: we'd rent a Twin Otter to ferry people back and forth, and we'd have an old de Havilland Beaver on standby to take people around to various outposts, and so on.
I remember very specifically back then that just for gravel road runway maintenance, we would go over there by boat and would pick rocks off the runway at all hours. Of course, you could do that in early July, because the sun doesn't really go down. You could do all those kinds of things.
Just from that perspective alone, it was a ton of work. There was always the scuttle back then that they were going to build a road, that some day people were going to be able to drive up to visit Great Bear Lake. The only way you can get there is either by river—navigating across that way—or by flying.
Mr. Sibbeston, you were very eloquent in your presentation about having ways to provide incentives for the private sector to engage in the building of these kinds of.... How do you foresee building a...? The amount of effort, if you look at the terrain there—the amount of engineering, the number of obstacles in your way.... I mean, 60% of the land mass up there is actually not land mass; it's water.
How are we going to do that? Do you have something specific? Are there ideas that have been talked about? What can we do to get the private sector to be more involved and more engaged in this? Building a road up that valley would cost billions of dollars.
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I want to go back, if I could, Mr. Sibbeston, to this question that I need your insight on again, which is about ownership. Your own company, if I understand it, is 51% owned in terms of equity participation.
It's not the first time I have asked questions around equity participation and ownership, and I often hear back that there's a wall there, and the wall is “capacity”. It's capacity. Aboriginal peoples, first nations folks, don't have the capacity to participate. I take that at face value, but I don't see that as an insurmountable obstacle.
Leaving aside capacity, if you wanted Dehcho leadership to participate in a major infrastructure project and own a fixed percentage of that, do you see any other obstacle? Access to capital might be one, but that's easily correctable, whether it's the proponent or the state or a bank—a third-party lender.
Leaving aside capital and capacity, what else is there that would stop first nations people from owning, say, part of Diavik? Why aren't aboriginal peoples in the immediate vicinity of Diavik owners of that diamond mine? As a lawyer, I see no legal impediment and no contractual impediment.
I see an unevenness in negotiation power. I see a reluctance on behalf of project proponents to open that door and let folks walk through it. Taking aside capacity, do you see any other impediments that would make it difficult or even impossible to say let's start having a serious conversation about ownership with folks?