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<\/p>\nI. THE WARNING<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The ancestors knew.<\/p>\n
First Nation elders understood the south would march north eventually. They knew it would come in waves, sometimes slow, sometimes fast. Those ancestors told their kids, who told theirs, and so on until today.<\/p>\n
The south has already carved many changes. Decades ago, Webequie First Nation and Neskantaga First Nation were one community. The southern import\u00a0of\u00a0Christianity split them apart. Neskantaga is largely Catholic. The Anglicans left for Webequie. The family ties remain, though so many were torn away by the residential school system. They are cousins.<\/p>\n
Today, leaders in both communities say their people live in conditions the rest\u00a0of\u00a0Canada would find unacceptable. Both communities are off-grid, stuck relying on diesel for power and reliant on an ever-shrinking winter road season that isolates them further.<\/p>\n
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Now the south is hastening its march again. Canada\u2019s north is warming at least twice as fast as the rest\u00a0of\u00a0the world. A global trade war has political eyes in Toronto, Ottawa and even Washington, D.C., on critical minerals buried underground.<\/p>\n
Again Webequie and Neskantaga find themselves charting diverging courses.<\/p>\n
One seeks to harness the onslaught, embrace resource extraction and lift itself out\u00a0of\u00a0poverty. The other would first prioritize basic improvements, like getting clean drinking water out\u00a0of\u00a0the taps for the first time in 30 years. Some plan an active blockade. To them, it is a deeply personal fight.<\/p>\n
But no matter what, that latest wave is here, galvanized by warming temperatures and a feeling\u00a0of\u00a0geopolitical urgency. As the elders foretold, the south is coming for what\u2019s hidden deep within the land.<\/p>\n
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They are coming for the\u00a0Ring\u00a0of\u00a0Fire. And, inevitably, they are building a road.<\/p>\n
\u2014<\/p>\n
II. THE ISLAND<\/p>\n
The raging\u00a0fire\u00a0lit the sky bright orange. Black smoke billowed for days. Embers floated onto the small fly-in community, on an island some 600 kilometres north\u00a0of\u00a0Thunder Bay.<\/p>\n
Chief Cornelius Wabasse could feel the heat from across the lake. The\u00a0fire\u00a0jumped to the island as it breathed to life, ultimately consuming more than 5,370 hectares\u00a0of\u00a0forest.<\/p>\n
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But the winds were with Webequie First Nation.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe were lucky it didn\u2019t change its direction from the south to the north,\u201d Wabasse says. \u201cIf that would have happened, this community would have burned.\u201d<\/p>\n
The\u00a0fire\u00a0ran the other way, giving the federal and provincial governments time to organize an evacuation.<\/p>\n
Nine cabins were lost across the lake, along with several boats and all-terrain vehicles. Fortune shone on Webequie, as the only way off the island at that time\u00a0of\u00a0year is by air or water.<\/p>\n
There is no bridge, but one day Webequie hopes to build one.<\/p>\n
Helicopters dart across the sky on a wet and dreary October day. Charred spruce and birch trees stretch for dozens\u00a0of\u00a0kilometres to the east. From the window\u00a0of\u00a0one chopper, a planned road to the\u00a0Ring\u00a0of\u00a0Fire\u00a0comes into view. There is a clearing where trees have been chopped near the first proposed water crossing.<\/p>\n
In this part\u00a0of\u00a0Ontario, a couple hundred kilometres southwest\u00a0of\u00a0James Bay, there is as much water as land. The earth morphs from solid rock in the west to muskeg in the east. Underneath it all is said to be one\u00a0of\u00a0the richest deposits\u00a0of\u00a0critical minerals and rare metals the world over.<\/p>\n
Outdoor shoes are not allowed inside Webequie\u2019s band office, much like at the nearby school and in the community\u2019s lone store. The floors in all three are spotless.<\/p>\n
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Chief Wabasse sits at his desk, sporting tinted glasses and a black vest over a black sweater. An autographed photo\u00a0of\u00a0him with Ontario Premier Doug Ford hangs on the wall. A hand-carved, wooden bald eagle is perched atop a filing cabinet.<\/p>\n
Wabasse has been chief\u00a0of\u00a0Webequie for the past 15 years. He knows change is coming, and he wants to have a hand on the wheel when it arrives.<\/p>\n
\u201cOur elders used to say that there will come a time when things are going to come from the south, meaning development, and we have to be ready,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
\u201cOur well-being has to be at a favourable level because we have so many issues in our community, including overcrowding in our homes and mental health issues.\u201d<\/p>\n
\t\t\t\t\tRivers and forests east of Neskantaga, Ont., on Saturday, Oct. 25, 2025.\t\t\t\t <\/p>\n
\t\t\t\t\tChristopher Katsarov\/The Canadian Press\t\t\t\t<\/p>\n
Wabasse is a quiet and serious man. He kept his head down and his mouth quiet when Ottawa and Queen\u2019s Park passed laws in the spring that gave themselves extraordinary powers to remove barriers to development, at the cost\u00a0of\u00a0environmental regulations and Indigenous consultation. The laws sparked outrage among many First Nations, who saw it as an existential threat to their way\u00a0of\u00a0life.<\/p>\n
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Wabasse, however, has a different take: \u201cWe don\u2019t need them,\u201d he says\u00a0of\u00a0the new laws, though the community is studying them to see if they bear any advantages.<\/p>\n
\u201cOur elders used to say that we need to work with the government in order for our community to prosper,\u201d says Wabasse. \u201cWe need to work with all parties, even with industry or any other parties that want to work with us. We need to work together, we can\u2019t always fight and go into legal battles.\u201d<\/p>\n
The First Nation is leading the provincial environmental assessment and the federal impact assessment on the Webequie Supply Road, a 107-kilometre gravel road to a proposed mine. From there, the road would connect to two other proposed roads, which would ultimately link Webequie and another First Nation, Marten Falls, to the provincial highway system. The two First Nations are working together on a similar study for the Northern Road Link, while Marten Falls is leading the study\u00a0of\u00a0the third road.<\/p>\n
The province has recently made deals with both First Nations \u2014 the details, in Webequie\u2019s case, having been hammered out over pizza at the premier\u2019s home in Etobicoke \u2014 and the federal government. Webequie is hoping construction will start not long after the ground thaws in June. Marten Falls eyes August for its own construction to begin.<\/p>\n
A road could bring problems: drugs, alcohol, hunters from the south. But it could also bring prosperity. The community wants its autonomy, and Wabasse firmly believes that starts with a bridge off the island.<\/p>\n
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The chief has four children. He lost one. The other three live in Thunder Bay, and though he is often in the city for work, he misses them. \u201cI\u2019d love to have them here and all the other band members who want to return, but we don\u2019t have enough houses or jobs.\u201d<\/p>\n
About 850 people live in Webequie, with another 200 off reserve. It needs 30 more homes to ease intense overcrowding. Five units were built last year and 10 the year before. They\u2019re hoping to build 20 next year, but it all depends on the length\u00a0of\u00a0the winter road season, which is down to about a month.<\/p>\n
For a long time, Webequie\u2019s people didn\u2019t worry about the winter road. Winter usually arrived in November. The community would begin packing down the road by December and driving off the island on an ice road by January. It would last two or more months.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe weather is warming, the climate is changing,\u201d Wabasse says. \u201cThese days, it doesn\u2019t get cold until December or January.\u201d<\/p>\n
Diesel trucked in along the winter road powers the community for the year. Despite recent upgrades to a Hydro One diesel station at the airport, every year, the community burns through that fuel before it can be replenished again. The remainder has to be flown in.<\/p>\n
Webequie and Neskantaga First Nation are among five communities in the\u00a0Ring\u00a0of\u00a0Fire\u00a0region that still rely on diesel to generate power. People don\u2019t want to rely on this fossil fuel. It\u2019s dirty. It pollutes the air. But Webequie will need a lot more before a transmission line promised by the province arrives.<\/p>\n
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Everything else has to be brought in on the winter road or by air. Food. Building supplies. A 12-pack\u00a0of\u00a0Coca-Cola runs $36 at the only store in town. The service fee to take out money at Royal Bank, the only bank in town, is $15. Gasoline, which is also flown in to feed the 200 or so trucks in Webequie, costs $3.09 a litre.<\/p>\n
Wabasse takes a deep breath when asked about nearby First Nations that take an opposite position on development. He respects that others do what they feel is best for their community, and he hopes for the same from them in return.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re hoping that at some point in time we\u2019ll move forward and they\u2019ll begin to understand why we are doing this,\u201d he says, adding that many communities in the north share similar needs that governments and industry can address.<\/p>\n
Wabasse explains that his community members view the land, the water and all the resources\u00a0of\u00a0the area as their own, to benefit from however they want to. That is their sovereignty.<\/p>\n
\u201cIn our community, when people were living off the land, they were travelling, fishing and hunting, mostly,\u201d he says. \u201cLiving off the land is different now, where we have the resources, like the forestry and also the minerals that are out there. It\u2019s a new way\u00a0of\u00a0living off the land. And that\u2019s how we see it.\u201d<\/p>\n
The old way\u00a0of\u00a0doing things does not always work in a warming world. It is harder to leave the island. Blue ice, which is strong and comes from extended periods\u00a0of\u00a0cold, is increasingly giving way to slush ice that results from warmer conditions and is half as strong, community members say.<\/p>\n
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\u201cIf the weather is mild, we don\u2019t get that much blue ice. You need at least 17 inches for our groomers to cross, and those are light vehicles,\u201d says Harry Wabasse, a councillor.<\/p>\n
Groomers are now kept off the island to speed annual construction\u00a0of\u00a0the rest\u00a0of\u00a0the winter road, while blue ice must now be topped off with packed slush ice to achieve a strong enough base for fully loaded transport trucks.<\/p>\n
The lack\u00a0of\u00a0a bridge hampers development. The gravel pit is off the island. It is needed for virtually all construction.\u00a0Lower-priority work cannot happen. Dirt roads go without being upgraded, kicking up an incredible amount\u00a0of\u00a0dust in the dry months, and sometimes becoming unnavigable due to mud in the wet months.<\/p>\n
The community is thinking\u00a0of\u00a0other ways to modernize. It has received a provincial grant to help build a sawmill.\u00a0About half the community\u2019s homes are heated with wood stoves. The wood being cleared for road construction, and from areas affected by the wildfires, could be used as an energy source.<\/p>\n
Bob Wabasse, the community\u2019s champion for energy improvements, is also looking at using provincial funding for solar panels to help power the school and band offices.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can\u2019t do any\u00a0of\u00a0this without a road and a way off the island,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
\u2014<\/p>\n
III. THE ROAD<\/p>\n
The rotors on four helicopters whir to life one after the other on a gravel tarmac at Webequie\u2019s airport. Temperatures hover around freezing. Snow and sleet from an hour ago has abated. Clouds float 300 metres above the ground and the other side\u00a0of\u00a0the remote lake is visible. It\u2019s good enough to fly.<\/p>\n
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The road crew\u2019s early morning meeting is complete. The helicopters lift off with scientists and engineers on board as they carry out the painstaking work\u00a0of\u00a0carving 107 kilometres through solid esker rock and soft muskeg in some\u00a0of\u00a0the most remote conditions in the country.<\/p>\n
Several dozen members\u00a0of\u00a0a crew from AtkinsRealis are flying out dozens\u00a0of\u00a0kilometres to various points along the proposed route.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re doing a pretty intensive drilling program, which is drilling small holes deep into the ground to give us an idea\u00a0of\u00a0the different layers\u00a0of\u00a0soil and then the engineers take that information and use that to help design the road,\u201d says Don Parkinson, a senior consultation specialist.<\/p>\n
The idea is simple enough. But it is a complex operation to carry out in the middle\u00a0of\u00a0nowhere.<\/p>\n
First, \u201ccutters\u201d take a few days to clear the dense forest for a 45- by 55-metre area so helicopters can land. Crews then attach a claw to a 30-metre-long line that is tethered to the helicopter so the pilot can move the fallen trees. Clearing takes several days. Next, they set up a drill rig that weighs several tonnes. The crews bring an inordinate amount\u00a0of\u00a0gear: tools, auger, compressor, generator, water tote. When the drilling is done, they will do it all again at a new spot.<\/p>\n
The AtkinsRealis team undertakes this work from mid-September until the weather turns nasty in early November, with plans to return in January once the deep freeze sets in. The 30-plus crew members from all parts\u00a0of\u00a0Ontario do their work in shifts, rotating two weeks on and two weeks off.<\/p>\n
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After construction begins in earnest, the two-lane gravel road will take four to six years to complete, and it will require six bridges and 25 culverts to cross various bodies\u00a0of\u00a0water. It will run northwest-southeast for 51 kilometres from Webequie\u2019s airport to the next segment, which will run 56 kilometres east-west to McFaulds Lake and the Eagle\u2019s Nest mineral exploration site.<\/p>\n
\t\t\t\t\tElder Domenic Moonias holds rock samples drilled, collected and later abandoned by mining companies, in Neskantaga, Ont., on Monday, Oct. 27, 2025.\t\t\t\t <\/p>\n
\t\t\t\t\tChristopher Katsarov\/The Canadian Press\t\t\t\t<\/p>\n
The road is expected to last 75 years, after which major refurbishments will be needed. The province is expected to spend $663 million, though who will own the road and who will be allowed to use it are questions for future negotiations. Ontario is reviewing its costing for this and the two other proposed roads, which combined will run up at least a $2-billion bill.<\/p>\n
Construction was originally scheduled for 2028. Now it is expected to begin next year. And the all-important environmental assessment is expected to be complete by January.<\/p>\n
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The delicate drilling dance is underway on a cold, grey Friday morning in late October. Scott Olshanoski sits at a desk in the living room\u00a0of\u00a0a bunkhouse built by Webequie that looks like a massive school portable. The company is paying the community several million dollars for the accommodations over the course\u00a0of\u00a0the project.<\/p>\n
The crew\u2019s four helicopter\u2019s light up a map on the computer Olshanoski\u2019s eyes are glued to. A Garmin inReach Mini dangles on the wall nearby. It allows for text messaging via satellite, though those messages can take 15 minutes to arrive.<\/p>\n
Cell phones do not work in Webequie, or anywhere within hundreds\u00a0of\u00a0kilometres. The drill teams carry a Starlink satellite receiver, battery packs and a generator. It means they can get high-speed internet in the middle\u00a0of\u00a0a peat field.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey can phone me if there\u2019s a problem,\u201d Olshanoski says.<\/p>\n
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Fortunately, today there have not been any major issues. The pilots are with a biologist. They are sweeping the work area in a grid pattern looking for boreal caribou, which move through the area in the fall.<\/p>\n
A draft report\u00a0of\u00a0the environmental assessment suggests road work should not pose significant threats to plant and animal life. But construction and operation is \u201cexpected to provide predators such as wolves increased access to the caribou, particularly where the road traverses natural movement corridors,\u201d it says. The province says 5,000 caribou remain, but advocates believe the number is much lower. Wolverines are also under threat.<\/p>\n
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\u201cWe\u2019ve had a couple times where we\u2019ve seen caribou so we\u2019ve backed off, returned to camp here and then we can\u2019t work at that site that day,\u201d Olshanoski says.<\/p>\n
Environmental activists warn that further development, including roads and mines, could threaten an ecologically sensitive area already facing turbulence due to warmer temperatures and drought. The James Bay and Hudson Bay Lowlands are among the largest peatland complexes in the world, storing more than 35 billion tonnes\u00a0of\u00a0carbon.<\/p>\n
Anna Baggio, the conservation director\u00a0of\u00a0the Wildlands League, says by phone that she understands why many First Nations seek to connect to the highway system in the south.<\/p>\n
But she says she believes Webequie would be better served by an east-west road rather than one that veers north to a mining site. And while her organization is not against mining, she believes enough are being built elsewhere to satisfy the market.<\/p>\n
In her mind, the problem with more aggressively developing the\u00a0Ring\u00a0of\u00a0Fire\u00a0is simple:<\/p>\n
\u201cEnvironmentally, it\u2019s going to be insane,\u201d she says. \u201cWe just can\u2019t afford to have all that disturbance and still somehow get to net zero by 2050.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u2014<\/p>\n
IV: THE MINE<\/p>\n
Jake Carter lifts the helicopter off the ground from the Webequie airport and heads east. It is a 40-minute flight to Wyloo\u2019s Eagle\u2019s Nest mining camp in the heart\u00a0of\u00a0the\u00a0Ring\u00a0of\u00a0Fire.<\/p>\n
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The forest blackened by wildfire gives way to a mix\u00a0of\u00a0evergreen and peatlands. Carter points out vast bogs and fens that paint the ground.\u00a0From the sky, the fens look like decrepit fingers lined up side by side, surrounded by peat. The look like ripples\u00a0of\u00a0sand on a beach.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat formation occurs because the water underneath flows perpendicular,\u201d Carter explains. \u201cThere\u2019s a lot\u00a0of\u00a0water up here, but under it all is a lot more rock.\u201d<\/p>\n
In 2007, Noront announced it discovered a large deposit\u00a0of\u00a0nickel, platinum, copper and other critical minerals. Dick Nemis, the Sudbury-born lawyer turned miner and head\u00a0of\u00a0Noront, named it the\u00a0Ring\u00a0of\u00a0Fire, partially due to its crescent shape and his love\u00a0of\u00a0Johnny Cash.<\/p>\n
Australian mining giant Wyloo and Juno Corp., a Canadian junior mining company formed in 2019, own the vast majority\u00a0of\u00a0the more than 40,000 claims staked in the\u00a0Ring\u00a0of\u00a0Fire, though two other mining companies, Teck Resources and Canada Chrome Corporation, also hold a significant number\u00a0of\u00a0claims.<\/p>\n
The companies say they\u2019ve found a wide variety\u00a0of\u00a0critical mineral and base metal deposits, including nickel, copper, chromite, titanium, platinum, vanadium, iron and gold. They are used to make all types\u00a0of\u00a0batteries, cell phones, stainless steel, semi-conductors, drones, satellites, data centres and computers.<\/p>\n
There is a heavy defence component, too. Juno, for example, says it met with U.S. defence officials for the first time in May to discuss how titanium and vanadium can be used to fill aerospace supply chain gaps.<\/p>\n
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\t\t\t\t\tChildren play on the bank of the Attawapiskat river at an encampment east of Neskantaga, Ont., on Saturday, Oct. 25, 2025.\t\t\t\t <\/p>\n
\t\t\t\t\tChristopher Katsarov\/The Canadian Press\t\t\t\t<\/p>\n
In the distance, the mining camp comes into view. Wyloo\u2019s field team completed two years\u00a0of\u00a0work this past summer, and now leaves the site empty save for periodic checks. Over the summer, Indigenous protesters who seek to disrupt the mine\u2019s construction discussed the possibility\u00a0of\u00a0moving in. It did not come to pass.<\/p>\n
An area the size\u00a0of\u00a0a square kilometre has been cleared. There are dozens\u00a0of\u00a0buildings. Crew members sleep in orange and white Weatherhaven shelters. There\u2019s a kitchen and maintenance shop and a main office, many\u00a0of\u00a0those structures built with trailers. There\u2019s also a sauna, a small fitness room and a recreation room.<\/p>\n
Some 1,100 kilometres southeast\u00a0of\u00a0Eagle\u2019s Nest, Luca Giacovazzi sits in a small office in downtown Toronto, the mining finance capital\u00a0of\u00a0the world.<\/p>\n
The CEO\u00a0of\u00a0Wyloo is in town to visit his Canadian team and to meet with stakeholders, including provincial politicians and some First Nations. A massive photograph\u00a0of\u00a0the\u00a0Ring\u00a0of\u00a0Fire\u00a0region hangs on a wall. Several years ago, Wyloo began looking around for major nickel projects, Giacovazzi says. The company zeroed in on Noront\u2019s Eagle\u2019s Nest.<\/p>\n
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\u201cWhen we looked at it, we were like, \u2018This is one\u00a0of\u00a0the best nickel ore bodies in the world. Why is it not built?’\u201d Giacovazzi says. \u201cIt was discovered a long time ago. Why is it still in the ground?\u201d<\/p>\n
The deeper he looked, the more he liked what he saw. It had support from two First Nations and several years\u00a0of\u00a0regulatory work already completed. That, and the belief that Eagle\u2019s Nest is a \u201cworld-class ore body,\u201d made the play a no-brainer. Wyloo, owned by billionaire Andrew Forrest, got into a bidding war in 2021 with BHP, the world\u2019s biggest mining company, for Eagle\u2019s Nest. Wyloo won. It paid more than $600 million and took Noront private.<\/p>\n
For several years, Wyloo wondered if they\u2019d ever see movement on the project, but recent events have made the company more bullish.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt has started to feel more like we can start to think about timelines and start managing timelines,\u201d Giacovazzi says.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want it to ever come across as it\u2019s all done and dusted and this is definitely happening, but we are definitely seeing the right signs and the right things happening.\u201d<\/p>\n
Giacovazzi points directly to recent partnership deals Webequie First Nation and Marten Falls First Nation signed with the province as signs to move the project forward.<\/p>\n
Each First Nation is to receive $39.5 million. Some\u00a0of\u00a0that will be used to build community centres, repair the airports and add mental health supports, while some will be used for materials to begin road construction. In return, both First Nations reasserted their existing commitment to the\u00a0Ring\u00a0of\u00a0Fire\u00a0mining project and pledged to complete environmental assessments for the roads by early 2026.<\/p>\n
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Meanwhile, Wyloo is wrapping up a feasibility study on the mine and its claims in the region, which Giacovazzi says has cost tens\u00a0of\u00a0millions\u00a0of\u00a0dollars.<\/p>\n
He pulls out a rendering\u00a0of\u00a0what they are designing: two large underground mines. The first is the original, the Eagle\u2019s Nest deposit. It will connect through an underground drift, or passageway, to the second ore body, Blackbird.<\/p>\n
Wyloo envisions twin portals heading underground, one\u00a0of\u00a0which would be used to transport ore to the surface on a conveyor. While a mine shaft is built, the plan is to crush the aggregate pulled from underground to create a foundation for the buildings.<\/p>\n
The company aims to build a concentrator to process the nickel and copper; a treatment plant to recycle the water it uses; and a plant that will mix its tailings into a cement paste that will be returned underground and stored in voids in the rock. The Eagle\u2019s Nest tailings would be stored below the \u201cvery high\u201d water table in the area, as well as in voids at the Blackbird site.<\/p>\n
Wyloo has already drilled about 1.6 kilometres deep on Eagle\u2019s Nest as it pulls out core samples. That confirms a belief that the mine will run much longer than a decade.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe haven\u2019t reached the bottom, so we know we\u2019re going to go for at least 15 years,\u201d Giacovazzi says.<\/p>\n
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The mine will take about three years to construct, he says, though they can build and produce ore concurrently.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it a high-quality world-class asset? Absolutely. Is it the first? Yes. Is there more to come? Probably. That\u2019s a sensitive thing, though, because I don\u2019t think you can go into this thinking it\u2019s now open season. I think it will be step by step, and I think that\u2019s why we take it really seriously that we\u2019re the first, and we do not want to mess it up,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
The company has seven ore bodies in total in its portfolio in the\u00a0Ring\u00a0of\u00a0Fire, but the company is focused on Eagle\u2019s Nest and Blackbird. They also have Black Thor, a big chrome ore body; a smaller one called Nika, which is a copper-zinc ore body. There is also Thunderbird, a vanadium-titanium ore body.<\/p>\n
\u201cIf there was ever a shortage\u00a0of\u00a0vanadium in the world, or it became a critical mineral, or anything like that, this is one\u00a0of\u00a0the few places in the world you can find it,\u201d says Giacovazzi.<\/p>\n
Several thousand workers will be needed to build the mine, and the company will employ about 600 miners once its operational. The company plans to train and employ Indigenous workers as part\u00a0of\u00a0the workforce.<\/p>\n
Giacovazzi says he tells First Nation chiefs that running a mine is similar to running any other remote community.<\/p>\n
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\u201cWithin that, there\u2019s opportunity, because we\u2019re going to have to subcontract all those elements,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd we actually feel that they\u2019re best placed in a whole lot\u00a0of\u00a0cases to take on those roles.\u201d<\/p>\n
One thing is for sure, he says: \u201cIt\u2019s going to be a generational mine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u2014<\/p>\n
VI. THE RESISTANCE<\/p>\n
The sun shines bright on an unusually warm late October day in Neskantaga First Nation. The thermometer reads 10 C as Luke Moulton gets his chopper airborne. He has been piloting in the bush for three years. \u201cIt\u2019s a life-changing job,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
He banks right and whips the machine up to 160 kilometres an hour as he follows the twists and turns\u00a0of\u00a0the mighty Attawapiskat River. A few boats chug along the water below, Neskantaga hunters out looking for moose on the riverbanks. Chris Katsarov Luna, a Canadian Press photographer on board, has never seen a moose in the wild.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ll see one today,\u201d says Marcus Moonias, an employment co-ordinator for the band office. \u201cThis is moose country.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI saw 15 yesterday,\u201d Moulton says. \u201cNo caribou, though.\u201d<\/p>\n
Without spotting any moose, the helicopter weaves its way to a settlement two First Nations are building some 90 kilometres downriver from Neskantaga. The burgeoning encampment sits on a tail\u00a0of\u00a0the southern tip\u00a0of\u00a0the\u00a0Ring\u00a0of\u00a0Fire. It is where one\u00a0of\u00a0the bridges\u00a0of\u00a0the Northern Road Link will be built. Neskantaga and Attawapiskat First Nation plan to be there whenever the roadworkers arrive.<\/p>\n
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Back in June, Jeronimo Kataquapit became fed up with politicos in Ottawa and Toronto. The 20-year-old from Attawapiskat First Nation was offended that the powerful figures\u00a0of\u00a0the south were coming for the bounty\u00a0of\u00a0the north. He quickly organized information sessions about new federal and provincial laws \u2014 the ones designed to remove regulatory barriers, including what many Indigenous people would consider basic consultation \u2014 and decided to do something about it. He would head up river from his home along the James Bay coast to the\u00a0Ring\u00a0of\u00a0Fire.<\/p>\n
He, his parents and his brother stuffed gear into two 24-foot freighter canoes, each with a 25-horsepower motor, and set out with supplies, including a generator and a Starlink receiver for satellite internet, for an extended trip. The family took several weeks and travelled more than 400 kilometres upriver. They called the movement \u201cHere We Stand.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is our home,\u201d Jeronimo Kataquapit said in mid-June from the canoe. \u201cThis is our own territory, not just Attawapiskat\u2019s, but every nation in the area.\u201d<\/p>\n
\t\t\t\t\tJames Kataquapit and Monique Edwards of Attawapiskat First Nation ride their canoe down the Attawapiskat river towards an encampment east of Neskantaga, Ont., on Saturday, Oct. 25, 2025.\t\t\t\t <\/p>\n
\t\t\t\t\tChristopher Katsarov\/The Canadian Press\t\t\t\t<\/p>\n
The settlement is called Shaykachiwikaan, or where the river meets the rocks. The only sound piercing the silence is water rushing through the rapids. Sturgeon, pickerel, whitefish and \u201cmonster pike\u201d dominate the waters and help feed the people. Two white teepees gleam in the bright sun, nestled within the bush on the north bank\u00a0of\u00a0the river.<\/p>\n
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Two bald eagles soar nearby as the helicopter lands at a high point in the middle\u00a0of\u00a0the water. James Kataquapit and Monique Edwards, Jeronimo\u2019s parents, motor over in one\u00a0of\u00a0the freighter canoes, the bright orange Attawapiskat First Nation flag with a silhouette\u00a0of\u00a0a wolf flapping at the front\u00a0of\u00a0the canoe.<\/p>\n
At the settlement, a printed notice nailed to a birch tree declares who owns the land.<\/p>\n
\u201cNeskantaga First Nation takes the position that its traditional territory is under its control, and approval to operate in our territory cannot be given by the government,\u201d the sign reads.<\/p>\n
The couple is joined by David Kataquapit and his wife, Lucie, who came to the encampment in August.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe want to ensure that the generations to come, our grandchildren, our great-grandchildren, even the ones are not going to meet, have what we have today,\u201d Edwards says.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen you build a road or build a mine, it\u2019s irreversible. It will affect the land. It will affect the water. Just look around. It\u2019s pristine. It\u2019s untouched.\u201d<\/p>\n
Edwards says elders who have since passed away said no to a road before in order to protect the land and water and their sovereignty.<\/p>\n
For her, the answer is still no, even if there are cousins who have decided to row in a different direction.<\/p>\n
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\u201cOur treaty rights are being trampled on without even consulting us,\u201d she says. Though she adds: \u201cWe\u2019ll leave it to the future generations what they want to do.\u201d<\/p>\n
The smell\u00a0of\u00a0burning wood fills the air. David Kataquapit has jury-rigged three wood-burning stoves out\u00a0of\u00a0old industrial steel drums with an angle grinder. One is set up in the eight-by-five-metre kitchen they built, complete with a makeshift chimney next to counters fashioned from birch trees.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot bad, eh?\u201d he says with a big smile as he serves coffee made with water from the river.<\/p>\n
They pour moose stew in bowls for lunch. They bagged a moose upstream a few weeks back and another one a few days prior. Moulton, the helicopter pilot, flew one back to Neskantaga, the massive animal strapped to a long line.<\/p>\n
\u201cMother Earth is good to us,\u201d Kataquapit says.<\/p>\n
They are building a full-sized cabin, and they also have plans to build an encampment near the Eagle\u2019s Nest mining site itself.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe whole idea here is to tell those mining companies, both governments, Ontario and federal, that we\u2019re here,\u201d Edwards says. \u201cYou just can\u2019t come and just not tell us what you\u2019re doing, like just brush us aside. We\u2019ve been here long before you have, and this is all we have left, this pristine land.\u201d<\/p>\n
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