Nuu-chah-nulth loosely translates to "that line of mountains that runs along the coast," and the Nuu-chah-nulth people have lived on their coastal territories for thousands of years.

Nuu-chah-nulth oral history describes its people as wealthy rulers of their own land and economies. They traded fish and furs, and when foreign schooners sought shelter in their territory, would collect fees for the parking, and from other First Nations visitors who wanted to trade with the outsiders.

The history also tells stories of rebellion — children who rebelled in residential school, parents who fought to shut one down, and members who occupied Indian Affairs offices, among other forms of resistance.

The 13 Nuu-chah-nulth First Nations are divided by three regions — the Southern, Central and Northern regions, spread primarily across northern Vancouver Island. Tla-o-qui-aht people, who are master carvers, artists, singers, dancers and fishermen, occupy Meares Island, Long Beach, Sutton Pass, and the world-famous District of Tofino, which is widely recognized today as Canada's unofficial surfing capital.

Trouble with tourism

The land now known as Tofino is covered by hotels, resorts, shops and restaurants. Its tourism industry attracts a wide range of visitors, who sometimes hitchhike north up Highway 19 holding cardboard signs, as they seek to benefit from the beautiful territory that its original Indigenous owners preserved for generations.

Saya Masso, the nation's natural resources manager, doesn't hesitate to say that Tofino's tourism hasn't always benefitted his community. Excessive sewage has forced the closure of their clam beds, he explained, and airplanes can be an aggravating source of noise pollution.

"Over a million people can come here throughout the year," he said, sitting outside his home in the village of Opisaht, a short boat ride away from the main dock in Tofino, in an interview with National Observer. ​

"I could tolerate it if I knew they were paying a portion of their plane tickets to the nation — if I knew they were putting a roof on our gym, helping build a new basketball court or feast house, or if they were contributing money for language and cultural programs. But it's not happening."

Saya Masso stands in front of his home in Opisaht, B.C. on April 21, 2018. He said the root word of the village means "sun and moon," because it's the place where the sun and the moon always shine. Photo by Peruzzo

Pushing for basic respect

As Tofino's tourism industry shows no signs of slowing, the Tla-o-qui-aht Nation pushes for recognition and respect, as it always has. Masso said the nation is currently negotiating an ecosystem service fee with the Tofino-Long Beach Chamber of Commerce — a conversation that has been ongoing since 2008.

Ecosystem service fees are paid by the beneficiary of a service to the party that preserves or maintains its ecosystem —in this case, the nation. The fee would encourage sustainable land-use practices, he explained, but it has not yet been implemented across the board.

"We would do good things with the money, staying local — not putting it in corporate hands or giving it to other countries," Masso said. "We need to use it to recover from forestry and restore habitat."

Last year, Tla-o-qui-aht leadership erected an addition to the "Welcome to Tofino" sign posted in the district's green, across from the mayor's office. The sign reads, "In the Haahuulthii of the Tla-o-qui-aht Hawih," meaning, "In the territory of the Tla-o-qui-aht Nation." Photo taken on April 23, 2018 by Peruzzo

Investing in tribal parks

Ultimately, the service fee would be invested into the Tla-o-qui-aht Tribal Parks Program. Tribal parks are areas preserved for the sustainability of the ecosystems that support Indigenous or treaty rights, as defined by lawyer Jack Woodward. Woodword represented the Tla-o-qui-aht and Ahousaht First Nations in their 1984 court proceedings to protect Meares Island.

Many First Nations in B.C. have declared their own tribal parks, but it is up to each one to determine how it will exercise its rights within the territory.

After declaring Meares Island a tribal park in 1984, the Tla-o-qui-aht extended parks declarations to Ha'uukmin (Kennedy Lake) in 2008. On the 30th anniversary of 1984's historic events, they declared their whole territory a tribal park in 2013. Masso said that when the community's leadership asked the elders about their vision for the future at the time, they shared a story about the past; about how families would quarantine themselves during the illness epidemics and colonial disruption brought by settlers.

"They're saying they want to protect the land and waters so that if something happens, there's a place with clean water and salmon," he said. "To get there, we knew we needed to change forestry practices, reduce oil use and protect drinking water.

"We looked at areas we needed to leave alone and areas we needed to engage the province on tenure reform. That crystallized our vision for what a tribal park was."

Opisaht village, seen here on April 21, 2018, is on the southwest side of Meares Island. The totems carved represent different families, and are used to reaffirm family ties, and memorialize and honour special people. Photo by Peruzzo

Making pools for salmon

Last year, through the tribal parks program, the nation installed three pools to help coho salmon survive. The region's rivers may look beautiful to those with less of a relationship to them, but Masso said sediment from boulders knocked down by poor forestry practices has destroyed the habitat.

The tribal parks team removes boulders and builds pools for the fish to survive in dry summer heat.

"If we didn't truck all of those boulders out at hydro hill, for it to get back to fish habitat would take hundreds of years," he explained. "You can help the process — human-engineer it to get it back — like channels around damns or pools for resting areas for the salmon. We intervene and accelerate its recovery."

Tla-o-qui-aht tribal parks manager Terry Dorward said their tribal parks declaration and land-use plan stemmed from Tla-o-qui-aht elders who led the 1980s Clayoquot Sound roadblocks.

"Tribal parks help us create a local economy that's beneficial for our whole community," said Tribal Parks manager Terry Dorward on April 23, 2018. Photo by Peruzzo

Hereditary chiefs are the original caretakers of the land

The declaration and land-use plan is grounded in traditional values and conservation systems with modern twists, he explained, looking across at Meares Island from Tofino — the island he and his relatives fought hard to protect.

"We work on behalf of Tla-o-qui-aht hereditary chiefs. Those are our bosses," Dorward said, speaking to how the hereditary chiefs consider themselves the caretakers and guardians — not owners — of the land.

"We base our conservation efforts on how we would traditionally care for our natural resources. We look at all aspects social, economic, spiritual, political. This is what we want in the whole region."

Tla-o-qui-aht's land-use plan articulates the tribal park's objectives, crystallizing what the nation wants to protect and what its visions are for the future. To write the land-use plan, the nation gathered terrestrial, forestry and marine experts, and consulted the community on cultural protocols, values, and visions for the land.

Everyone benefits from the land-use vision, Masso said, from the protected eel grass that brings in bears for bear-watching, to clean drinking water for all. The plan is not fully implemented, he added, but they're on the right path.