There is not enough time in the day to talk about all the things Tyler Mann loves about hunting.

It’s not just about taking home game. It’s about being outside, seeing the sunrise, deciphering waterfowl behaviour and even convincing the birds to alter their course and land where he wants them to land. These are just a few of the aspects Tyler most enjoys.

Tyler, a transplant from southern Ontario, is not just an avid hunter. He’s the owner-operator of an outfitting business called Saskatchewan Goose Company outside Glaslyn, a small town a little south of Turtle Lake. He’s also the reeve of the Rural Municipality of Parkdale, which borders the east side of Turtle Lake. As an outfitter for bird hunters, he is a man whose living depends on building good relationships.

Tyler initially worked for an established outfitter in the area before buying him out. Today he has clients coming from the U.S., and even far-flung places such as New Zealand. They hunt birds for 60 days, starting in early September and wrapping up at the end of October. Normally, they hunt twice a day. That means a lot of phone calls — he estimates about 200 a year for his business and personal hunting. Even if a farmer has told him to hunt whenever he wants, he still calls or texts before heading out, just to keep everyone in the loop, he adds.

Tyler can’t offer landholders cash or anything else tangible, so he tries to bank goodwill by helping where he can, telling his guides to “treat it like it’s (their) own place” and supporting the community.

Tyler understands the importance of building relationships and reputation in a small town, especially with a business like his. The outfitter he initially worked for was known for treating the land well, so he started on solid footing. But he’s also developed a bunch of other good practices to enable him to gain access, ranging from introducing himself to people in town to helping fight balefires and wildfires.

Jay and Wanda Millard are one of the farming families who give him land access. Despite ongoing trespassing issues, the Millards also allow other hunters on their land, when doing so doesn’t conflict with field operations or another hunter who already has dibs that day.

Knowing who is accessing their land and when is key, and they like to build at least some kind of relationship with the people doing so. For example, a group of bird hunters from North Carolina has been hunting on their land for six or seven years. The first year, the North Carolina crew came up well before hunting season.

“They wanted to meet people before they came, to find out about the area and kind of looking for a little help on where to hunt,” says Jay. Doing that allowed them to build relationships with several landowners ahead of time. Waiting until hunting season to ask doesn’t work well, as there are so many other hunters and outfitters in the area already, Jay adds.

The time invested in that relationship has paid off in other ways, too, as the Millards and the North Carolina hunters have become friends. Jay has even been fishing with them in North Carolina twice, not something he’d likely be able to do without that connection.

Going in the right direction

Louis Bossaer grew up in the North Battleford area, about an hour and a half south of Turtle Lake. His career as an agrologist has taken him all over Western Canada, but these days he lives closer to home, and has a cabin with his family at Turtle Lake. He’s also on the Turtle Lake Watershed board.

 “I’ll get out to the bush as much as I possibly can. That’s my happy place,” he says. Louis and his family like to hike, fish, hunt and ATV. They have a tradition of picking up litter on their way home from their excursions.

Despite all the trespassing problems, in Louis’ experience the landowners around Turtle Lake are “pretty tolerant and they’re pretty accepting and willing to talk to people.” Most people are pretty good people, he says.

Louis has friends who own land in the area, which has made it easy for him to access land for hunting. He’s an affable guy who seems comfortable talking to strangers. But not everyone from the city can easily access land, he says. It can be hard to gain the trust of farmers when they don’t know you, he points out.

Louis has a lot of sympathy for farmers dealing with trespassing and related issues, something his own family dealt with on their cattle operation while he was growing up.

But we also live in a society where we’re discussing nature and the environment more than ever. At the same time, we have more restrictions on how and where we can enjoy the outdoors. Louis understands landowner concerns, especially around the uncaring bad actors, but “how in this new world do people find the places to enjoy all these outdoor things?” he asks.

If governments want people to care about the environment, people need to experience it, he says. While some of us have no problem calling people — even strangers — to ask permission, it’s tougher for others. The government needs to make it easier for urban folks to find places where they can enjoy the outdoors, while also educating them about property rights, he says.

There are technology companies offering connections through an app or website. For example, Sask Lander is seeking both recreational users and landowners for its new network. The made-in-Saskatchewan platform lets landowners state what kind of access they’ll allow, or even specify no access. Recreationists can find land to partake in whatever activity they’re interested in and contact landowners through the platform

Another technological option is iHunter, an app both Louis and Tyler have used. The app shows the land location, landowner’s name and contact information, and the hunter’s current location. Every year Tyler has a couple of hunting guides from Ontario, and he sets them up with iHunter.

“To read an RM map sounds easy to most people, but if you count one quarter too much, you’re in somebody else’s land. So the iHunter’s nice because you have a little beacon that shows you where you are,” says Tyler.

Both see limitations and complications with all the new technology. Tyler thinks people still need to track down phone numbers and build relationships with landholders. Louis wonders if having too many apps available will lead to confusion, and whether technological breakdowns will offer new excuses.

“But at least we’re going in the right direction of trying to make it easier for people,” says Louis.

The public good

Trespassing is a very hard issue to tackle without a concept of public good, says Jim Range.

But how do you foster a sense of public good? Another tough question.

There’s a role for the provincial government in all this, but I can’t help thinking much of the onus is on our municipal governments, as well as some of the volunteer organizations, such as the snowmobile clubs, which secure permission and offer groomed trails. And it might also come down to being neighbourly — for example, by picking up farmers walking back from the field during harvest, as Tyler does. Those small acts bank a little good will and, I think, make it a little easier to handle any conflict down the road. I think that most people are more likely to act in the public interest when they see people as neighbours instead of “those other people.”

But it’s not just about our connections within and between communities, it’s our connection to the land. This goes beyond respecting people’s property rights or enjoying time spent outdoors. I think it’s about seeing the land as an entity that will outlast all of us, if we take care of it.

How do we foster a healthy connection to the land? I don’t think giving people access to nature alone is enough. People must learn to tread lightly. There are people doing this work, too, from the watershed boards educating cabin owners and other residents to farmers and conservation groups working together. And, of course, the Treaty Land Sharing Network, which is focused on relationships between Indigenous people and their land-holding neighbours.

Autumn Baptiste provides a clear example of this learning when she tells me about a culture camp held on their community land. Everyone was picking sweetgrass. After a while, Autumn noticed that her young niece was ripping out clumps of grass. She taught her little niece what to look for and how to only take what she needed so the grass would grow back the next year. It seems like a simple principle, but it’s important, and needs to be learned, I think.

None of this is easy work, and I don’t know how to stop the people determined to cut fences, steal or damage crops. Peer pressure? Legal remedies? I’m not sure what’s likely to be effective, especially given how hard it is to catch them or prove who did it. It’s also time-consuming and it’s only effective if people are willing to work together. But the thing is, I think rebuilding our connections to community and the land is also one part of the solution to other wicked problems, such as the mental health crisis we’re facing and the rural-urban divide. Not the whole solution, mind you, but one strand.

Ultimately, I have more questions than anything. Will some combination of relationship-building and technology release some pressure around land access in rural communities like mine? Will the new trespassing legislation help, hinder, get tossed out by the courts or simply prove unenforceable? Are there other solutions that we haven’t discussed or even thought about yet? What is it going to be like to live here in five, 10 years?

I’ve struggled to figure out how to end this story. I’ve looked for one last image that will resonate or bring us full circle. Maybe I should have ended with Autumn’s description of gathering sweetgrass with her niece. Perhaps I should bring you into the combine with Wanda, so you can see how beautiful the sunsets are in the early fall with the dust hanging in the air. Or maybe we should sit on the lakeshore on a quiet summer night and listen to the loons calling. Most of all, I’d like to take you for a ride on a good horse through my parents’ bush pastures right after a rain, so you can smell the wet leaves and watch the wildlife — even a black bear, if we’re lucky.

But ultimately, none of that feels quite right, because this story isn’t finished. We’re all right in the middle of it. And what happens next depends on us.

The post No trespass: The public good appeared first on Canadian Cattlemen.

[Updated Oct. 18, 2022]

There is a forest meadow on my family’s lease land that changes constantly through the growing season. It’s one of my favourite places. After the spring rains, lush green grass soon overtakes last year’s dead vegetation, and the poplars leaf out. Later, it’s a riot of wildflowers. As the summer wears on, the grasses head out, seedheads dusted pink. Trail cams have caught wildlife including bears, elk and plenty of deer. There’s a bear den on the south side of a hill overlooking the meadow, and a nearby dugout supports waterfowl. You never know what you might see.

So when Autumn Baptiste says that it’s a different experience every time she goes out on the land, I think I understand what she means.

“I don’t know how to explain it. When you’re out on the land, it feels like you’re taking a breath.”

Autumn hunts and gathers medicine on the community land belonging to Thunderchild and Red Pheasant First Nations. When I ask her how she’d respond to landholders who want to control access to their land to prevent damage and keep their livestock and families safe, she says she wants them to feel safe, too.

“I understand where they’re coming from.”

But when it comes to the new trespassing legislation, she feels the provincial government should have consulted more with Indigenous people. She thinks it creates a barrier for those trying to build relationships between Indigenous people and landholders “because it implies that people who are going out onto the land to use the land have very different intentions than what they do.”

The possibility of a court challenge to the new legislation is smouldering, with the Federation of Sovereign Indigenous Nations (FSIN) and Treaty Commissioner of Saskatchewan indicating they are lining up their legal ducks.

The trespassing legislation is just the latest government action that FSIN and the Treaty Commissioner see as violating treaty rights. Another is the sale of Crown lands, which has shrunk the land base on which Indigenous people can exercise their treaty rights.

While Indigenous land users still have access to some Crown land, it’s possible the new legislation could curtail that, too. For example, as FSIN Chief Bobby Cameron told the Star Phoenix this winter, some Crown land may only be accessible through private land.

Jim Range, for one, isn’t betting the new legislation will survive a court challenge. The courts have ruled in favour of honouring treaties in the past, he says, and he expects them to do so again in this case.

Autumn believes the new legislation “will give people that feeling that they can take (the law) into their own hands,” something she sees as very dangerous. It’s worth asking, given how busy rural RCMP forces already are, who is expected to enforce this legislation? Confronting trespassers, or suspected trespassers, is already a regular activity for many civilians in my area, and perhaps we don’t need more encouragement.

Personally, I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I’ve covered few topics in my career that felt so close to home or left me feeling as conflicted as trespassing and this new legislation. I was initially hesitant to even take on this story, but in the end, I couldn’t resist the siren call of such a messy topic.

When I began working on this story, I was almost fully behind the legislation, although I wasn’t sure how enforceable it would be. After talking to everyone (particularly Autumn) and doing more research, I can see more to the issue. I still want the new legislation to work, but I don’t want it to worsen the already-tense relations between farming and Indigenous communities, or encourage more conflict between frustrated landholders and others. This may be a case of wanting to eat my cake and have it, too.

Sharing the land

A big question this province (and much of the country faces) is how to build back relationships between Indigenous communities and their neighbours. Where do you go after you’ve acknowledged the historical injustices that linger today? Much of the solution, in rural areas at least, is going to centre on land access. But how do you ensure land access for Metis and First Nations people in a practical way that also ensures the safety of everyone on the land, especially when we’re talking about hunting or potentially cranky livestock?

Autumn is involved with a group that aims to do just that. The Treaty Land Sharing Network comprises Saskatchewan landholders — including farmers and ranchers — who are offering land access to Indigenous and Metis people to exercise their treaty rights.

The people in the network are “showing that the treaty relationships aren’t severed. They can be reconnected,” says Autumn.

Landholders who join the Treaty Land Sharing Network agree to allow land users to exercise the full range of their treaty and inherent rights, unless it’s unsafe to do so due to other land uses (for example, hunting on a small land parcel). Landholders and land users also agree to the same protocols such as foot access only.

Landholders can list any characteristics that might be of interest, such as sweat rocks, wildlife or plant species considered medicine. The Treaty Land Sharing Network then posts this information to its website. Through the network, land users get the landholder’s contact information, so they can get a heads up about any other issues and learn more about the land, Autumn adds. Landholders can also post signs stating they are part of the network.*

Autumn says they’re still making connections, but the response has been great so far. The network has also been a way to have conversations about the treaties, she says, and the intentions of the signatories, which was to share the land, she says.

Is this the solution to all the issues around land access and trespassing, or even around reconciliation? No — but, again, I don’t think there is a single solution. I don’t know how many landholders will sign up for the network, but what makes me hopeful is that it acknowledges the public good and relies on building good will. A person might argue that’s also what makes it fragile, but I think that building and maintaining good will is one of the few things that works in the long run. More on that next week.

Read the final chapter here:

• No trespass: The public good

*Update: This story originally stated that landholders joining the Treaty Land Sharing Network could specify “any restrictions” on land access, which is incorrect. The story has been clarified accordingly. We regret the error.

The post No trespass: Rebuilding treaty relationships appeared first on Canadian Cattlemen.

One of the most infuriating groups of trespassers are the people who travel with wire cutters.

It’s something Judy Wilkinson and I chat about before our on-the-record interview. Part of me is always astounded by the nerve of it, and the pre-meditation.

Judy and her husband Kevin, who raise livestock on the northwest side of Turtle Lake, have their own experience with cut fences. If their animals got out, it would be a real problem. For one thing, their operation borders a few other communities, including a small section of Thunderchild First Nation known as the “hay reserve” (separate from the larger portion of the reserve to the south), plus the lake communities. They’re also near the Divide Forest, from which it would be nearly impossible to round up loose livestock.

The other thing is they’re not raising cattle or sheep. They’re raising bison.

Bison can be dangerous. They are much more athletic and powerful than cattle. They will defend their calves against perceived threats aggressively. Not too long ago, they regularly had to fend off all kinds of predators, including wolves and plains grizzly bears. I, personally, would much rather run into a black bear or any other type of wildlife in our area, than a bison.

So you can imagine the feelings provoked a couple of winters back when Kevin discovered that snowmobilers had cut the perimeter page-wire fence of one of their bison pastures. Fortunately, the bison weren’t in that pasture at the time, but it could have been a disaster.

The Wilkinsons are far from alone in their aggravation. Jay and Wanda Millard grow crops and raise cattle. Their farmyard is just southeast of Turtle Lake, but they have land edging the lake, and their pasture also includes the west side of Stony Lake, a large wetland that occasionally attracts people.

The Millards’ trespassing stories range from annoying but mostly harmless to those that end with damaged crops.

They have their share of illegal hunting stories, too. They’ve seen unknown hunters in their field, too close for comfort to Jay’s parents’ and aunt and uncle’s homes. Another time, a local outfitter was caught cutting fences on the Millards’ leased pasture, Jay tells me.

It’s important to acknowledge that it’s not just one group of people causing all the problems, and every group has its share of troublemakers. I have dug through garbage dumped on public land or road allowances, and found the names of locals, so I know it’s not just “lake people.”

But as more people come to the area, often attracted by the lakes and other recreation, the trespassing issues grow.

Kevin and Judy have farmed at Turtle Lake for over 40 years. They’ve noticed more recreational traffic, especially in the winter, as more people visit or live at the lake year-round. People spill out onto the surrounding farm and ranchland, and into the Divide Forest. It’s not unusual to see groups of 15 to 20 people on quads heading to the Divide Forest, Kevin says. And it’s a different crowd now at Turtle Lake than 15 years ago — fewer locals or people with deep roots in the area — and that’s changed the dynamic, especially among those ATVing, he adds.

Kevin and Judy haven’t been plagued by trespassing issues constantly over the decades, but there have been problems, such as people stealing, vandalizing and dumping garbage.

A legislative solution

On the face of it, Saskatchewan’s new trespassing legislation seems to promise an effective legal solution to the trespassing issues landowners have been wrestling with for years. It seems simple, even common-sense — ask permission before you step onto someone’s land, whether or not it’s posted. Previously, land had to be posted with no-trespassing signs for even a miniscule hope of legal action. It’s the kind of change the province’s farming and ranching communities have been pleading for, and that the Saskatchewan Association of Rural Municipalities supports as well.

The new legislation, which was proclaimed earlier this year, shifts the onus to the person accessing land to prove they have permission to be there. Rather than making landowners post no-trespassing signs on their property, those wanting land access will have to contact the owner or occupier of the land. Consent can be given orally, in writing or electronically. Landowners can also post signs indicating specific activities are allowed on that land. The person accessing the property needs to prove they had permission to access the property, “on a balance of probabilities.”

The Trespass to Property Act covers lawns, gardens, yardsites, land under cultivation, grazing land and enclosed land. It also requires people to gain permission before accessing leased agricultural land. Those convicted under the act can face fines of up to $5,000.

There are several people exempt from asking permission under the act, such as firefighters, peace officers, paramedics and other emergency workers; people reading metres or doing other work related to public utilities; gas or electrical inspectors; and “individuals engaged in lawful hunting, fishing or trapping activities.”

The act also states that an “occupier” (ex. a landowner, renter or manager) owes “no duty of care” to those entering land without permission, as long as they’re not intentionally creating a danger or doing a “wilful (sic) act with reckless disregard of the presence of the person.” To me, this suggests that if, for example, someone trespasses in a bison pasture and is hurt by a bison, the farmer won’t be held responsible. But if a farmer or rancher intentionally booby-traps their land with upside-down harrows to harm trespassers, they would be open to criminal charges or lawsuits. However, I’m a writer, not a lawyer, so take that assessment with a little salt.

A little respect

Wanda and Jay Millard are hopeful that the consequences of being caught trespassing under the new legislation will deter people. They’re tired of snowmobilers ignoring no-trespassing signs and winter-killing newly seeded grass, hunters leaving gates open (an annual occurrence) and all the other trespassing problems they’ve faced.

“We’re not allowed to go into anyone else’s backyard and have a party, cut fences. It’s time for a little respect. And I think hopefully the new law brings that,” says Jay.

Kevin and Judy Wilkinson have mixed views on how effective the new legislation will be. Kevin thinks that if someone is caught trespassing or damaging property, “then the law has more teeth, maybe, to come down on them.”

But the Wilkinsons both think there needs to be more education and communication around trespassing and the new legislation.

“I don’t think people are even going to realize it,” says Judy of the new legislation. In the winter, you can see snowmobile trails in the unfenced fields along the highway between Livelong and Turtle Lake, she points out.

“And you know it’s not the landowners that are cruising on their fields. So I don’t think people even know it.”

Maybe the village offices at the lakes should bring up the new trespassing legislation at their meetings, she says, to raise awareness. Maybe the rural municipalities (which overarch some of the lake villages as well as the ag and acreage land) could do the same. But even communication and education will only go so far.

“You can’t stop people from doing things that they’re going to do. You know, you just can’t. What are you going to do?” she says, outlining a confrontation she had with people on ATVs in another farmer’s field.

There’s also the question of whether the new legislation can be enforced. Helmets make it hard to identify people on snowmobiles and ATVs, and even if they have license plates, they may be hard to catch on trail cams. Besides, someone on a snowmobile can easily evade other vehicles, and even ATVs have an advantage over rough terrain.

Unfortunately, various other crimes keep the RCMP officers we do have busy. Our area is about an hour and half or so from both Lloydminster and North Battleford, two small cities on the Yellowhead Highway that frequently top Maclean’s annual violent crime lists. Neither of those communities can be boiled down to a bunch of crime stats (and I personally feel quite safe visiting both cities), but I don’t think there’s any denying that we’re dealing with a lot of crime and related social issues.

Does the threat of arrest deter people from breaking the rules? I ask Phil whether he was more careful about confronting trespassers after his arrest. Since then, he’s sold his property and moved on, but he did deal with people trespassing after that earlier confrontation. He tells me that in some ways, he was even more aggressive about booting sledders off his property, albeit without a firearm in hand. One couple he kicked off his land was just out “putzing around,” and probably not “spooking up the wildlife.” Phil later felt bad about aggressively confronting them, but he’d had enough. He also had another ugly confrontation with another sledder.

Still, Phil doesn’t feel overly optimistic about the new legislation, and sees problems down the road with it.

“I hope it’s effective to keep these guys out, but yet, in another way, it’s going to cause problems because of the whole (treaty) hunting rights thing, you know. There’s a lot of landowners that would be glad to actually see people hunting because of too many deer around or too much of this around. But now, with the zero tolerance for trespassing, I mean…”

He trails off, and I ask him if he sees any solutions. Phil says he doesn’t know what the answer is.

“I can see down the road somebody getting hurt, somewhere. Especially these days with farming being as stressful as it is. I mean, some guy gets his fence cut or something, and somebody’s just going to come unglued.”

For the next installments, see:

• No trespass: Rebuilding treaty relationships
• No trespass: The public good

The post No trespass: Cutting wire appeared first on Canadian Cattlemen.

It started out much like any other winter day, as Phil hauled in wood to heat his home. But then he heard the rumble of snowmobiles. He could tell they were on his land, even though it was posted with “No-Trespassing” signs. He thought about the lame moose sheltering on his land, and worried they were harassing her.

He headed out to confront them, carrying a short-barreled shotgun he kept on hand in case of aggressive bears or, that winter, dog packs roaming the area, he says. Phil’s house is shielded by bush, but between the bush and the grid road is a small hayfield where the snowmobilers were revving up their machines.  By the time he got there, one of the snowmobilers had taken off, but the other was still plunging through drifts. Carrying his shotgun, Phil confronted the man, using some “foul language,” he says. The snowmobiler had a phone with a camera and snapped a photo or video of Phil carrying the gun, then reported the confrontation to the local RCMP. The next day, the RCMP arrested Phil.

Phil has forgotten some of the details of the charges in the nine or so years since the confrontation. But from what he recalls, he was charged with uttering threats as well as firearm offences (and that matches my own memory at court). The snowmobilers weren’t charged with trespassing, as far as he knows, even though the land was posted. He suspects they came back to his property shortly after the confrontation, something he thinks helped him in court.

It’s easy to write off this incident as a hot-headed landowner getting carried away. But it reveals the biggest risk that lurks on the edge of all these encounters — is someone going to get hurt, or worse?

Not every encounter over trespassing is this dramatic. But from the landowner’s perspective, snowmobilers are wearing helmets that make them hard to identify, at least until they take them off to talk to you. They may be people you know, or they may be strangers. They’re often in groups, which can be intimidating for a landowner who is confronting them alone. And snowmobiles and ATVs can go places other vehicles can’t follow, with snowmobiles being especially fast. If you ask around any rural community like this, people will have stories of tense encounters with strangers trespassing on their property or someone else’s.

Some people who want to access the land fear confrontation, too. When I ask Autumn Baptiste whether they hunt on private land, she says they stick to their First Nation’s community lands because they’re scared to cold-call landowners. Autumn’s mother hails from Thunderchild/ Piyesiw-Awasis First Nation, a reserve in my community. But her father is from Red Pheasant/Mikisiwacîhk First Nation Saskatchewan, a place that will sound familiar to anyone who followed the Gerald Stanley trial. Colten Boushie, the young man who was shot and killed by Gerald Stanley during a confrontation, was her cousin.

Colten was a 22-year-old from Red Pheasant. On an August day in 2016, he and four friends were driving around the area in an SUV. They pulled into the Stanley farmyard. A confrontation followed with Gerald Stanley and his son, Sheldon, who smashed the SUV’s windshield with a hammer. At one point, Gerald grabbed a handgun and fired a couple of shots. The driver of the SUV fled, and Colten, who had been in the back, jumped into the driver’s seat. Gerald then shot Colten behind the ear at close range, killing him. He was charged with second-degree murder and manslaughter, but ultimately acquitted.

Those are the barest of facts that I think everyone can agree on (maybe). One side says Colten and his friends pulled into the Stanley yard looking for help with a flat tire, did not provoke the conflict and that Colten was trying to leave right before he was shot. The other side says they were drunk and were trying to take an ATV from the Stanleys’ yard before the shooting, the first two shots were warning shots and that the fatal shot was accidental. The Civilian Review and Complaints Commission, the national watchdog for the RCMP, found issues with the police investigation ranging from evidence handling (not calling a blood spatter expert to the scene and leaving the SUV uncovered, which allowed rain to wash away evidence) to how RCMP broke the news to Colten’s mother. There are many other details, interpretations of, and opinions on, what exactly happened.

I don’t think it’s possible to disentangle the Gerald Stanley case from conversations about racism and rural policing in Saskatchewan. But a shooting in rural Alberta from years earlier holds some similarities. In June 1999, Karman Willis was shot while allegedly joyriding with her friends at the Trickle Creek Farm near Hythe, in northern Alberta. Karman was one of eight teenagers, in two trucks, who arrived at the commune at 4 am after a bush party.

Just like the Stanley-Boushie tragedy, an us vs. them mentality quickened at Hythe. Trickle Creek was home to Wiebo Ludwig, a former Christian Reformed minister, his family and followers. Before the shooting, there was already tension between Trickle Creek and its neighbours over Wiebo’s vocal opposition to — and suspected vandalism of — natural gas projects. He would later be convicted for his part in bombing a Suncor well.

When it came to what happened at Trickle Creek that morning, narratives diverged widely. Wiebo said the teens were drunk, throwing beer bottles and driving close to children sleeping in tents on the property. Some of the other teens present said they were sober, simply curious and on their way out when the shooting started. One teen was hit and spent three days in the hospital before being discharged. Karman, 16 years old at the time, was not so lucky. She was shot in the chest and died from her injuries. No one was charged for her death, feeding the community’s rage, and some residents threatened vigilante action.

I remember the conversations around this event clearly — speculation about what exactly happened, who at the commune shot Karman, whether they did it out of fear or anger and whether they meant it as a warning shot or intended harm.

References to bush parties were instantly familiar to me, as a northern Saskatchewan kid. As a (sometimes less-than-angelic) teen myself in 1999, I spent a lot of time driving around with my friends on rural roads. I wondered what I would do if I found myself in a truck being driven somewhere I didn’t want to go. I wondered if Karman encouraged the driver, whether she tried to talk him into turning around, or whether she was silent. Again, there are differences between Karman and Colten’s stories, but like Karman, Colten was a passenger when his friend drove the SUV into the Stanleys’ farmyard. I wonder what the dynamics were within Colten’s friend group, too.

I wonder how often snowmobilers or ATV enthusiasts find themselves blindly following the group leader onto private property, and only realize once they’re being confronted by an angry landowner that they’re somewhere they shouldn’t be.

I’d like to write that I hope Western Canada doesn’t see another shooting death like Colten’s, but we already have. Roger and his son, Anthony Bilodeau, were recently convicted of manslaughter for the deaths of Maurice Cardinal and Jacob Sansom in northeastern Alta. The Bilodeaus said that they believed Maurice and Jacob had been on the family farm with their truck earlier in the day, for some nefarious purpose (a belief the trial judge characterized as an “unfounded conclusion”). They chased the Metis men at high speed, until Anthony eventually shot them, one at a time, on a rural road. Then the father and son left the scene, not calling the police or ambulance. Roger was sentenced to 10 years, and Anthony’s sentencing is slated for November.

Autumn and I talk about not wanting to inflame existing tensions while having this type of conversation. While she’s critical of Saskatchewan’s recent changes to trespassing legislation, she agrees with the principle of asking permission before accessing property, partly for everybody’s safety. But the fact that people are afraid to even ask says a lot about the situation in this province.

It’s something Phil has thought about, too, in the years since his case concluded with a small fine and the loss of his shotgun.

“I think it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

Read the next chapters here:

• No trespass: Cutting wire
• No trespass: Rebuilding treaty relationships
• No trespass: The public good

The post No trespass: High stakes appeared first on Canadian Cattlemen.

Amy Seesequasis says for Indigenous people, everything revolves around the land.

“When we look at our culture, it’s based on the land,” Seesequasis says in a virtual discussion on September 15, moderated by Canadian Cattlemen editor Lisa Guenther for a webinar with the Canadian Farm Writers’ Federation. “All our teachings, our language. And so, for Indigenous people, land is everything.”

In that regard, Seequasis says, ranchers and Indigenous peoples have the land in common — both depend on it for their livelihood.

“For Indigenous peoples, living off the land was always about survival, we needed to live,” she says. “And for settler families who came here to farm and to ranch, they too came here and they started that for survival.”

Seesequasis is a treaty relationship consultant and also works for Sask. Polytechnic. Previously, Seesequasis worked for the Office of the Treaty Commissioner. This job provided her with a variety of opportunities, including working with the Treaty Land Sharing Network.

The Treaty Land Sharing Network is a group of farmers, ranchers and other landholders who offer land access to Indigenous people to practice their treaty rights, ranging from hunting to gathering medicine. Landholders include their contact information and approximate land location through the network’s website, as well as relevant information about the land parcel such as plants or wildlife. Landholders who join the network agree to allow land users to exercise the full range of their treaty and inherent rights, unless there’s a safety issue related to other land uses.*

Tension between Indigenous and producer communities have grown in recent years with the killing of Colten Boushie, a young Indigenous man, by Biggar-area farmer Gerald Stanley, and left many Indigenous people feeling they can’t safely access privately owned land. The Treaty Land Sharing Network ensures Indigenous peoples can access the land safely and securely and tries to repair the relationship between producers and Indigenous peoples.

The network has been in the works since 2018 and officially launched in the summer of 2020. Seesequasis says the two founders of the network — Valerie Zink, a settler with a family history of farming, and Philip Brass, an Indigenous artist, hunter, and land-based educator — saw how conflict over the land affected relationships.

“A conversation began about, ‘How do we tackle this issue?’ about making sure that there is safe space for Indigenous treaty partners to access the land, and that settlers who hold title to land, what can they do to make those spaces safer,” Seesequasis says. 

“The biggest thing was education. Providing awareness and opportunities for those partners to reconnect in spaces where historically they haven’t been able to, but they were meant to be in those spaces together.”

Tom Harrison is a rancher north of Regina, near Southey, Sask, and was also part of the Canadian Farm Writers’ Federation event. He had some conversations with his wife and daughter that inspired them to join the Treaty Land Sharing Network.

“My wife and I and our daughter, we were thinking about this long before we heard of the (Treaty Land Sharing Network),” Harrison says. “I remember having conversations with my wife about this. We thought, we’ve got to do something.”

Harrison says he’s had a few Indigenous people reach out to him looking to hunt on his land but says it’s important to get the word out so more Indigenous people are aware this resource exists.

“I haven’t been very inundated with a lot of (Indigenous) people on this,” Harrison says. “I don’t know…how many people actually have knowledge about this Treaty Land Sharing Network. I don’t know how well it’s been advertised. You’ve got people there, they might not have access to Wi-Fi…but they want to go out and shoot a deer. So how do you advertise this program to them and make it welcoming to them?”

Seesequasis also says another issue is the new trespassing legislation in Saskatchewan, which came into effect on January 1, 2022, and says that anyone who wants to access rural landowner’s property for anything deemed recreational must have electronic, written, or oral consent. This has been opposed by many with the Treaty Land Sharing Network, although the network does ask people to contact landholders before their initial visit to ensure everyone’s safety.

However, Harrison, who is also involved with the Saskatchewan Stock Growers’ Association, which pushed for the new legislation, says the association was mainly concerned with recreational users trespassing, not Indigenous people practicing treaty rights. Harrison adds, however, that he can’t speak for the intentions of other groups that were lobbying the government for the legislation.

Despite some differences of opinion over the trespassing legislation, Harrison says the Treaty Land Sharing Network is a start towards truth and reconciliation, but more can be done by producers.

“Truth and reconciliation are important,” he says. “But it’s got to be more than just being aware of it. You’ve got to do something about it.”

At the end of her discussion with the Canadian Farm Writers’ Federation, Seesequasis spoke about a moment with the Treaty Land Sharing Network, when they got together with a group of Indigenous peoples to hold a ceremony on a farm involved with the network. She says it was a powerful moment because it was the first time she’s seen a ceremony held off a First Nations community with so many settlers involved.

“There we were, despite the Indian Act, despite residential schools, despite all of those policies made to eliminate the Indigenous treaty partner,” she says. “And there was the Indigenous treaty partner still extending their hand with love and sharing ceremony and giving it back and saying, ‘No, we’re going to still work together and move forward in a good way.’

“Settlers have a story here, as well — that they came here for survival, and Indigenous people need access to the land. And together, despite what took place, we can work together at the grassroots level.”

For more information on the network, visit treatylandsharingnetwork.ca.

*Update: This story originally stated that landholders joining the Treaty Land Sharing Network could specify “any restrictions on activity,” which is incorrect. The mistake does not belong to the reporter, but was made during the editing process. We regret the error.

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I found this out for myself several years ago when I was called to testify. Court day was held at the Legion Hall in St. Walburg, a town of around 700 people in northwestern Saskatchewan. Everyone testifying or up on charges was crammed into the single large room at the front of the hall. The judge, a bearded man known to occasionally chew on his tie or the arms of his glasses while presiding, sat at the front, facing the rest of us. Witnesses were told to wait outside during trials before they had to give evidence, so they wouldn’t hear others testify. Nor were we allowed to shelter in one of the businesses open on the same street. What if the weather was horrible, I wondered. Tough luck, unless you parked close to the hall, I guess.

My crew and I watched as several other matters came before the judge. One case caught my attention. A man had been charged with uttering threats against a sledder while holding a firearm. He owned an acreage in the Brightsand Lake area, and I recognized him, as I’d met him once or twice in the past.

During a break, we chatted very briefly. Years later, he agreed to tell me more about how he ended up in court that day. For the purposes of this story, we’re calling him Phil, although that’s not his real name. I think his case reveals a problem we’re wrestling with in my community, and communities across Western Canada — trespassing and land access.

Wicked problems
Have you ever been walking through a pasture when you spotted a strand of barbed wire on the ground, tried to pick it up, only to realize that it was just a small piece of a much larger mess that was mostly buried in soil and old grass?

Trespassing is like that. You think you understand the problem, but when you look at it more closely, you realize there are several strands tangled into a nasty mess.

Plus, there are some big unknowns. For example, who exactly is trespassing, and what are their motives? Since most trespassers are never identified, and they’re not exactly clamouring to be known, this is hard to know for sure. There are likely many people who hop a fence to check something out without leaving a sign of their presence. Usually, it’s only the worst cases, often involving other crimes or problems, that we find out about. Even then, few people are identified.

Trespassing and land access is a wicked problem. The idea of a wicked problem was introduced in 1973 by design theorists Horst Rittel and Melvin Webber. Each wicked problem is unique and can be seen as a symptom of other problems. There are many potential solutions and approaches, and we can’t test them before trying them. The factors affecting these problems are often changing and hard to define. There’s no trial and error — solutions are irreversible and have real-world effects.

How we describe the problem defines its solutions. This is important because if, for example, we view trespassing and land access through a criminal lens, we’re going to look at legislation and law enforcement as the solutions. But if we focus solely on the legal aspects, do we risk losing the majority who would like to do the right thing, at least most of the time? Do we also miss other potential solutions that would address other strands of the problem, especially those that may be half-buried right now?

Still, I think it’s fair to argue that applying some sort of legal remedy is a valid response, especially with the most egregious trespassing cases. It’s not just landholders who have a stake in this. Trespassing can be wrapped up with everything from hunting accidents to environmental damage. There’s also a potential for — and history of — violence over land access and trespassing issues.

Living on the forest fringe
There is something about the landscape where I live that draws a certain type of person. It’s not just the beauty of this place, anchored by two lakes, which attracts people who like being outside. Just north of both lakes is the Divide Forest, a boreal landscape that separates the communities around Turtle Lake from Meadow Lake, which is about an 85 km drive from the lake’s east side.

The Divide Forest is Crown land, a favourite place for hunters, snowmobilers and ATVers. Having a large expanse of Crown land near communities also brings people who don’t want to follow too many rules, says Jim Range, a local elk farmer, retired history teacher, cabin owner and municipal councillor. There are people who want to be able to disappear into the forest like a deer, yet also partake in the comforts of civilization when it suits them, and this area fits the bill, he explains.

But, ironically, as the area draws more people, the growing population is threatening both the environment and the sometimes-tenuous peace between different groups of people. ATVs rip apart riparian areas and other fragile landscapes, and damage crops. Snowmobilers roar through fields and sometimes even people’s yards. Conflict is rising over trespassing and land access, both within the lakeshore towns and the surrounding communities.

The lake population, combined with the locals, makes this area one of the most densely populated rural areas in Saskatchewan, says Jim.

There are approximately 1,500 cabins around Turtle Lake now, and more could be built at any time on existing properties. Brightsand Lake, a smaller, spring-fed oval lake, has about 500 cabins so far, but more cabins and subdivisions are popping up on its shores, too.

Like many lake communities, the word “cabin” seems like a misnomer when you see the structures, which are often four-season second homes. That means more people, not only in the summer but year-round.

In some ways, the story of trespassing in this area is one of near misses, at least so far. To me, Phil’s story is one of the more dramatic examples.

Several years ago, Phil bought an acreage in the area so he could live in a quiet place, closer to nature. But his quiet was frequently disrupted by the roar of snowmobiles, or even the sight of sledders chasing moose on his land.

It’s a sight that Phil found especially aggravating, as he has a real fondness for wildlife. Sitting in a local cafe one afternoon, Phil told me about the moose cow with the badly injured leg who spent a couple of winters around his yard. Phil observed “Limpy” and her companion closely, visiting her daily and learning to read her body language. He was able to get within 10 or 15 feet of her before she’d put her ears down and tell him to back off, he says. He even observed several moose call on Limpy one winter day, seeming to visit her.

Ultimately, Phil’s protectiveness of the moose, his admitted lack of diplomacy and his frustration with snowmobilers trespassing on his land would lead to a tense confrontation and that day in court.

For the next installment, see:

• No trespass: High stakes
• No trespass: Cutting wire
• No trespass: Rebuilding treaty relationships
• No trespass: The public good

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