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Decolonizing the Archaeological Landscape: The Practice and Politics of Archaeology in British Columbia

Posted on: Wednesday, 20 September 2006, 06:00 CDT

By Nicholas, George P

In British Columbia, Canada, the practice of archaeology has been strongly influenced by issues of First Nations rights and the ways government and industry have chosen to address them. In turn, this situation has affected academic (i.e., research-based) and consulting (i.e., cultural resource management) archaeology, which have had to respond to changes in the provincial Heritage Conservation Act (HCA) and to the implementation of archaeological overview assessments (ADAS) and traditional-use studies (TUSS).' Protocols also encourage or require archaeologists to consult with First Nations regarding project design and implementation. However, the regional archaeological site assessment strategies and predictive models that are part of the process of heritage resource management have been viewed by First Nations as having mixed results, often falling short of either achieving a representative view of past land use activities (and a deeper understanding of their meaning) or adequately recognizing and protecting valued sites. While the consultation process has been politically motivated, it does encourage archaeologists to consider new research directions regarding past land use and its meaning.

Worldwide, the incorporation of Indigenous explanations of past land use has often been used to verify existing theories based on objective observations of the archaeological record. Traditional knowledge provides archaeologists with essential information for locating and interpreting both individual archaeological sites and the larger social, settlement, and subsistence patterns they reflect. On the other hand, paying closer attention to traditional knowledge may lead to challenges of those theories or at least offer alternative explanations or greater awareness of non-Western ways of thinking about landscapes. Furthermore, what has often gone unrecognized is the very restrictive relationship archaeologists have had with Indigenous peoples. While they have consulted with First Nations to obtain permission to work in their homelands and to acquire information on the past and present lifeways and have even begun to develop meaningful collaborations in recent years, the practice of archaeology has been politically dominated by non- Indigenous stakeholders.2

In this article I explore some of the implications of these developments for the study of precontact and historic Aboriginal land use. To what degree may Indigenous perspectives and politics constrain, channel, or encourage the development and application of archaeological method and theory in land use studies? I explore the situation in British Columbia, where First Nations' contributions to AOAS, TUSS, and the archaeological permitting process have influenced the development of predictive and explanatory models. There, as elsewhere, the increasing role of descendant communities in participating in or directing landscape-oriented studies-in a sense, decolonizing the archaeological process-clearly will influence how archaeologists need to perceive past cultural landscapes in the future.

My choice of landscape as an organizing feature of this article is deliberate. Not only are landscape-scale studies a useful heuristic tool for archaeologists, but many Indigenous peoples contend that archaeological sites cannot be divorced from their larger environmental and cultural settings. The first part of this article examines the nature of archaeological landscapes and their importance in organizing and interpreting evidence of past human behavior. I next examine the historical context of archaeology in British Columbia over the past century and discuss how it has contributed to the colonization of First Nations through heritage legislation, archaeological resource management strategies, and the very limited ways in which traditional perspectives of the cultural landscape have been incorporated. In the final section, I outline four ways First Nations are seeking to decolonize the archaeological landscape, which include educational initiatives and the development of alternative resource management strategies.

UNDERSTANDING PAST CULTURAL LANDSCAPES

The ways and means by which people have situated themselves on the landscape and behaved over space through time has always been a major dimension of archaeological research, providing the means to explore relationships between people and their environmental/ ecological settings.3 Understanding the various ways that people organized themselves on the landscape, and harvested or managed the resources available there, reveals settlement and subsistence practices, as well as glimpses into their social and political organization. It is an area that has benefited substantially from ethnographic and historical data in reconstructing settlement patterns. At the same time, landscape archaeologists may study the use of space and place using time frames and spatial scales to investigate the placement and pattern of individual sites across river valleys, biomes, or still more expansive areas well beyond the scope of ethnography.4

The fact that most Indigenous peoples in North America and many other parts of the world no longer practice the lifestyles of generations past severely constrains the opportunities for archaeologists to observe first-hand traditional land use. Nonetheless, what is often referred to as "traditional knowledge"- that rich body of oral history, stories, environmental awareness, technological expertise, and landscape memory-remains a rich source of information that can aid archaeologists in making sense of the past, whether in terms of identifying artifact function, predicting site location, or developing grand explanatory schemes.5

Such information represents a critical, if often ignored, dimension in the development and application of archaeological theory, much as it does in cultural anthropology where both subjective (emic) and objective (etic) perspectives are necessary in understanding what people do and why.6 When available, landscape archaeology benefits substantially from the incorporation of emic data, often in the form of traditional knowledge.7 In recent decades it has become more difficult for archaeologists and others to obtain such knowledge for two reasons. The first is due to changes in the lifeways of Indigenous peoples-memories fade, elders die, things change. The second is that many Aboriginal groups are beginning to restrict access to their oral histories and knowledge base. Such actions may be a general manifestation of tribal sovereignty; a specific political response to the attempts of state, provincial, and federal governments to manage the affairs, including cultural heritage, of Native Americans and other Aboriginal peoples; or a response to concerns over cultural and intellectual property rights.8

Two major trends are evident in the development and application of archaeological theory in this realm. The first is the use of theory(ies) to predict, identify, and explain patterns of past land use in the archaeological record. Here, archaeological theory is strongly grounded in, or oriented toward, an objective perspective. This is exemplified by Lewis R. Binford's now-classic study of hunter-gatherer land use in which he explains variability in settlement patterns by proposing two basic logistic strategies: foragers move to food and other key resources by changing camp locations (high residential mobility/low logistical mobility), while collectors bring the resources to their base camps (low residential mobility/high logistical mobility).9 Such studies have been strongly processual in orientation, seeking to explain general patterns of human behavior often within a cultural ecological, sometimes Marxist- influenced paradigm, employing such concepts as optimal foraging, environmental patchiness, frequency of residential moves, time allocation, and degree of seasonality.10

A second trend attempts to understand the human motivations behind those patterns. Although shifts in land use or increases in site density are correlated to shifts in regional demographic trends or to changes in environment, there may also be a desire to augment this approach by focusing on the behaviors of individuals or groups, instead of populations.11 For example, Binford recorded the lifetime and annual ranges of a Nunamiut band in Alaska as a means to interpret the distribution of prehistoric hunter-gatherer sites in other regions. The Nunamiut landscape as revealed though Binford s study is composed of places known to individual band members as their Kamalingmiut (birth country), Tulugakmiut (courting country), or Killikmiut (hunter's country).12 This adds a personal dimension to the distribution of archaeological sites on the landscape. In other examples, patterns of land use are seen to be oriented, at least in part, to sacred places or journeys of ancestral beings across the landscape.13

Interpreting meaning and motive in people's movements across and perceptions of landscapes is elusive because it is dependent upon some type of input from participants in the cultural system under study, or at least one somehow similar, for it to be at all effective and verifiable. As I have argued in a paper ap\tly titled "The Archaeology of Alien Landscapes," the importance of working with descendant communities (or at least making the attempt) cannot be emphasized enough because some aspects of past land use fall completely outside the realm of Western understanding.14 The perspectives of non-Western peoples have the potential to inform archaeological interpretations of the past and provide the means to test ideas and assumptions. This information may be available through knowledgeable individuals within a community or in the centuries' worth of ethnographic and ethnohistoric data available for various parts of North America.15 At the same time, many Aboriginal people argue that archaeology is not required to verify Indigenious historical paradigms since they have been validated in other ways.16

However, many North American archaeologists are wary of informant- derived data because there are always questions about the degree to which they have been colored by the colonial experience.17 Although ethnographic or ethnohistoric records are seldom pristine, complete, representative, or without bias, many archaeologists seem far more comfortable with them than with talking with living people. To many Indigenous peoples, the practice of reconstructing past lifeways without incorporating oral histories and ethnographic information is viewed with suspicion. Furthermore, the emphasis on landscape archaeology is critical because not only does it represent an important heuristic device for archaeologists; it also correlates with the contextual perspective that many Indigenous peoples have.18

THE POLITICS OF ARCHAEOLOGICAL KNOWLEDGE IN BRITISH COLUMBIA

The practice of archaeology in British Columbia has been substantially influenced by Indigenous peoples as they seek the restoration of control over their own affairs. This has led to significant, albeit often gradual, changes in the process of doing archaeology and, in recent years, to the development of new protocols and collaborations. The greatest change has been in the realm of cultural resource management-oriented archaeology, most of which in British Columbia today relates to forestry.19 Other significant changes have occurred in the development of heritage legislation, the role of archaeology in treaty rights discussions and land claims, and the increasing involvement and influence of First Nations in archaeological fieldwork and management. Growth in each of these areas has contributed to new approaches to archaeology in general and to landscape archaeology in particular.20 These developments have addressed some First Nations concerns but not others. Later in this article I will show how Native involvement and objectives are attempting to change this terrain even more. In this section, I outline the historical context of the nature of archaeology in British Columbia as it pertains to First Nations interests and also the contributions of academic and consulting archaeology to the creation of the archaeological landscape.

Historical Context

Some of the earliest studies in archaeology and anthropology in North America took place in British Columbia under the direction of Franz Boas and the Jessup North Pacific Expedition.21 Ethnographic and archaeological research in the province initially focused on the Northwest Coast culture area, and particularly on the large, sedentary villages, ranked societies, and a rich material culture. This extensive ethnographic and historical documentation provided an extraordinarily detailed and well-documented view of Aboriginal life before, during, and after contact.22 Always at the center of all of this has been the very visible presence of First Nations communities, whose languages and ways of life reflect both continuity with the past and change in response to both invited and imposed interaction.

Archaeological research in British Columbia has a long tradition of collaboration with Native people, ranging from guides and informants in early years to crewmembers and collaborators more recently. In the Interior, Boas s protg James Teit conducted extensive ethnographic research among the Nlaka'pamux (Thompson), assisted by his wife Lucy Antko, a member of that nation.23 Brian Hayden's more recent work in nearby St't'imc (Lillooet) territory on settlement and subsistence patterns and social organization included collaboration with at least twenty community members.24 Other community-based projects include collaborations with the Nuu-chah- nulth and Sto:lo First Nations and the Cariboo Tribal Council. Such projects have been of inestimable value to interpreting the archaeological record and determining the degree of continuity between past and present, including land use practices. Archaeology has also played an important role in some Native land claims, as an often-effective tool for First Nations who have been pursuing the restoration of their rights and land for well over a century.25

The recognition of First Nations heritage and interests in British Columbia has varied significantly over the last century. Colonial heritage legislation was enacted there as early as 1865 with the Indian Graves Ordinance, incorporated as section 90 of the subsequent federal Indian Act of 1876, followed by the provincial Historic Objects Preservation Act (HOPA) of 1925. In 1927 similar provisions to those in the HOPA were incorporated into the federal Indian Act.26 Not surprisingly, the impetus for these laws was protecting the cultural patrimony of the province, not the cultural heritage of First Nations, from the collecting frenzy of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries as museums sought artifacts, totem poles and carvings, and other items of public interest.27 These pieces of legislation were very limited in coverage and effectiveness; in fact, the Indian Graves Ordinance was repealed in 1886. Far more sweeping legislation was introduced with the Archaeological and Historic Sites Protection Act (1960) and later the Heritage Conservation Act (1979, revised 1996), which cover all archaeological materials predating 1846 on all nonfederal lands, including private property. As per the HCA, permits issued by the province through the Archaeology and Registry Services Branchs (Ministry of Sustainable Resource Management) are required for any investigations that will alter a protected heritage site. As part of the permit application process, associated First Nations are provided with an opportunity to comment, generally within thirty days.28

By the 1970s archaeology had begun to shift from a largely academic-based endeavor to one "aligned with provincial land- mapping activities, itself a component of land allocation and development planning" and, along with ethnography, "had begun to play a role in land and resource development through the new field of impact assessment."29 During the early 1980s, the British Columbia Archaeology Branch began to focus its attention on forest companies and First Nations in response to the increasing effects of forestry practices on heritage sites and the acknowledgment of the vested interests of First Nations.30

Although archaeologists had consulted informally with local Aboriginal community members, this became a formal part of the archaeological permitting process as a result of court decisions and changes to the HCA (1996), the Forest Practices Code (1995), and the 1994 Protocol Agreement with the Ministry of Forests.31 This change was prompted by a major shift in the recognition of Aboriginal rights in British Columbia following a series of landmark court decisions, especially the final decision in the 1997 Delgamuukw v. Regina case, in which the Supreme Court of Canada indicated that these rights were not extinguished by Canadian Confederation in 1867; that rights may include entitlement to land; and that oral history must now be given independent weight in law.32 As part of its legal obligations under Delgamuukw, the British Columbia government was now required to consult with First Nations in matters of consequence to them.33 Since forestry, a major industry in the province, potentially affects First Nations historic resources, substantial funds were thus reserved under the Forest Renewal Act, to fund projects relating to "more sustainable, efficient, or community-driven use of forest resources." Subsequent impact assessments would thus include a cultural component that would record Aboriginal perspectives on traditional land use. This policy, however, became defunct when the act was repealed in 2002.

Another important development was the recognition of a new class of archaeological site, culturally modified trees (CMTS). The modifications found on CMTS reflect a variety of Aboriginal resource extraction (e.g., bark-stripping, cambium harvesting) and logging practices.34 Notably, they reflect types of past land use activities that are not evident in more traditional forms of archaeological sites and are also, in most cases, directly datable. This has important implications for landscape archaeology because CMTS represent activity areas that do not preserve archaeologically. They are also highly valued by First Nations for whom they represent an important part of their cultural heritage that reflects traditional knowledge and continual cultural practice.

Academic and Consulting Archaeology

The nature of the archaeological record in British Columbia has been the product of both academic and consulting projects. Although most archaeology in the province has been the result of impact assessment projects in recent decades, both research-based and cultural resource management studies have yielded extensive information on precontact land use patterns. Site location and interpretation have been aided by the incorporation of ethnographic data, in addition to the use of standard field reconnaissance and modeling techniques. For example, Diane Alexander's study of the Fraser River a\rea linked archaeological data on land use patterns with ethnographic sources of information derived both from earlier ethnographies and from her St't'imc informants.35 Further to the north, Arne Carlson's work with the Carrier in the Chilcotin and Nechako river area utilized both archaeological and ethnographic data to reconstruct summer/winter activity patterns, which allowed him to relate changes in site type and distribution to boundary shifts between Athapaskan- and Salishan-speaking groups.36 Although usually initiated by archaeologists, the participation of band members in these projects often directly involves them in the reconstruction of their ancestral land use patterns.

Most of the archaeological resource management work done in British Columbia entails archaeological impact assessments (AIAS) used to determine the potential impact of development on heritage resources within specific project areas. Consulting archaeologists also develop AOAS and for such clients as forest districts, the Ministry of Transportation, and the Ministry of Energy and Mines, among other clients.37 These assessments incorporate documentary and database research, including ethnographic and historic sources, to evaluate archaeological site potential within the study area.

AOAS may also utilize large-scale, geographic information systembased (GIS) predictive models to correlate existing site inventory data with environmental attributes as a means to assess the potential for sites, often indicating areas of high, moderate, and low potential. These regional reviews consolidate a substantial amount of information and are thus of great utility to archaeologists as well as to First Nations who may have neither the capacity nor the resources to conduct their own studies. However, concerns have been raised regarding the methodology employed in constructing the predictive models developed for some AOAS and the application of knowledge produced by AOAS.

Predictive site-location models are widely utilized by archaeologists to determine possible locations. Given time restraints to survey 100 percent of a large project area, such models provide a means to focus field efforts. Testing high- potential areas is expected to yield a number of sites, and testing moderate- to low-potential, fewer to none. Site potential criteria are generally based on known sites and on assumptions made on what constitutes an "attractive" area for particular activities. For example, high-potential areas would be identified by the presence of water, a relatively flat landform, south-facing exposure, and so on- basically places where we today would camp. Moderate-potential areas may be characterized by greater distance to water, a steeper slope, and so on. Field studies often confirm the accuracy of these models. However, people in the past, presumably possessing different needs, a different perception of the environment, and a different worldview, sometimes organized themselves on the landscape differently.38 This is why incorporation of local knowledge is vital.

Ground truthing models to verify that low-potential models are exactly that (to a reasonable degree) is important when AOAS are used to determine site potential for Forest Region cut blocks, because this represents a type of high-stakes archaeology. Unlike research-oriented field projects, sites missed in AOA/AIA projects are likely to be disturbed or destroyed. First Nations are thus justifiably concerned when AOAS are seen to be inadequate.

Some AOAS have been criticized for failing to adequately incorporate local knowledge from First Nations individuals who may have direct knowledge of traditional land use that may extend back for some generations.39 One such person, who has spent a decade involved in consulting archaeology and is currently pursuing a graduate degree, notes that

a grade 3 class with four colored pencil crayons and a ruler could make a predictive model as accurate as a GIS model.... An AOA cannot be accurate without having first-hand knowledge of the area. On several occasions while working in the industry, I examined areas- based on knowledge I have from growing up there-that would otherwise be written off by the AOA. ... I have found lots of sites in areas coded as having low or no potential. In [one] Forest District, managers are only required to do an Archaeological Impact Assessment if part of the study area falls within the high potential area, not for medium or low areas.

The better AOAS, however, incorporate extensive ethnographic data, trail data, constant modeling, paleoenvironmental data, and inductive models, as well as traditional-use information provided by First Nations involved in the project.

Consultants are obviously working under time and budgetary constraints, within guidelines established by regulatory agencies. Some are able to revisit and refine their models, but they also recognize they cannot realistically look everywhere and that more extensive (and expensive) studies would affect the forest industry and possibly lead to political responses that could jeopardize current heritage management policies. Especially problematic are situations where the lack of adequate consultation with knowledgeable individuals may adversely affect the quality of field studies and, subsequently, management decisions. For example, given their focus on tangible evidence, archaeologists have often inadequately recognized trails, sacred sites, and other meaningful indicators of human presence and land use. Even culturally modified trees, today the most common type of site reported in British Columbia, were not recognized as such until recently, despite extensive ethnographic documentation.40 Most consultants now take these types of sites very seriously.41 They are also now more aware that most First Nations do not have the time or resources to respond to requests for information as part of the consultation process. These factors have had a very real impact on the degree to which AOAS and other types of projects are representative of the full range of past land use, have limited appreciably our understanding of past people's lives, and have contributed to the dissatisfaction some Aboriginal peoples have concerning the process of provincial archaeology, which they view as a real or potential threat to First Nations interests.

DECOLONIZING THE ARCHAEOLOGICAL LANDSCAPE

Since the late 19805, First Nations involvement in archaeology increased steadily and significantly throughout British Columbia in response to a variety of factors.42 Many First Nations have worked with archaeologists to assist in the pursuit of land claims cases or to challenge (with environmental groups) land development or resource extraction plans in places such as Meares Island or the Stein River Valley.43 There has also been a dramatic increase in Native people pursuing post-secondary education, facilitated by more student funding and new educational initiatives, which would enable them to contribute to the capacity building of their communities. In addition, consulting archaeologists have employed Aboriginal people on a regular basis. This is, in fact, a requirement of most First Nations when working on their homeland. Thus, more First Nations became knowledgeable of archaeology, recognizing its potential as a supplement to their oral histories and as an effective tool of empowerment. They also became aware of the limitations of the discipline.

The practice of archaeology has benefited appreciably and has become more representative by including Indigenous peoples, whose ancestors created the archaeological record. Their inclusion in the process not only broadens knowledge of the past but also provides new ways of thinking about that record. In addition, there is greater equity than ever before as First Nations governments, along with Indigenous archaeologists, become involved in policy creation and review or implementation. What is more difficult to accomplish, however, is contending with some fundamental differences that exist between how Indigenous descendant communities and non-Indigenous stakeholders perceive the archaeological record. Although consultation and collaboration empower First Nations communities and contribute to the decolonization process, real change will occur only through Aboriginal initiatives. Four types of potentially significant change have occurred in British Columbia: the promotion of more holistic approaches to archaeology; new educational opportunities; heritage management policies and traditional-use studies; and alternative management strategies.

Promoting Alternative Views of the Past

At the heart of decolonizing archaeology is the fact that for many Indigenous peoples archaeological sites are just one part of a cultural landscape-one composed not just of archaeological sites per se but also of traditional use sites, spiritual/sacred sites, and places of remembrance that generally lack material evidence. Place names provide a record of their use, as does oral history. For example, to the HuPqumi'num of southwest coastal British Columbia:

From these times immemorial, Hul'qumi'num Mustimuhw have owned our traditional territories. Hul'qumi'num place names blanket the land. Every bay, every peninsula, every rocky island, every bend in the rivers have Hul'qumi'num names which provide the keys to the extensive knowledge needed to harvest and steward the resources of the territory owned by Hul'qumi'num people. From our ancestral villages, Hul'qumi'num people made extensive use of our territories. The oral histories tell about the family-owned hunting territories and fishing grounds. They tell about the camas-root and berry grounds owned by certain families. They tell about the clam beds, hunting grounds, and fish weirs held in common for the community to use (Hul'qumi'num Treaty Group).44

For the HuPqumi'num, and indeed for other Indigenous peoples worl\dwide, the archaeological heritage "is valued for its relation to 'people,' rather than as Objects' of material value. Archaeological sites are perceived not as abstract scientific resources, but as the 'cemeteries' of family Ancestors."45 This entails a much different type of archaeological ethos, one that views artifacts and sites as entities that bridge past and present on a timeless cultural landscape. In addition, within the realm of heritage management, sites cannot be divorced from their environmental context. This crucial difference was evident in the Stein River Valley, where both sides had their teams of archaeologists locating and evaluating sites. Wendy Wickwire aptly summarizes each side's position:

An ideological choice clearly underlies the positions taken by the two parties involved in this work. For the one, protection of a living culture was key. Although changed, culture was viewed as something present and on-going, its meaning still evident in the many sites in their living context. For the other, making an inventory of the remnants of a dead and dying culture was all that was necessary to fulfill the objectives of the formal guidelines of the Heritage Conservation Service.46

The recognition of archaeological landscapes is an important point of intersection between integrative archaeological management strategies (e.g., the "traditional cultural properties" listed with the U.S. National Register of Historic Places) and Aboriginal worldviews. In both cases, site context is important, but within the latter, site context is not limited to past settlement patterns and environmental correlates. Instead, it preserves and promotes site context as a dynamic link between past and present, thus strengthening Indigenous community-defined heritage values.47 Indeed, for the Kamloops Band (Tk'emlpsemc),

the cultural landscape has developed over thousands of years, through the planned and patterned seasonal rounds which enabled the Tk'emlupsemc to make use of the varied and abundant resources of their traditional territory. The history of the use and occupation of the region is recorded in oral traditions, which are passed from generation to generation and represent the very essence of culture for the Tk'emlupsemc (emphasis added).48

Training First Nations Archaeologists

An important avenue of decolonization is education. Today there are a host of opportunities for First Nations members to receive formal training in archaeology in Canada, the United States, and Australia. In British Columbia these include provincial training programs, such as the Ministry of Sustainable Resource's Archaeological and CMT Inventory Training for Crew Members certification, and degrees and certificate programs offered through universities, colleges, and outreach programs.49

As one example, from 1991 through 2005, I have directed a universitybased archaeology program on the Kamloops Indian Reserve that offers both classroom and field training.50 Each of our eleven archaeology field schools on the Kamloops reserve has provided training in the practical aspects of archaeology, including cultural resource management and public education. The fieldwork has been research-based, oriented to refining local cultural history and chronology, tracing the development of plant use through archaeology and archaeobotany, and investigating long-term land use patterns. The results will hopefully be utilized by the secwepemc themselves when they chose to write their own histories. In fact, many of the students are learning to do archaeology on their own ancestral sites. My philosophy is to provide Native students with the knowledge and means for them to use archaeology as a tool to use as they see fit; I don't expect them to do my kind of archaeology.

Only a percentage of our graduates are actively involved in doing archaeology on a regular basis.51 John Jules, for example, is cultural resource manager of the Kamloops Indian Band and regularly reviews AOAS and AIAS; NoIa Markey (O-Chi-Chak-Ko-Sipi Nation) is in a doctoral program at Simon Fraser University but also teaches on the Kamloops campus and does consulting archaeology. Another graduate, Carrie Dan (Kamloops Band), is now an archaeologist for both her band and Colder Associates, a consulting firm recently working with the Neskonlith Band to excavate and study human remains from a site being mitigated before a railroad twin-tracking project.52 Recently, when a group of Native protesters demanded that excavations cease and the remains be immediately reburied, Carrie was uniquely situated to negotiate with the protesters on behalf of both the Neskonlith Band and Colder Associates.

Of equal or even greater importance to university education for Native people is learning their heritage directly from their family and community elders. First-hand knowledge of plant harvesting, moose hunting, and other traditional activities aids in locating and interpreting similar activities represented at archaeological sites. Such an education also conveys the non-materialist elements of the Aboriginal world that inform and stimulate. For example, in a recent fieldschool trip to a sacred site-a spring that emerges from a hollow rock-student Randy Jim (Xaxlip [Fountain] Band) related both the medicinal uses of the water and the dangers associated with such places.

The emergence of Indigenous archaeologists such as Markey, Rudy Reimer (Squamish Nation), Eldon Yellowhorn (Peigan Nation), and others will have a significant influence on the discipline.53 These scholars challenge old ways of thinking and offer new perspectives. Reimer, for example, conducted a site survey in the alpine and sub- alpine environments of his traditional territory, and his results indicate that without including the traditional use patterns associated with high-elevation sites, land use models remain incomplete and nonrepresentative of the range of activities conducted in the past. Yellowhorn, now an assistant professor at Simon Fraser University, has promoted an internalist archaeology that enriches and validates traditional history, as defined by narrative and folklore. As he notes, "there is no point of going through the pretense of having a dialogue if Indians only echo mainstream archaeology."54 This point is vitally important to promoting an archaeology that is attuned to non-Western perspectives.

Heritage Management and Traditional Use Studies

During the last two decades, many First Nations groups in British Columbia became involved in inventorying and managing their own cultural resources. Many established heritage policies, bylaws, and guidelines and developed protocols that established new arrangements or agreements for archaeological and heritage resources. The Heiltsuk, Kamloops, Musqueam, Squamish, Sto:lo, and other First Nations governments have established their own heritage permitting processes.55 These initiatives mark a significant development, establishing Aboriginal people as heritage managers, not just collaborators in provincial management schemes.

Related to the inventory and protection of archaeological sites was the development of the Traditional Use Studies Program as a result of the 1995 Delgamuukw decision and later expanded through the Forest Practices Code of BC Act (1996).56 Under the provisions of the Forest Practices Code of BC, which required the government and the forest industry to consult with First Nations, baseline inventories would thus be developed for communities that would include locations associated with traditional beliefs about origins, culture history, and worldview, as well as location of trails, sacred sites, and resource-gathering areas, territorial boundaries, and other such information.57 These were conducted in many First Nations communities, with First Nations staff, until the program ended in with the repeal of the Forest Renewal Act in 2002.

Data were collected through literature research, interviews, production of map biographies, and ground truthing. These projects compiled much previously unrecorded information about trails, traplines, place names, sacred places, animal migrations, family histories, and many other elements of land use that seldom appear in the archaeological record. For example, the TUS undertaken by the Kamloops Band in 199899 identified 120 traditional use sites,

including 81 named places; 28 plant gathering sites; 29 hunting sites, trapping site; 36 fish sites; 2 sacred sites; and 10 other sites, including a trail, several cabins, logging areas, and several historic sites ... [along with] a comprehensive overview of botanical species with traditional secwepemc cultural roles.58

The information produced by these projects, and the skills acquired by community members, provided the means for bands to participate more effectively in consultations and negotiations with the government and industry. However, despite Aboriginal participation, the TUS program failed to achieve its promise, and the quality of the products was generally poor, certainly not defensible in court or at the negotiating table for land claims, or even for First Nations decision making. Although millions of dollars were spent, most went to building capacity, so little monies went into the actual studies. Projects were also constrained by flawed methodology, poorly trained workers, and other problems. More important, however, was the fact that the products were assumed to be complete and accurate by those who employed them for planning and management purposes-as has been the case with GIS modeling. In addition, these projects were restricted to recording site-specific information, with only very limited interpretation of the data. The approaches employed in TUSS are not comparable to ethnographic methods, nor can ethnographic data be recorded on the type of database utilized in a TUS. Nonetheless, this initiative provided many First Nations with muc\h value and could serve as a platform for future programs.

Other First Nation Initiatives

Some First Nations have challenged the status quo by developing new initiatives that put their heritage needs first. One approach to First Nations-oriented land use studies is illustrated by the Tmix^sup w^ Research, a department of the Nicola Tribal Association (NTA), a member of the Nlaka'pamux Nation. The department operates through funds contributed by the seven bands that comprise the NTA, with supplemental monies coming from contracts for inventories or other work in fisheries and wildlife. The fact that Tmix^sup w^ is not just involved in archaeological inventory puts it in a very good position to identify and interpret landscape-level patterns and processes. In its discussions with consulting archaeologists, the NTA insists that all areas need to be checked, not just higher probability ones. The NTA will not assign significance to evaluate areas but does state whether development can proceed or if further archaeological research is required. Proposals by archaeologists (including those from other Aboriginal groups or individuals) wishing to work in Nlaka'pamux territory, or with Tmix^sup w^, are reviewed by the NTA as part of the protocol process with developers. However, they recognize that they still need to be consulted before the referral reaches their office, and want to be involved in the proposed development.

Tmix^sup w^ Research is trying to bridge the gap between traditional Nlaka'pamux knowledge and Western science. As its former director Verna Miller noted, "we cannot study the traditional use on our lands without considering how it reflects our traditional parenting methods. Probably doesn't make sense to anyone outside our Nlaka'pamux enclave but it sure makes sense to our Elders."59

In north-central British Columbia, the Office of the Wet'suwet'en (ow) has also embarked on a proactive management plan for their cultural heritage and traditional knowledge within their territory. Their approach is to develop an "active partnership" with the major forestry operation licensees. The Wet'suwet'en provide the necessary archaeological services through a joint venture partnership between their Land and Resources Department and a local archaeological consulting company. As Rick Budwha notes, the attitude of the ow was "not to preserve all Wet suwet'en cultural heritage resources, but rather to preserve what was primarily important to the Wet'suwet'en."60 What is important in this example is that the First Nation assumes a central role in the entire archaeological management process, from initial survey to final recommendations, and that all of this is done in ways that will maintain high archaeological and industry standards reflecting Wet'suwet'end cultural values.

In these and other cases, First Nations assume a major role in the management of archaeological resources within their traditional territories. In doing so, they are able to promote local values and extend the definition of heritage properties beyond the parameters of the Heritage Conservation Act. Those First Nations with heritage policies that entail a permitting system also wield considerable influence and power over the processes and products of archaeological research. Although their permit system may be restricted to reserve lands, First Nations may seek to apply their heritage policies to developments within their entire asserted traditional territory. While these Indigenous initiatives may not go as far as many would like, or may not always be successful, they do represent important stages in the creation of a more equitable archaeological terrain in British Columbia.

CONCLUSIONS

The archaeological landscape of British Columbia has changed substantially in the last century. It is represented by tens of thousands of archaeological sites that reflect the lives of countless people over millennia. Archaeological investigations have revealed the details of daily life at those sites, as well as the broader patterns of settlement, subsistence, and social organization. In addition to identifying and describing the material culture at these sites, archaeologists have also worked to refine local and regional cultural histories, to explain evidence of cultural change or stability, and to reconstruct past land use patterns. In many instances, this work has been informed by Indigenous traditional knowledge, which has proved especially useful in reconstructing past cultural landscapes.

The discipline of archaeology itself has also changed during this time in response to new methods and theoretical developments, as well as the increased participation of Aboriginal peoples. The incorporation of Indigenous perspectives into archaeological and other studies will likely result in new methodologies and interpretations, allowing researchers to move beyond the limits of archaeological knowledge grounded in a Western worldview.

When dealing with the archaeology of descendant communities, it is also vital for archaeologists to recognize that their actions may have consequences beyond the realm of intellectual curiosity about the past.61 In cultural management projects, assigning significance ranking to sites or making only cursory field checks of locations deemed low priority deeply offends Aboriginal people who consider all of their ancestral sites importan or who know of sites in those low-priority areas. It is not just in the realm of reburial that our actions as archaeologists provoke political response, which, in turn, influences the practice and products of archaeology. Archaeologists must thus take a more proactive role in working with descendant communities-not for expediency or political correctness, but because the rights of these communities need to be recognized, and their traditional knowledge has a very important role in the development of a more meaningful and representative archaeology.62

NOTES

An earlier version of this article was presented at the symposium "Beyond Practical Reason: Archaeological Method as Culture," organized by Martin Wobst and Joannah Whitney, at the 68th Society for American Archaeology Conference (Milwaukee, 2003). I have benefited from discussions with Catherine Carlson, Rick Budwha, Andrew Mason, Gordon Moore, Nola Markey, Verna Miller, and David Schaepe. Sonya Atalay, Julie Hollowell, Michael Klassen, Olga Klimko, Nola Markey, and Andrew Mason provided detailed comments on drafts. I especially thank Sonya Atalay for her invitation to rework the paper for this publication.

1. The HCA applies to all lands in the province except for federal lands, which include Indian reserves.

2. See, for example, Chip Colwell-Chanthaphonh and T. J. Ferguson, "Virtue Ethics and the Practice of History: Native Americans and Archaeologists along the San Pedro Valley of Arizona," Journal of Social Archaeology 4 (2004): 5-27. See also George P. Nicholas and Julie J. Hollowell, "Ethical Challenges to a Postcolonial Archaeology," in Archaeology and Capitialism: From Ethics to Politics, ed. Yannis Hamilakis and Philip Duke (London: UCL Press, forthcoming).

3. Karl W. Butzer, Archaeology as Human Ecology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982); K. C. Chang, Rethinking Archaeology (New York: Random House, 1967); Gordon R. Willey, Prehistoric Settlement Patterns in the Viru Valley, Peru (Washington DC: Bureau of American Ethnology Bulletin 155, 1953).

4. See Wendy Ashmore and A. Bernard Knapp, eds., Archaeologies of Landscape: Contemporary Perspectives (Oxford: Blackwell, 1999); Lewis R. Binford, "The Archaeology of Place," Journal of Anthropological Archaeology 1 (1982): 5-31; Brenda J. Bowser, "Toward an Archaeology of Place," Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 11 (2004): 1-4; Carole L. Crumley and William H. Marquardt, "Landscape: A Unifying Concept in Regional Analysis." In Interpreting Space: GIS and Archaeology, ed. Kathleen M. S. Allen, Stanton W. Green, and Ezra B. W. Zubrow, 73-79 (London: Taylor and Francis, 1990); George P. Nicholas, "Wetlands and Hunter-Gatherers: A Global Perspective," Current Anthropology 39 (1998): 720-33; C. Peterson and R. D. Drennan, "Communities, Settlements, Sites, and Surveys: Regional-Scale Analysis of Prehistoric Human Interaction," American Antiquity 70 (2005): 5-30; Jacqueline Rossignol and Lu-Ann Wandsnider, eds., Space, Time, and Archaeological Landscapes (New York: Plenum, 1992).

5. See, for diverse examples, Stephen Brush and Doreen Stabinsky, Valuing Local Knowledge: Indigenous People and Intellectual Property Rights (Covelo CA: Island Press, 1996); Erica-Irene Daes, A Study on the Protection of Cultural and Intellectual Property of Indigenous Peoples, doc. no. E/CN.4/SUB.2/1993/28, United Nations' Economic and Social Council, Sub-Commission on Prevention of Discrimination of Minorities, UNESCO, 1993; Roy Ellen, Peter Parkes, and Alan Bicker, Indigenous Knowledge and Its Transformations: Critical Anthropological Perspectives (Amsterdam: Harwood Academic, 2000); Sarah Laird, ed., Biodiversity and Traditional Knowledge: Equitable Partnerships in Practice (London: Earthscan, 2002); Silke von Lewinski, ed., Indigenous Heritage and Intellectual Property: Genetic Resources, Traditional Knowledge, and Folklore (New York: Kluwer Law International, 2004); Union of British Columbia Indian Chiefs, Protecting Knowledge: Traditional Resource Rights in the New Millennium, conference proceedings (Vancouver: University of British Columbia, 2000); World Intellectual Property Organization, Next Steps for International Protection of Traditional Knowledge in View, update 201, (Geneva: WOPO, 2003).

6. "Emic statements describe social systems of thought and behavior whose phenomenal distinctions, entities, or 'things' are built up out of contrasts and discriminations sensed by the participants themselves as similar or different, real, meaningful, significant, or appropri\ate. An emic statement can be proven wrong if it can be shown that it contradicts the participant's sense that entities and events are similar or different, real, meaningful, significant, or appropriate."

Etic statements "depend upon phenomenal distinctions judged appropriate by a community of scientific observers. Etic statements cannot be proven wrong if they do not conform to the participant's sense of what is significant, real, meaningful, or appropriate. They can only be proven wrong by the failure of empirical evidence gathered by observers to support the statements in question." Marvin Harris, Theories of Culture in Postmodern Times (Walnut Creek CA: AltaMira Press, 1999), 31-32.

7. For examples of integration of traditional knowledge in archaeology, see Thomas D. Andrews and John B. Zoe, "The Idaa Trail: Archaeology and the Dogrib Cultural Landscape," in At a Crossroads: Archaeology and First Peoples in Canada, ed. George P. Nicholas and Thomas D. Andrews, 160-77 (Burnaby BC: Archaeology Press, Simon Fraser University, 1997); Margaret M. Bruchac, "Earthshapers and Placemakers: Reflections on Algonkian Indian Stories and the Landscape," in Decolonizing Archaeological Theory and Practice, ed. Claire Smith and H. Martin Wobst (London: Routledge, 2005); Howard Morphy, "Landscape and the Reproduction of the Ancestral Past," in The Anthropology of Landscape: Perspectives on Place and Space, ed. Eric Hirsch and Michael O'Hanlon, 184-209 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995).

8. For tribal sovereignty, see Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples (Dunedin: University of Otago Press, 1999); Eldon Yellowhorn, "Archaeology and the Changing World," Native Studies Review 11, no. 2 (1996): 23-50. For political responses of governments, see Ian Lilley, ed., "Native Title and the Transformation of Archaeology in the Post-colonial World," Oceania Monographs 50 (2000): 121-37. For intellectual property issues, see Marie Battiste and James Y. Henderson, Protecting Indigenous Knowledge and Heritage: A Global Challenge (Saskatoon SK: Purich, 2000); Michael Brown, Who Owns Native Culture? (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2003); and George P. Nicholas and Kelly P. Bannister, '"Copyrighting the Past?': Emerging Intellectual Property Rights Issues in Archaeology," Current Anthropology 45 (2004): 327-50.

9. Lewis R. Binford, "Willow Smoke and Dogs' Tails: Hunter- Gatherer Settlement Systems and Archaeological Site Formation," American Antiquity 45 (1980): 4-20.

10. For excellent overviews of hunter-gatherers, see Robert Bettinger, Hunter-Gatherers: Archaeological and Evolutionary Theory (New York: Plenum, 1991); and Robert L. Kelly, The Foraging Spectrum: Diversity in Hunter-Gatherer Lifeways (Washington DC: Smithsonian Institution, 1995).

11. Tim Ingold, The Perception of the Environment: Essays on Livelihood, Dwelling, and Skill (London: Routledge, 2000).

12. Lewis R. Binford, "Long-Term Land Use Patterns: Some Implications for Archaeology." In Lulu Linear Punctuated: Essays in Honor of George Irving Quimby, ed. Robert C. Dunnell and Donald K. Grayson, 27-54 (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Anthropology Papers 72, 1983).

13. For examples, see Andrews and Zoe, "The Idaa Trail"; Bruno David, Landscapes, Rock-Art, and the Dreaming: An Archaeology of Understanding (London: Leiscester University Press, 2002); T. J. Ferguson, Chip Colwell-Chanthaphonh, and Roger Anyon, Tohono O'odham, Hopi, Zuni, and Western Apache Ethnohistory in the San Pedro Valley of Southeast Arizona: Where Landscapes Are History and Sites Are Monuments (Tucson: Center for Desert Archaeology, 2004).

14. George P. Nicholas, "The Archaeology of Alien Landscapes," paper presented at the 34th Chacmool Conference, "An Odyssey of Space," University of Calgary, Alberta, 2003. An expanded version for publication is underway.

15. For example, see Hugh Brody, Maps and Dreams: Indians and the British Columbia Frontier (Ontario: Penguin Books, 1983); Richard Gould, Recovering the Past (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1990).

16. A cogent discussion of this is found in Peter M. Whitley, "Archaeology and Oral Tradition: The Scientific Importance of Dialogue," American Antiquity 67 (2002): 405-16.

17. Nonetheless, multiple lines of evidence, including oral histories and analogy, are critical to the archaeological process, as is how to read them in context. See Jane H. Kelley and Marsha P. Hanen, Archaeology and the Methodology of Science (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1988); Alison Wylie, "The Reaction against Analogy," in Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory, Vol. 8, ed. M. B. Schiffer, 63-111 (New York: Academic Press, 1985).

18. see, for example, E. McLay, K. Bannister, L. Joe, B. Thom, and G. Nicholas, "A'lhut tu tet Sul'hweentst 'Respecting the Ancestors': Understanding Hul'qumi'num Heritage Laws and Concerns for Protection of Archaeological Heritage," in First Nations and the Law: Our Culture, Our Voices, ed. C. Bell and Val Napolean (Vancouver: UBC Press, forthcoming).

19. Olga Klimko, Heather Moon, and Doug Glaum, "Archaeological Resource Management and Forestry in British Columbia," Canadian Journal of Archaeology 22 (1998): 31-42.

20. See Nicholas and Andrews, At a Crossroads.

21. Wayne Suttles and Aldoa Jonaitis, "History of Research in Ethnology," in Handbook of North American Indians, vol. 7, Northwest Coast, ed. Wayne Suttles, 73-87 (Washington DC: Smithsonian Institution, 1990). Boas (1858-1942) is considered a founding father of anthropology. His wide-ranging and cross-cultural interests helped to define the four-field approach in American anthropology: ethnography, physical anthropology, anthropological linguistics, and archaeology. He was personally involved in all four areas.

22. Suttles, Northwest Coast.

23. James A. Teit, The Thompson Indians of British Columbia (New York: American Museum of Natural History, 1900). Teit's life and work has been closely examined by Wendy Wickwire in a series of publications, including "Women in Ethnography: The Research of James A. Teit," Ethnohistory 40 (1993): 539-62.

24. Brian Hayden, ed., A Complex Culture of the British Columbia Plateau: Traditional Stl'atl'imx Resource Use (Vancouver: UBC Press, 1992). Some St'at'imc have objected to Hayden's work; it is often the case that archaeologists working with communities, indigenous or not, encounter mixed reaction.

25. Paul Tennant, Aboriginal Peoples and Politics: The Indian Land Question in British Columbia, 1849-1989 (Vancouver: UBC Press, 1990). In the early 19905, the Kamloops Indian Band of the secwepemc Nation employed archaeologists in their successful resolution of the Scheidam Flats land claim, thus restoring to their control a major portion of the reserve that had been parceled off in 18705. Other examples include Delgamuukw v. Regina and the 2002 Haida land settlement. An excellent review of Delganuukw v. Regina and earlier decisions is found in Dara Culhane, The Pleasure of the Crown: Anthropology, Law, and First Nations (Vancouver: Talon Books, 1998).

26. For overviews, see David Burley, "A Never Ending Story: Historical Developments in Canadian Archaeology and the Quest for Federal Legislation," Canadian Journal of Archaeology 18 (1994): 77- 134; Brian Spurling, "Archaeological Resource Management in Western Canada: A Policy Science Approach," PhD dissertation, Department of Archaeology, Simon Fraser University, Burnaby BC, 1986; and Eldon Yellowhorn, "Heritage Protection on Indian Reserve Lands in Canada," Plains Anthropologist 44-170 (1999): 107-16.

27. Douglas Cole, Captured Heritage: The Scramble for Northwest Coast Artifacts (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1985).

28. The thirty-day provision is not an actual requirement for the applicant, although the Archaeology Branch generally treats it as such.

29. Wendy Wickwire, "Ethnology and Archaeology as Ideology: The case of the Stein River Valley," BC Studies 91-92 (1992): 51-78; cited p. 54. see also Spurling, "Archaeological Resource Management."

30. Aspects of this emerged through a series of public hearings and community forums and policy studies conducted in the late 19805: "direct consultation between archaeologists and aboriginal groups began to decline during the 19705 and 19805 while, at the same time, demands from aboriginal groups for consultation were on the rise. The desire for stronger aboriginal involvement in archaeological site protection and management was forcefully brought out during the Project Pride review." (Brian Apland, "Roles of the Provincial Government in British Columbia Archaeology," BC Studies 99 [1993]: 7- 24). A review of more recent developments is found in Klimko, Moon, and Glaum, "Archaeological Resource Management."

31. I refer here to archaeology in general; within the realm of consulting archaeology, Nola Markey (personal communication, 2005) reviewed 202 studies done between 1985 and 1996, and came across only 10 studies that reported consultation with a member of a First Nations community. These consultations were informal-"We're doing an assessment. Do you have information you can provide?"-and were not necessarily with community elders. The text of the Protocol Agreement with the Ministry of Forests is available at http:// srmwww .gov.bc.ca/arch/policy/chr.htm.

32. "Aboriginal rights generally consist of the use of certain areas for the purpose of carrying out communal practices integral to the distinctive culture of the aboriginal society. To qualify as an aboriginal right, the practice, tradition, or custom must have been a central and significant part of the society's distinctive culture prior to contact with European society. Different aboriginal rights may exist in different places, depending upon the traditional use or occupation of the land in question." This summary is from the Forest Legislation and Policy Reference Guide 2004: Aborigi\nal Policy, produced by the Association of BC Forest Professionals (http:// www.abcfp.ca/practice_development/continuing_ education/Documents/ guide_PolRef(2004).pdf), 11-13. The court decisions recognizing these rights were R. v. Sparrow (1990), Delgamuukw v. R. (1991 and 1993), and R. v. VanderPeet (1996), all reviewed in Culhane, The Pleasure of the Crown.

33. Olga Klimko and Milt Wright, "Old Rocks and Hard Places: Archaeology and Land Claims/Treaty in British Columbia, Canada," in I. Lilley, ed., Native Title and the Transformation of Archaeology in the Postcolonial World, special issue, Oceania Monographs 50 (2000): 88-98.

34. For discussion of CMTS, see Arnoud Stryd and Morley Eldridge, "CMT Archaeology in British Columbia: The Meares Island Studies," BC Studies 99 (1993): 184-234; for an example of application of CMT data in archaeology, see Brian Pegg, "Dendrochronology, CMTS, and Nuu-chah-nulth History on the West Coast of Vancouver Island," Canadian Journal of Archaeology 24 (2000): 77-88. CMTS were reported even earlier by Anne Eldridge in "Cambium Resources of the Pacific Northwest: An Ethnographic and Archaeological Study," unpublished manuscript, Department of Archaeology, Simon Fraser University, Burnaby BC, 1982; and by Martin Magne in "Notes on Cambium-stripped Lodgepole Pine," in Athapaskan and Earlier Archaeology at Big Eagle Lake, British Columbia, ed. Martin Magne and R. G. Matson, 78-85, report to SSHRC. Archaeology Branch, University of British Columbia, Vancouver, 1984.

35. Diane Alexander, "A Reconstruction of Prehistoric Land Use in the Mid-Fraser River Area Based on Ethnographic Data" and "A Reconstruction of Prehistoric Land Use in the Mid-Fraser River Area," in A Complex Culture of the British Columbia Plateau, ed. B. Hayden, 47-98 and 99-176 (Vancouver: UBC Press, 1992).

36. Arne Carlson, "A Plateau Horizon Site on the Nechako Canyon," The Midden 30 (1998): 5-9.

37. For examples of TUS reports, see Diane Alexander, "A Cultural Heritage Overview of the Cariboo Forest Region," report to the Cariboo Forest Region, Ministry of Forests, Williams Lake BC (1997); Martin Handly, D. Zibauer, and R. Lackowicz, "Archaeological Overview Assessment of the Arrow Forest District, Southeastern B.C.," report to the Arrow Forest District, Kutenai West Heritage Consulting, Trail BC, 1996.

38. No matter how refined our models are, one truism in archaeology is that "sites are where we find them," meaning that while we might have a good idea as to where they are, some will turn up in the most unexpected places. When they do, their uniqueness often tells us something very important. For example, although wetlands have generally been ignored by archaeologists, they often have a significant archaeological record in many regions, relating to their high biological productivity. Furthermore, they were sometimes the location of special kinds of resource harvesting or ceremonial activities not found elsewhere on the archaeological landscape. For reviews of the role of wetlands on past cultural landscapes, see Nicholas, "Wetlands and Hunter-Gatherers," and Nicholas, "Prehistoric Hunter-Gatherers in Wetland Environments: Mobility/Sedentism and Aspects of Socio-Political Organization," in Wetland Archaeology and Environments: Local Issues, World Perspectives, ed. M. C. Lillie and S. Ellis (Oxford: Oxbow Books, forthcoming).

39. See David Denton, "Frenchman's Island and the Nataawaau Bones," in Nicholas and Andrews, At a Crossroads, 105-24; Sheila Greer, "Traditional Knowledge in Site Recognition," in Nicholas and Andrews, At a Crossroads, 145-59.

40. Such shortcomings are not restricted to the consulting industry; several recent major academic volumes on Northwest Coast archaeology do not mention CMTS. Only pre-1846 CMTS are automatically protected under the Heritage Conservation Act. See also Stryd and Eldridge, "CMT Archaeology in British Columbia." Protection of other, nontraditional types of archaeological sites may be problematic, although there is a Ministry of Forests protocol for the management of trails; also, some consultants advise their clients to avoid any identified culturally important sites or places (Andrew Mason, personal communication, 2005).

41. For discussion and examples, see Marie Barney and Michael A. Klassen, "'Our History Is Written upon the Land': The St'at'imc, Archaeologists, and the Forest Industry," Burnaby BC Archaeology Forum, 2001; Mary L. De Paoli, Beyond Tokenism: Aboriginal Involvement in Archaeological Resource Management in British Columbia (Vancouver: University of British Columbia School of Community and Regional Planning, 1999); David Schaepe, "From Plain to Peak: Results of the Chilliwack River Watershed Archaeological Inventory Study, conducted by the Sto:lo Nation," report on file, Heritage Resource Centre, Ministry of Small Business, Tourism, and Culture, Victoria BC, and Sto:lo Nation Archives, Sardis BC, 1998; Amber Ridington, Michael A. Klassen, and Grant Alphonse, "Towards Reconciling Differences: The Chilko River Archaeological Inventory Study," paper presented at the Canadian Archaeological Association Conference, 1998.

42. See De Paoli, Beyond Tokenism; Nicholas and Andrews, At a Crossroads.

43. The Nuu-cha-nulth Nation has worked with various environmental organizations to halt clear-cut logging on Meares Island and elsewhere throughout their territory (http:// www.nativemaps.org/methods/science.html #anchor26491). In the Stein River case, the Mt. Currie and Lytton Indian bands joined forces with the Institute for New Economics and the Western Canada Wilderness Committee to challenge the efforts of the British Columbia Forest Products corporation and allied interests. Each side hired their own team of archaeologists and ethnographers. See Wickwire, "Ethnology and Archaeology as Ideology."

44. E. McLay, K. Bannister, L. Joe, B. Thom, and G. Nicholas, "'A'lhut tu tet Sulhween-'Respecting the Ancestors,'" report of the Hurqumi'num Heritage Law case Study, Project for Protection an

Source: American Indian Quarterly

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