“The Grass Ain‟T Greener, the Wine Ain‟T Sweeter, Either Side of the Hill”
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“The Grass Ain‟t Greener, The Wine Ain‟t Sweeter, Either Side of the Hill” --Robert Hunter, Ramble on Rose University of Alberta Divided Landscapes: The Emergence and Dissipation of “The Great Divide” Landscape Narrative by Sean Howard Atkins A thesis submitted to the Faculty of Graduate Studies and Research in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in History Department of History and Classics ©Sean Howard Atkins Fall 2011 Edmonton, Alberta Permission is hereby granted to the University of Alberta Libraries to reproduce single copies of this thesis and to lend or sell such copies for private, scholarly or scientific research purposes only. Where the thesis is converted to, or otherwise made available in digital form, the University of Alberta will advise potential users of the thesis of these terms. The author reserves all other publication and other rights in association with the copyright in the thesis and, except as herein before provided, neither the thesis nor any substantial portion thereof may be printed or otherwise reproduced in any material form whatsoever without the author's prior written permission. In Memory of Uncle Joe ABSTRACT Heights of land are, in a North American context, geographical boundaries— defined by the division of waters and a certain degree of elevation that sets them apart from the immediate environs. Heights of land are also landscaped places. Indeed, the hegemonic narrative that frames the height of land idea—the intertwined processes of division, separation and opposite movements—is challenged when one applies a measure of literary criticism and the nature of political ecology to the landscape perception. Cultures (and other living systems), move along, across or over the height of land as a matter of course. Heights of land are not simply primordial geographical entities but culturally conditioned ways of making sense of spaces. This study takes as its starting point the idea that the imposition of a specific Rocky Mountain height of land reading—“The Continental Divide/Great Divide”—was the medium by which social groups expressed relative power over others through spatial practice. The route that this narrative has taken since nationhood reflects the geographic meaning invested by the Canadian state into the process of nation building at the end of the 19th century. In the decades between 1840 and 1900, a specific landscape vision was gradually established and imposed over people who did not necessarily express a similar understanding of the importance of the height of land as a continental-wide boundary making system. The consequences of such an imposition were profound. The “Great Divide” interpretation of the Rocky Mountain height of land remained predominant through the Second World War, largely as a result of nation building and its attendant processes. The supposed universal consensus of “The Great Divide” established in the wake of this imposition began to fragment, however, as cultural and social groups from both within and outside the region began to challenge the “Great Divide” idea. Indeed, at the dawn of the 21st century, “The Great Divide” idea remains a powerful icon of the Canadian Mountain West, but is now used as an identifiable frame of reference for groups pushing their own interests in ways markedly different from earlier times. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The concern is not where to start but when to finish. My love, my soul mate, my trainer—thank you for being all of these people, Christine. I believe its your turn. To my understanding and patient son Devin: From “read to me Daddy” to reading to Daddy. Your honour feather will always guide you. To Duane & Carole—thanks for being there. You two are not just “useful” doctors but pretty exceptional in-laws as well! Mom & Dad: Thanks for bringing me to this place. I couldn‟t have done it, much less been here, without you! Brent, Harrison & Ashley: I‟m still, and will always be in debt to you but remember: I will always wear the Championship belt. The Ph.D. doesn‟t come cheap. I would like to acknowledge the financial support provided by the Eleanor Luxton Foundation, Province of Alberta, University of Alberta and Network in Canadian History and Environment (NiCHE). The thesis is never really written in complete isolation. I appreciate the assistance offered by the archivists and librarians from the University of Alberta, Whyte Museum, British Columbia Archives, University of Victoria Archives and Red Deer Archives. I would also like to thank the following conference organizers for providing me the opportunity to share my thoughts and experiences: Ruperts land 2008, Multiculti 2010, BC Studies—Place and Space 2009, and Under Western Skies 2010. A special place for my muses—some in Edmonton and some far-flung. Thanks E-town and Alberta friends and mentors—Sarah W., Erik L., Katie P., Lauren W., Roberta L., Melanie N., Doug & Lisa, Anne-Marie & Crew, Brian & Cassandra, Dr. David Marples, Dr. David Johnson, Dr. Carolee Pollock,Dr. Bob Irwin and the unfailing support of Dr. “D.” To the Breakfast Club---thanks for sharing the stimulants and inspiring conversations. Finally, a musical thank you to the Good „Ol Grateful Dead. “Nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile.” In the dissertation business, it is a good thing when remarking that the writing gets done both in spite of, and as a result of, the supervisor. Thank you Gerhard for more than either you or I or anyone else could possibly imagine. You have humbled and strengthened me—sometimes at the same moment. One thousand words could hardly do justice in describing my gratitude. So here are 90,000 (give or take) instead. TABLE OF CONTENTS Introduction 1 Chapter One "On This Side of the Watershed: The Moral Geographies of Indigenous and Euro-Canadian Hunting Landscapes in the East Kootenays, 1891-1905 29 Chapter Two Making Passes: The Height of Land and Mapping the Continental Divide 72 Chapter Three The Transcontinental Height of Land and The Alpine Club of Canada, 1906-1936 117 Chapter Four From Watershed to "Great Divide:" The Rhetoric of Nation Building and Its Alterity 145 Chapter Five Crossing "The Great Divide" and The New Millennium: The Howse Pass Highway, The Great Divide Trail and The Fireweed Trail 191 Chapter Six Shifting Lands: The Politics of Contesting Multiple Heights of Land in Northern British Columbia 228 Conclusion 264 Bibliography 272 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 4.1 Postcard of The Great Divide 160 4.2 Postcard of The Great Divide 161 4.3 Postcard of the CPR 163 INTRODUCTION In his book ―The Lost Art of Walking,‖ Geoff Nicholson makes a compelling case for the fundamental connection between walking and writing: ―The pace of words is the pace of walking, and the pace of walking is also the pace of thought…you put one foot in front of another; you put one word in front of another.‖ The single step, like the single word, may be one of the most basic acts, Nicholson points out, but if one connects enough of these building blocks, enough steps, enough words, he may find that she‘s done something special: ―The thousand- mile journey starts with the single step; the million-word manuscript starts with a single syllable.‖1 Where the word, walk and idea intersect is the place at which my dissertation starts. What follows—in language, thoughts, movement—over the next several chapters is a story in constant transformation. My years of portaging along and between Precambrian landscapes of rock, water and trees in Ontario & Quebec, and tramping up, through and down cordilleran watersheds in Alberta & British Columbia, have allowed me much time for thinking critically and conceptually— usually at the end of the path, mind you, when the heart rate slows, muscles cool, mosquitoes move on/in, and the mind is again at ease. The one recurring notion retained in these places I‘m passing through on the trail—preceding even those concerned with thirst, fatigue and bears—is a desire to confirm the half-way point, the moment where the energy consumed by the heart & lungs is transferred to the thighs and calves (of course some parts of the body continue to carry the strain). No doubt this spot was not ‗half-way‘ in a quantifiable or tangible sense, but for a body (and mind) under the stress of exertion, what lies ahead is more amenable than what lies 1 Geoff Nicholson, The Lost Art of Walking: The History, Science, Philosophy, and Literature of Pedestrianism (New York: Riverhead Books, 2008), 256. Also see Rebecca Solnit, Wanderlust: A History of Walking (New York: Penguin, 2001). 1 behind. On virtually every hike, and most portages, this Shangri-la, or learning moment, is the height of land. No matter if it isn‘t actually the mid-way mark in space or time, much less a place where waters actually divided from its source. To reach the height of land is to experience a place invested in meaning. In both physical and philosophical realms, the height of land is both an ending and beginning—a liminal zone. The height of land is a tangible place of mutual transformation, mediated by memory, experience and environment—a landscape. My own ‗private‘ height of land is also a public place, mediated by geographical abstraction and power relations. Heights of land are places where the present calls upon the past to provide reference, to offer context, in order to shape the future. In other words, a height of land is also ‗felt‘ from afar, especially as a site of narrative meaning. My height of land is already documented on paper—an abstracted geographical space. Yet, the topographical maps and field guides I carry provide both too much information and not enough.