Items about Atikokan in Historic Newspapers, 1971 - 1983.

Atikokan, Ont. (CP)—The last piece of dredging equipment has been removed from the Steep Rock iron mine in north­western Ontario, marking the end of a job that required more excavation than the Panama Canal.

The mine was once located under a lake and its development was pushed through during the Second World War when there was fear of an iron shortage.

The ore body was discovered in the early 1930s by Julian Cross, now 82, of Thunder Bay, Ont. Mr. Cross came out of Queen's University in 1913 with a degree in mining engineering.

"I never worked as a mining engineer," he said. "I preferred prospecting. I liked that kind of work and stuck to it."

Mr. Cross found indications of iron ore along the shore of Steep Rock Lake, about 115 miles west of Thunder Bay, but could not find ore.

"So we took a diamond drill and went out on the lake and drilled, and there it was." The drilling rigs were set up on the ice in the winter of 1938 and Steep Rock Iron Mines Ltd. was formed the following year.

*   *   *

The Steep Rock deposit accounted for about nine per cent of total Canadian production in 1969.

"The structure of the whole thing indicated a large body of ore," Mr. Cross said.

Before the potential of the deposit could be realized, a major portion of Steep Rock Lake had to be drained and earth and rock over the ore removed.

Water depths of the lake ranged from 70 to 300 feet. Drilling samples produced estimates that the overburden – rock and earth covering the iron ore – was between a few feet and 300 feet thick.

The developers found financing a problem initially in a tight wartime economy. But the situation changed quickly in 1942 when the United States government released a report saying there was a potential shortage of ore because sub­marines were sinking ore carriers and cutting off overseas sources.

Steep Rock Lake, shaped approx­imately like an M, is part of the Seine River system. The river flow through the east and middle arms of the lake was diverted through a lake to the north and pumping of water from those two sections of the lake began in late 1943.

*   *   *

The portion of the lake that was pumped dry was about 10 miles long. By September, 1944, enough water had been drained off to allow the first truckload of ore to be removed.

Full-scale mining operations began in May, 1945, and by the end of that year, 505,000 tons of ore had been shipped.

In 1949, Steep Rock Iron Mines formed an agreement with Inland Steel Co., Chicago, to lease part of the land. Inland has a subsidiary, Caland Ore Co., Ltd., operating the leased portion of the Steep Rock deposit.

The two companies shipped 3.79 million tons of ore from the Steep Rock deposit in 1969. The Canadian total was 40 million tons that year.

Before full-scale mining of lake bottom could begin the overburden had to be removed, and the companies brought in dredges. The companies estimate 280 million cubic yards were dredged out and hauled away. About 60 per cent was a mixture of rocks and silt requiring the use of large cutters and a rock crusher.

By comparison, estimates of the amount of earth and rock removed to build the Panama Canal range between 240 million and 270 million cubic yards.

The first dredge went into operation in 1952, and this machine could move in a week an amount of earth equivalent to the excavation needed for the original portion of the Toronto subway system. By 1955, three other dredges had been added.

In the early 1960's the major portion of the dredging was completed and the pace slowed. In 1967, the last full-size dredge was taken out. It was moved to Thompson, Man., for work at an International Nickel Co. of Canada Ltd., mine. Earlier, one of the dredges was moved to Montreal to create islands for Expo 67.

Smaller dredging equipment was maintained at the Steep Rock site for emergency work, and this equipment was removed earlier this winter.

By Arnie Hakala

Canadian Press staff writer

The Quetico Park advisory committee will listen to more than 230 briefs when it begins its series of public meetings in Fort Frances Monday.

The committee, headed by Syd Hancock, mayor of Atikokan, was set up last year after logging companies and conser­va­tionists started a verbal tug-of-war over the park's use.

The provincial government's classi­fi­cation of the park is multiple-use, meaning that like Ontario's other large park, Algonquin, it can be used by logging companies, conser­va­tionists, recrea­tionists and natur­alists.

However, conservation organizations, led mainly by the Algonquin Wildlands League, maintain that the park is of unique historical and natural beauty and logging should be banned.

Loggers lobby

Logging companies, joined together under the Ontario Forest Industries Association, state that wood cutting in the park is the livelihood of more than 300 men and that cutting down trees is essential to the preservation of a healthy forest.

The hearings continue Tuesday in Atikokan and Wednesday in Thunder Bay. April 14 and 15 have been set aside for Toronto.

Mr. Hancock has said that his committee has received hundreds of letters in addition to the 230 briefs.

He also said it would be impossible to read all the letters at the hearings. They will be totaled to get a consensus of how many favor the present multiple-use policy and how many want a ban on logging.

The 1,750-square mile park, located about 110 miles west of Thunder Bay and on the Canadian-United States border, is used mainly by Americans.

Some surveys have shown that more than 80 per cent of the canoeists are Americans who enter from Ely, Minnesota.

The advisory committee is the second of its kind in the province.

Two years ago, the Algonquin Park advisory committee held public hearings. Its report to Rene Brunelle, minister of lands and forests, has not been released but it is expected to set a pattern for future use of the province's parks.

Quetico, with good stands of pine and spruce teems with lakes and rivers. The number of waterways makes the area a canoeist's dream as simple, short portages can lead to remote lakes.

By Joe Dupuis

Toronto (CP)—Who is this young fellow from Rainy River and where is Rainy River anyway?

He's Patrick Reid, 28, a bachelor, who is given an outside chance of becoming the next leader of the Ontario Liberal party.

As the long-shot candidate for the title to be vacated by Robert Nixon at the party's leadership convention, probably this fall, Mr. Reid's biggest problem is that he's an unknown from a remote riding.

"In the cities, they'll be saying why in hell do we need someone from Rainy River, wherever that is," Mr. Reid said in an interview.

Rainy River riding, the hub of which is Fort Frances, a town of 10,000 on the Ontario-Minnesota border, is 1,200 miles from Toronto – farther than Halifax – and spreads across 17,000 square miles of north­western Ontario, much of it bush.

If he runs, Mr. Reid probably can count on 80 or so votes from the 13 Northern Ontario ridings – six delegates from each riding – but after that it's uphill.

To win, he needs 50 per cent, plus one, of the 900 to 1,000 votes expected to be cast.

But with some justification, he contends: "I'm not a loser."

Close Win

He was broke and just out of university when he won the Rainy River seat in 1967 by only 41 votes. He repeated the victory in last fall's election with a 2,000-vote plurality when every indication was that he would be defeated.

"When I first ran in 1967, I was unknown, a 24-year-old punk, in a riding that had been Tory for 17 years. I had no money. My car broke down a week before the election. I had two suits, and I didn't know who I was talking to half the time, who were the Liberals, or NDP, or Tories, but I managed to win despite all the odds."

"Maybe it's the high odds I like."

Raised in the mining town of Atikokan in his riding, Mr. Reid's older brother, John, is the Liberal member for Kenora-Rainy River riding in Ottawa.

Pat Reid entered the University of Manitoba at the age of 16, graduating with a master of arts degree in economics. A top debater at university, he was student council president his first year.

His father, John, was the first reeve of Atikokan. In 1943, the year Mr. Reid was born, his father was defeated in the provincial election by George Lockhart, candidate for the CCF, forerunner of the New Democratic Party.

"Twenty-four years later, the same Lockhart that had beaten my father ran against me in 1967 for the NDP and lost," Pat recalls.

"I think my father was the happiest man in town that day."

No Money-Maker

He and a business partner operate a small travel agency in Fort Frances but Mr. Reid says it's not a money-maker. He says he will need supporters to raise the $25,000 he expects it will cost to run a leadership campaign.

None of the possible candidates, all expected to come from within the party caucus, have declared themselves in the running, including Mr. Reid. "But I'm 75 per cent certain of running," he says.

His first task as Liberal leader would be to make the party more professional.

"Quite frankly, the Liberal party has not done the necessary things to be a strong party. We haven't run good elections."

The chief problem, he said, is lack of organization at the riding level.

"Also, our press relations have been no hell. I mean, collectively, as a party we haven't done the things that we should have done to ensure we get press."

"One of Nixon's problems is that he asks a question in the house, and as far as he's concerned, it's over and done with. The NDP come back the next day, the next week, the next month and pretty soon it's an NDP issue.

"There's no magic formula that the NDP have got. It's just that they are a little more professional than we are.

"If you get on top of the issues, there's no reason why the leader of the opposition, if he's tough enough, is not going to be the guy in the news, and it's going to build up over a four-year period."

Two-Way Fight

Mr. Reid believes the Liberals lost the last election, dropping in house strength to 20 from 27 seats, because the party allowed the Progressive Conservatives to convince the people the campaign was a fight between the Tories and NDP.

Mr. Reid said Premier William Davis [is] a colorless leader who "doesn't come across to people."

Although he plays down any attempt to label himself as a swinger, Mr. Reid concedes that his bachelor status should lend some interest to his campaign.

"Today, people are looking for a fresh face, a new figure, whether I have that or not, a charisma. I don't know but . . . I'm young, educated, one of the youngest members ever elected in Ontario."

Atikokan, Ont. (CP)—Many of the students are openly critical of this north-western Ontario town's only high school, but their teachers claim it is the best place in the province to teach.

A lot of other teachers agree – 350 of them applied for jobs this year, although there were only two openings on staff.

The reason? The school's teachers have rated the school as excellent in teaching conditions, excel­lent in staff-school board relations, excellent in efforts to improve edu­ca­tional quality and good in fulfilling local educational needs.

Other teachers had apparently read the rating reports published earlier this year by the Ontario Secondary School Teachers Federation and compared them with the ratings of schools else­where in the province.

Those other reports ranged from "adequate" for schools in Toronto and "fair" for London to "poor" for Fort Frances-Rainy River.

Like Teaching

The teachers like working in the red brick school because it is small enough – with 660 students – for personal contact.

Although many come from southern Ontario they don't seem to mind the isolation of this iron-mining community 130 miles west of Thunder Bay. Perhaps the highest pro­vincial teachers' salary scale has some­thing to do with it.

They receive $10,400 to $19,500 a year. They are also eligible for a $500 annual bonus, the "super­max­imum" category, if they are outstanding in the class­room.

Principal Lawrence Fontana says the board of education places "a very high value on their teachers and they respond accord­ingly."

The board, for example, refuses to place too much emphasis on depart­ment heads. It gives a $900 bonus for heads, compared to other schools that pay up to $2,000 extra.

"There's no admin­is­tra­tive super­struc­ture here that big boards have," said Mr. Fontana. "The teachers get an opportunity to exercise their profes­sional judgment. They have far more direct control over what goes on in their class­rooms. And, you know, you can do that when you have competent teachers."

A high degree of teacher involvement in decision-making is a direct result of the emphasis on teacher quality. The trustees respect the teachers' opinions so highly that the new high school wing was planned and built with teacher assistance.

J.F. Pringle, who at $19,500 is probably the province's most highly-paid classroom teacher, said "The board doesn't come in and tell a teacher content or method and the teacher, on the other hand, is not going to tell a trustee how to raise taxes . . ."

But the board is definitely the boss, said its chairman, Dr. William Grayson.

The teachers view the large school districts in southern Ontario as grotesque, de-personalized institutions.

"With the large county board system (instituted in 1969), I noticed a drastic shift," said Mrs. Janet Stetic, a physical education teacher.

"Decisions are made up above and when a school wants a $700 item, it can't have it because all the schools must get it too . . . Maybe the operation is more efficient with the county board system, but I don't know that efficiency is better."

The residents of this town are closer to their board representatives than most residents of other Ontario communities. There is one trustee for every 650 residents in this town of 6,500, compared with two for every 65,000 in Toronto.

But the students haven't the praise for their school that the teachers do.

Heather Gibson, daughter of a timber contractor, said, "Our teachers, they know their subjects, but some of them are from southern Ontario. We've lived up here all our lives, we know what it's like, and some of them come up here and they take a superior attitude."

Grade 12 student John McTaggart complained of student apathy and says he is not terribly impressed by the credentials of the teaching staff. "There are probably five in the school that don't get shot down. Most teachers in the school aren't liked at all."

Charlie Ericksen is sick.

The big, red-bearded Canadian had equipment he values at $10,000 stolen from him Wednesday night in Stevens Point.

But he's only mildly sick about that. What really upsets him is that his collection of more than 600 slides was taken, too.

"It's a life time of work," said Ericksen, who was scheduled to give a wilderness program this morning at Pacelli High School. "These are like paintings as far as I'm concerned. I can't replace them. They're from all over the world.

"I've laid on my belly on ice packs at Ellesmere Island in 40 and 50 below weather to take some of them."

Ericksen is making an offer – a $2,000 reward for the return of the stolen goods, with no questions asked. He can be reached at the Holiday Inn, room 245.

The equipment he lost would be almost impossible to fence because it's all marked with an electric pen, he said. And the slides, while priceless to him, have no monetary value to anyone else, said Ericksen.

Ericksen is with Voyageur Wilderness Programme of Atikokan, Ontario, Canada. "We take kids on wilderness trips to Quetico Park and other areas of the north," he explained.

And in winter he travels with his slide program. "The purpose is to stimulate love and understanding of the wilderness," said Ericksen, adding that he doesn't charge for it.

He's a friend of Brother Dominic Kennedy, principal at Pacelli, and has been coming to the school for six or seven years, he said.

Ericksen pulled into Stevens Point last night after an appearance in River Falls. He checked in at the Holiday Inn, he said, and made a couple of phone calls.

Then he went out to his locked station wagon and found it had been broken into, probably between 9:15 and 9:45 p.m. Gone were cameras, binoculars, tape recorders, projectors and related equipment.

Also gone were many rolls of exposed film, a sound track for his program and his slides. To Ericksen, the sound track is only a little less valuable than the slides.

Ericksen said the slides are in circular carousels in a leather suitcase which has "Voyageur Wilderness Programme" emblems on the sides. The sound track is in a case with his projectors.

He plans to stay in Stevens Point awhile, hoping the stolen items are found or returned to him.

Meanwhile, he's canceled a series of appearances, including one in Tomah Friday and another Saturday at the Field Museum in Chicago. His Chicago appearance, he said, was intended to raise money to bring ghetto children to the Canadian wilderness.

"I've never been in a place where I've seen so many beautiful people," says Charlie Ericksen.

Ericksen was the victim of a car breakin Wednesday night which cost him an estimated $10,000 worth of cameras and other equipment and a collection of color slides he regards as priceless.

The response from the community has been overwhelmingly sympathetic, said Ericksen, who is staying at the Holiday Inn, waiting to see if his property is returned or recovered. He's offered a $2,000 reward, no questions asked, for its return.

Ericksen is from Atikokan, Ontario, Canada. He is with Voyageur Wilderness Program, which offers wilderness trips to young people. In the winter he travels with his wilderness slide show.

Since the theft of his equipment, said Ericksen, "I've had kids stop me on the street and ask me what they can do."

Also, he said, "You've got one hell of a police force. I've been around a lot and I've never seen people so cooperative. Every single one is working like crazy on it. It's almost like a personal thing. I can't believe it."

The slides which were stolen were ones which had been taken by Eriksen himself and he regards them as irreplaceable.

A number of people have wondered why he didn't have duplicates made.

The reason, said Ericksen, is that about 20 per cent of the quality is lost when a color slide is copied.

When the suggestion was made that no one would know the difference, Ericksen said,"I'd know the difference."

By Bob Tamarkin

Chicago Daily News Service

BANGKOK, Thailand, July 12. – When Margaret 'Peggy' Watkins was growing up in the tiny town of Waterman, Ill., about 11 miles south of DeKalb, one of her fantasies was to become a nurse. Another was to explore distant lands.

For the past 10 months Peggy Watkins, a registered nurse, had been living out her fantasies, working for the Thomas A. Dooley Foundation on Muang Khong island, one of the most isolated areas in Laos.

Khong, the biggest island in the Mekong River, is situated at the very southern tip of Laos, about 20 miles from the Cambodian border.

"I had always wanted to work for something like the Peace Corps or Project Hope in a society that was totally different from my own," explained the 30-year-old nurse.

There was also another reason why Laos was appealing: "I wanted to show these people that Americans did more than just drop bombs on them."

Now, Peggy sat in a Bangkok hotel room with one of her colleagues, Faith Ivall, 28, a nurse from the town of Atikokan, in Ontario, Canada. The two came to Bangkok a week ago after the U.S. embassy ordered all nonessential Americans out of Laos because of the communist Pathet Lao takeover of the country and anti-American sentiment that was spreading.

The withdrawal of the Dooley staff ended the foundation's work on the island after 14 uninterrupted years under the direction of Dr. Vernon Chaney, who first began working in Laos with the late Dr. Tom Dooley in the 1950's.

The staff consisted of 17 people which included four nurses, two lab technicians, volunteer aids and six Laotians.

One unique aspect of the program, noted Peggy, is the exclusive use of U.S. airline stewardesses, who work as volunteer aides for three-month periods, earning only room and board.

"Dr. Chaney feels that stewardesses are people-oriented, have good minds and are capable of a lot more than serving trays," Peggy said.

Peggy and Faith, who both gave up lucrative nursing jobs to come to Laos, had to sign 18-month contracts with the Dooley Foundation. Besides room and board they receive $150 a month.

Despite the meager salaries, they were still able to save money, simply because there was nowhere to spend it on the island, most of whose 10,000 inhabitants farm and fish just enough to subsist on. Bartering is still a way of life. The nearest Americans and semblance of modern civilization was 65 miles up-river at Pakse, where a USAID (U.S. Agency for International Development) mission was located. Every six weeks the nurses would spend a day or two there, just to enjoy the electricity if for nothing else.

There is (no) electricity on Khong island. Light was by kerosene lamp and cooking by charcoal stove. A refrigerator, when it worked, was also run on kerosene. Well water had to be boiled for 20 minutes before drinking. Every morning radio contact was made with Vientiane and in the afternoon with Pakse, "just to let them know we were still alive," Faith said.

It was far from the creature comforts of San Francisco, where Peggy had been working as a nurse in Kaiser Hospital. She had left Rockford's Saint Anthony's Hospital in Illinois in 1968 and spent two years working in Madison, Wis., before going to San Francisco.

She spotted an ad for the Dooley position while casually thumbing through a nursing magazine. At the same time she had looked into another job, working in an orphanage called the "Friends for All Children" in Saigon. She, in fact, flew to Saigon last summer to meet Rosemary Taylor, a well-known Australian, who ran the orphanage. Many of the orphanage's staff and children died in the ill-fated crash of a C5A Galaxy jumbo jet in a rice paddy outside of Saigon last April, during the evacuation of orphans called "Operation Babylift."

Peggy decided to work in Laos rather than Saigon because she felt she was more needed there. Faith was drawn by her interest in midwifery, a common practice in Laos. "You don't go to hospitals unless you have complications. Most of the births are in the homes and nothing is sterile," Faith said.

Faith rates the Laotian midwives as among the most efficient and know­ledge­able she has seen. There were some customs practiced by all the new mothers that were difficult to understand. From 7 to 10 days after a child is born, for example, mothers place hot coals under their beds to drive away evil spirits, despite the soaring tropical temperatures of Laos.

Under Laotian government rule, foreigners are not allowed to give advice on birth control, Faith said, adding, "They did appreciate medicine, and especially vitamins." In a land where 50 per cent of the children die before their first birthday, it is not surprising.

Faith recalled that one time a man had come to the clinic with nearly half of his foot lopped off from an accident. "I asked the Lao medical technician if he had given the man a shot for the pain," said Faith. "I assumed it was morphine." After a half hour the patient was still in agony. "What did you give him?" Faith asked the technician. "Oh, very good. Vitamin B-6," he said proudly.

"They (the Laotians) are beautiful people. Warm, easygoing, charming, not materialistic. They are earthy. They are simple rice farmers," Peggy said. "But it is a chauvinistic country. Women are not equal to men and are always in the background."

Whether it was Pathet Lao running the country or the rightist royal Lao government, "their attitude was 'bor penn ygang' which is never mind, which is how they view every­thing in life," Faith said.

Initially, Peggy and Faith were hopeful of returning. But it doesn't look like they will.

Faith, who had been in Laos for only five months, has decided to join the other Dooley Foundation program in Nepal as a member of a trekking medical team that goes from village to village in the Himalayas. "I can't wait to see Mt. Everest," sighs Faith.

Peggy wants to go back to Illinois "to see my family." Then she will venture out again. She is returning via Europe, where she has never been.

Both women share a pioneering spirit akin to that at the turn of the century. "We were just born too late for the covered wagon," Faith muses.

By Robert Ostmann,

Washington Post

Atikokan, Ont. — Obscuring the sun, a blue-gray cloud sweeps over the low hills and sifts through the pines, carrying an acrid stench of sulphur.

Ten thousand pounds of sulphur dioxide, mercury, arsenic and other toxic chemicals billow every hour from the smokestack of an iron ore processing plant just outside this small mining town. They ride the prevailing winds in a visible plume to the northern Minnesota wilderness 35 miles away.

American environmentalists have long been concerned that the polluting debris of Atikokan may be damaging the largest U.S.-protected wilderness east of the Rocky Mountains.

So they were shocked to learn recently that the Ontario Provincial government had quietly approved construction of a coal-burning electric power plant just a few miles from the polluting mine operation. The plant will be built with no sulphur pollution controls and could triple the tonnage of airborne chemicals falling on U.S. wilderness.

"Acid Rain"

U.S. scientists fear that as the sulphurous gases from the power plant are changed into sulphuric acid by moisture in the air, the resulting "acid rain" will poison lakes and damage forests downwind.

The territory in question is the million acres of northern Minnesota called the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. Ironically, this picture-postcard land of pine forests has been the object of five years of U.S. court battles by groups who differ over how the area should be recreationally developed. But they all agree that it is a unique place for American urbanites to escape the mechanized world.

At the very least, scientists say, pollution from the power plant will render meaningless a federal law – only two weeks old – that prohibits any significant deterioration of the pristine air quality of these regions.

Prodded by Minnesota pollution control officials and national environmental groups, the U.S. State Department pressed reluctant Canadians to agree to discuss the design and location of the 800-megawatt power plant, which is slated to be operating in 1983.

In Ottawa talks, America is asking Canada either to build the plant further from the border or to install sulphur pollution controls. But most observers say privately the chances are slim the United States will be able to effect any major change in the Canadian plans.

For the Atikokan power plant is a creature of politics: the politics of a major construction project bestowed on a town faced with economic extinction and the politics of a province where environmental protection is regularly shunted aside in the interests of industrial growth.

Atikokan, a ramshackle town of 6,000, survives because of its two iron mines, gigantic slashes in the land where earth-moving machines crawl like insects in fierce red wounds. Like most of his fellow townsmen, Jack Pierce, the Atikokan reeve, or mayor, works at the mine.

Four years ago, Pierce says, "We had the situation where both mines announced that they would be out of the region sometime between 1980 and 1984. In order to maintain the community at all, we had to find some new industry.

While the mines were rumbling about closing down, Ontario Hydro was looking for a place to build an electric generator.

Pierce and a handful of other Atikokan civic leaders extended an enthusiastic invitation to the utility and the more than 200 permanent jobs that would go with the power plant. Remarking Atikokan's location on the main rail line from the western Canadian coal fields and close to lakes and for cooling. Hydro accepted.

While most of the towns­people embraced the proposal, there was some concern about the 20,000 pounds of sulphur dioxide and other chemicals that Hydro said could be released into the air each hour.

Hydro assured the town the pollution would not violate Ontario law and said that, under most circumstances, the emitted gases would "remain in a relatively concentrated form and travel long distances, in excess of 30 miles, before reaching ground level."

Those few townspeople who dared oppose Hydro in a series of town meetings organized by the utility were shouted down, booed, even threatened.

Although lower-echelon Ontario environmental officials criticized various aspects of the Hydro plant, the provincial cabinet approved the project in late June – before Hydro answered the criticisms.

"We still have questions, and I wish to hell I knew what Hydro is going to do," said Michael Barker, an official in charge of Quetico Provincial Park, a Canadian wilderness area 11 miles from the plant site.

Ontario Hydro is a rare animal – accountable neither to stockholders nor to the voters of Ontario. It is almost a branch of the provincial government, with the minister of energy responsible for overseeing it.

Fastest Growth

Ontario, with its vast western lands and mineral resources, has the fastest economic growth rate among the provinces. Its politicians are anxious to maintain that, and to make sure there is enough energy to supply new industry.

Hydro has never been cited, sued or coerced in any way by the province to clean up pollution from its power plants.

The federal government has the authority to intervene when the actions of a province have international effects. But that authority has never been exercised, and U.S. officials doubt the administration of Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau is willing to make the political decision to overrule a province.

Pollution controls called "scrubbers" are capable of removing more than half the sulphur from smokestack gases. Scrubbers for the Atikokan plant would cost about $60 million, seven per cent of the project total.

Hydro maintains that Atikokan's pollution will be within Canadian legal limits and therefore will not require scrubbers. The utility also contends that scrubbers, widely used in the United States, are not a proven tech­no­logy.

Finally, the people of Atikokan say that, even if scrubbers were installed, the sulphur removed from the gases would have to be disposed of somewhere – an environ­ment­ally difficult job.

"The sulphur's going to be there one way or the other," says Mayor Pierce. "We have to dump the stuff someplace – your back yard or ours."

By Dean Rebuffoni
Staff Writer

The Ontario government lifted its strict ban on low-flying air-planes so that the ashes of Charles Ericksen, 48, con­ser­va­tionist who died Monday, could be scattered across the lakes and forests of Quetico Provincial Park.

Eriksen, a naturalist who was instru­mental in efforts to preserve wilderness in Minnesota and Ontario, died Monday in a hospital in Atikokan, Ontario. A heart attack was listed as the cause of death.

The Ontario government lifted its ban to com­mem­orate his work on behalf of Quetico Provincial Park.

Ericksen was the cofounder of the Voyageur Wilderness Programme, which exposed thousands of youngsters to the Quetico wilderness. The program was operated from his lodge and home on an island in Nym Lake, near Atikokan at the northern edge of the Park.

During the winter he would visit high schools in the United States, describing the Canadian park and advocating wilderness preserv­ation. During the summer, youths would canoe into the park and camp there, living much like the French voyageurs who first explored Quetico's myriad streams and lakes.

Ericksen was born in Duluth. He worked for the U.S. Forest Service in the Superior National Forest for nine years, and was a guide for canoeists and fishermen in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA) of north­eastern Minnesota.

In the early 1960's he started his own canoe out­fitting operation at the edge of the Quetico in Ontario. He became a Canadian citizen in 1969.

His experiences in the BWCA and the Quetico made him an outspoken advocate of wilderness preservation. Along with such noted Minnesota conservationists as Sugurd Olson and the late Ernest C. Oberholzer, Ericksen led a successful fight in 1970 and 1971 to have logging banned in the 1.1-million-acre Quetico park.

He also was active in efforts to have the Quetico and the BWCA set aside as primitive wildernesses. Most recently he gained attention because of his opposition to a proposed power plant that would be built at the northern edge of Quetico Park.

Survivors include his mother, Janet, of Two Harbors, Minn.; a daughter, Kim, and a son, Charles D., both of Minneapolis, and a brother, William, of Chicago.

The Voyageur Wilderness Programme will continue to be run by Jean Goff, a long-time friend of Ericksen's. They founded the program about 10 years ago.

Ericksen was earthy, outspoken, contro­versial and eloquent in his advocacy of wilderness preservation. In a recent interview he said:

"Everyone calls me an environ­ment­alist, a conserv­ationist. But I don't like to be branded as an "ist" of any kind. My role in life is to preserve wilderness. It's that simple. That's what I think I do best.

"But it seems so ridiculous to have to plead for wilderness. We wouldn't have to run around, trying to preserve wilderness if more people were aware of wilderness, of what is rightfully theirs and mine."

Ottawa (CP)—The Native Council of Canada re-elected Smokey Bruyere president at its annual meeting and endorsed the proposed constitutional amendment calling for more first ministers' talks on aboriginal rights.

The council also reiterated charges that the federal government deliberately altered the sexual-equality clause in the constitutional accord signed in March by native groups, the provinces and Ottawa.

Bruyere and other native leaders who negotiated the accord claim they unwittingly signed after the federal government inserted more limiting wording into the clause than was agreed to during the constitutional conference.

Justice Minister Mark MacGuigan has denied the charge, saying there must have been a misunder­standing among native negotiators.

The equality clause in the signed accord states that "not­with­standing any other provision of the Act, the aboriginal and treaty rights referred to in subsection (1) are guaranteed equally to men and women."

The clause agreed to behind closed doors, native leaders say, did not specify subsection (1) – which affirms "existing aboriginal and treaty rights."

Metis and non-status Indians feel the original clause could have been interpreted to mean that all aboriginal peoples are equal and entitled to the same rights.

They fear, however, that the clause in the accord may be interpreted to mean they have few "existing" rights since they, unlike status Indians, aren't eligible to live on reserves or to receive federal benefits.

The council, which represents the country's 500,000 non-status Indians and about 150,000 Metis of mixed Indian-white ancestry, passed a resolution endorsing the amendment but pledged to fight to have the equality clause changed.

The equality clause is part of a larger amendment which guarantees three more aboriginal rights conferences, enshrines land claims in the Constitution and commits governments to consult natives before their constitutional rights can be changed.

To become part of the Constitution, the amendment must be approved by Parliament and seven provinces making up at least 50 per cent of the population. So far, five provinces and the Commons have approved.

Bruyere, a 35-year-old non-status Indian from Antikokan, Ont., enters his second two-year term as president. Head­quartered in Ottawa, Bruyere will receive an annual salary of $45,000.

Bruyere defeated Duke Redbird for the presidency on the first ballot. About 165 delegates cast votes but totals were not announced.

Harry Daniels, fiery spokesman who headed the council from 1977-1981, was elected western vice-president. Dwight Dorey from Lunenberg, N.S., was named eastern vice-president.