Storytelling for the Seal River Watershed: One of the World’s Last Great Wild Places

How a grassroots movement is protecting 50,000 km² of pristine Canadian wilderness—and why we were honoured to help launch the story.

Seal River Watershed

The Seal River Watershed, located in Northern Manitoba, is one of the world’s largest intact roadless landscapes. Over 50,000 square kilometres in size—roughly comparable to Costa Rica—it remains largely untouched by dams, roads, or resource extraction. Nature here still unfolds on its own terms: rivers flow unimpeded, forests and wetlands connect across broad swaths, and wildlife move freely.

As The Narwhal describes, the Seal River is Manitoba’s only major waterway that has never been dammed.

Indigenous communities—Dene, Cree, and Inuit—have joined to lead the initiative to protect this territory as an Indigenous Protected and Conserved Area (IPCA). Their vision is not exclusion, but self-determination: to steward the land and waterways, sustain traditional lifeways, and protect critical habitat for animals like caribou, beluga whales, polar bears, and seals.

“Now, all eyes are on the Seal River Watershed as it takes one step closer towards being formally recognized as an Indigenous Protected and Conserved Area. If established, it would protect eight per cent of Manitoba, and habitat that is crucial for beluga whales, polar bears and, of course, seals.” — Steph Kwetásel’wet Wood

Because of its scale and integrity, the watershed can function as a working model of large-landscape conservation. If successful, it would surpass Wood Buffalo National Park in size.

Roots, Resilience, and Reckoning

To understand why this initiative matters deeply, we must reckon with history. The Narwhal recounts how in 1956, federal authorities relocated the Sayisi Dene people off their lands—wrongfully blaming them for declines in caribou populations when in fact industrial pressures and climate shifts were key drivers.

“We were told the caribou were in decline and it was because of us. And our community was almost decimated because of it,” — Stephanie Thorassie

During their relocation to Churchill, many community members struggled to survive in unfamiliar land, away from their traditional practices. The trauma is generational: “We lost one third of our community during the 17 years we lived in Churchill,” says Ernie Bussidor.

When the Sayisi Dene eventually returned (1974) to Tadoule Lake, they sought to rebuild connection—cultural, ecological, and economic. Thorassie recalls how her father described leaving Churchill as “dying and going to heaven” upon returning to their homeland: “You could go out and provide for yourself. You could go out and get wood and keep your house warm. They were strong again.”

This painful history is inseparable from the future they now imagine—one where the “lungs of the land” and the heartbeat of its creatures are protected, not parceled. Bussidor frames this intimately: “It’s a lung to Mother Earth.”

Our Role: Capturing a Moment of Momentum

We first encountered this landscape through our conservation work with Oceans North and Churchill Wild at Seal River Heritage Lodge. Those field experiences showed us what many see only in maps: the profound scale, the wildness, and the delicate interdependence of ecosystems.

Later, CPAWS and local leaders invited us to document a pivotal gathering: the Tadoule Lake Stewardship Summit, held in September 2019. Youth, elders, and regional partners came together to share stories, envision guardianship, and begin weaving the tapestry of a larger conservation narrative.

Indigenous Guardians were central to the summit’s focus — they would become the eyes, ears, and heart of the land, monitoring wildlife, water quality, and visitors in collaboration with their communities.

We were charged with capturing more than images. Our task: to portray energy, intention, and voice. We strived to weave together cultural memory, present relationships, and future aspirations into something that a global audience could see—and feel.

The film we helped produce has since become an anchor point in communications, helping people visualize how conservation, culture, and community can align.

Watch video here: Seal River Watershed

The Bigger Picture: Momentum & Impacts

Since that summit, the movement has pulled strength from multiple fronts. The Narwhal feature “How to Protect a Place the Size of Costa Rica” spotlighted the region’s significance and the approach of Indigenous stewardship.

Funding commitments have followed: the federal government invested $3.2 million toward realizing the protected area, though delays (e.g. due to COVID) remain.

The coalition driving this work includes the Sayisi Dene, Northlands Dene, O-Pipon-Na-Piwin Cree, Barrenlands Cree, and Kivalliq Inuit—alongside CPAWS Manitoba and the Indigenous Leadership Initiative.

One of the ecological imperatives is caribou recovery. The watershed hosts two wintering herds whose populations are declining—between 2011 and 2018 the Beverly herd dropped 3–4% per year; the Qamanirjuaq herd fell from nearly 500,000 (in the 1990s) to under 300,000 by 2017.

“I was screaming for a way to protect the area, to keep mines out, to keep hydro away from our communities,” said Bussidor, reflecting on how the vision of a stewarded protected area was born.

From a scientific lens, the scale matters: protecting headwaters to ocean offers resilience, connectivity, and ecosystem integrity that smaller fragmented reserves cannot. Assiniboine Park’s Stephen Petersen emphasizes that such a landscape “works better as a whole” rather than being chipped away piecemeal.

The watershed also plays a role in maintaining Hudson Bay’s salinity balance via fresh water flows—extending Arctic ecological conditions farther south.

Bird surveys reveal the region is a haven for waterfowl, including species at risk like the black scoter.

If realized, the Seal River IPA would account for eight per cent of Manitoba’s area, nearly doubling the province’s current protected lands.

Why It Matters: Story as Catalyst

Large-scale conservation isn’t won solely by court orders or legislation. It’s won when people—inside and outside the territory—see, feel, and relate to what’s at stake.

Through visual storytelling, we help stitch distant audiences into the narrative. The film, the images, the voices—they become portals into a place most will never visit. That’s power.

Our role has been to listen deeply, to hold space for Indigenous voices, and to amplify—not overwrite—the cultural logic of this work. We lean into the tension: this is a conservation success only if it’s a community success.

In doing so, we hope to offer a model. One where Indigenous leadership, youth engagement, and narrative clarity aren’t afterthoughts—they’re central.

“It’s virtually untouched. It’s pretty special.” — Stephanie Thorassie

That simple line carries weight because it’s felt. It’s grounded in lived experience, not abstract idealism.

We continue to support projects where the reach of the story matters as much as its content—because in these fragile times, the right story told well can shift policy, funding, and hearts.

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