Our communities, wildlife, and waters are so much more valuable than gold: Ren Druash, IRU Staff

After 30 miles of winding dirt road past cliffs and through canyons, the road curved right to follow Johnson’s Creek. The cold, clean scent of mountain waters cut through the dust and hot air. Swallows darted over the water and trout swam up from the deep pools to snag unsuspecting insects. Wildflowers filled the meadows, and chipmunks darted back and forth along the road. Everything became alive. 

photo curtesy of Nic Nelson, Executive Director

It was my first time visiting this part of Idaho and I had mixed feelings about the exploration that our team was about to embark upon. We were headed to the Stibnite Mine Area, the site of Midas Gold’s proposed gold mine in the headwaters of the South Fork Salmon. The site had been heavily mined over the last century, and the Nez Perce and EPA had already invested years and millions of dollars into restoration efforts for the area. Further restoration was planned, but it all came to a halt when Midas Gold secured mining rights to the area. The new mining plan would use cyanide leaching and more than triple the size of the open pit area, making it one of the largest gold mining operations in the US, with potential for expansion and further exploration. 

I had seen the impacts of strip and open-pit mining on my native mountain range, the Appalachians. Seeing an entire mountain disappear is like being in a dream; you almost need to untether from what seems possible and logical to digest it. An area riddled with the exploits of mining companies, communities were left behind in the coal dust and mining waste once companies filled their pockets. The mines brought a temporary ‘economic boom’, and left behind water and soil contamination, environmentally-induced health issues, and poverty.

In my head, I understood what was at stake if the Stibnite Mine site moves forward: vital Chinook and Bull Trout spawning habitat would be lost, the potential for cyanide and mining waste to leak into the South Fork Salmon River, pristine forest covered in thousands of tons of mining tailings, mountain peaks inverted into open-pit mines. But even with mapping these things out, it felt nearly impossible to conceptualize. Despite the monstrous scale, a dot on a map of Idaho still only feels like a dot. 

The first night we camped out along the South Fork Salmon and spent the evening wading in clear, warm water, digging our feet into the sandy bottom. We ventured out to catch a glimpse of the Neowise comet, a visitor to our skies roughly every 7,000 years. I had only seen the sky so full of stars a handful of times, and the number of places where that experience is possible is ever-shrinking. The awe was tinged with sadness: as a result of the Stibnite Mine infrastructure, this may become one more place where the stars are masked behind light pollution. 

The following morning, we drove out to the Stibnite Mine Area. As we climbed in elevation, the dirt roads narrowed. We reached the mine site mid-morning after passing clear rushing creeks and dense pine forest. Just above the mine site, unbroken forests of dark, heavy timber stretched unbroken, where the shadows undoubtedly serve as a hiding place for elk and wolf. 

The “Glory Hole”, a historic mining pit at the site of the proposed Stibnite Mine Project

We stopped to overlook the old abandoned pit mine, dubbed the “Glory Hole”, a remnant of previous mining operations in the form of a massive, abnormally colored water-filled crater. Reviewing the maps of the project, it became clear that the existing pit is only a fraction of Midas Gold’s plan. At least two more pits would be created and massive infrastructure developed. Old mining tailings would be dug up and reprocessed. New roads would be built, one of which teeters on the edge of the Frank Church Wilderness.

In total, the new mining operations and infrastructure would consume an area roughly the size of twenty-two Disneylands. Occurring mostly on undisturbed public lands, the project would fill a meadow with tailings, held behind a 450ft dam to retain mining waste and undo previous restoration work. 

We drove deeper into the project area, passing fields filled with Indian Paintbrush and Scarlet Gilia that are proposed spots for mining operations. Stopping at the Thunder Mountain overlook for lunch, we gazed out over the edge of the Frank Church Wilderness. A careful search of the surrounding cliffs revealed a herd of mountain goats grazing, several nannies with kids on tow. 

These were the first mountain goats I had ever seen. It was enchanting to watch them move effortlessly across the cliff face. The road beneath their cliff would become a major throughway for mining operations. The noise would undoubtedly drive them from this place that herds have likely called home for far longer than we knew this piece of earth existed. 

We took our time venturing back to camp, stopping in Yellowpine for a beer and dropping Reese and Stephen, our Conservation Associates, off for a paddling adventure. Pulling off along the river, Caitlin, our Membership Coordinator, and I somehow convinced Nic to give us impromptu fly fishing lessons. Caitlin worked on refining her cast, and I fumbled my way through learning the basics. I struck out, but when Caitlin caught her first trout, I couldn’t help but catch her contagious excitement. 

Nic Nelson, IRU Executive Director, flyfishing

Practicing the flow of casting, surrounded by the sound of rapids and birds, I felt a new unsuspected passion ignite within me. Flyfishing is meditative, peaceful, methodical, and an art. It is a way to acknowledge your place in the natural world as you become a part of the chase that has sustained our ecosystems for millennia. The reliance we all have upon the land and the water that flows through becomes clear. You search for the life that surrounds and fills water; life that we are inextricably intertwined with that has existed on this landscape longer than we have; the life that our choices and actions have the ability to foster or destroy.

I felt the importance and weight of the decisions surrounding the Stibnite Mine Project at that moment as well.  We need resources, but our ability to impact landscapes gives us a position of responsibility. Our choices impact the right of other organisms to live and other humans to health and livelihood. 

The impacts of the mine would ripple far beyond the old historic pit - the South Fork Salmon River becomes compromised, which is an essential piece of Idaho’s ability to recover salmon and steelhead. A mining leak or catastrophe at the headwaters of the South Fork Salmon River could impact an entire river system and hundreds of communities, and impact trout, salmon, birds, insects, elk, and wolves. The effects would be felt for decades. Even if nothing ever goes wrong, Chinook and Bull Trout will experience a net loss of habitat - as will all creatures that call that area home. 

Stephen Pieffer, Conservation Associate

I struggle to justify sacrificing the South Fork Salmon to a Canadian mining company. History tells us that mining companies will take what they want, and leave behind mining waste and thousands of acres of disturbed land. The potential for catastrophic consequences for the South Fork Salmon from the Stibnite Mine project are, without a doubt, too great. These waters are part of the lifeblood of an entire region, and the livelihoods of riverside communities and our wild neighbors depend on whether or not we choose to safeguard them. 

Experiencing what we stand to lose, my convictions became clearer: our communities, wildlife, and waters so much more valuable than gold.