The Nass River, originating from the Sacred Headwaters in northern British Columbia, cuts a broad valley through steep coastal mountains spilling into the ocean 20 kilometers below the village of Gitwinksihlkw.

Above town, from the viewpoint on Saasak’ Hill, the Nisga’a Memorial Lava Beds stretch as a flat expanse between dark green mountains. The scene is stunning; it’s part of what attracts mountain bikers to northern B.C. as they search further afield from popular, well-trodden trail towns to the south.

Highway 16 traverses western Canada and, in this part of northern B.C., it cuts through every major mountain range and ecosystem from the Rockies to the Pacific. This diversity of terrain is punctuated by small communities—each with their own cultural flavor and trail networks, all emanating the same distinct lack of pretension.

A new initiative aims to attract mountain bikers to explore this region by taking a multi-pronged approach to recreational development. The usual trappings of bike expansion are there: Gorgeous trails, friendly locales, breathtaking terrain. But a pilot project known as the Art, Sculpture, and Trail Initiative, funded by a targeted regional tourism investment under the larger umbrella of the StrongerBC post-pandemic economic recovery plan, is going a step further by turning trail systems into outdoor galleries where local artwork can be showcased to enrich the riding experience through stories, art, and education.

The project is focusing its initial efforts in Terrace, Gitwinksihlkw, and Burns Lake. It is the brainchild of Patrick Lucas—a community planner, mountain bike addict, and founder of the Indigenous Youth Mountain Bike Program—and jointly implemented by the Western Canada Mountain Bike Tourism Association and the Northern B.C. Tourism Association. Lucas’ specialty is working with Indigenous communities throughout western Canada to create lasting social and economic development which has increasingly been manifesting itself in the form of mountain bike trails, infrastructure, and now art. A large part of developing trails for Indigenous communities stems from a desire to reconnect with the land, Lucas says.

Historically, reservation lands were designed to isolate communities from each other, from their art and culture and to keep people off the land. Through this process, many long-distance, traditional hunting and trading routes linking far-off villages were paved over and incorporated into Canada’s modern highway systems.

Lucas believes that fostering a community’s connection to the land not only benefits locals whose lands the trails are built upon, but also the traveling rider who is interested in more than just sport and leisure.

“Every trail has a story that helps us understand what it means to be human and to live in that place,” Lucas said. “Trail art is simply another tool for opening our minds to that deeper exploration and appreciation.”

The early 1700s saw dramatic change to this landscape as three volcanic eruptions blanketed the valley with 12 meters (about 40 feet) of molten lava and killed more than 2,000 Nisga’a people in the process. Today, the lava beds are a sacred place with an ancient feel despite their relatively young geologic age.

An expansive view is worth the extra climb after a morning spent lapping flow trails carved into the steep mountainside above Gitwinksihlkw. Down below at the trailhead sits Nisga’a artist Kari Morgan’s totem pole, which was funded by the initiative. Morgan’s sketchbook, covered in cedar chips, eloquently details the three-dimensional carving, but seeing the pole in its rough form provides insight into the cathartic reductionist pursuit of carving and the Nisga’a style—unique in Northwest Coast Indigenous Art for its deep cuts and aggressive shadow lines. A series of lizards ascend the pole in perfect mirrored form to represent the story of Gitwinksihlkw—people of the lizard.

Morgan, or K’alaajex in her native tongue, began her journey into the arts by traveling abroad. Fascinated by other cultures throughout Asia and Oceania, she developed a desire to learn more about her own culture. Practicing many forms of Northwest Coast Art, her mainstay has been painting but her recent foray into carving feels significant. Traditionally a male pursuit, Morgan is the first Nisga’a woman to receive a blessing ceremony to carve a pole. Carving is becoming increasingly open to women and Morgan’s well-known mentors and teachers Dempsey Bob, Stan Bevan, and Ken McNeil all strongly support this forward movement of the art form.

Much of Morgan’s work follows the traditional “formline” aesthetic—as much a concept as it is a style. It’s the main feature used to describe Northwest Coast Art, be it carving or painting. Formlines are fluid movements based on three main shapes: ovoids, U forms and S forms. When combined, they create continuous flowing curvilinear lines that turn, swell, and diminish to create shadows, depth, and abstract forms that depict creatures, spirits, and other figures.

“[It’s] similar to how oil moves through water where nothing actually touches— that’s formline,” Morgan said. “When done well it has a fluidity, nothing stops.”

Notably, nothing comes together at sharp, 90-degree angles in the formline style. This look translates to a feeling of flow. In both formline and trail design, elements need to flow together in unison for the piece or trail to work. Energy is dissipated strategically in some areas and unleashed in others. In that sense, trails that work with the terrain by letting the natural curvature and features of a hillside dictate design are synonymous characteristics of working with the grain and knots of a raw cedar pole. Carving forms in cedar with an adze and shaping berms from soil with a Pulaski are remarkably similar endeavors.

This essence of flow can be seen from aerial views of a new trail at Anhluut’ukwsim Lax̱mihl Angwinga’asanskwhl Nisg̱a’a Park (Nisga’a Memorial Lava Beds Park) which harbors the essence of formline as it fluidly winds its way around craters, canyons, and fractures. The trail bed is anything but smooth. Like a vegetated moonscape, even the snow lichen, hoary rock moss, and succulents appear alien in this landscape.

Gitwinksihlkw councilor Clyde Azak feels a deep, resonating spiritual energy here. The original trails across the razor-sharp lava linked the remaining communities that had become isolated following the volcanic eruptions and provided access for trapping. Azak recalls wayfaring the trails used by his grandfather’s grandfather in search of the elusive coastal marten, a small forest carnivore that resembles a weasel. These days the ancient trails are kept active by wolves and bears and are rarely traversed by people anymore, but the history can be seen as scars on the legs of Gitwinksihlkw elders. This is one reason Azak and the councilors of the Nass are looking to establish more trails.

“There are so many stories from the lava beds,” Azak said. “Without the trails, our stories will be lost.”

Rob Davis, a Nisga’a mountain bike elder, bike shop owner, and artist also relates to the land through personal stories and cultural history. Deep in what is now the lava beds, women had once had a ceremonial coming-of-age place. During the panic of the eruption, a girl was left behind and encased in lava. All that remains of her now is a single handprint in a cave. Davis shivers now when he remembers the intense emotions he felt upon discovering the print after years of searching with his wife Erica for its exact location.

The lava fields hold many stories, but it’s also a place of deep quiet and solitude. On any given evening, as the sun begins to dip behind higher peaks, there’s a sense of vastness here that feels rare and splendid even in a mountainous province like B.C. Wind moves softly through the valley, dissipating the heat that emanates from the lava bed’s surface. In the Nass, trails are not just for recreation. They are a bridge to artistic inspiration, connection to nature, and a gateway to the resilient culture of the people who call this land home. Remembering and sharing these stories through art and trails is not merely a part of Nisga’a culture, it is Nisga’a culture. 

About an hour’s drive south from Gitwinksihlkw, the community in Terrace is also embracing a connection between art and trails. The town’s blue-collar roots are obvious when transiting past its prominent rail yards and industrial parks. It’s fitting that iron has become its chosen medium for trailside artwork. 

“Most people think that steel is a manmade, unnatural material, but I beg to differ,” said Steve Rogers, a local Terrace artist. “Steel is iron ore melted down to remove impurities with very little other material. I think it’s very natural.”

Rogers moved to Terrace over a decade ago for the untamed wilderness, wild valleys, and abundant recreational opportunities that the town is known for. A traditionally trained iron smith from Britain, Rogers doesn’t work with steel in traditional ways anymore. Purists decree that steel necessitates shaping using heat but Rogers, who appreciates and respects ancient methods, rejects these rigid restrictions and argues that cold bending is a superior method for his creative medium. His deviant sentiments stem from his outdoor pursuits as much as his intimate connection with the natural environment and appreciation for the material. He likens his metalwork process to finding that delicate point between power and finesse through a perfectly executed turn. To him, feeling the natural restrictions in a material like steel is all about flow.

“Everything feels right when you are working with the flow compared to fighting against it and forcing something unnatural,” Rogers said.

Like cedar, steel has a natural grain and curvature and must be worked within its organic parameters when cold shaping. If steel is bent too far, it exhibits unnatural shapes and kinks. To prevent this, an artist must listen to and feel the material to infuse a sensory experience into the process.

Terrace’s plethora of hallmark trails show signs that their builders truly listened when constructing them. On Terrace Mountain, “Flathead” is its original line and was instrumental in establishing the area as one of the best mountain bike destinations of the north. Combining the best of “Terrace tech” with rugged descents, the trail peaks at the best viewpoint in town. Here, perched high atop a granite outcrop, sits Rogers’ first foray into art on trails with his Terrace Wolfpack installation.

Distilled down to their most simple form, Rogers attempts to retain the physical shape of the animals while reducing to minimalist elements of shape and form. The result is a series of sculptures that play with light, shadow, and even the weather from their respective positions to enhance the experience of the viewer. The same is true of his fivemeter- tall (about 16 feet) grizzly bear which stands imposingly above the Kitimat Skate and Bike Park 45 minutes south of Terrace as well as his latest creation, a raven, for the Art, Sculpture, and Trail Initiative.

The raven is possibly the most prolific character throughout mountain mythology. Each culture and region places importance on this clever corvid and its mischievous character. Known by myriad monikers, locally, the raven is a celebrated trickster, creator, or the form taken by souls lost in the mountains. For Rogers, the raven is the ultimate mountain mascot found soaring throughout ranges around the globe which speaks to the bird’s resilience and ingenuity. 

To honor this creature, Rogers has chosen to construct a two-meter-tall (six feet) raven placed at the base of the Hub network and pumptrack—a place that isn’t overly picturesque. A proponent of pure aesthetic, Rogers believes that installations can play a larger role in beautification. Like art installations, mountain bike trails have the unique ability to enhance unwanted lands like cutblocks or dense second-growth monoculture. Few other activities use lands that are perceived to be stripped of their value, neglecting the fact that the land itself provides inherent value with its structure of dips, curves, and valleys. Rogers notes that art installations add this same value and offer a license to stop and appreciate not only the art but the subtle beauty of the landscape in areas where one might not usually linger. Installations and trails, he says, are unique in that regard by creating communal spaces where nothing is transactional—just places to reflect and enjoy.

Northeast from Terrace along Highway 16, the tiny village of Hazelton embodies the “come as you are” philosophy.

“The Muck boot and Birkenstock game is strong here,” said Allison Oliver, a Hazelton Trail Society board member about the local riding attire. “Steel-toes and denim— usually with helmets. It’s real!”

The society began as most do with impassioned locals looking for more trails to ride, and has since become an early adopter of the regional art-on-trails movement. A shelter structure with carved cedar posts sits high at the local trail network’s focal point— the Stegyoden Mountain viewpoint—one of the most striking views from any trail network in B.C.

The vantage point is an important gathering spot for riders taking a break before descending as well as a place for community elders to soak in views they may have not seen for years. The bike trails in both Hazelton and the Nass have the added value of allowing access to everyone to help those who might not be up for a strenuous hike to gain the appreciation and connection that inevitably comes with viewing the expansive natural beauty of their homeland.

This beauty can be especially poignant during changing seasons. In Burns Lake, about 220 kilometers east of Hazelton on Highway 16, trembling aspens are the harbingers that ring in this special transitional time. Bright green spring buds lead to broad leaves shading the area’s rocky trails from long, intense sunny days of summer, then followed by a vibrant explosion of yellow before being stripped bare by savage northern winds from the Arctic.

It’s the perfect place to represent Leona Prince’s beautifully illustrated book, A Dance Through the Seasons, which adorns placards along the new climbing trail “Huff and Puff” that ascends the lower flanks of Boer Mountain. These images from Prince’s book mean that riders can now enjoy all four seasons any time of year as they pedal up.

To compliment her illustrations and stories, Prince’s son, Kobe Antoine, has created his own representation of the four seasons through a series of carvings and masks. This is their first artistic collaboration. Together, their work distills the essence of each season into the most important forms for the Lake Babine Nation on whose lands they belong, and on which the trails reside. Spring welcomes the huckleberry bear whose emergence from winter forecasts the bounty of summer to come. Summer brings the sockeye salmon from the ocean up the Skeena River to Lake Babine, one of the largest salmon spawning areas in B.C. The moose represents fall hunting season, while winter is a time for sharing stories and knowledge and is represented by a moon mask.

Antoine recognizes the significance of the placement of art on trails. “Grease Trails” were the ancient highways connecting Indigenous peoples from the Yukon as far south as California with eastern reaches to Alberta and Montana. Named for the valuable Oolichan (candle fish) oil traded on these routes, the trails were important social and cultural networks where stories and skills like Chilkat weaving were traded along with goods and, of course, local gossip.

Now, art installations act as a modern representation of this ancient social and cultural link that trails once provided. The sharing of stories and culture, Antoine believes, can create an understanding of the land. His hope is that when Indigenous youth see their art represented on trails, it provides them with a sense of belonging and inspires them, along with visiting riders, to ask questions.

“The way for outsiders to connect with the culture is through immersion in the art. It builds bridges,” Antoine said. “Culture is our life, our art is our way of life. If we don’t have art we don’t have culture, and we’re lost.”

Both Prince and Antoine derive artistic inspiration from nature and the lifecycle of carvings is symbolic to them. Antoine is not concerned when the lifespan of his carving reaches an end on the forest floor. Art, just like people, are part of the natural cycle. Returning to the soil is part of the process.

“[We] preserve culture by redoing and redoing carvings and that’s how culture evolves and art evolves,” Antoine said.

The Burns Lake trail system lives in a similar state of impermanence. Here, the “no dig, no ride” ethos is echoed by the 100-percent volunteer Burns Lake trail crew who clock more than 4,000 hours each year to keep the trails in top shape against the harsh weather. Trail workdays are held each Wednesday, and current president of the Ride Burns bike club, Patti Dube, reckons that she’s only missed three or four of these gatherings in the past decade. As a physical education teacher, her volunteer-minded philosophy has transferred to the trail network and helped to create yet another small, welcoming mountain bike community along the Highway 16 corridor. These tight knit communities work in tandem and the Art, Sculpture, and Trail Initiative only strengthens that cohesion.

This belief in a “rising tide lifts all ships” mentality means the region can share an artistic pride while remaining distinct from location to location in the experience on offer to those who visit. The volcanic terrain of the Nass begs for slickrock-style cross-country riding. Terrace holds perfect auburn dirt and granite slabs that welcome steep, technical trails. In Hazelton, sharp angular rock and quick laps through mixed forests provides the base materials. Further east in Burns Lake, as the geography eases, a lifetime of flowy linkups and high fives await. There, the long hours of hand building by local riders who its trails every day understand that limitations of local geology are creating stories through the shared language of riding.

Trails and art share the unique ability to help a person understand subtle nuances of a place. As with Prince’s stories, Morgan and Antoine’s carvings, or Roger’s ironwork, each trail carries a unique interpretation of the land and its history, as well as insight into the people who created them. They also provide a special opportunity to view a place through the eyes of an artist who knows it best. When we’re open to what they have to say, a deeper experience and visceral understanding of the area, as well as home, awaits.