Intertribal canoe trip from Oregon to Seattle succeeds for first time since COVID

On the banks of the Columbia River between Oregon and Washington, 20 young people lined up beside a canoe that’s as long as a school bus. They sifted through a pile of lifejackets. Some applied sunscreen, others splashed their faces to cool off. Before stepping aboard, they formed a circle on land.

Their leader, Jefferson Greene, first spoke a few words in the Kiksht language, then switched to English. He explained that they were standing in territory of the Wascopum Tribe and that this place had a Kiksht name long before people started calling it the Columbia River.

Then, one by one, the crew gingerly stepped into the canoe, pushed away from the shore, and found their rhythm. The canoe also has another name: ‘Nchi Wanapum — which means “brother,” in the Sahaptin language. Many of the people pulling its paddles come from different tribes with different languages, but still consider themselves a family. Some bond for life during the 500-mile canoe journey from Celilo Village, near The Dalles, Oregon, to Alki Beach, in Seattle.

For centuries, the canoe was how people in the Pacific Northwest traveled, fished, and visited one another. ‘Nchi Wanapum is a modern, plastic iteration from the Confederated Tribes of Warm Springs. It’s one of over a hundred diverse vessels that traveled by river and sea to visit the Muckleshoot Indian Tribe for a week of celebration from Monday through Aug. 6. The journey started about 40 years ago as a way to revive Indigenous canoe cultures. It’s become a beloved annual event for many West Coast tribes, one that was on hold during the pandemic.

For some, the tradition returns this year with new meanings.

“I am taking this journey to find where I’m at spiritually,” said Carlicia Dixon, a 17-year-old from Salem who is of Nez Perce and Warm Springs heritage. She went on her first canoe journey in 2018, when she was 12. Two years later, the pandemic hit.

“COVID really did have a big impact on my mental health, physical health and just how I feel,” Dixon said, adding that being on the water clears her mind: “You could think on the water, you could sing on the water, you could just find yourself on the water, really peacefully.”

After three years apart, many people on the canoe journey were excited to see each other. But, they also carried grief. They’ve lost people since the last time they did this, said one of the trip leaders, Misty Greene, who is Lummi and Fort Belknap.

“I start almost crying. Because of COVID, we’ve lost a lot of our elders and we lost a lot of our elders in this canoe family. So, there’s the sense of emptiness. But, that’s also a part of our healing,” she said.

Misty and her husband, Jefferson Greene, run a nonprofit — the Columbia River Institute for Indigenous Development — to preserve Columbia River cultures. Among those who have died were most of the remaining speakers of the region’s Indigenous languages, the Greenes said. They want the return of the canoe trip to inspire young people to learn.

“‘Cause we are in a race against time,” said Jefferson Greene, a 39-year-old member of the Confederated Tribes of Warm Springs with lineage to Taxshpash, Wasco, Nez Perce and Paiute.

He has spent the last 13 years studying and teaching the Sahaptin language. He’s been building a database of its dialect Ichishkín since 2015. Each day of the canoe journey he woke the group with a soothing morning song in Sahaptin.

“That way, we’re not waking up with ‘Oh my gosh, we gotta go. We gotta go,’” he said. “These songs end up going right into their hearts and their spirits, with them hearing them every day.”

On the two-week journey, people spent the days on waterways that have supported tribes for millennia. They often sang as they pulled the paddles. They spent the evenings making crafts to give as gifts. At the destination, the food, dancing and singing will go on 24 hours a day for this week’s celebration.

“Being immersed in this environment for three weeks of a year, you end up returning to home yearning for this constant connection to people. And the thing that connects you is the songs,” Jefferson said.

This trip was the first time 24-year-old Samual Jim has ever been on a canoe. He’s Yakama. He said it’s been beautiful to share knowledge with other people on the trip.

“I really want to dive back into my culture, to have that experience so I can teach it to my son,” Jim said.

When he was on ‘Nchi Wanapum, the crew braved extreme heat, wind and dangerous currents to get closer and closer to Seattle. Their hands became calloused and their bodies ached. But as they came ashore at the end of a leg on the Columbia River, the mood was triumphant. Supporters who followed along on land cheered, and the whoops of joy reverberated across the water.