Economy

A gold exploration project at Coeur Alaska’s Kensington Mine north of Juneau has revealed thousands more ounces of precious metals. The high-grade gold deposits will extend the mine’s life through 2029. 

Steve Ball, the general manager at Kensington, said the company spent a few years and nearly $90 million drilling to discover more gold. Now those efforts have paid off. 

“We increased our reserves from a low point of 261,000 ounces at the end of year 2022, to 501,000 ounces at the end of year 2024.” 

Ball said those new reserves, which they’ve already started excavating, represent around five years of mine life.

Brian Holst is the executive director of the Juneau Economic Development Council. In an email, he said this is promising for workers here, since the mining industry is one of the community’s largest private employers.

“Both Kensington and Greens Creek Mine provide some of Juneau’s highest paying jobs, averaging over $120,000 a year, so knowing that Kensington Mine has a longer future of work in Juneau ahead of them is great news for the workers and our community,” he said. 

Kensington employs around 380 people and roughly 40% of them live in Southeast. The mine is also Juneau’s second largest taxpayer after Hecla Greens Creek Mine. 

Kensington mine is located about 45 miles northwest of Juneau in the Berners Bay Mining District. It’s owned by Coeur, a multinational company based in Chicago, Illinois, which began operating it in 2010.

The mine has raised environmental concerns. Last year, it reported a tailings spill. Separately, it was potentially responsible for a fish die-off downstream. In 2019, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency fined Coeur more than $500,000 for multiple environmental violations. 

The price of gold is on the rise. As of today, it’s at roughly $3,600 per ounce. 

Deantha Skibinski is the executive director of the Alaska Miners Association. She said the positive trend makes Alaska a more attractive place to drill, given how expensive it is to establish gold mines here. 

“That certainly incentivizes companies to do that exploration in Alaska to hopefully bring more mines online,” she said. “So it really is a positive driver in terms of growing our industry here.”

Ball said that Kensington staff have already started more exploratory drilling with the hopes of extending the mine’s life even further. 

Cruise ships are subject to federal rules that limit how much they can pollute the water with toxic chemicals that originate from their exhaust. Think: heavy metals and leftover fuel oil.

But federal data shows that a subset of ships violate those standards in Alaska hundreds of times a year. And regulators don’t appear to be doing much about it.

That’s the key takeaway from data released in August by the Southeast Alaska Conservation Council, a Juneau based group.

Every year, cruise ships provide annual reports to the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency that disclose how many times they’ve discharged water that does not meet federal safety standards.

Aaron Brakel, a clean water campaigner at the organization, dug through reports from 46 operators in 2023 and 2024. All told, he found that 17 ships reported more than 700 violation days in Alaska in the two-year time frame.

Those violations came exclusively from vessels that use open-loop scrubber systems. Those systems suck in sea water to “scrub” toxic chemicals, including sulfur, from engine exhaust – and then dump it back in the ocean. That’s different from closed-loop scrubbers, which dispose of the discharge onshore.

“It’s troubling that even with these very weak permit standards, and very weak self-reporting requirements, that the ships with open-loop scrubbers are still reporting hundreds of violations of the limits every year,” Brakel said.

Open loop systems help cruise ships comply with international air pollution requirements that took effect in 2020. They do so by allowing ships to emit less air pollution while still burning cheap, heavy fuel.

That in turn has created a relatively new source of ocean pollution in Alaska that critics say has major implications for marine ecosystems.

“That can have a tremendous number of impacts on organisms in the marine environment,” Brakel said.

One study, published in 2021, found that exposure to gas scrubber discharge led to “severe toxic effects” for a tiny crustacean, known as a Pelagic Copepod, near the bottom of the ocean food web.

Gene McCabe heads the water division at the Alaska Department of Environmental Conservation, which doesn’t regulate this type of discharge. He said federal standards for each pollutant were set using statistical data that suggests discharges that meet those standards shouldn’t harm people or marine life.

“Whenever we go beyond those water quality standards, we’re in a murkier area,” McCabe said. “We’re in a murky area because we can’t really say for certain that it is safe or that there will be damage or that there will be impacts.”

An EPA permit sets limits for pollutants including acidity, concentration of heavy metals and leftover fuel oil. But Brakel says violations of those standards have rarely led to federal enforcement.

“It’s a story of an orphaned permit, where these scrubber discharge requirements have never been enforced,” Brakel said.

In an emailed statement, the EPA declined to comment on enforcement matters. But the agency did note that it has taken enforcement actions against Carnival Corporation, including in 2017. That was after the company installed open-loop scrubbers on its ships starting in 2014.

By 2016, all but one of its Alaska vessels had violated federal acidity standards, according to state documents.

The company eventually paid a $14,500 fine and agreed to work toward addressing the issue, including by closely monitoring scrubber discharge pH and improving its scrubber systems.

But EPA also responded by loosening the existing standard while the company worked to remedy the problem – a policy Brakel said is still in place today.

McCabe, with the state, said he can’t speak to the federal enforcement strategy. But he emphasized that his department is still paying close attention.

“It is probably driving the reason why we are keeping an eye on scrubbers ourselves. Even though it’s not our permit, it’s still our water,” McCabe said. “And we want to at least have data where we can get it.”

Brakel, the conservationist, also took issue with the violation reports themselves. They don’t include when or where the violations took place. As he sees it, that keeps cruise towns from using the information to hold the industry accountable.

“If people can’t tell that this is happening, they have no way to respond to the industry to say,’ “Hey, what are you doing? Hey, these are our waters. Hey, this is our food,'” Brakel said.

The industry group Cruise Lines International Association did not respond to a request for comment.

The Alaska Marine Highway System ferry LeConte will continue to be out of service leading into the weekend.

The ferry, which services Southeast Alaska communities, was moored in Juneau because of engine trouble last weekend. Alaska Department of Transportation and Public Facilities’ staff said they hoped to have the ferry up and running by Thursday. However, spokesperson Shannon McCarthy said Thursday that it still needs some work. 

“Our mechanics are working around the clock to get that fixed,” she said. “Unfortunately, we are confident that we will not be able to get the ship back in the water and get the U.S. Coast Guard approvals in time for Friday’s sailing. So we are canceling that.”

The ferry began experiencing engine loss and other mechanical issues last weekend when traveling from Hoonah to Kake. Ferry staff decided to have it towed to Juneau for repairs. The service disruption left many on the ship stuck in Juneau, including the Kake City Schools cross-country team. 

McCarthy said the department is offering refunds or rebooking affected passengers on the MV Hubbard or a private catamaran, but it cannot provide transportation for vehicles.

Alaska Marine Highway staff scrambled to fix the ferry before the start of the Klondike Road Relay on Friday. Many runners in Juneau and Haines rely on the LeConte to transport their teams and vehicles to Skagway for the start of the race. 

“As vessels age, they require a lot more TLC,” McCarthy said. “We do try to get anything fixed when they’re in for their normal service in the shipyard, but because vessels are older, some unforeseen circumstances will happen.”

McCarthy said the department plans to share another update on the vessel’s status on Saturday.

The Trusty Tusty, the Rusty Tusty — the Alaska ferry Tustumena has a few different nicknames. In the Aleutians, where the ship doubles as the only restaurant for many small villages along the route, people call it the McTusty.

“We’re going to have dinner,” Ellie Hoblet said when the Tustumena docked in False Pass on Aug. 8. “There’s no other places to get food.”

Hoblet was there with a handful of others from the fishing village of about 30 residents.

“Best restaurant in town,” Calum Hoblet said. “The clam chowder and the chicken strips, that’s the best.”

The Tustumena is more than just a ferry: it’s a lifeline for Aleutian communities. Barging in freight can be prohibitively expensive, so the ferry is a cheaper alternative. And a $350 ferry ticket is often the only way people in the Aleutians can afford to travel out of their communities — a one-way flight from False Pass to Anchorage costs more than $1,000.

But the aging vessel doesn’t make it up and down the chain as often as it used to. Meanwhile, the state’s efforts to replace it have been postponed and delayed for years, leading to reduced service and canceled sailings while the ferry undergoes repairs.

The ship also doesn’t sail as late into the year anymore. Captain John Mayer says one reason for that is to avoid inclement weather.

“I’m far more prudent in the weather I choose to go out in because she is a 61-year-old ship,” Mayer said. “When I first started here, it wouldn’t be unusual to leave the harbor in 20-foot seas. Now I don’t even think about that.”

Before the pandemic, the Tustumena made two Aleutian chain runs each month during the summer. In earlier years, they sailed into October, when the crew handed out pumpkins for the famed “Pumpkin Run.”

“When we would pull into port, say, for Sandpoint, the whole town would be on the dock,” Mayer said. “Total chaos.”

Mayer has worked on the Tustumena for about 25 years, working his way up to captain in 2015. He says he hopes a new ferry will mean they can sail as late and as often as before.

“Maybe with the new ship we can, because it could just be more resistant to heavier weather,” he said.

But improved ferry service won’t happen until the state builds the Tustumena’s replacement. That’s been in the works for over a decade, but it wasn’t made official until Gov. Mike Dunleavy announced the project in 2021. The Alaska Department of Transportation solicited for builders the next year, but nobody bid.

Craig Tornga, the ferry system’s marine director, told the marine highway’s advisory board at its July 25 meeting that they’d finally be going out to bid this fall.

“We got a tired Tustumena that needs a replacement,” Tornga told the board.

He said one of the biggest challenges is a requirement that 70% of the money spent on the project goes to American companies, a point that Captain Mayer also made.

“That’s been very exasperating,” Mayer said. “They simply do not make the systems you need for a new ship in this country.”

The original target date for replacing the Tustumena was 2027. Despite the fact that the project hasn’t gone out to bid yet, and despite the fact nobody bid on it the last time, Tornga told the board that they’re still trying to get the replacement ferry on the water at the end of 2028. But he said that date could change once they accept a bid and get a more realistic timeline.

Tornga said the marine highway system is meeting with potential bidders later this month, when he’ll give another progress report.

Back in False Pass, on board the Tustumena, the galley was packed at 6:30 p.m., right when the ferry was supposed to leave. Standing in the galley, Mayer started to sound more like a restaurant manager than a boat captain.

“To-go order? Anybody here to go? Everyone staying on board?” he asked.

He said he didn’t want to set sail for Akutan while folks from False Pass were still waiting for food from the best restaurant in town.

For about a decade, Scott Jackson had a system. He was the owner of Rocky Pass Tannery in the village of Kake on Kupreanof Island, where he and his team tanned sea otter pelts.

He can still recite the steps in precise detail. Pressure wash the fat off the pelts for four hours. Put the pelts in a pressurizing machine called an auto-tanner for three hours. Hang the pelts until they swell. Shave them with a circle beaver fleshing knife. Put in a citric acid bath for three days. Neutralize with baking soda. Oil. Dry.

“It takes a lot more than you realize to make a good, soft, supple, sewing hide,” Jackson said.

About a year and a half ago, he closed the tannery. Jackson said trying to keep up with the high demand was unsustainable. At one point, Jackson said they tanned 187 hides in a month with fewer than a dozen employees.

“Pretty soon it becomes stress, and pretty soon it becomes unhealthy,” he said.

When Rocky Pass Tannery shuttered, that left their customers throughout Southeast Alaska with few options to continue their traditional cultural practices of hunting and skin-sewing sea otters.

Access to tannery services is just one of many barriers facing sea otter hunters. Federal rules restrict sea otter hunting to those who are a quarter or more Alaska Native or an enrolled member of a coastal tribe. Federal regulations also say that hunted sea otters must be converted into “authentic Native handicrafts.” These barriers are making it more difficult for hunters to tackle sea otter overpopulation, which is threatening shellfish populations in Southeast Alaska.

Shipping out-of-state

Now, many sea otter craftspeople ship their pelts to the only sea otter tannery outside of Alaska — in southern Idaho.

Aanutein Deborah Head is a skin-sewing teacher from Craig on Prince of Wales Island and one of Jackson’s former customers. She’s an experienced sea otter hunter and skin-sewer. But she never learned how to tan.

“I could have said, ‘Grandma, show me how to tan it so the hide doesn’t fall off of it,’” Head said. “I didn’t, and that’s lost to me.”

It was more convenient when she could send her sea otters to Kake, Head said. In particular, it costs her a lot more in shipping to send the skins on a thousand-plus-mile journey to southern Idaho.

Kootink Heather Douville learned how to skin-sew from Head while growing up in Craig. Now, she’s an avid hunter. Like Head, she also sends her sea otter pelts to Idaho so she can make and sell handicrafts like hats, pillows and fur ball earrings.

From the time she spots a sea otter in the water and aims for its head to when she finishes the last stitch on a handicraft, just about every part of the process is either expensive or time-consuming. She hunted 200 otters last year and about 120 this year.

“For me, it’s not just an investment as far as money goes, it’s your time,” Douville said. “I think that’s why we have so few hunters out there, in addition to the blood quantum limitations through the federal agencies.”

An alternative approach

In Klawock, just six miles north of Craig, Anthony Charles has found another way to save on tanning costs — by doing the tanning himself. He’s been running a sea otter product business for about seven years with his father. He used to ship to Rocky Pass Tannery before it closed, but decided to tan himself to save on shipping. Even though Kake is significantly closer than Idaho, it’s still about 100 miles by air from Klawock.

A couple of years ago, Charles bought tanning equipment and set it up under a tent. When his setup was destroyed in a windstorm, he was faced with a difficult decision.

“I almost kind of walked away from it after that,” he said.

Instead, he decided to rebuild and keep his tanning operation going.

“I had to really bite down,” he said. “It was worth it.”

But tanning in-house doesn’t work for everyone. Douville tried tanning on her own at one point, but felt that it didn’t produce a high enough quality pelt for sewing. She also prefers to focus her time on hunting and sewing.

“If I were to hunt and tan my own pelts, I would have a big stack of pelts, but no time to convert them and sell them,” she said.

Impact on sea otter overpopulation

Jackson said that since he’s closed the tannery, it seems like sea otter hunting has slowed down in Kake.

Douville said she feels like she’s not making much of a difference in the sea otter populations.

“They’re multiplying at a much faster rate than I can hunt them,” Douville said.

Despite the barriers, Douville remains committed to hunting and sewing as a way to connect to her Lingít culture. As she learned more about sea otter overpopulation and its threat to shellfish, she says it became even more meaningful for her.

“The last bucket of clams my dad dug was in 2011 and the last sea urchins we got was when I was a little kid,” she said. “When you remove access to a traditional food, you’re removing the ability to pass on that knowledge to the next generation on how to hunt or collect the food.”

The future of tanneries

Jackson, the former tannery owner, is unsure what the fate of local tanneries will be.

“Are we going to have tanneries around forever? I don’t know,” said Jackson. “I know that we all don’t live forever, and eventually we got to tap out.”

He’s not sure if he’ll reopen the tannery in Kake, but Jackson said he’d like to go to other towns and teach people how to set up a sustainable tannery.

“I think tanning would be number one, and teaching them how to sew is number two,” he said. “We got to open up our minds a little bit and say, let’s have a tannery in every community.”

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The Roadless Rule protects more than half of the Tongass National Forest from road development, and it’s on the chopping block again. Tribes and environmental groups are strategizing to keep it in place. 

A host of Alaska Native communities in Southeast Alaska, which rely on the Tongass National Forest for their food and culture, say they want to make the Roadless Rule permanent. 

Tlingit advocate Xaawk’w Tláa Yolanda Fulmer presented one tactic at the Southeast Tribal Environmental Forum in Juneau this week. She explained how a bill that was reintroduced to the U.S. House of Representatives this summer called the Roadless Area Conservation Act, or RACA, could codify the Roadless Rule once and for all.

“The current situation is a political struggle between the proposed repeal of the Roadless Rule and the introduction of RACA,” Fulmer said. “The outcome of RACA will determine the future protection of vital national forest lands, including the Tongass.”

She said that if the bill passes into law, it could end the political ping pong between promoting extractive industries and preserving traditional foods and practices in National Forests. 

“Road construction often leads to logging, mining, forest fires and development — development which fragments ecosystems,” she said. “The Roadless Rule helps maintain intact forests, streams and shorelines where traditional foods thrive.”

The Roadless Rule has flip-flopped multiple times since it was established to protect undeveloped lands in 2001. It was rolled back during President Donald Trump’s first term before being reinstated in 2023 by former President Joe Biden. 

The proposed rollback aligns with Trump’s executive order earlier this year to end a ban on constructing roads in undeveloped areas of the forest. The USDA’s announcement comes on the heels of Representative Nick Begich’s visit to Juneau, where he said that he supports the expansion of logging in the Tongass National Forest. 

“This is something I hear from folks from Ketchikan all the way up to Yakutat on a regular basis,” he said. “How do we bring timber back?”

Tribal leaders at the forum in Juneau spoke to the value of keeping the forest ecosystem intact. Joel Jackson is President of the Organized Village of Kake, an Alaska Native tribe based on Kupreanof Island. He said it’s vital to keep the forest healthy, in part because the salmon that feed his tribe rely on it. Old growth trees shade the streams, making the water cold enough for salmon to swim up.

“If the stream isn’t cool enough, those fish aren’t going to be able to spawn,” Jackson said.

After the fish spawn and die, their decaying bodies feed the forest with nutrients they gathered at sea — and the cycle continues.

The U.S. Department of Agriculture announced Wednesday that the public can comment on the proposed rollback from Friday through Sept. 19. 

“This administration is dedicated to removing burdensome, outdated, one-size-fits-all regulations,” said U.S. Secretary of Agriculture Brooke L. Rollins in a press release. 

Nathan Newcomer advocates for the Tongass with the Southeast Alaska Conservation Council. He worries that the USDA won’t listen to the public’s wishes to keep the rule in place. 

“We know what they’re going to do,” Newcomer said of the department. “They’re not going to listen to anybody, but we still need to get on the record and make it sure and clear that people in Southeast Alaska and across the nation want to see the Roadless Rule kept in place.”

When the first Trump administration rolled back the Roadless Rule in 2020, people had about 90 days to comment and nearly all of the public comments were in favor of keeping the rule.

Newcomer said that he’s organizing quickly since the federal government has expedited the public process to allow for less than a month of public comment. 

Kate Glover is an attorney at Earthjustice, an environmental law firm that has challenged past rescissions of the Roadless Rule on behalf of tribes, conservation nonprofits, tourism and fishing groups. She said a few weeks is not enough time for a meaningful public process.

“It doesn’t allow time for the agency to meet its obligation to consult with tribes on a government-to-government basis,” she said. “Typically, at least 120 days is needed for that.” 

Glover said she had not seen such short comment periods before this administration.