On living a life with purpose, with Karsten Heuer | The Narwhal
“I was really close to the precipice already, staring at it,” Karsten Heuer told me in his backyard in June, talking about the day he thought he would die. “I was actually okay with it.”
It was one of many moments that day that left me feeling both heavy and hopeful.
When I first reached out to Heuer to ask if he’d be interested in being profiled, I only knew a little about his work as a biologist and conservation advocate. My reporting for a deep dive into the Three Sisters development saga in Canmore, Alta. — a proposal that could double the size of the Rocky Mountain town — brought me into his orbit of influence.
But at first I failed to grasp the immensity of his life experiences and his impact. And I didn’t know that his profile would turn into a meditation on life, death and meaning.
That’s because that precipice he faced was only the beginning. Almost two years after the day he thought he was going to die in a hunting accident, Heuer was diagnosed with a fatal neurological disease; he expects to be dead by this fall.
Despite the weight of what he faces, he invited me to his central Canmore home on a warm spring afternoon to talk openly about his work, life and impending death.
This is a man who’s had experiences beyond comprehension — treks through wild places that lasted months upon months — and meaningful work that would sap the energy of most. This is a man who’s already faced death once and has come through with a measure of peace and acceptance that has been a source for my own self-reflection since that interview.
But to focus solely on the esoteric, or Heuer’s impending death, would have been a disservice. Heuer also told me about his epic adventures, his work bringing bison back to Banff and working on wildlife corridors before most people knew what those were.
Heuer is humble, but his work has had an impact along the entire length of the Rockies.
I also spoke with his wife and collaborator, filmmaker Leanne Allison, who talked about their life — about how they met in kindergarten, for one. She talked about how they have found meaning in each other’s presence.
What came next was piecing together a profile on Heuer’s huge life and impact as best I could in a feature that we co-published today with The Globe and Mail.
It’s easy to feel uneasy when asking someone you don’t know about their life and their looming death, but that sunny afternoon in Canmore was anything but uncomfortable.
Reflecting back, there was a sense of calm. It was a lesson about living a life of purpose. And I hope you’ll carve out a few minutes to read it.
Take care and live well,
Drew Anderson
Prairies reporter
There are some stories journalists will always remember. The story of Five Nations Energy is one for me. It was one of my first features at The Narwhal — a cinematic tale of how Indigenous communities along northern Ontario’s James Bay fought to create the first fully Indigenous-owned energy company in Canada.
It was unimaginable at the time. But the nations had a dream and a determination. They were told “no” 37 times. In one instance, a senior energy official told them the line would be built “over my dead body.”
Fast forward 27 years and that quote is now the title of a book that the communities published themselves. Pat Chilton, CEO of Five Nations Energy, told me previously that the company’s story hadn’t been fully told because he felt “vulnerable” to the forces that fought against their efforts. But the need to document it became more important as the “stubborn and influential” Elders who created this little-known Ontario energy history passed on.
“The story is not about electricity — it’s about people,” the book says in its introduction. “Listen closely and you may hear more than the hum of electricity along those lines; you may hear the heartbeat of community, the whispers of the past and the hopeful songs of a brighter future. Listen closer, and you’ll hear the spirits of those who gave rise to Five Nations Energy.”
Email Pat at [email protected] for details on how to access a copy of the book.
- Fatima Syed, Ontario reporter
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