During the first 400 years Chief Queesto's ceremonial bowl welcomed guests to Nuu-chah-nulth feasts, holding within a special blend of face painting pigments. It travelled the entire Nuu-chah-nulth territory, from Pacheedaht (Port Renfrew) to Che:k'tles'et'h' (Cape Cook), inviting people to potlaches -- the major social, economic and political institution of this West Coast society.

Its legacy ended abruptly, however, with the onset of the potlach outlaw in 1884, and for the better part of the past century, this cedar bowl lay hidden in an attic. "There were others.," remembers Pacheedaht Chief Charlie Jones. "Huge feast dishes that were so heavy you couldn't carry them to the attic." These larger bowls, along with numerous personal articles and regalia, were sized by the government. Other masks and headdresses remained in the community, concealed in cedar boxes and tied to the longhouse roof, only to be shattered when the longhouse later collapsed. Still others were traded for, covertly taken, or sold, often for minimal values. One way or another, the Nuu-chah-nulth nation lost regalia and sacred items, another part of its identity displaced.

It all started at Yuquot (Friendly Cove), the point of first contact between one Nuu-chah-nulth nation and white man. In 1778 Chief Maquinna allowed Captain James Cook to anchor his ship on Mowachaht shores. This courtesy led to successful years of fur trading and made Maquinna one of the most powerful chiefs on the west coast of Vancouver Island. It also opened the coastline to exploration and European influence.

Ironically, Cook's landing at Friendly Cove is often heralded as a discovery of British Columbia, but the Nuu-chah-nulth have lived there for more than 5,000 years. They were the great whaling nation and the builders of ocean-going dugout canoes. Their homeland was the west coast of Vancouver Island, wrapped in coastal mountains to the east and sponged by ocean tides to the west.

The Nuu-chah-nulth were divided into separate nations, each with well-defined territories and resources that were owned by a chief. The chief carried the highest order of government, holding a sovereign position. In oral tradition passed down through generations, each chief's territory was defined through songs and dances. And within this territory – river mouths full of salmon, mountains of dense cedar forests, and shoreline stretching deep into the ocean – lay the resources that sustained the Nuu-chah-nulth for millenia.

It was Captain Cook, who called this nation the 'Nootka', mistakenly interpreting the Mowachahts' cries to "come around to the harbour" as the name of the area. This misnomer has been set straight – replaced by Nuu-chah-nulth, which translates to "all along the mountains" – but others have not.

And over the past 200 years, the Nuu-chah-nulth culture has succumbed to European influences and pressures: lands were taken without treaties; children were sent to residential schools, forbidden to speak their own language, and separated from their families for 10 months of the year; and many traditional legends, songs, and dances were lost.

Now part of their culture and heritage is being celebrated, thanks to a groundbreaking exhibit at the Royal British Columbia Museum (RBCM) in Victoria. For the first time, many heirlooms some of which have been out of the families for centuries are on display for their traditional owners to see. The exhibit, entitled Out of the Mist: HuupuKwanum.Tupaat, Treasures of the Nuu-chah-nulth Chiefs, 205 Nuu-chah-nulth pieces from the museum's extensive collection, as well as another 51 artifacts loaned from museums around the world, as far away as South Africa.

Although the museums own the physical artifacts, the stories and songs attached to the pieces remain the property of the chief that owns them. As a result, the museum approached the Nuu-chah-nulth tribal council with the exhibit idea and asked for their cooperation. "For the very first time we were totally consulted. They never did anything without first of all talking to us if it concerned protocol," says Willard Gallic, tribal council member. "The articles were properly identified, the families were asked if the museum could show them and they gave their blessing." The result is a unique look at a culture through stories, traditions, and legends attached to the pieces from its ancient roots through to today, as a contemporary society.

Centuries-old pieces are blended with designs created by contemporary Nuu-chah-nulth artists, generations of one family telling their story. "We think Nuu-chah-nulth aesthetics are really interesting and quite different. Nuu-chah-nulth art, to use that word, has really been quite marginalized," says Alan Hoover, RBCM collections manager. "When people think of Northwest Coast art, they think of Haida. It was an opportunity to do something different."

Hoover hesitates in referring to the exhibit pieces as art because they aren't considered so among the Nuu-chah-nulth. We don't seem to have a word for them in our language, so we label them as art and artifacts. The pieces, from Chief Queesto's cedar bowl to masks, headdresses, curtains and rattles, are ceremonial, linked to Nuu-chah-nulth history through associated legends, songs and dances. They are considered a part of the family, pieces not of their past, but still a part of them. "It's like a child that's adopted out," says speaker for the Richard Tate family, Ernie Chester, referring to the re-creation of the Dididaht curtain. "You don't know where that child is for years and then the child comes back after they're grown up, back to you."

Despite the setbacks the Nuu-chah-nulth have faced, they are holding onto their culture by continuing potlaches and traditional gatherings, teaching their own language in independent schools, and making their heritage a focal point even in their economic endeavours. Ahousaht, the largest Nuu-chah-nulth nation, is continuing its cultural teachings by guiding trail walks from their island village through old-growth forest and along the shores of the Pacific. Along the way they explain their culture, by recounting legends, introducing medicinal plants and ancient trees. The Huu-ay-aht nation is respecting its past by starting stream rehabilitation to return their territory to the once- rich resources they had before logging operations destroyed salmon spawning streams. The Tla-o-quiaht nation has formed Isaak Forest Products and signed a memorandum of understanding with environmental groups to ensure that they'll set aside the pristine areas and cultural sites, and earmark fragmented areas for ecoforestry.

Also, many Nuu-chah-nulth nations have joined efforts to create Canoe Quest, an annual event at which participants paddle dugout canoes to a meeting place where
traditional celebrations are held. "The journey of the canoe inspired a lot of us to hurry up and learn. To do the dances," says Walter Michael, head chief for the Nuchatlaht nation. "I danced three times on that journey. In residential school I felt ashamed."

Along with continuing their traditions, each of today's Nuu-chah-nulth nations is represented by the former territories. At present they are comprised of nineteen different nations that share the same culture, though language varies with distinct dialects. Chieftainship still follows bloodlines and each nation is made up of one head chief and a number of supporting chiefs

Nuu-chah-nulth still live on the west coast of Vancouver Island many live in Victoria, Vancouver and other urban centres however, their territories, well defined in pre-contact days, are now fragmented, some settlements broken up along major thoroughfares, others only accessible by gravel logging roads, water taxi or seaplane. On a map, their small communities are dots along a vast oceanfront.

The Tla-o-quiaht nation's position seems the most ironic. Their Long Beach reserve, within the renowned Pacific Rim Provincial Park is located ten kilometres from Tofino's world-class resorts and waterfront properties that cost anywhere from $100, 000 to $450,000 per acre. Yet this 8.5-hectare reserve suffers from overcrowded housing conditions and poor drinking water. In total the 800 people in this nation have 259 hectares, which are broken up into 12 different reserves, many in small-acreage lots and rocky areas that are uninhabitable. "I don't think they've left us too much prime land," says hereditary chief Howard Tom. "It's developing so fast. While we're at the treaty table negotiating for land its being sold to conglomerates and developers."

The slow treaty process is a frustration for many Nuu-chah-nulth nations and some hope the museum exhibit, which will travel throughout North America for the next five years, could bridge an understanding. "There's an awareness reached through museum artifacts," says Mike Maquinna, head chief of the Mowachaht nation. "That people understand our culture and the need to repatriate these pieces."

Maquinna accompanied me to Yuquot, a place where once 30 houses and a thriving village stood, before the cannery operation went out of business and the government closed down the school. He remembers playing here as a child. A thoughtful man, he stands on the ocean banks, staring over the waters as his forefather, the great Chief Maquinna once did. "The most important aspect is that Nuu-chah-nulth, and really all of First Nations, now have a voice," he pauses, as if taking in the spirit of eight generations that filled his role since the Great Chief Maquinna. "That it doesn't have to be angry or loud. That we can sit down across the table and be heard." I have heard the Nuu-chah-nulth while visiting their territories. I saw them rise to the beat of their songs at a potlach. I talked with the chiefs about their treasures and their concerns for restoring ancestral grounds. Even their land seems to have a voice.

It's underneath a wandering fog that I walk the beach at Yuqout on my last morning. I stop and listen to the waves rake pebbles toward the ocean. They wash over me, leaving an echo of another place and time. Maquinna's words clearly enter my mind: "We were here, we are here, we will be here."

Slowly a finger of mist lifts, as if opening a window of understanding. It's the message that embraces this museum exhibit. Like the chafed edges of the ceremonial bowl, the worn bill of the duck rattle whispers of a ceremony centuries old, while the bold red serpent painted on Tim Paul’s drum speaks of the present through contemporary designs that maintain age-old traditions. The future, speaks through every piece in this exhibit. They are all voices of the Nuu-chah-nulth.

CAPTIONS:

WHITE MAN'S MASK
There is a stark, eerie quality to this mask. Belonging to Chief Alex Frank, it's used in the White Man's Dance, a story that reflects white man coming ashore during first contact, pointing to all of the land that the chief owns. Frank says the song ends with the white man slowly fading and dancing away. "And if you watch him closely, his eyes roll back."

The Nuu-chah-nulth refer to white man as Maamatni, the original boat people. Some are upset that still today, the government is taking in boat people and giving them monetary assistance when officials continue to sit around the table with First Nations unwilling to return their ancestral resources. Others find the situation ironic, that white man landed on Nuu-chah-nulth shores and took up their land and resources, but won't extend the same courtesy to others.

HOW WE REVERE THE FAMILY
Three rocks sit on top of this sculpture to symbolize that the Nuu-chah-nulth have always been here. That their roots are anchored in this land.

The RBCM commissioned well-known Nuu-chah-nulth artist, Tim Paul, to carve this sculpture for the exhibit. The Nuu-chah-nulth believe that we're related to all of nature, what they call kwi-cu-iiknas.

Paul bases his beliefs on family cultural teachings that came directly from his grandparents. The human figure represented on the side figure of the dorsal fin is the qwa-ciik-ta-cum, the legendary people who gave the Nuu-chah-nulth knowledge. "It's a special race of people out there," says Paul. "There's nothing legendary about it. That's our family history, that people came from out there and spent time with us here."

This sculpture has special meaning for him. "So people can walk away with an understanding that at least we're related. At least we're one. But the deeper understanding is that you have to understand that we're the smallest part."

XWIIXWA MASKS
The eyes on each face of the xwiixwa masks follow you, from whatever direction you approach. Belonging to a Salish nation, the rights to the masks with their accompanying songs and dances, were transferred to the Mowachaht nation as part of a marriage dowry.

Jerry Jack and his brother used to dance with these masks during potlaches. "We used to have to bite on an inside leather strap to balance it when dancing," says Jerry Jack, hereditary chief of the Mowachaht nation. He looks pensively at the masks, the glass standing between him and a boyhood memory. He then turns to me and recalls how they were taken away around 1967. "A guy went into Gold River. My Dad was there. He was an alcoholic. This guy gave him a few drinks and got him feeling high. This guy chartered a plane from Gold River to Friendly Cove. He picked up the two masks and my Dad sold them to him for $500."

WHALER'S CHARMS
Carved out of whale bone, these charms were used during ritual preparation for whaling. This sacrosanct and secret process started 10 moons before a hunt. It was a time of sacrifices, purification and spiritual preparation, from abstinence to rolling around on barnacle-covered rocks.

The Yuquot whaler's shrine was the most sacred part of whaling preparation. Located on an island in a freshwater lake near Yuquot, it could only be visited by the chief because of its great powers. Today it's location has been devulged and all of the pieces, one of the largest of a chief's treasures ever taken, sits at the American Museum of Natural History in New York.

WHALER'S HAT
In the nineteenth century, weavers stopped making hats like this re-creation by Ellen Curley. The museum exhibits older hats collected in 1794, of which there are less than 20 in museum collections around the world. The older hats had whaling scenes woven with a warp of split spruce root and a weft of black-dyed cedar bark overlaid with marine grass. They were labelled as whaler's hats, because of these scenes.

Ellen was Tom Curley's great grandmother. He remembers going behind Lemmet's Inlet close to the Meares' Island to collect cedar with his grandmother, Katie
Jones, when he was six. They'd collect half a dozen times during the year and would only take one strip from each tree to prevent damage. The strips were laid out on boards along the shore at Opitsaht. "Whenever we took something we always offered a thanks." He pauses to remember. "We prayed. Not long, just a thank you."

FRANK CURTAIN AND BOARD SCREEN
The Frank curtain was purchased from the Andy Warhol estate. A chief's entire history is in every little mark on a curtain. This form of written history records many happenings, from events and social functions to the chief's territorial ownership and his relations to other nations.

Originally curtains were made out of cedar planks such as the Board Screen on display. When potlaches were outlawed in Canada between 1885 and 1951, the Nuu-chah-nulth continued these ceremonies in secret, by creating cloth curtains that were easier concealed than wooden ones. Often they gathered in church pretending to worship, when in reality, they were practicing their dances. Many potlaches were raided, where regalia was seized, longhouses were burned down and people were jailed.