Canadian Mining Journal


MINE SITE NEWS Remembering the Polaris Mine

Teck Cominco's Polaris base metal mine closed in August 2002. It was the most northerly base metal mine in the worl...

Teck Cominco’s Polaris base metal mine closed in August 2002. It was the most northerly base metal mine in the world, which meant dealing with permafrost and the Arctic. Life on site was unique. Here are the recollections of Donna Cragg, paymaster accounting assistant. More tributes to Polaris can be found at and in the latest Orbit magazine.

When the Polaris lead/zinc mine on Little Cornwallis Island in Canada’s high arctic was being planned, commissioned and started up in the late 1970s and early ’80s, I had no idea how important a role the mine would play for me. Now, as operations wind down, I can’t imagine what life would have been like without the opportunity to work and live here in the north.

I often imagine back three decades, when Bechtel was working with Cominco on the design and conceptualization of Polaris. A barge topped with a building the size of a football field was outfitted with a complete processing plant in Trois-Rivires, Que., towed to the mine site north of 76 latitude and anchored to the arctic island shore. Landfilling, an adjacent deep-sea dock and construction of an accommodation complex were completed in the winter of 1980-81, despite demanding deadlines and even harsher elements. This was an astonishing engineering feat for its day, made possible only by human co-operation and resourcefulness.

This adaptability was epitomized by the first mine manager, the late Sam Luciani, who had an indelible effect on all who knew him and many who didn’t. One story that illustrates his influence has to do with personnel turnover, initially expected to pass 60% in the first year of operation. Sam is credited with preventing this costly manpower drain, for he engendered a powerful level of loyalty and dedication well beyond expectation.

People at Polaris were willing to put so much into their work that often the lines between work time and personal time blurred. When the mine winds to a close, many individuals will be leaving after 15 to 20 years of service. Their loyalty and wealth of experience have been fundamental to the operation’s success.

My family’s introduction to Polaris came by way of a phone call in early 1987 from Cominco’s human resources department to my husband, Tom: Would he be interested in a position at the mine? Within two weeks, we were at my in-laws’ northern Ontario home watching the first Polaris video. The description of polar bears, icy winds, snow and frozen moustaches made it sound like an ominous yet exciting place, and Tom left for Polaris in June.

There was no phone in his shared accommodations, and his calls home became the highlight of my week. I spent endless hours trying to visualize his new environment. Finally, that Christmas, I made my first visit to Polaris.

Mine visitors who lived in eastern Canada were routed first to Montreal for a charter flight north. We made a stop in Frobisher Bay (now Iqaluit), where I was introduced to the bitter arctic wind. After continuing to Resolute, we transferred to a Twin Otter for a 25-minute flight farther north to the mine site on Little Cornwallis Island. This was my introduction to the Bradley Twin Otter pilots of the far north, an amazing crew of skilled, tenacious and interesting individuals who were integral to the history of Polaris.

Flying into darkness isn’t the same as having night close in with the passing of time. Physiologically, I responded by feeling totally lethargic. Once we reached the mine site I faced quite a different challenge: finding my way around the accommodations building. The repeated modules, distinguished by colour, with distinct third floors unconnected to any other module, added to the fun and sense of discovery, and my explorations revealed a pool room, a gym and a library.

As Polaris is a 24/7 operation, only Christmas itself was a day off during that first holiday. But the company, recognizing the value of family, ensured that employees with visitors were scheduled for day shifts so they could spend quality time together. Organized events included a wine and cheese welcome party, ski-dozer rides, a mine tour, gift exchange and more. A Catholic priest was flown in to offer a mass and a non-denominational service. We toasted Santa’s arrival on Christmas morning with champagne and orange juice (still one of my most enjoyed traditions). The buffet extravaganza provided by the catering staff, complete with ice sculptures, rivalled the best cruise ship offerings.

I fondly recall the long, leisurely days of my first visit swimming, reading, relaxing in the sauna and hot tub. We took a bus tour to search for polar bears (in total darkness!) and went outside to watch an igloo being built but had to retreat inside within minutes because, even though we were bundled up, any exposed skin started to "burn" from the severe cold. I’ve often repeated something I was told back then: that an unprotected person would die of exposure in seven minutes an impressive testament to the land and weather that I am thankful has never been put to the test.

On that holiday we were also treated to a visit by children from the isolated community of Resolute. It was fascinating to watch children brought together from coast to coast to coast relating to each other in the universal language of play. The kids from Resolute had earned their much-coveted seats on the Twin Otter through year-long performance in and attendance at school. The bottomless ice cream pail and the swimming pool at Polaris were two of the main attractions!

That first trip gave me a glimpse of Tom’s surroundings and his life at Polaris, but I later discovered that the jovial spirits of high times and holidays are a far cry from the more monotonous everyday routine on Little Cornwallis and the tiring workloads.

Over the next nine years, we adjusted to the Polaris schedule, with Tom working eight weeks on site and spending four weeks at our home north of Toronto. Then in 1996, just when we were planning to relocate our home base to Fort Lauderdale, Polaris called once again. This time the inquiry was whether I would be available to cover a short-term staff shortage in the finance department. I accepted, with excitement and a little trepidation.

After the requisite medical and x-ray and a trip to buy footwear that would withstand minus 45C, I travelled north on Feb. 14, 1996, originally for a three-week stint. When a full-time position in finance became available, I took it. Nearly seven years of incredibly diverse life experiences later, I am still here.

My early Polaris life wasn’t all roses. Indeed, after several years of a long-distance relationship, Tom and I wondered if we could still live together full time. Would we adapt or drive each other crazy? When I first joined Tom in his single room, he felt like he needed to go out into the hall to change his mind! Eventually we moved to a double room and then a suite, and I’m thrilled to report that we did adapt. I also mastered a few novel requirements such as remembering to turn the knob before shutting a door in order to achieve the quietest possible closing and not disturb our neighbours.

At Polaris, work schedules are based on 12 blocks of eight weeks on and four weeks off. I entered this strange and wonderful world as a Block One, which is where I remain. But we had to do a little shuffling, through a series of shorter contracts, to match Tom’s schedule and mine without overly disrupting work flow. One result was that in my first year I was on site for almost all of the wonderful annual events that helped define my life at Polaris: the ball and golf tournaments, the winter carnival, the corn roast and lobsterfest, Halloween festivities and a long list of others.

The first baseball tournament that year drove home the effect of 24 hours of light. The final game, played at 4:30 a.m., could have been at a ball field in the south at noon on any summer day, so bright and sunny was the setting. While scorekeeping at another baseball game, I witnessed the
resilience of the native people. Despite freezing cold and whipping rain, the Resolute team played intently, oblivious to the elements, and I realized that such weather is part of their reality.

The success of most of the social activities on Little Cornwallis was due primarily to the efforts of the Polaris High Arctic Club, a charitable social organization founded by insightful employees in 1983 for the benefit of fellow employees and the local community. Vice-president Dave Swain reports that PHAC has donated more than $100,000 to local area charities quite an accomplishment and one that has contributed greatly to the quality of life for individuals here.

Volunteering for PHAC became a big part of my life at Polaris: helping with decorating parties, tending bar, doing cleanup detail. The guiding principle for PHAC members is the unwavering focus on morale. To judge by the high spirits and upbeat feeling at the final golf tournament and pub night held July 20, 2002, they were very successful indeed.

Many individuals contributed greatly by organizing other social outlets. Movie Night originated in Marc Richea’s effort to share a pastime he enjoyed with a few friends and Tim Sewell’s recognition that it held value for all of Polaris. The Coffee Club (originally the Book Club) sprang from my desire to recapture the enjoyment of a casual conversation with friends that had been a part of my southern life. Aerobics grew out of someone’s interest in fitness; the opportunity to learn karate stemmed from Brian Powers’s passion for the discipline. My list could go on and on, with so many more individuals deserving of mention than can be listed here.

For me, Polaris has offered incredible experiences and opportunities that otherwise would not likely have come my way: listening to classical violin music over cappuccinos while overlooking the Arctic Ocean on a Sunday afternoon; attending an impromptu presentation by a NASA scientist who just happened to drop by; watching a ship dock in the bright midnight sun while enjoying "auction quality" port courtesy of a travel writer from Portugal; thrilling to the combination of Mozart and fireworks on New Year’s Eve; sharing stories and photos with visiting contractors and geologists.

For each great experience, it seems there has also been an equal challenge, starting with the effects on southern family and friends of my decision to work at Polaris like missing my sister’s wedding shower. Sometimes I chafed at the lack of control over my own existence due to elemental forces, some natural and some manmade. I remember the dinners we ate by candlelight after power outages shut the place down, listening to the silence and trying to remain calm as someone calculated how few hours we had to get the power back before the intense cold would force evacuation. There was also the bone-weary tiredness at the end of an eight-week rotation, the difficulty sleeping through extremes of darkness and light and the effect that isolation and lack of privacy had on everyone.

But these things pale against the natural beauty of the North. One of the most wondrous aspects of life here is the vibrant and vivid sunsets. I’ve driven to the very tip of Florida to view the renowned sunset in Key West, and I can tell you it doesn’t hold a candle to what I see out my window on the barge when the sun is setting. I still marvel at the first glimpse of the sun peeking over the horizon in the spring. The subtle tones and pastel hues of the Arctic on a bright summer day the soft blues and pinks of sky and water, the blend of purple saxifrage and yellow cinquefoil blanketing the tundra are unlike any other natural palette I’ve had the fortune to view.

We’ll be leaving Polaris with a polar bear rug*, a Narwhal tusk and soapstone carvings by Hannah and George Akikuluk, plus a traditional parka now being custom-made for my mother-in-law. Unlike a garment ordered in the south, this one will be about this colour, about this size, with about this type of decorative elements, yet despite all the "abouts" I know with unerring certainty that the outcome will be gorgeous. As with so much of northern life, one has to take a chance, jump in, act now for, like the weather, things here change quickly and irrevocably.

As I reflect back on the past seven years and look toward the future, I realize that the Polaris experience has become a part of who I am, and I go forward as a very different person. And, just as it was people that made Polaris, it is the people who have now been woven into the fabric of my life that will make up the real treasure that I carry away with me.

*Point of interest: the polar bear rug originated from a skin purchased
from Simon Idlout, an Inuit hunter from Resolute Bay. Simon has been a part-time Polaris employee since 1996 involved in surface and exploration work. The flexible nature of his work schedule enabled him to continue his family’s hunting tradition.

Print this page

Related Posts

6 Comments » for MINE SITE NEWS Remembering the Polaris Mine
  1. Dan DeGruyter,
    Dan Dan the crusher man at Polaris Mine passed away in Ottawa April 7, 2017, after 61 years of marriage to his loving
    Wife Helen ,leaving her with much grief.
    May he rest in peace.

  2. Iris Youngberg says:

    I spent my birthday month of July 1989 at the [Polaris] mine, working long days as a cleaner with a crew of amazing women who, on a day off could manufacture a girl’s party in a New York Minute. When I left, the Newfi cradled my face with her hands and said “You’re a lovely egg sucking duck” and gave me a friendly kiss. I remember the “windy/rocky” golf tournament with the golf ball ending up somewhere other than where you meant for it to go, the huge supply ship trying for hours to dock in a freezing, blustery wind, the amazing food, the never ending sunshine and one Frenchman just back from leave who wanted to take me away. On the flight to the Island from Resolute I had no idea of what I was in for. This flight consisted of me, the pilot and supplies masquerading as other passengers. I knew I would die in this tiny, cold, rattling airplane and no one would ever find my body. Well, we made it! Almost every day I would go for a walk after work and a delicious dinner. No one ever wanted to go with me. I had cargo pants with huge pockets and, being a rock hound, gathered many beautiful rocks and fossils. On one of my last walks, I decided to go out a different door…near the reception desk. As I was almost out the door, someone called me to ask where I was going. When I said for a walk, they asked where was my radio. I explained I had never had a radio all month and had gone for many walks. They explained that I could have quite easily been eaten by a polar bear! Well, I survived the plane ride and walking amongst polar bears that I never saw. I am very grateful to Polaris for my experience and realize why no one ever wanted to go walking with me. That month was an experience that is a very special memory….and I have the rocks and fossils to keep that memory alive.

  3. Michele says:

    I was only at the mining camp for 2 and 1/2 months, September to November in 1984. I worked in the kitchen as the one and only dishwasher, 7-days a week 12-hour days and no one to replace you if you were sick. It definitely was an experience that I will never forget, the 24-hour darkness and the – 75 below weather was something I do not wish to experience again, once was enough. LOL
    Something’s that I will never forget, the people I worked with, the sunsets, and of course the wildlife, amazing to see polar bears and the northern white foxes roaming about and the stars were amazing.

  4. Doug Kimpinski says:

    What happened to the floating concentrator, was it floated back to Quebec, where it was manufactured. As a electrician I worked up there for three months.. Quite an experience.

  5. Tony Luciani says:

    We arrived on site as Bechtel was finishing up their amazing construction work. I was in charge of managing everything that happened on the ground, ship loading, airstrip maintenance, road maintenance. With a crew of Inuit from around the North, we built a strong team. The Inuit were 4 weeks in and 2 weeks out to allow them to continue their hunting and fishing traditions. The first winter we ran out of meat, oil for the machines and fresh everything. We built an airstrip on a lake not far from the mine. Nordair 737 flew from Montreal to the Lake. The first flight in was stupendous, ice crystals everywhere, we could hear but not see the plane. At the last minute, lights and this huge bird of salvation landed on this small strip 3000 miles away from Montreal. Brave pilots and men doing what Canadians’ do. It was a good time but required long hours and little time for leisure.

  6. Paul D. Tomlingson says:


    I had the great experience of visiting Polaris multiple times during the Sam Luciani era. From the outset it was dramatically different from many of the other Canadian mining operations that I had worked in: ALCAN, INCO and QIT. I’m Paul D. Tomlingson, my consulting specialization is mining maintenance management and I’m from Denver. Getting to Polaris was no small task. Air Canada Denver to Edmonton then to Yellowknife, a stop in Resolute Bay the twin Otter to Polaris. A lone Inuit greeted us on arrival, an ancient rifle slung over his shoulder – – our guardian against a possible marauding polar bear. Then with 1 foot on the ground and into the waiting bus a short drive took us to accommodations – – a whole building up on stilts

    I got reacquainted with Sam and met his maintenance superintendent, Glen Peace. But, the first order of business would be what to do about polar bears. The chief electrician described his harrowing escape as a polar bear pursued him across an icy open area barely escaping into a front-end loader that happened to be there – – its operator now his new best friend. As our polar bear orientation continued we learned that there were three steps involved in a bear encounter: 1 – Move away as quickly as possible, 2 – Start discarding clothing as polar bears are curious and may stop for staff and finally 3 – If you end up in close proximity bear get in the fetal position and pray!

    While it might be interesting to describe how the consulting project went, I won’t go there. Instead, my most memorable recollection of the Polaris experience was the adaptation of the Polaris personnel to this polar environment and the teamwork with their Inuit companions.

    Imagine the August arrival of an icebreaker preceding a cargo ship loaded with a year’s supply arriving in the harbor its content carefully arranged into a circular storage pattern. Next day its under a new half meter of snow.

    In the far distance a tiny speck becomes a 737 Cargo plane aiming for the nearby frozen lake. Amid cheers, with a roar of reverse thrusters, it halts just short of a huge snow bank. Its captain obviously an ex-bush pilot.

    As spring approaches, a Jeep drive finds tiny miniature flowers seeking sunlight as a snowy white owl flies close by studying us human interlopers.

    Then Sam’s Quebec influence in the cafeteria – – an aluminum pitcher a huge spoon sticking straight up surrounded by endless appealing desserts. Sam’s explanation – – the desserts – – merely vehicles for the whipped cream in the pitcher.

    The swimming pool was always full but the nearby gym suggested – – never get into a basketball game with an Inuit group.

    No more room for an LHD needing repair in the shop. Simple, toss a parachute over it, crank up a Herman-Nelson heater to balloon the parachute over the vehicle and get to work. How’s that for adaptation – – eh!

    Returning to Denver always had some surprises – – my Hudson Bay seal skin boots created one of them. A US immigration officer in Edmonton seemed to be reluctant to allow then back into the US. Since my flight was loading, he arranged for a boot inspection on arrival in Denver. On arrival at the Denver gate, an announcement advised all to stay in their seats as three immigration officers boarded the plane. Passengers whispered as my name was called – – I walked up the aisle – – I think someone may have said,” good luck” – – but when I got there, they only wanted to see how much wear there was on the bottoms of my seal skin boots. Then, magically the drama was over, a few good laughs and some fellow passengers even stopped to admire the boots. I still have them, along with my Hudson Bay parka. Good stuff!

Have your say:

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *