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Every city has its distinctive landmarks on the skyline. Yellowknife, the central city of the North in every sense, has one - the Robertson Shaft headframe.

It can be seen from just about any clear vantage point in the city, and is the unmistakable marker of Yellowknife on the horizon. To boaters on Great Slave Lake and pilots flying into the NWT capital, the 250-foot tower serves as a sort of beacon and welcoming signal.

Even though it no longer serves any practical purpose, the headframe is recognized by Yellowknifers as a part of the city's heritage. The Con Mine site upon which it is located is a tangible reminder of Yellowknife's gold mining past. The city was built on such mines, and wouldn't it be wonderful if we could preserve it as a monument?

Trouble is, despite consensus among residents that the structure should be preserved, no one has shown how that can be done without unduly burdening the city's taxpayers. That's already happening as the city is investing time, effort and money in trying to save it in response to public sentiment.

U.S.-based Newmont, which inherited the headframe when it bought Miramar Mining, must demolish the structure next year as part of government regulated clean-up. Only an investor with cash or an organization with a sound business plan can keep that from happening.

No amount of sentimental lobbying will save the tower.

Move over Yukon Arctic Ultra, there's another racing quest heating up the North.

Just three-years-old, Yellowknife's Rock and Ice Ultra has quickly become a much sought after event by adventure racing enthusiasts from around the world.

This year's 82 competitors hail from as far away as South Africa and Australia. All of them were keen to ski or snowshoe the lakes and winter trails coursing around Yellowknife.

The longest event, the Diamond Ultra, takes racers on a punishing and bone-chilling six-day jaunt over 225 km of ice and snow-covered shield country.

In a time when economic uncertainty has left other community events feeling the pinch, race organizer Scott Smith and company have been able to attract big sponsorships from the likes of BHP Billiton, Matrix Helicopters and Arctic Response.

The race's success shows that it's never a bad idea to think big, and that Yellowknife's isolation isn't too great an obstacle if the idea is exciting enough.

The icing on the cake this year is that even with a large contingent of international competitors, Yellowknife skiers Mike Argue, Thomsen D'Hont and Craig Scott managed to claim top honours in the Diamond Ultra, K-Rock and Cold Foot Classic races, respectively.

May the Rock and Ice Ultra reign for years to come.

The Dehcho First Nations (DFN) currently has a number of associated committees that deal with economic matters. During the Dehcho Economic Forum, held in Fort Simpson from March 16-17, representatives from around the region examined which of the committees should be distanced from DFN so they can focus on what they were created for - business.

This was an interesting concept for the Deh Cho because it seems that in the region, everything is permeated by DFN's politics. While the forum was the first step on this path of separation for DFN, it draws attention to the larger question of how politics are affecting the region's overall economic development and business atmosphere.

It's no secret that the Deh Cho isn't exactly booming with economic developments. Sure, every once in a while companies score contracts when new bridges and buildings are being constructed, but most of this is driven by government spending. There is little in the way of independent industries.

One thing the Deh Cho does have an abundance of is natural resources. This economic development path, however, is fraught with peril, as many companies have discovered.

If the Deh Cho were a motel, the sign by the road wouldn't be flashing either vacancies or no vacancy for potential business developments, it would be much more complicated. Beside the word vacancy there would be an asterisk directing your attention to a note that would explain the development may or may not be acceptable all based on a variety of factors that can change from day to day.

Some of the uncertainty surrounding what types of developments are acceptable and where will be solved when the Dehcho Land Use Plan is implemented. In the plan, the Deh Cho is clearly divided.

Even with the plan, it's unlikely natural resource development will ever gain full support.

In the Deh Cho, politics is bound tightly to culture and that includes the responsibility to protect the land and the water.

While the Deh Cho Economic Forum was an interesting exercise, it needs to be taken a step further. While examining its own links between politics and business, DFN also needs to engage in a larger conversation to identify what kind of economic developments would be suitable for the region and how to entice them here.

One of my first assignments after landing here in Inuvik a couple of months ago centred on the residents of Tsiigehtchic and their frustration and outrage at not having a permanent RCMP officer in their community.

Being fresh to the area, and from a place where the police were always just around the corner, I was surprised.

That shock turned to anger when I found it can take upwards of two hours for officers to arrive from Inuvik or Fort McPherson when there's an emergency. That's inconceivable to me. What's almost as inconceivable are the constant excuses coming from the territorial government that they don't have the cash to fund full-time police officers in communities like Tsiigehtchic and it can't get any more federal funding.

Meanwhile we supposedly inhabit a land chock-full of minerals and diamonds, and oil galore. As far as the feds are concerned, the Mackenzie pipeline is within reach. But yet there's just not enough money to provide these communities with reliable police protection.

The obvious question remains how a community can cope without the reassurance of timely RCMP response. Maybe I'm way off here, but I would be willing to bet Inuvik can afford to sacrifice one, if not two of its police officers and still be OK.

I guess it's where you're born in Canada that determines if you get reliable police protection. If you live in Toronto, there's a squad car every few blocks. So is a life more important in Toronto than in Tsiigehtchic? That's what it really boils down to.

I can't believe the issue hasn't incensed people to riot across the North. Forget supplemental health benefits and board reform. What have you got if you can't pick up the phone and call 9-1-1? Oh right, you can't do that either here. But you know what I mean.

Some people probably thought Tsiigehtchic might finally lure a cop to its community after a brutal stabbing death on Canada Day last year, but the issue has since faded away. Some residents are still upset but it appears they are wailing vainly in the wilderness.

A story in Monday's News/North tells of a man charged with murder being given a judge's permission to travel back to Tsiigehtchic to attend his mother's funeral on March 17. There's good reason to believe there was no RCMP supervision in the community at the time.

Anyone thinking it's just a local problem is wearing blinders. Pretty soon, perhaps, communities such as Tsiigehtchic will close up shop. Sadly, for some who have the power to provide such a basic yet essential service, they may like nothing better than that.

Why is city council wasting more money on yet another report on 911 emergency phone service?

We'll bring readers back in time to Aug. 23, 2004 when council was presented with a "final report" by Lapp-Hancock Associates on implementing a 911 service in Yellowknife.

The $47,500 study, funded jointly by the city and the GNWT Department of Justice, provided a detailed analysis of what it would take to bring 911 to Yellowknife and the rest of the territory.

Lapp-Hancock recommended Yellowknife not wait for the territorial government to climb on board, but rather start setting up a 911 service in the city immediately. The consultant said it would cost the city $420,000 a year to run.

In the city's own words: "The study reviews all aspects of providing 9-1-1 service to Yellowknife, and compellingly argues that it is feasible and should not only be implemented, but that it can be implemented both smoothly and in a timely manner."

Now, nearly five years later - with Lapp-Hancock's report moldering on a shelf somewhere at city hall - council is awaiting the results of another 911 feasibility study, this time by Vancouver-based Planetworks. This report, funded entirely by the city, will cost ratepayers $104,504.

The city has been toying with 911 for more than 10 years, and what has been accomplished other than fattening the wallets of consultants? Not a single thing.

No doubt, cost estimates provided by Planetworks will come in significantly higher than Lapp-Hancock's.

In the meantime, as the interminable wait for 911 continues, residents will be left fumbling with their phones, trying to remember outdated emergency numbers while lives hang in the balance. This is simply unacceptable.

The territorial government has yet to announce how $2.5 million set aside for the 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympics is going to be spent, but the fewer airplane seats devoted to travelling politicians and bureaucrats, the better.

It is known that the premier will be in attendance, paid for by Olympic organizers. Three cabinet ministers will also make the trip, although it is not yet clear who will be footing the bill for them to go. Regardless, that's more than enough elected officials.

The Olympics draws people from all over the world. Sending talented people who can promote the city and the territory would serve as a huge boost to tourism. For example, the Snowking, Anthony Foliot, draws a crowd to Yellowknife with the annual Snowking Winter Festival every year. Sending him to the 2010 games to promote the Snowking's castle could help spread the word about the city's unique month-long festival.

Aurora Village owner Don Morin is another representative that could attract greater interest by going to the Olympics. Morin has spent many years showing visitors the NWT's great outdoors and Northern lights via dog sled while bringing cultural relevance from an aboriginal perspective.

The more ambassadors we have like that in Vancouver, the better off we'll be. Let the politicians and bureaucrats tune into the Winter Olympics on TV like the rest of us.

One reason science is taking such a hit these days is how often it's used to further agendas.

You name a topic or a theory, and just about anyone can produce a scientific study to support or debunk it.

People now choose when science is relevant, based on their own objectives.

If you need to hunt polar bears or seals, science is overtly bad.

But if you want to keep a mining company out of your backyard, science is good.

And, of course, everyone is quick to scream that those on the other side of a debate simply don't understand their unique point of view.

Today, you can praise the Americans and their use of plebiscites as a better form of governance and, in the next breath, take a shot at experts produced by that same system for running the world economy into the ground.

It's enough to make you wonder what anyone truly believes, other than wanting what they perceive to be best for them, as individuals.

With all the compliments, criticism and open hostility I was privy to during the past few weeks over mining proposals in Baker Lake, what stood out the most to me was the short-sightedness of many of the viewpoints.

That was especially true in weighing the pros and cons of Kivalliq industry.

This is not just about a few new trucks, snowmobiles and Game Boys.

Industry develops the middle class, which drives economies and, far more importantly, can plant the seeds of a successful genesis for generations of families.

Should mining and big money come to Baker, there will be those who will be no better off when it leaves.

That happens everywhere, regardless of race, creed or culture.

Others, however, will take those paycheques and chart a future for their families.

They will use a portion of the money they earn over two decades or more and send their kids to university.

Their children will graduate, earn a good living and want more for their kids.

And so a positive, and effective, cycle begins.

If Areva's proposal ever becomes reality, let's say, for the sake of conjecture, it employs 500 people, with more than 50 per cent being Inuit.

If but 25 per cent of those 260 workers put two kids through university or college, Nunavut will have 130 new post-secondary graduates during the project's life.

Now let's get really optimistic and say Uravan and Meadowbank work the same.

That's almost 400 university and post-secondary graduates in just over three decades which, in reference to time, is not a grain of sand.

Some who oppose mining say they just want to ensure all concerns are addressed.

When someone makes the argument, directed at the Nunavut Impact Review Board, that once one mine is opened it will be politically impossible to stop the development of others it points to killing projects, not having concerns met.

The debate on the Baker proposal was never about not giving elders or anyone else their say.

Nor was it about letting a company poison the land and its animals.

It's about painting an accurate picture for everyone to see what they can gain, or lose, by the decision they make.

While complaining bitterly about the arduous Northern regulatory regime, mining executives need to be mindful of their industry's role in where we stand today.

Although there is a real need to streamline the development and permitting process in the NWT, it's time to step back and consider why the application process grew into the frustrating, red-tape quagmire it has become.

Mining and oil and gas companies ought to remember that they share the blame for burdensome regulations when they are struggling to maneuver through the review-board-laden road to a development permit.

Mining developments have a troubled history of broken promises and leaving environmental messes behind for taxpayers to take care of.

Before the Cantung tungsten mine reopened 85 kilometres upstream from Nahanni National Park Reserve in 2002, controversy erupted over the operation's reclamation. At one point taxpayers were on the hook for hundreds of thousands of dollars in clean-up costs.

Over on the outskirts of Yellowknife, it's expected to take years before a plan to clean-up Giant Mine is in place, even though the mine closed 10 years ago and left 270,000 tones of deadly arsenic trioxide behind.

Giant Mine epitomizes the reason companies have been hamstrung by NWT assessment protocols.

It was the perfect storm of botched environmental protection. Owner Royal Oak, which basically abandoned the gold mine after going into receivership, failed to develop a site remediation plan. The territorial and federal governments, which should have required a clean-up plan was in place before the project was allowed to go ahead, dropped the ball again when it didn't ensure Royal Oak set aside enough funds to pay for site reclamation.

To add insult to injury, corporate irresponsibility and short-sighted government controls have saddled taxpayers with the nearly $300 million remediation bill.

That's not to say all mining companies are villains, nor that all projects will be left as festering blights on the Northern landscape, but history has proven that without proper controls and enforcement the result can be costly both financially and environmentally.

Before any major mining or oil and gas project goes ahead in the North, all environmental and financial safeguards should be in place.

The funds to clean-up the project should be available regardless of whether or not the operator fades into oblivion. That provision was a long time coming with the Department of Indian and Northern Affairs Canada's Mine Site Reclamation Policy in 2002.

Strict environmental safeguards should govern the project's operations, with equally harsh penalties for failure to comply; and, companies should be made to ensure operations have maximum benefits for neighbouring communities - such as job training, employment and infrastructure. Regional boards and First Nations will settle for nothing less, nor should they.

Although those are tough standards to meet, the days of companies pillaging land and reaping the benefits while leaving a legacy of pollution, social ills and increased tax burdens are gone. Our regulatory system needs to evolve, but so too do mining companies. They must view environmental safeguards in the same light as worker safety and shareholder protection.

A good start would be an industry-funded organization that brings environmental scientists together with developers with the mandate of setting self-regulated standards. Such an effort would go a long way in making responsible mining a legitimate term in the minds of the public.

There is growing pressure from environmentalists and animal protection groups to "save the polar bears," even though many Inuit hunters are sure many populations are thriving.

One problem is that there has been no adequate population counts in Nunavut.

Sea ice is shrinking due to climate change and some say bear numbers are decreasing due to this loss of habitat. At the same time elders report there are more polar bears on the land than ever. Neither position has large-scale, up-to-date data with which to back up its arguments.

Even though Inuit have successfully managed polar bear populations for thousands of years, factors we cannot yet control, like global warming, put the animals' status in question. The ability to produce verifiable numbers would allow Nunavut to defend its harvest more effectively and fight back against import restrictions in the U.S. and elsewhere.

How do we get these numbers? The least invasive methods - such as flyover counts -- are the most unreliable, but getting up close to and tracking the animals over time can disturb them.

Hunters have also expressed concern about scientists tranquilizing bears for study. They worry that eating the meat from such animals may be bad for their families' health. Recently Health Canada reduced the recommended time between a bear's sedation and when the meat is OK to eat to 45 days from a year, though Nunavut wildlife biologist Lily Peacock says the drugs are undetectable three days after.

Previous population study methods required capturing and recapturing bears multiple times, and each time the bears would have to be sedated.

The Government of Nunavut's proposed study of the Foxe Basin polar bear population hopes to produce data that will be as accurate and up-to-date as possible while at the same time respecting Inuit values by interfering as little as possible with the bears.

The lead scientist for the Department of Environment study says the team may use a new tracking method employing a radio tag. After being fitted with the tags, scientists will be able to scan the radio signals of individual bears from a plane or a helicopter. That will mean bears need only be captured, and sedated, once.

The team will be visiting the communities affected by the study and seeking their support.

It's important that hunters give the scientists feedback on this proposed study. It's even more important that the scientists listen carefully.