The late autumn wind cuts across Nunavut’s Sylvia Grinnell Territorial Park as Leetia Eegeesiak points toward the shoreline. “My grandmother could read this landscape like a book,” she tells me, her voice carrying over the sound of waves striking the rocky coast. “She knew exactly when the arctic char would run and where to find berries that would last through early winter.”
I’ve traveled to Iqaluit to learn how Indigenous knowledge and cutting-edge science are combining to address food security in Canada’s North, where grocery prices can reach three to four times those in southern provinces. A head of cabbage for $28. A container of orange juice for $15. These aren’t occasional price spikes—they’re everyday reality.
For Eegeesiak, a community coordinator with the Inuit-led Niqivut (“Our Food”) Project, strengthening food sovereignty means looking simultaneously to the past and future. “Our food systems sustained us for thousands of years before colonial disruption. Now we’re reclaiming those systems with help from both traditional knowledge and new technology.”
The technology she references includes an innovative DNA analysis program developed through a partnership between Inuit communities, the University of Guelph, and the Canadian Northern Economic Development Agency. The initiative, called Arctic eDNA, uses environmental DNA sampling to monitor marine life populations critical to northern food systems without invasive harvesting techniques.
“What makes this project different is that it’s being guided by Inuit priorities and knowledge,” explains Dr. Mikaela Wilson, marine biologist and project co-lead. “Communities identify which species matter most to them, where traditional harvesting areas are located, and what information they need to make decisions about their food resources.”
The process involves collecting water samples containing microscopic bits of genetic material shed by organisms—skin cells, scales, waste—which can then be analyzed to identify which species are present and in what concentrations. Unlike traditional wildlife surveys, eDNA sampling doesn’t disturb animals or their habitats.
For Nunavut’s food security advocates, this information is crucial. Climate change has dramatically altered migration patterns and population dynamics of keystone species like caribou, seal, and arctic char that have traditionally formed the foundation of Inuit diets.
“When I was growing up, my uncle could predict almost to the day when caribou would pass through certain valleys,” says Peter Autut, a hunter and elder from Arviat who advises the project. “Now those patterns have changed completely. The knowledge is still valuable, but it needs to be supplemented with new information.”
The Arctic’s food security crisis represents one of Canada’s most persistent inequities. According to Statistics Canada’s 2022 Canadian Income Survey, 46.1 percent of households in Nunavut experience food insecurity—the highest rate in Canada and nearly four times the national average.
Historic policies disrupting traditional hunting practices, astronomical transportation costs for imported foods, and accelerating climate impacts have created what public health researchers at the University of Toronto call a “perfect storm” of nutritional vulnerability.
The Canadian North Food Security Working Group reports that this insecurity directly contributes to higher rates of diabetes, heart disease, and mental health challenges in northern communities. Children are particularly vulnerable, with studies showing connections between food insecurity and decreased academic performance.
At Iqaluit’s Qajuqturvik Community Food Centre, I meet Rhoda Innuksuk, who coordinates country food (traditional wild-harvested foods) distribution programs. The center operates a community freezer where hunters can share harvested foods with elders and families who don’t have hunters in their household.
“When we combine traditional food knowledge with scientific monitoring, we’re stronger,” Innuksuk explains while showing me packages of frozen char, seal meat, and caribou carefully wrapped and labeled in both Inuktitut and English. “Hunters need to know which populations are healthy and which need time to recover. That’s where both forms of knowledge help us make good decisions.”
The Arctic eDNA project exemplifies a broader shift in northern research toward frameworks that Indigenous scholars call “Two-Eyed Seeing”—a concept developed by Mi’kmaw Elder Albert Marshall that refers to learning to see the strengths of Indigenous knowledge and Western science side by side, drawing on both perspectives.
Climate change has made this approach increasingly essential. The Arctic is warming approximately four times faster than the global average according to recent findings from the Finnish Meteorological Institute, with profound implications for wildlife and the communities that depend on them.
“When sea ice patterns change, everything changes,” Autut tells me as we look out over Frobisher Bay. “Seals change their pupping areas. Whales alter migration routes. Even plants flower at different times. All these changes affect when and where we can harvest food.”
The collaborative nature of the Arctic eDNA project represents a significant evolution from historical scientific research in the North, which often extracted knowledge without returning benefits to communities or acknowledging Indigenous expertise.
Dr. Wilson emphasizes this point: “The DNA analysis is just one tool. It works because it’s integrated with generations of Inuit observation and stewardship. We’re providing data that complements what communities already know from direct experience.”
The program includes training for local youth who collect samples and learn both laboratory techniques and traditional ecological knowledge from elders. This dual education approach ensures skills remain in the community rather than departing with outside researchers.
As our conversation ends, Eegeesiak invites me to a community feast where char, caribou, and locally harvested crowberries are served. Watching families gather, I’m struck by how these foods represent not just nutrition but cultural continuity and community resilience.
“Food security isn’t just about having enough calories,” she says, gesturing toward the gathered families. “It’s about maintaining connections to our land, our traditions, and each other. When we strengthen our traditional food systems with appropriate technology, we strengthen everything else too.”
As climate change intensifies and food costs continue to rise across the North, these innovative partnerships between Indigenous knowledge and scientific research offer a model for addressing complex food security challenges—one that respects cultural knowledge while embracing useful technological tools.
For communities across Nunavut, the future of food security may well depend on this balance between traditional wisdom and scientific innovation—creating food systems resilient enough to withstand both climate and economic pressures while remaining firmly rooted in Inuit values and priorities.
