Travelling west on Yellowhead Highway 16, Vancouver Sun reporter Neal Hall took in the loneliness of the road, especially desolate in 23-below December weather. The isolated landscape was beautiful as the sun climbed and dipped, blushing the tips of the mountains in pink hues. After driving for an hour or more and not glimpsing a house, he thought, “This is the perfect place, if somebody were hitchhiking, to pick them up, kill them and ditch them somewhere in the bush.”

Hall steered his rented SUV toward Prince Rupert, B.C., some 750 kilometres northwest of Vancouver. He wanted to see the spot where Tamara Chipman was last seen hitchhiking before disappearing on September 21, 2005. Now, months later, Hall’s editor had sent him to drive Highway 16, known as the Highway of Tears. The 3,500-kilometre highway begins its mainland stretch in Prince Rupert, curves north toward Terrace, dips down and heads east to Prince George before snaking through Alberta, Saskatchewan and ending in Macdonald, Manitoba. The RCMP had been actively investigating cases involving 18 teenage girls and young women who had been murdered or gone missing since 1969 along the 720-kilometre stretch linking Prince Rupert and Prince George.

Hall had plenty of experience covering such investigations, having worked the crime beat at the Sun since 1986, including reporting the trial of serial killer Clifford Olson. On this trip, he spent three days talking with Chipman’s family, volunteer searchers, a criminology professor at Northwest Community College in Terrace, locals and RCMP officer Fred Maile, who had helped solve the Olson case. Hall’s resulting 2,700-word feature focused on community concerns as well as the family’s agonizing search for something that belonged to their daughter—a piece of clothing, jewellery—that might lead to her discovery. He says he couldn’t have conveyed that detail if he had not driven the highway. “You can’t describe it unless you experience it first-hand. It’s invaluable to impart to your reader.”

But these types of assignments, once standard in print newsrooms, are now rare, victims in another way—of tight budgets, staff cutbacks and tiny travel funds. As a result, reporters and editors must find new ways of keeping this story alive, which now goes back 41 years, includes 13 recovered bodies and five disappearances, yet no murder charges. Print journalists have faced allegations of apathetic coverage and even racism—more than half the women were native—by victims’ families, aboriginal activists and native women’s organizations. They claim the media assign a lesser value to aboriginal women; scant coverage over the years is proof. Many reporters reject this, laying blame, instead, on resources and time constraints, which force them to develop new tactics to keep these cold cases hot.

The earliest case included in the RCMP’s investigation, Project E-Pana, is that of Gloria Moody, 27, whose body was found beaten and sexually assaulted off the highway in October 1969. By 1974, five more women and teenage girls thought to be hitchhiking were found dead on or near Highway 16. The media paid little attention, even after the town of Terrace held a vigil in 1998, dubbed “Highway of Tears.” The Province, the first major paper to pick up on the title, did not mention it in a news story until 2000. It took another five years for the RCMP to launch Project E-Pana, a homicide unit with a mandate to investigate commonalities between victims’ files and determine if a serial killer was responsible. Meanwhile, the list of cases swelled to nine names, then doubled to 18 in 2007, when the RCMP added similar unsolved cases that had occurred along highways 5 and 97, which intersect with Highway 16.

Given the slow and sporadic media coverage, many have argued that more tears have been spilt on this highway than ink devoted to the story. Journalists, claim critics, only react when a new body is discovered or a police search conducted. The latter took place last August and resulted in a fresh slew of coverage. Over the years, the highway and the women intrinsically linked to it fade in and out of public attention.

To read the rest of this story, please see our ebook anthology: RRJ in Review: 30 Years of Watching the Watchdogs.
 It can be purchased online here. 

Travelling west on Yellowhead Highway 16, Vancouver Sun reporter Neal Hall took in the loneliness of the road, especially desolate in 23-below December weather. The isolated landscape was beautiful as the sun climbed and dipped, blushing the tips of the mountains in pink hues. After driving for an hour or more and not glimpsing a house, he thought, “This is the perfect place, if somebody were hitchhiking, to pick them up, kill them and ditch them somewhere in the bush.”

Hall steered his rented SUV toward Prince Rupert, B.C., some 750 kilometres northwest of Vancouver. He wanted to see the spot where Tamara Chipman was last seen hitchhiking before disappearing on September 21, 2005. Now, months later, Hall’s editor had sent him to drive Highway 16, known as the Highway of Tears. The 3,500-kilometre highway begins its mainland stretch in Prince Rupert, curves north toward Terrace, dips down and heads east to Prince George before snaking through Alberta, Saskatchewan and ending in Macdonald, Manitoba. The RCMP had been actively investigating cases involving 18 teenage girls and young women who had been murdered or gone missing since 1969 along the 720-kilometre stretch linking Prince Rupert and Prince George.

Hall had plenty of experience covering such investigations, having worked the crime beat at the Sun since 1986, including reporting the trial of serial killer Clifford Olson. On this trip, he spent three days talking with Chipman’s family, volunteer searchers, a criminology professor at Northwest Community College in Terrace, locals and RCMP officer Fred Maile, who had helped solve the Olson case. Hall’s resulting 2,700-word feature focused on community concerns as well as the family’s agonizing search for something that belonged to their daughter—a piece of clothing, jewellery—that might lead to her discovery. He says he couldn’t have conveyed that detail if he had not driven the highway. “You can’t describe it unless you experience it first-hand. It’s invaluable to impart to your reader.”

But these types of assignments, once standard in print newsrooms, are now rare, victims in another way—of tight budgets, staff cutbacks and tiny travel funds. As a result, reporters and editors must find new ways of keeping this story alive, which now goes back 41 years, includes 13 recovered bodies and five disappearances, yet no murder charges. Print journalists have faced allegations of apathetic coverage and even racism—more than half the women were native—by victims’ families, aboriginal activists and native women’s organizations. They claim the media assign a lesser value to aboriginal women; scant coverage over the years is proof. Many reporters reject this, laying blame, instead, on resources and time constraints, which force them to develop new tactics to keep these cold cases hot.

The earliest case included in the RCMP’s investigation, Project E-Pana, is that of Gloria Moody, 27, whose body was found beaten and sexually assaulted off the highway in October 1969. By 1974, five more women and teenage girls thought to be hitchhiking were found dead on or near Highway 16. The media paid little attention, even after the town of Terrace held a vigil in 1998, dubbed “Highway of Tears.” The Province, the first major paper to pick up on the title, did not mention it in a news story until 2000. It took another five years for the RCMP to launch Project E-Pana, a homicide unit with a mandate to investigate commonalities between victims’ files and determine if a serial killer was responsible. Meanwhile, the list of cases swelled to nine names, then doubled to 18 in 2007, when the RCMP added similar unsolved cases that had occurred along highways 5 and 97, which intersect with Highway 16.

Given the slow and sporadic media coverage, many have argued that more tears have been spilt on this highway than ink devoted to the story. Journalists, claim critics, only react when a new body is discovered or a police search conducted. The latter took place last August and resulted in a fresh slew of coverage. Over the years, the highway and the women intrinsically linked to it fade in and out of public attention.

Shed your petty pound problems alongside your fashion mags. That is what the National Eating Disorder Information Centre is encouraging Torontonians to do at the corner of Queen Street West and Soho Street with its streetcar shelter ad that serves as a transparent trash receptacle for fashion magazines.

Set against a bright fuchsia backdrop the ad reads, “Shed your weight problem here,” and according to NEDIC director, Merryl Bear, it was created to draw attention to the sizeist standards showcased in beauty magazines.

Acting editor in chief of Fashion, Bernadette Morra, supports the smart message. “It is the designers that are promoting this image,” she says. “We at Fashion try our hardest to balance the reality and the fantasy.”

But realistic body standards are pretty slim in women’s style magazines. Think back to Self magazine’s August cover of Kelly Clarkson where her naturally curvaceous body was tweaked and prodded into a mainstream shape. Editor in chief, Lucy Danziger, justified the retouching on her blog by claiming it made Clarkson “look her personal best… Did we publish an act of fiction? No.”

So remove a mole here, some arm fat there. No biggie. But if your “personal best” isn’t real then how can the image be anything but a farce?

Although fashion magazines have always featured the ideal body standard, it can be a heavy load to carry. Conveniently, Torontonians now have one more place to dump it.

For many, the word “beaver” doesn’t necessarily conjure up thoughts of Canadian historical chronicles. This is partly why the Winnipeg-based history magazine, The Beaver, announced on Monday, Jan. 11 that it will change its name this coming April. Though the title wasn’t a racy innuendo when the magazine was founded in 1920, it’s now cited as a subscription turn-off for many readers, especially women under the age of 45.

Deborah Morrison, president and CEO of Canada`s National History Society, which publishes the soon-to-be-called Canada’s History, noticed that web traffic for the site averaged eight seconds. “And I have a feeling that might be because a lot of people going to the site weren’t exactly looking for Canadian history content,” she said.

The magazine’s furry moniker spans 90 years and has approximately 150,000 readers, but between inappropriate jabs and spam filter debacles, publishers felt that it was time to employ some pest removal. Market research illustrated that emphasizing online content would require some industrious rebranding. Publications’ web images are beginning to factor more prominently into how a magazine is packaged, and whether they can successfully cross-promote with other services and brands. This sharp-toothed rodent has built one too many dams and the price it will pay is being skinned online.

So though sex sells, it doesn’t appear to sell history.

Indigo Books and Music Inc. is becoming more transparent about its green standards; the largest book retailer in Canada will provide information online and at in-store kiosks about the eco-friendliness of its books, according to their environmental affiliate Canopy. If magazine buyers also have the opportunity to know whether their glossy volumes are printed with recycled paper or Forest Stewardship Council fibre, it makes for more informed purchases and a cleaner conscience.

But some magazines have already caught onto this: three of Canada’s magazine conglomerates, Rogers Publishing, Transcontinental Inc. and St. Joseph Communications have developed policies that favour recycled and FSC-certified fiber paper. Explore, Cottage Life, Unlimited and The Walrus print on ancient forest friendly paper.

And many titles like Canadian Geographic, Canadian Art, Maclean’s, and Chatelaine are making an effort with 10 to 50 percent recycled material. Recycled stocks can range from 8 to 30 percent more expensive to print than non-recycled ones, so affordable options are out there for mags that want to switch over.

Keeping subscribers and newsstand purchasers abreast of the eco-friendliness of their favourite magazines can ensure that reader loyalty grows if enough trees are spared. And if providing the eco-status of books proves to pay off for green publishers, then it would be wise for more magazines to take a big leaf out of Indigo’s book.