Dr. Gord McKenna on Ethical Mining Practices in BC

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): The Good Men Project

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2025/02/17

Gord McKenna is the Chair of Landform Design Institute. He is a geotechnical engineer and geologist with 32 years of experience in mine operations and consulting for oil sands, coal, and metal mines. Gord founded McKenna Geotechnical Inc in 2017 to bring his landform design experience to a broader audience and provide independent geotechnical advice to geotechnical review boards, panels, and First Nations. Gord and his team have designed 20 reclaimed watersheds that cover 40 square kilometres and incorporate 30 wetlands and 90 kilometres of streams. He has been a lead contributor to several manuals on landform design, mine reclamation, and tailings, and co-authored 100 papers and book chapters. He has a bachelor’s degree in geological engineering from the University of British Columbia and a PhD in geotechnical engineering from the University of Alberta. Gord is also an adjunct professor at the U of A. McKenna discusses the challenges and advancements in mine reclamation. He emphasizes “mining with the land in mind,” stressing the importance of early planning to minimize environmental impact and ensure sustainable restoration. The institute’s Design Basis Memorandum (DBM) sets clear goals for land reclamation, aiming for global adoption by 2030. Collaboration with Indigenous communities and regulators is pivotal, although complex promises and unrealistic expectations often hinder progress. McKenna highlights successes in fostering long-term community relationships and adapting reclamation practices to evolving needs, advocating for accountability, adaptability, and realistic, science-based reclamation goals.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Today, we’re here with Dr. Gord McKenna. We will discuss the Landform Design Institute, its work, and some recent developments focusing on mining. To begin with some context, why did you become interested and involved in mining in the first place? Mining is not typically the first career option that comes to mind for most people.

Dr. Gord McKenna: Right. In high school in Calgary during the 1980s, I developed an interest in engineering and initially thought I might pursue a career as a mechanical engineer—it was a typical teenage aspiration. I ended up attending the University of British Columbia (UBC). During my second year, I took a geology course that captivated my interest. Introductory geology courses are often called “Earth, Wind, and Fire” to draw students into geotechnical engineering or geology fields.

I ultimately decided to pursue geological engineering, which qualified me as a professional engineer and geologist. By 1987, however, the economy was struggling, and only three out of 24 students in my graduating class secured jobs. I received an offer from Syncrude Canada in Fort McMurray at their oil sands mine. I accepted it, and that first job set the trajectory for my career, as it does for many recent graduates.

Jacobsen: Now, moving on to today’s discussion: the new guidance document released by the Landform Design Institute, where you serve as chair. What is its primary purpose?

McKenna: Its primary purpose is to help miners, their consultants, regulators, and local communities—particularly Indigenous communities—work together to establish what mine reclamation will look like formally. This involves defining the appearance and functionality of the mine site after mining activities are complete. In some cases, the site transitions into a brownfield, but most projects I work on aim to restore sites into wildlife habitats.

The guidance document focuses on teaching stakeholders how to create a clear, shared vision. This includes general goals for the landscape, specific objectives, and detailed design criteria. By doing so, everyone involved can work toward the same long-term outcome, even if it is decades away.

Jacobsen: I attended a mining conference a few years ago, and I recall discussing a hiatus in mining activities, particularly in gold and other minerals and metals, followed by an anticipated boom. Is the current emphasis on mine reclamation tied to this economic resurgence?

McKenna: Not necessarily. Mine reclamation emerged as a new concept in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Planning for mine closures, including detailed reclamation and socioeconomic impact considerations, gained prominence in the 1990s. Today, nearly all mines have closure and reclamation plans. While these plans are often conceptual, they represent an agreement between the local community, regulators, and mining companies.

Reclamation efforts remain steady regardless of economic cycles, progressing as mining operations advance. Once specific areas of a mine are no longer in use, they are reclaimed progressively, ensuring a constant focus on environmental and social responsibilities.

And then, by the time mines reach closure, most have reclaimed about 20% to 25% of the area, and then they focus on reclaiming the rest. However, this is often done without a solid vision or clear objectives. As a result, even though much of the reclamation is technically well-executed, it is frequently not accepted by the local community or the regulator. This gap—between what the mine promises and what it delivers—is why we formed the Landform Design Institute and released the guide for creating a Design Basis Memorandum.

Jacobsen: What are the advisements for Indigenous communities regarding mine reclamation and collaboration?

McKenna: That’s the most interesting and challenging part. I’ve worked on it for most of my career without significant personal progress. The institute is working on a book compiling 50 case histories highlighting collaborations between Indigenous peoples, other local communities, mining companies, and regulators. These histories showcase joint efforts to create a shared vision, establish goals, and set clear objectives.

The state of practice today requires consultation with Indigenous communities, but it is often not very robust. There’s limited understanding of what could or should be accomplished and who gets to make those decisions. Engineers, including myself, are professionally obliged to meet the state of practice, but we should strive to push it toward the state of the art.

Rather than telling people how to collaborate, the institute focuses on documenting and sharing case histories—successes and failures—to help others learn and improve. By describing effective approaches and providing tools, we aim to arm practitioners with the resources they need to foster better collaboration.

Jacobsen: That’s an interesting point. How do things go wrong based on case histories, and how do things go right?

McKenna: Good question. Where things go wrong, I think—and I’ve seen this in my practice—is when mining companies have a separate division or department dedicated to government and Indigenous communications. These divisions generate much communication, which the companies are proud of. Still, this information is filtered down to reclamation specialists, designers, and operations teams.

In many cases, we are not allowed to talk directly to local community members, possibly out of concern that we might overcommit or due to time constraints. As a result, we often work based on assumptions about what the community might want rather than engaging in true collaboration. This approach is more consultative than collaborative, staying at a surface level.

For example, many of us assume that planting native vegetation and creating habitats for wildlife will be sufficient. However, in one recent case, we worked on a manual for designing pit lakes—mined-out pits that are sometimes backfilled with water to create lakes for fish or other uses. Without proper collaboration, we risk missing key insights or needs expressed by the local communities. Addressing these gaps is a critical focus of our work.

The first question from the First Nation we talked to was, “When can we drink the water?” We had always been so careful to say that we were not promising drinking water quality standards, only that we would meet aquatic guidelines—but not drinking water quality. And they reasonably responded, “Well, how can we use the land if we’re unable to drink the water?”

A couple of weeks ago, at a conference in Edmonton, there was a discussion about the Athabasca River in northern Canada. Someone commented, “When we’re on the river with our boats, we have to bring more water than gasoline.” They followed up with, “Gord, when will we be able to drink the water?” I had to admit, “I don’t know. It could be 100 years.” They asked, “Is that reasonable?”

This was a question or discussion we should have had 20 years ago. That’s an example of everyone trying their best but still falling short.

In a more positive sense, there are recent examples—some of which we hope to include in our book—of reclaimed lands being actively and collaboratively developed. These are areas where mine rock, also known as waste rock or tailings, is placed to form hills, often called landforms. Tailings are the ground-up rock remaining after the ore is mined out.

On these reclaimed lands, we’ve seen examples of quarterly visits with elders and youth from local communities alongside technical and operations teams. These visits foster long-term relationships, often lasting five to ten years. The goal is to gain real, actionable feedback, such as:

• What would be good for this land?
• What kind of vegetation should we plant?
• Where should creeks that need rebuilding be located?
• Can we add rock piles for rodents?
• Where can we create wetlands?

These projects are not without challenges or constraints but benefit greatly from community input. What’s crucial is that everyone involved can see progress in these areas within months or years. This allows the community to walk the land and assess whether the reclamation efforts meet their needs.

We are gathering examples of such successes from our practices, conversations at conferences, and discussions with First Nations peoples. The goal is to distill these experiences into actionable insights—just a few pages—so others can replicate the best practices.

These are long answers to short questions.

Jacobsen: Thank you, Gord. 

McKenna: I hope this aligns with the tone and depth we’re looking for.

Jacobsen: This is good. What about disseminating the updated principles in the document for developing a Design Basis Memorandum (DBM) for landform design and integrating those principles into routine practice in the mining industry? This doesn’t happen overnight. Is it possible to target, or is it more realistic to aim for 2030 or 2040? How long does it take for an industry to shift toward implementing such practices comprehensively?

McKenna: When we started the institute in 2019, we set ourselves a mission—to make landform design a routine activity in mining around the world by 2030. So we’re about halfway through that timeline. We’re working to accomplish this mission in a few different ways.

One approach is to produce guidance documents. This DBM document is our second major publication on how to carry out landform design. The process is structured yet flexible—everyone will implement it differently—but the goal is to establish clear expectations, goals, and objectives. We also outline the steps to design, build, monitor, and maintain reclaimed landscapes to achieve those goals.

Over the past decade, we’ve delivered 50 courses, typically for groups of 10 to 40 participants. Recently, we launched an online DBM course to expand our reach globally. We’ve also lectured to thousands of undergraduate students in Western Canada and at conferences worldwide. Through these efforts, we’re disseminating knowledge and offering the “landform design way.” We’re sharing what has worked for us and lessons learned from what hasn’t and providing ongoing support to the global community.

Another key initiative involves documenting case histories. We’re working on a case history book focused on collaborations with First Nations, which we plan to publish in a few years. These examples help illustrate successful practices and provide a practical foundation for others to build upon.

One of the institute’s directors, June, remarked that getting the mining industry to adopt the DBM approach globally would mark a significant success in our mission. The DBM is already widely used in fields like construction and engineering—for buildings, shopping centers, and even camera systems. It’s a concise document, usually 10 to 40 pages, outlining what will be achieved, how it will be built, and its purpose. Although it has been sporadically used in mine reclamation since the 1980s, we aim to make it a standard practice.

While pursuing my PhD at the University of Alberta in the 1990s, Professor Nordy Morgenstern suggested I focus on landform design. I surveyed 77 mines worldwide—now up to 120—and asked them: “What are you promising, and what are you delivering? What is the gap between the two?” Our work with the DBM aims to fill that gap by clearly defining what’s being promised and creating a contract-like framework rather than relying on aspirational goals.

For example, some people envision retiring and building a cabin on reclaimed land, but they’re often dissatisfied with what they receive because it doesn’t match their expectations. Addressing these discrepancies is central to our efforts.

Jacobsen: You mentioned the principles of landform design. How have those evolved?

McKenna: When we founded the institute, we established 12 principles of landform design. These principles have been slightly refined over the years as we’ve gained more experience and feedback. They form the foundation of our work and guide the development of tools like the DBM and other educational resources.

We recently put out a nice calendar featuring the 12 design principles, which we’re trying to get delivered despite the Canada Post strike. We’re just waiting to get the last copies out. These 12 principles are straightforward guidelines for landform design. We thought, “If we can get everyone following these principles, that would be a meaningful success—a different way of measuring success in our mission.”

The principles include ideas like “mining with the land in mind,” tracking every drop of water in the landscape and working collaboratively to build with First Nations rather than building for First Nations. This represents a fourth approach we’re hopeful about. While 2030 might be a stretch target for making landform design a routine activity globally, I believe we’ll come close. I’m optimistic, and we’re excited about the DBM’s release.

Initially, we considered charging for the DBM. Still, after much internal debate, we decided to make it freely available to the world. We aim to support its adoption and encourage as many people as possible to use it.

Jacobsen: Who do you find the hardest to align with the guidance’s aims: Mining companies, regulators, or communities of various backgrounds?

McKenna: That’s a great question and something we need to continue working on. From the perspective of local communities, the landform design approach feels natural and obvious to them. At the mines, the technocrats—the biologists, geologists, engineers, and planners—often adopt our methods. Senior management is generally supportive as well.

However, middle management, which is the people making day-to-day decisions and controlling budgets, is often reticent. This hesitancy typically stems from a fear of spending tens, hundreds, or even billions of dollars on mine reclamation without clear acceptance criteria. They worry about completing the work but fail to meet the regulators’ requirements and never get liability released for the site.

The statistics show that fewer than 1% of mines worldwide receive regulatory sign-off for proper reclamation. Getting regulatory approval and having their bond money returned is the number one goal for many mining companies, but it almost never happens. This lack of clarity and certainty holds back middle management, who fear investing heavily in reclamation efforts that might not achieve the desired outcomes.

Rather than criticizing mine management, we’re trying a different approach. One of our projects involves documenting case histories of mines that have successfully fostered a reclamation culture. We interview managers and general managers to understand how they’ve supported this work, convinced shareholders of the value of investing in reclamation now rather than later, and achieved meaningful results.

By sharing these success stories, we hope to inspire others and provide concrete examples of how middle management can actively support mine reclamation. At the same time, some great examples are not as common as we’d like them to be. That’s the culture shift we’re aiming to foster.

Regulators are in an interesting position, and we’re trying to figure out how to support them in this process better. Typically, they have guidelines and procedures they are proud of and work hard to enforce in regulating mines and mine reclamation. However, despite their efforts, the system often falls short because regulators are unwilling or unable to sign off on good reclamation. There are always lingering concerns about residual risks, and they are hesitant to take on liability on behalf of the Crown, the state, or the federal government.

We recently had a case where one of our directors worked with a First Nation, a mine, and the regulator to develop a Design Basis Memorandum using our newly published document. The regulators expressed concerns about participating, saying, “If we agree to something that isn’t explicitly in the regulations or that conflicts with regulations or policies, where does that leave us? How can we properly regulate this?”

The institute needs to improve its outreach to regulators and explore how we can better support them. But there’s also a broader issue: the entire approach to mine reclamation needs to shift toward being a joint activity where risks are shared, promises are realistic, and commitments are delivered promptly. Some regulations and promises from the past are impractical from a geological or ecological perspective. Renegotiating these commitments will be challenging, particularly for regulators.

Jacobsen: What about situations where people make simply unrealistic requests due to regulatory constraints or the evidence base? As someone who isn’t a politician, you can’t promise the world to everyone—you need to be realistic. What kinds of land or mine reclamation proposals are often unrealistic, and which ones are more achievable?

McKenna: That’s a great question. As part of my PhD work, I visited 77 mines worldwide and collected about 200 promises made for reclaimed land. Many of these promises were entirely reasonable. For example, commitments to slope the land, apply a soil cover, and ensure the soil supports vegetation for farming or wildlife habitat are achievable. My boss often reminded me, “All we can do is shape the land, put some soil down, and plant starter vegetation.” Typically, this involves seeding or planting 2 to 10 species to get the process going. From there, Mother Nature takes over, and the ecosystem evolves.

However, I also encountered high-risk promises that were far less realistic. For instance, relying on complex numerical models to predict ideal in-pit lake chemistry, with assurances that the water would meet all environmental standards, is risky. Complex environmental models are inherently uncertain, and making bold promises based on them can lead to disappointment or failure.

The key is to set realistic, science-based targets that everyone agrees upon and to ensure those targets are within the realm of what can be delivered. It’s better to underpromise and overdeliver than to set expectations that cannot be met.

There are entire books about whether we should model certain complex environmental behaviours. Promising outcomes based on technologies we haven’t yet developed ma, making high-risk commitments, or going against natural processes is problematic. For instance, we sometimes promise there will be no erosion. Yet, as geologists, we know that all landforms—natural and artificial, including mining ones—will erode over time.

Similarly, we’ve promised in the past that reclaimed land would be “better than it was before.” This was particularly common in the oil sands for years, whether explicitly stated or implied. But First Nations communities in Northern Alberta have called us out on this. In the 1980s, regulations required replacing swampy lowlands with commercial forest uplands. This was seen as progress at the time. However, the First Nations, who value the swampy areas for moose hunting and other cultural activities, told us, “You’re going to make it better than the Creator made it? I’m interested to see how that works out.”

When we teach, we emphasize that we must be cautious with our promises as professionals. If we make commitments that can’t be met, are we liable? Could someone go to jail? These promises are rarely written in stark terms, like “make it better than before.” Instead, they’re often framed more subtly, such as ensuring productivity for farmland or forestry that is “at least as good as it was before” or guaranteeing the same number of moose or cow-calf pairs on the landscape. Other promises include water quality, which meets all objectives without requiring active water treatment.

The DBM document encourages making realistic and achievable promises—within human lifetimes and using technology available today. However, relying solely on current technology can stifle research and development (R&D), a downside we still need to navigate. If mines are required to follow rigid approaches, they may stop investing in R&D for better methods. I’ve seen this happen in several jurisdictions.

Committing to clear visions and goals for the reclaimed landscape while recognizing that these commitments function like contracts but must also evolve over time is crucial. Mine reclamation, especially at large mines, typically takes 10 to 100 years. It’s a long-term process that requires flexibility, adaptation, and accountability.

Decisions made 50 years ago—regarding land uses, technologies, and state-of-the-art practices—aren’t the same as those we’d make today, and today’s decisions won’t necessarily align with what people want 50 years from now. That’s why we must treat these plans as living documents, adapting them collaboratively over time while earning and maintaining trust.

At the same time, if a reclaimed area meets the goals agreed upon at the time of its planning, we shouldn’t make significant changes, like cutting down trees or reshaping the land, after all the work has been completed. As the saying goes, “a card laid is a card played.” However, if there are issues—like fish dying or pollutants being released—then, of course, changes must be made.

If the reclamation aligns with the DBM and achieves the agreed-upon objectives, we should all accept it as sufficient. Otherwise, miners may resist progressive reclamation and instead wait until the last possible moment, reclaiming everything only after mining operations cease.

Jacobsen: Thank you, Gord, for the opportunity and for sharing your time today. I appreciate your insights on mining, a field in which I have limited experience but am looking forward to covering more extensively in the future.

McKenna: You’re welcome. The main message to take away is “mining with the land in mind.” Reclamation decisions can’t all be deferred until after a mine closes because 90% of the outcomes will already have been determined by choices such as which valleys were filled, where creeks were moved, and other actions taken during operations.

The key is thoughtful design from the early stages, ensuring mining is conducted with the end in mind. Even in cases where we’re brought into existing operations, decisions made now can yield substantial savings, reduce risks, and foster greater community buy-in as the process unfolds. That’s the message we’re pushing: mining with the land in mind.

Jacobsen: Thanks again, Gord. Take care.

McKenna: Bye now.

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