In the early 1870s, the coast stretching from Comox to the northern part of British Columbia stood on the edge of sweeping change. Israel Wood Powell, Superintendent of Indian Affairs, travelled this shoreline of Vancouver Island in 1872 and 1873 from Comox north, only crossing to the mainland past the northern end and past the last port on Vancouver Island. He recorded what he saw with the dry certainty of an administrator. “The Indians of the Comox District, and those inhabiting the coast northward,” he wrote, “are chiefly engaged in fishing and hunting, and cultivate small patches of potatoes and other vegetables.” He noted that reserves had been “selected for them at Comox and at other points along the coast,” adding that these communities were “peaceable and well disposed.” His report, printed in Ottawa in 1873, captured a world still governed by Indigenous rhythms, even as a new era pressed in.

The pressure began with speculation. Texada Island, long recognized as a harbour and gathering place, became the focal point of coastal ambitions. Even in 1871, surveyors and prospectors quietly explored its shores, sensing the opportunities hidden beneath its forests and stones. The true rush began in 1873. On June 20, Henry Trim filed a preemption on Texada Island, followed on the same day by W. Hughes, who made several claims near a small stream and lake in a nearby valley.

These initial filings marked the beginning of a surge in interest. By September 1874, Henry Edmonds was receiving new applications, including one from Mr. Dalby, who was interested in a site next to B.H. Wilson’s preemption in Gillies Bay. More claims were submitted in rapid succession, transforming Gillies Bay into a bustling hub of miners, loggers, and hopeful speculators.

 Another interesting part of this letter was that the granting of the lease was for 21 years, and he was to construct a mill, among other requirements. In the 1873 Report of Timber Leases, it appears he was granted this lease for 15,000 acres.

In a separate letter, a Memorandum dated February 17, 1873, there is a consensus that R.P. Rithet did indeed apply for a Timber Cutting License as the Chief Commissioner of Lands and Works. In a 1873-1874 Sessional Report, Mr. Pimbury asked the Hon. Chief Commissioner of Lands and Works if any persons had applied for government timber leases. The Hon Mr. Vernon replied that yes, a Mr. R.P. Rithet has indeed applied for a timber cutting lease. However, in this mention, it was only 11,886 acres for 21 years, dating from Dec 31, 1874.

The standout part of this is that he had to construct a mill capable of cutting not less than 25,000 feet of lumber on or before August 12, 1877.

Author’s Note: Articles on the City of Powell River’s website claim that the 1873 Timber Cutting License granted R.P. Rithet ownership of Lot 450. It was impossible for Lot 450 to have been included in this timber license, as it did not legally exist until May of 1878, and Lot 450 has an original size of 2,778 acres, which is considerably smaller than the Timber Cutting License of 15,000 acres.

Since Timber Cutting Licenses do not give ownership of the land, any claims of R.P. Rithet obtaining Lot 450 in 1873 are not backed by documents seen here. Another British Columbia Government website entry describes a 160-acre square, 40 chains by 40 chains (this terminology is known as Gunther’s Chain), eight miles north of Grief Point, consisting of 11,886 Acres.

This distance, measured on modern mapping systems, gives the boundaries from Grief Point to exactly where Klahanie Drive lies today.

On May 12, 1873, James Eade filed for his land on the coast of Malaspina Strait, beside an existing claim by James Harris, creating two adjacent footholds on a coastline that had only recently drawn colonial interest.

The people who filed these claims—Trim, Hughes, Dalby, Wilson, Eade, Harris, and Rithet were not building towns; they were gambling on futures. Some stayed, some vanished, and some left only survey lines and abandoned applications to hint at their hopes. Between 1871 and 1876, Texada and the coast of Malaspina Strait underwent a period of transformation, as Indigenous practices persisted while settlers hurried to map, measure, and possess. The land remembers all of it, even when the records fall silent.