The Price of Paradise: How Volunteers Are Keeping BC’s Parks Alive
Last summer, when the ramp and pier that visitors rely on to reach shore in Princess Louisa Provincial Park came off its footings, it became an immediate safety risk. But when Ming Neil, the ranger at the time, reported the issue to her supervisor, the response was blunt: close the park. “BC Parks didn’t have the funding to fix it,” Neil says.
Determined to keep the remote inlet accessible, Neil made a different choice. Thanks to long-standing support from the Princess Louisa International Society—a non-profit dedicated to preserving the park—volunteers stepped in. “I reached out to them, and together we made the repair,” Neil says.
British Columbia’s parks are often described as the province’s crown jewels: over 14.4 million hectares across more than 1,000 protected areas, safeguarding more than 14 per cent of the province. Yet behind the grandeur lies a quiet crisis. Since the initial establishment of Strathcona Park in 1911, the system has expanded exponentially, but funding hasn’t kept pace.
Back in a 2011 report, BC Parks veteran Mel Turner warned of a widening gap: while comparable systems worldwide spent about $28 per hectare on conservation and access, BC invested only $3. Today, despite an expanded budget of $73 million, the province still spends just $5.06 per hectare. By contrast, Parks Canada invests $37.73, Alberta $20.92 and Washington State—with its much smaller land base—more than $3,200.
The result is a system that runs, increasingly, on goodwill and individual initiative. Nearly 100 volunteer groups, Indigenous Guardian programs and community organizations fill the gaps—maintaining trails, repairing cabins, monitoring ecosystems and teaching visitors about the cultural and ecological significance of the places they love.
As Chris Price, Director of Safety, Compliance & Emergency Services at BC Parks, puts it: “The contributions volunteers make have become essential to visitor experience and the protection of park values.”
From Vancouver Island to the Kootenays, these volunteer networks now form the living infrastructure of BC Parks. Collectively, they donated more than 50,000 hours of labour last year—work ranging from shovelling out trailhead parking lots to restoring fragile alpine ecosystems. Much of this effort happens quietly, far from headlines or government press releases, yet the impact is everywhere: the rebuilt footbridge, the weed-free meadow, the freshly painted cabin walls.
On the Sunshine Coast, Tetrahedron Outdoor Club volunteers maintain winter routes and cabins that would otherwise deteriorate under heavy snow. In the Okanagan, groups spend weekends replanting native vegetation after wildfires and floods. In Prince George, the Caledonia Ramblers maintain trails in Sugarbowl-grizzly Den Park and Ancient Forest/Chun T’oh Wudujut. Out on the coast, Indigenous Guardian programs monitor wildlife, protect cultural sites and guide visitors through landscapes stewarded for millennia.
These efforts reflect both dedication and necessity: as the land under conservation increases and visitation rises, official resources to manage the influx continue to lag.
BC Parks acknowledges this growing discrepancy. The agency’s 2025–26 Community Park Enhancement Fund—financed through the BC Parks Licence Plate Program—has awarded more than $344,000 to 109 community-led projects this year. Each group receives up to $5,000 to support local initiatives ranging from habitat restoration and invasive species removal to interpretive signage and accessibility upgrades. “These projects show the power of community in making parks more inclusive, welcoming and sustainable,” reads the program announcement. It’s true—but also a reminder that even these grants depend on citizen energy, not core funding.
Many of the most passionate advocates are raising a larger concern. Groups like the Outdoor Recreation Council of BC argue that volunteers should augment public stewardship, not replace it. As executive director Louise Pedersen puts it, “There’s a difference between partnership and patchwork. It’s not responsible to leave the care of our parks to chance.” She adds, “We have a multi-billion-dollar outdoor recreation economy, yet much of the maintenance and stewardship now depends on an aging volunteer workforce that’s stretched thin. Volunteers are doing incredible work, but they need real support and stable investment behind them.”
The strain is starting to show. Between 2014 and 2018, park visitation climbed by 24 per cent, and the numbers continue to rise as more people seek time in nature. But the increased use hasn’t come with proportional investment. Parking lots overflow on summer weekends; reservations vanish within minutes; trail erosion and maintenance backlogs worsen each season. The summer of 2020—when pandemic restrictions pushed record numbers into provincial parks—exposed just how fragile the system has become.
Winter tells a similar story. Cabins go unrepaired, signage vanishes under snow and avalanche paths block access roads for weeks. Volunteers do what they can, but even the most dedicated can’t keep up indefinitely. “Volunteers do this work because they love these places,” Pedersen says. “But the system doesn’t make it easy. A group might see a need for a simple boardwalk through a sensitive wetland, but it can take years to navigate the red tape, permits and insurance requirements. In the meantime, trails can stay closed or continue to deteriorate. There’s so much goodwill out there; we just need to make it easier for people to help.”
These challenges are also sparking creative solutions. Across the province, Indigenous Nations are expanding Guardian programs that combine traditional knowledge with modern conservation science. In some regions, co-management models help parks protect sensitive ecosystems and cultural heritage while providing local employment.
Kitasoo Xai’Xais Chief Councillor Doug Neasloss highlights a program that allows Guardians to earn park ranger appointments. “Our job is to help preserve what is left,” he says. “We need to have a presence out there—our own people to monitor, patrol and take care of our territory.”
Still, even the most innovative partnerships can’t replace the need for stable, long-term investment. As BC Parks adds new protected areas and infrastructure under its latest provincial mandate, many worry that expansion without adequate resources risks stretching the system thinner than ever. Pedersen points to Pinecone Burke Park as an example: although this 38,000-hectare Lower Mainland park was established in 1995, its trails remain largely informal, infrastructure is limited and the park still lacks a formal management plan.
There are glimmers of hope. The Licence Plate Program continues to grow, generating millions annually for community enhancement projects. The Outdoor Recreation Fund of BC, established with a seed grant from the province to support volunteer-led recreation and stewardship initiatives, illustrates both progress and need. During its first two funding intakes, the program received over 200 applications but was only able to fund about 15 per cent of eligible projects, highlighting the scale of unmet demand. Some local governments are stepping up as well, providing support to trail societies and stewardship programs to help fill the gaps.
Ultimately, the future of BC’s park system may depend on re-imagining what stewardship looks like while developing a comprehensive funding strategy that reflects the true value of BC’s parks—both as ecological refuges and as engines of tourism and community well-being. Volunteers and Guardians have shown that care for these places can’t just be a line item in a budget—it’s a relationship built on respect, reciprocity and shared responsibility.
The question is whether that ethos will be met with the public investment to match.
