For almost 3,000 years, the Klallam people have inhabited the northern Washington coast, and it took a $60 million decision to halt a state construction project for anyone to notice.

One of the marvels of Seattle Times reporter Lynda Mapes' extraordinary series on the rediscovery of a rich cultural history was an element of anthropological surprise. In the mind's eye of nearby Port Angeles, and distant Olympia, the tribe's visibility, in the absence of a casino, ranked well below salmon and eel grass on pre-construction checklists for a massive dry dock planned by the state Department of Transportation.

Fragmentary hints of generations of life and death held out the promise of negotiated conditions on which to keep on building. Wishful thinking was stopped by 335 intact skeletal remains. No amount of rationalization or denial could overcome the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe's connection to a place.

The same flat access to the ocean that appealed to engineers in 2003 was attractive to villages of people who lived beside and were sustained by the sea.

If the state can be faulted for casually surveying the ancestral homeland of the Lower Elwha Klallam Tribe for potential archaeological significance as a real-estate deal was closing, the tribe's own apparent failure to adequately document and preserve its history is evident as well.

Oral tradition and memory have their limits in protecting tribal interests if the history is not readily retrievable by those in charge, or offered by those who possess it.

The $60 million lesson is that better information is needed before the first shovel goes into the ground. The halted project consumed a hefty amount of the state's 5-cent gas-tax increase.

This is a story without an easy direction to point fingers. The state is obligated by federal law to consult with the tribe, but there is no official template for a final agreement, or for reaching one. The operative option was literally to bulldoze ahead and see what happens.

Both sides were using ad hoc archeological services, which meant neither the tribe nor the state had a deep, sustained database for ready reference.

Unlike environmental considerations, no one seemed to anticipate the need for cultural surveys or appreciate the consequences of significant discoveries. This is a conversation state officials need to have, preferably outside of the courts, and before another 10-acre hole is dug.

Given the history of this region, the opportunities and challenges will not go away. Just this week, work was halted on a road project near Arlington after the discovery of the remains of at least two American Indians who likely belonged to the Stillaguamish Tribe.

This region has big projects on the horizon: Seattle's Alaskan Way Viaduct, Highway 520 bridge and other highly desirable and overdue widenings and improvements — even the Boeing pier at Mukilteo, with its proximity to the Tulalips.

This all cannot grind to a halt, but we can be more adroit in anticipating and accommodating future discoveries.

A functional conversation needs to occur with the tribes, cities and the state, sharing information in an effective, productive fashion. The political and moral climate has changed.