By Irene Butler

This story is dedicated to Writing-On-Stone Women, the baby daughter of Bear, a full-blooded Blackfoot (Kyle is his Canadian name) who was our interpretive guide along the sacred paths of Writing-On-Stone Provincial Park, Alberta. The name was given her by elders at a special ceremony at the Writing-On-Stone site; the first to be given this name in this manner in 400 years.

Bear, hardly breathing, scoured the landscape; it would not be long now. He paid no heed to his hunger pangs or to his cramped muscles from crouching for many hours behind the pile of rocks with fresh tree branches stuck in the top. He looked up and down the long rows of cairns, on each side of “the drive” shaped like the flying formation of geese, with the narrow end toward the cliff. A man sat silent behind each cairn. He was now a man; he was proud to be among them. He had gone up to the sacred hills and fasted for eight days. On the last day a vision had come to him of a giant bear carrying him across the plains and protecting him from all manner of evils so horrible that he shook violently for hours when the vision ceased. The bear made himself known as his spirit guide forever. Upon descending the hillside, he took the sharp rock he had brought and carefully carved the head of the bear in the sandstone cliff and hastened back to camp to tell his father about his good fortune.

He admonished himself for his daydreaming. He must stay alert. What would his first hunt as a man bring? Were the ceremonies to the Creator acceptable, so the Creator would communicate to the buffalo spirits the needs of his people? He thought of the runners who had been sent out days ago, and the excitement when one came back to report the location and size of a herd. Chosen by the elders for their skill and daring, they would trick the animals into moving ever closer to the cliff. It was his dream to be so chosen one day. With great stealth, making sure the wind was right so the keen nose of the buffalo did not detect the human scent, one would covered himself with the hide of a young buffalo and mimic a call of distress so the herd of females and not fully grown males would move toward the sound. At times, another would dress in a wolf hide and slowly nudge in towards the fake calf, not so close as to cause panic, but just far enough to entice the concerned matriarch to move in the desired direction, followed by the herd. Patience was a virtue as the game was slow and all knowledge of the terrain and buffalo behaviour was brought into play to move the herd to the entrance of the rock piles.

Many tribes had gathered for the hunt as many hands were needed

He again snapped out of his reverie; training his thoughts on the job soon at hand. The buffalo had poor vision, so would think the cairns were barriers; he must only stand and wave his blanket if an animal was charging toward him instead to toward the cliff; and then at the precise moment the herd was past him he would leave his post and run behind so the buffalo would not reverse their direction and leave the drive.

All of a sudden the ground began to vibrate. He could see a thick cloud of dust swelling higher and higher in the distance. He knew the runners, once the buffalo were in the drive, had started to whoop and run behind them causing them to stampede. A thunderous roar reached his ears; the earth shook violently. Nervous sweat exuded from every pore in his body. He saw the matriarch charging toward him; he held up his blanket and she straightened her course. His heart pounded against his chest like a thousand hooves at the sight of the frothing, churning animals colliding as the path narrowed in their effort to escape. Many, there were many, as many as the days that pass from one summer to the next. Choking and eyes burning from the dust, he dared not look away for a moment. NOW! He jumped up and hollered with all his might joining the runners behind the buffalo. He could hear the thuds of the bellowing animals as they plunged over the cliff, not being able to stop with the momentum of more animals still charging from the rear. He knew the braves at the bottom were quickly shooting an arrow into the ones not killed in the fall. Silence ensued, he know not for how long, as he along with the other winded hunters fell to the ground gasping for air. Cheers and praises to the buffalo spirit began to swell upward louder and louder until it reached the heavens; now they would not starve when the winter winds blew. He peered over the edge of the cliff at the mound of carcases; his first hunt would always be the best.

The hardest work was still to come. It would take many days to do< the butchering, but the cool autumn air would help keep the meat from spoiling too quickly. His mother and the other women had been preparing for this day; rawhides lines tied to posts were in readiness for hanging the thin slices of meat in the sun to dry. Every hand, big and small, was needed to later pulverize the dried meat, to crack the bones to get out the nutritious marrow, and boil the bones to render the fat. Saskatoon berries and chokecherries were already dried to mix with the marrow, fat and powdered meat to form pemmican. The finished product was then packed into rawhide sacks and the air was pressed out which preserved the pemmican for the long winter months when deer, birds, or rabbits were not plentiful. Bones best for arrow heads had been put aside, along with horns to be made into drinking vessels and spoons, and the tanned hides to be fashioned into clothing. They would be carried to their winter lodgings to be worked on while the snow swirled. Very little of the sacred buffalo was left unused.

But for a day they would celebrate and offer up prayers of gratitude to the Creator, and to the buffalo who had given so generously of themselves. By the time the braves descended from the top of the cliff, slabs of fresh meat were already cooking over the huge fires making his mouth water. The tongues were ready to give to the medicine men for their importance to the success of the hunt. The drums were being brought to the middle of the gathering. After a refreshing dip in the river, he hurried to the tent of his family to don his finest costume for the dance. He yearned to catch another glimpse of Writing-On-Stone-Woman.