Riding in the footsteps of Alberta’s painted warriors

“We take no more than six and no fewer than two riders on this trek. It is much more than a tourism experience because we are passing on knowledge and important skills, and that’s important to us,” Tracey explained. “We have had good riders turn up who have mostly ridden in arenas or on flat trails and they can become quite nervous about the prospect of riding in the mountains.”

I walked with Tracey through an enclosure full of poplar and spruce trees as huge ravens cooed and cawed hoarsely from high up in the branches. Along the way, she described the traditional uses for some of the surrounding trees and plants. A Canadian poplar tree provides yeast to make bread and beer, and it is a source of aspirin, natural sunscreen and syrup. The yarrow plant makes a nice tea and an effective antiseptic.

Tracey’s calming presence makes even the most nervous rider relax; her knowledge and culture are woven into the riding experience, which includes helping each guest to establish a connection with their horse before setting off. As we walked through the lush boreal forest, I asked Tracey to tell me about her ancestors and their understanding of equine behaviour.

“They were able to create a bond with animals, especially horses,” she told me. “I try to teach these skills. Guests spend the first five days making a connection with their horse and learning about what they can expect in the mountains. On day five we head out and spend the next five days riding and testing out people’s skills in the wilderness.”

In some ways a trip like this can boil down to one thing, explained Tracey: your animal. “With a horse: if we don’t make decisions, they will. Walking with a horse is the first exercise we ask of our guests. I want my horse to understand that they stay behind me and out of my space. If I walk faster, I want my horse with me; when I slow down or back up, so should my horse.”

Before long, it was time to meet our rides. We found the small herd grazing in a clearing of luscious green grass. Tracey handed me the halter for JJ (Jesse James), a 17-hands-high gentle giant of a horse. I tried him first, and then a painted pony called Scout. They were both good, solid mountain horses who would cross rivers and pretty much deal with anything asked of them. Eventually, I decided on JJ; his extra strength would cope better with the weight of the massive Western saddle (somewhere between 18–27kg) as well as myself, my cameras, my water and any other paraphernalia required.

Before heading into the backcountry, I spent time connecting with JJ, walking with him and riding around the Painted Warriors’ ranch. I was also introduced to Emma and Heather, young and savvy Métis guides who are wise for their years. With their help I was also taught fire-lighting skills and how to build a shelter – things that would undoubtedly come in handy in the mountains.

I also met Brenda Holder, Tracey’s sister, who had followed in their grandmother’s footsteps in learning the secrets of traditional medicine. She explained their mysteries in a series of walks, and I joined her, curious to learn what was in store.

“I teach guests about traditional ancestral plant uses, and also focus on food, clothing and tools,” she explained. “We then expand on that, allowing people to engage in a workshop in a traditional manner.”

Our meals were cooked over an open fire. Chicken and corn were tossed onto a well-used grill and then placed over fierce, dancing flames. We took it in turns to rotate the chicken until it was crispy and ready to eat.

I spent my nights under canvas at the ranch, where around eight Métis-style trapper tents were pitched among the trees. The spacious tents had single or double beds, a stove heater, tables, chairs and lights. The same tents are used when guests are camping in the mountains, but there they spend the night on a cot bed with a sleeping bag and wake up to extraordinary views of the Rocky Mountains.

I fell asleep to a cacophony of relaxing sounds: the crackling of the pine-scented fire, people chatting, dogs barking, owls hooting, horses galloping around and whinnying, rain hitting the tent. I liked all of it, though I woke only a few hours later to the jittery howls of coyotes. Their calls were not to be confused with the deeper, unnerving howls of the wolves that I heard later, deeper into the night.

The next morning, after a pancake breakfast, Tracey, Heather and I started our day by finding and catching the horses, then loading them into a huge, 11m-long horse trailer. I watched in awe as Tracey, despite her lithe frame, made manoeuvring and driving the massive truck and trailer look easy.

We had packed everything we might need for the wilderness and any weather conditions that might arise, including leather chinks (a variation of chaps) and well-used, long oil-skin coats for rain... or unexpected snow.

It was a one-and-a-half-hour drive to the foothills of the Rockies and the isolated Bighorn Campground, sat on the north bank of the Red Deer River. We were just outside the boundary to Banff National Park, and from here we started our ride along the Ya Ha Tinda trail. Grizzly and black bears can be found nearby, though the horses and people around the campground likely deter them from coming closer.

We parked in what turned out to be an equestrian wonderland. This place seemed designed for horsey folk: its well-thought-out campsites had a fire pit, a highline to tie the horses to, and everything you might need for a holiday away with your animal. The scenery is spectacular and the snow-capped mountains are always in sight, making a wild backdrop for camping.

It is here that Painted Warriors set up their satellite camp. Each day, guests ride out on a new route on day trips, always returning to the same campsite to cook and sleep for the night. There was just the one luxury: an outhouse that lay near the camp.

The trails varied between days. Some were flat and relatively easy to manage, while others were gnarly and steep, but the horses managed well. The ride was more of a walk, not a high-speed journey, and the group always made sure to travel at the pace of the most novice rider.
My 1.63-metre frame was a disadvantage when it came to mounting my massive horse. I had to climb onto a nearby picnic table, and from there I would find my way into the saddle. But JJ behaved like a dream, despite his height; he was a kind companion and unflappable in any situation.

The extraordinary land around us was pure and beautiful. We rode towards Eagle Lake, a large and pristine body of water surrounded by mountains, where we scanned the craggy cliffs on the other side for elusive bighorn sheep. We then followed meandering trails with scented, moss-covered rocks, dodging the gopher holes that punctuated the landscape and constantly looking around for the wildlife that roams the area, including wolves, bears, cougars, foxes, weasels, wild grouse and eagle owls.

At the end of my five-day experience I was in a positive place, spiritually. Perhaps it was the beauty of nature, or perhaps the smudging ceremony had done its job, but I was feeling good. Hours in the saddle had given me time to slow down, contemplate life and reconnect with nature and the land. There is a Cree word that summarises what I was feeling: kiyam. Translated, it means to truly be at peace with yourself, so nothing anyone says or does will negatively affect you. One last piece of Indigenous wisdom that I would take away with me.