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Words by Colin Dulaney
Plains Indians were as gritty as they come. Their sheer fortitude and ferocious way of life surely contributed to their tribal success. Known for their intuitive ability to succeed on the battlefield–razor sharp focus–and visceral ability to stalk both man and prey. It is without question they were some of the greatest hunters the world has ever seen. Due to the natural landscape and tough terrain, much ingenuity was needed in order to successfully provide all with necessary food for survival. Buffalo roamed the plains in the millions providing great opportunity for food, tools and skin to be used as garments. The Blackfoot (Siksikaitsitapi) commonly used a specific tactic known as the Buffalo Jump.
Sky high cliffs and rolling prairies made for the perfect hunting ground for these large beasts. Hunting parties would prepare for days, sometimes weeks, carefully planning the hunt. Those known as runners would dress in buffalo hides and imitate the animals, slowly pushing a stampede toward the cliff edge using predetermined lanes with stones and brush. On the much awaited morning of the hunt, the runners would cry out, waving robes and branches, creating the illusion of predators. Frightened, the buffalo would stampede fastly forward unaware their fate lied ahead. Reaching the edge of the cliff–without a way back, they quickly plunged to their deaths below.
The most popular jump is known as HEAD SMASHED IN BUFFALO JUMP. Yes, that is correct.
The name derives from a legendary tale of an unfortunate young Blackfoot boy. The young Blackfoot boy wanted to witness the great tradition, power and excellence of the annual buffalo jump. Weeks leading up to it the boy would persistently bug his parents–more specifically his father to participate. His brothers would be a part of this hunt and the boy believed he should too. His father, reluctant to let him participate, warned him that he was not ready but in a few years time would be. Internally boiling with anger yet cautiously showing no emotion, he respected his fathers commands. Wearing the Buffalo Skin with head and horns and pushing them off was an honor and the boy wanted nothing other than to be that guy. Laying at night pondering his thoughts his head became a whirlwind of ideas. Walking the mountains leading up to the day–looking to see how he could catch a glimpse of the incredible act. The head decoy warrior would draw the buffalo right to the edge and at the last second would find a small cover for protection as the buffalo trampled over. The boy was determined to find a location. Walking to the area he culminated in an incredible idea. What if he stood from the bottom looking up? What better location than to see ALL the action? The decision was made. Knowing his pursuit of adventure would be denied he kept his secret to himself and was to set out at daybreak.
The Blackfoot hunt party came screaming and running-putting on a great deal of chaos alerting the buffalo to run. Thunderous sounds filled the sky with the rumble of buffalo running. The boy looking up began to see dust and small rocks fall as the sound grew closer and louder. The hunting party began to erupt in excitement as this was more buffalo than they normally had on a typical Buffalo jump. The sound grew deafening and the young boy could feel his body shaking from the pure power of the stampede. Looking up, the sky began to darken. As a few Buffalo toppled over the boy below witnessed them wallop the ground. Corpses splattering, Bones breaking and death at his feet by the hundreds. Large boulders began to fling over as the amount of buffalo grew larger and larger. The boy was washed away to the bottom of the base from the riptide of dust and power. Looking up one last time, as the beasts themselves came crashing down.
Hours had passed and the celebration began. Men working their way around to the cripples, steadily putting them down. Dragging and taking the hundreds off to the sides for the women. The women would butcher, prepare and help clean the animals on the outer edges. Hunters continuing perimeter checks looking for any escapes–with the impression they would alert other herds to not enter these ranges. Buffalo were extremely knowledgeable and the Blackfoot needed to make sure they maintained the edge on them. As the cleanup persisted a piercing scream was heard across the valley. A hunter yelled back for help finding a mutilated corpse lying under a buffalo. A day of celebration was now a day of mourning. Not easily identifiable by looking, it had taken a little before it was discovered whose boy it was. With the boy’s head squashed like a popped watermelon from the densely weighted buffalo the would-be warrior had perished too soon. Touched by his courage and persistence the tribe would name the cliff in his honor. “Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump”.
Reminding us of the truly rigorous lifestyle these men and women lived day to day. We can only obtain a glimpse through our wildest adventures before finding ourselves nestled back in our snug homes.
