‘The gift comes from the horse’: How this growing Indigenous sport is staying grounded in tradition

Snorting thoroughbreds toss their heads and antsy hooves pound an irregular beat into freshly harrowed sand on a hot August day.

The boom of an announcer’s voice over the loudspeaker is a cue and spectators sidle up, leaning against — or even climbing on top of — the white rail fence lining the track. 

Excited chatter drifts from the grandstands at Onion Lake Cree Nation’s Heritage Park, 50 kilometres north of Lloydminster on the Saskatchewan side of the border, as the fifth and final day of what organizers call Indian Relay Racing is set to begin. 

“The crowd’s been amazing, the stands been packed every day,” race organizer Candy Jackson said. “Considering there is four relays going on at the same time, 14 amazing teams — humble teams — chose Onion Lake, and I appreciate that.” 

The team sport involves riders racing laps on a track and switching horses. Riders complete three laps bareback, each on a different horse. The exchanges are often high intensity, as riders must dismount and touch both feet to the ground before leaping onto the next horse.

WATCH | Extreme sport on track for growth:

How this Indigenous sport sticks to its roots as it surges in popularity

It’s a sport that involves flying down a dirt track on the bare back of a thoroughbred horse, and it’s gaining ground across the country. As Lexi Freehill shows us from Onion Lake Cree Nation, it’s much more than high-speed horses and intense exchanges. It’s a connection to culture.

Collisions between riders, stubborn or overexcited horses, and falls can change the trajectory of a race in seconds .

In the last decade, the sport has been gaining ground across the Prairies. Races are cropping up as staple summer track events, drawing large crowds and drumming up growing cash prizes. 

Tyson Head, a farrier by trade from Mistawasis, Sask., has been racing horses his whole life. Since he started his team T.K. Farrier in 2017, he’s seen passionate fans and six-figure payouts become the norm. 

“We’ve been doing it for nine years now, and we hit a lot of championships and I won a lot of titles in my time,” he told CBC News. 

Head said the growing appeal of the races is attracting more sponsors, which in turn sparks more interest from potential participants looking to get a start in the sport. 

“When I first started, there was only 16 teams,” he said. “Now there’s like 40-something teams already, giving ‘er strong.”  

That growth lends itself to further expansion, Head said. New faces learn the ropes from established teams and eventually start their own outfits, taking in more waves of hopeful racers and passing on cultivated knowledge and honed horsemanship. 

But while the explosion of the sport does bring benefits, Jackson, who hails from Goodfish Lake, said the rise in popularity can also pose problems. 

“Before, we started out as wahkohtowin, which was unity, family,” said Jackson. “We helped each other down the road, people were breaking down, we made sure people got there. 

“As the years went by, the shows got bigger… the unity slowed down, people changed. Everybody was off for the championship.” 

Jackson said her goal as an organizer and as mother to Kal “Buffalo Boy” Jackson, one of the first Canadian relay riders, is to ensure the races — and the riders — stay connected to the culture. 

Starting her race events with a pipe ceremony and prayers is one way Jackson grounds the sport in tradition. And some riders, like 19-year-old cousins Kyla and Kayden Stanley, prepare with prayers and a smudge for themselves and their horses before hitting the track. 

“[It] just makes me feel a lot calmer and safer out there,” Kyla Stanley told CBC News. 

“It’s truly a dangerous sport if you’re just going out and being reckless out there,” Kayden Stanley said. “But if you go have a safe run, it’s a really good feeling.” 

Greater than the cash prizes and the claim to championship titles is each rider’s opportunity to stay true to tradition and remember their roots, said Jackson, adding many of the young jockeys have stories of personal hardship. 

“The sport’s true purpose is that the riders have a talent; the gift comes from the horse,” she said. “It’s the healing spirit of them.

“The horse spirit brought them back here, brought them back to be true warriors.”