Get the inside scoop on The Narwhal’s environment and climate reporting by signing up for our free newsletter.
Grey clouds loom overhead as a group from the Montana First Nation rides in the back of a pickup truck, sailing through a sea of prairie gold with their gaze fixated on a herd of Buffalo.
The 10 hunters, all packed in the bed of a grey 2023 Dodge Ram Warlock, carefully choose one to harvest: a small cow roughly two years old.
Treyvon Pipestem, the designated shooter, aims and fires the first shot. Upon impact, the herd instinctively surrounds the injured animal to offer protection before retreating to a small wooded grove nearby.
The hunters follow and fire three more shots until they finally bring down the chosen cow. Once the Buffalo is down, the herd moves on. For many involved, this hunt was their first, serving as a tangible example of the relationship between humans and Buffalo.
“I wasn’t sure what to expect with the hunt,” Kyra Northwest, a member of Montana First Nation, said. “I was really emotional. I cried a bunch of times.”
I learned about this hunt while on a road trip from Vancouver to Montana, seeking to understand the past and present role of Buffalo on the plains and how communities are working to restore them. I also wanted to explore my own personal and ancestral connection to these lumbering giants who have often appeared in my dreams.
My Métis ancestors hunted and lived relationally with Buffalo, and I can envision how the prairies must have looked hundreds of years ago when millions roamed freely from Alaska’s boreal forests to the western grasslands of Mexico, across the continent from Banff to the eastern Appalachian Mountains. Then colonizers nearly wiped them out, part of a deliberate genocidal effort to starve the Indigenous nations of the plains.
Now, there are far fewer Buffalo to be seen, but Indigenous communities are working to rematriate them to the grasslands. Rematriation, a concept advanced by the late Sto:lo author Lee Maracle, is the process of restoring lands and cultures, done with deep reverence to honour not only the past and present but also the future, and rooted in Indigenous law.
The hunt by Montana First Nation took place this past August on the lands of the Louis Bull Tribe. Both are part of the four nations of Maskwacîs, located south of Edmonton.
“I think the hunt allows for everyone involved to reflect on the relationship between our Peoples, the land and our relatives, the Buffalo,” Northwest said.
“There is a deep interconnectedness that sometimes we need to be reminded of, revitalize and honour. Wahkohtowin: kinship or being related to each other. And not just related as humans, but with everything that Mother Earth provides.”
On the road, I make my first stop in the Bow River Valley of Banff National Park, where I meet Tasha Hubbard under the shadow of Sleeping Buffalo Mountain.
The award-winning Cree filmmaker and academic from Peepeekisis Cree Nation holds a grounded energy. Her soft but unwavering voice is a testament to how much these relatives mean to her.
Her latest film, Singing Back the Buffalo, imagines a future where these animals can again roam free after enduring a shared history of genocide. As a long-time supporter of the Buffalo Treaty, Hubbard, along with signatory members and other Buffalo advocates, travelled to the lands of the Blood Tribe in Stand Off, Alta., to mark the treaty’s tenth anniversary on Sep. 24.
The Buffalo Treaty, signed in September 2014 by eight nations, now has more than 50 signatories and includes 11 articles emphasizing co-operation, renewal and the restoration of Buffalo populations. This cross-border collaboration aims to return Buffalo to their rightful wild status, as they are currently considered “domestic” due to their historical confinement, a word that hardly suits their ancestral legacy.
Buffalo don’t care about borders, and yet, there are rigid regulations in place that stop their movement. The treaty envisions ecological corridors that will allow Buffalo to migrate and roam freely, similar to elk, bears, deer and moose. These corridors are essential for maintaining genetic diversity, supporting the vast ecosystem dynamics of the plains, preserving cultural and spiritual connections for Indigenous peoples and ensuring the long-term viability of bison populations by preventing overgrazing and disease outbreaks.
Many prairie highways follow the once well-worn paths of the Buffalo as they migrated with the seasons in search of food, water and favourable grazing conditions, tamping down their own roads over centuries of migration.
“As Indigenous people, we followed them. So they became our paths too. Then, they became trails. Then, they became highways. As you are moving across the prairies, whether you know it or not, you are following those Buffalo pathways,” Hubbard said.
Much like our families, Buffalo faced severe violence, displacement and discrimination, which had devastating effects on their populations and the ecosystems they supported. The near-extermination of Buffalo was driven by a combination of factors, including reckless slaughter to clear land for economic and agricultural development, as well as excessive hunting for sport and the hide trade.
Two centuries ago, North America was home to an estimated 30 million to 60 million Buffalo. Today, the population has significantly decreased, with only about 2,200 Plains Buffalo and around 10,000 Wood Buffalo remaining in the wild or protected areas across “Canada.” The vast majority of these majestic creatures are now livestock: as of 2021, nearly 150,000 Buffalo were found on Canadian farms.
“Buffalo restoration is a huge undertaking,” Hubbard shared.
“It’s going to take collaboration. The most important thing is that Indigenous people aren’t just afterthoughts — that we’re part of that decision-making body, especially when it comes to certain places. Remembering that it needs to be an Indigenous-led effort.”
Pushing Indigenous Peoples off their lands to make way for settlement has mirrored the contemporary practice of sweeping streets for gentrification. Both actions reveal a disregard for the connections people have to their homes and communities. The connection between the two is important because, when killing the Buffalo, the government was vocal about wanting to make our people poor, an effort that continues to impact generations.
While my father and grandparents are active members of the Métis communities in the prairies, the effects of colonization fractured and frayed my family, too.
In April 2020, I started dreaming of bison grazing in Wanuskewin Heritage Park, near my birthplace in misâskwatômina, also known as Saskatoon. On April 22, 2020, the first baby bison was born on Wanuskewin land since before 1876.
Hubbard’s research on awakening Buffalo consciousness over the years has examined how Indigenous communities reconnect with traditional ways of life, including practices related to the Buffalo, to reclaim and revitalize traditional knowledge, ceremonies and ways of being disrupted by colonization.
When I first connected with Hubbard, she told me that some of us are “Buffalo dreamers.”
Passing the threshold of the mountains, I can barely open my eyes. The entire world feels like it is nothing but sky. Red-tailed hawks glide overhead while patchworks of agriculture fields and grassland welcome me to the prairies. These prairies are one of the most endangered biomes on the planet due to agricultural expansion, habitat loss and fragmentation, climate change, invasive species, overgrazing and fire suppression.
On my way to Edmonton, I make a pit stop at Elk Island to meet the Buffalo. The setting sun casts its golden hour glow over the land. I get lucky: Buffalo are everywhere. I see them wallowing in shimmering dust clouds from their dirt baths, cows grazing with their calves, and their impossible size juxtaposed unnaturally close to the lineup of vehicles also visiting.
Buffalo are playful, running around and chasing one another, headbutting and sparring, bellowing and snorting. They travel together in family structures, which I witness as they wander the land before me. Typically, a matriarch leads the herd while the bulls linger behind, keeping a lookout.
Every step I take stirs up clouds of grasshoppers before a dominant bull and I lock eyes. He must have been the biggest animal I’ve ever encountered — Buffalo is the largest mammal in North America, weighing up to 900 kilograms and standing almost two metres high. He is broad with expressive eyes and a beard filled with seeds.
This makes them excellent at dispersing seeds, which cling to their fur or beards as they move through their habitats. When Buffalo rub against trees, shrubs, or other surfaces, seeds stuck in their fur can be transferred to new locations.
As a keystone species, they have played a significant role in shaping these lands. Not only do their grazing patterns help maintain the grassland ecosystem by preventing the encroachment of shrubs and trees, but their dung fertilizes the soil and supports a diversity of plant life. These grasses have evolved to be grazed and trampled on by herds passing by, and the health of the grass dictates the health of the prairies — everything depends on that grass, all the animals in the prairie food chain.
There is often confusion about the name “Buffalo” in North America. Bison and Buffalo are used interchangeably, but they are scientifically known as Bison bison bison. Yes, no typo here. Genus: Bison. Species: bison. Subspecies: bison. Generally, “Buffalo” is used in cultural contexts, while “bison” is used in scientific contexts.
There are also two subspecies of Buffalo: wood bison and plains bison. Wood bison are taller and darker, favouring colder climates and more likely to be found in northern regions. Plains bison are found on open grasslands and are lighter in colour, stockier with a rounder hump.
The morning after the hunt, when I return to meet with Kyra Northwest, the Buffalo are nowhere to be seen, and a dense veil of smoke from a fire near Wood Buffalo has settled over the area. Northwest, along with Hubbard, is a founding member of the International Buffalo Relations Institute (IBRI). This organization is dedicated to promoting the Buffalo Treaty and supporting Indigenous nations in reintroducing Buffalo to their lands.
At a picnic table near Astotin Lake, Northwest said she didn’t have many opportunities to see Buffalo growing up. Her experiences were limited to occasional visits to zoos and ranches and brief glimpses during drives.
“My kokum talked so much about how she relates to them,” Northwest shared. “She said, ‘I relate to these Buffalo because I, myself, have been taken from my land. I was put in a fenced area. I was taken away from my family.’
“It’s sad that there’s this big disconnect to Buffalo because it’s so rare to see them anywhere on the landscape. I think that’s slowly changing and shifting with nations bringing Buffalo back into their communities and onto their lands.”
“I think one of the biggest things in this work that I’ve learned is how much reconnecting and revitalization we need to do,” she said.
“I think a lot of our teachings, things that we learn in ceremony and things that we learn about as families come from them. Thinking about how they take care of each other. Thinking about their matriarchs and how, with that physical disconnection, we haven’t been able to witness their presence on the landscape in a long time, it has been missed so much.”
Banff National Park is one prime example of how this rewilding can look. In 2020, Northwest, Hubbard and their team hiked to see the Buffalo.
“We know that the Buffalo are there. We know that they’re having their babies there, and they’re free and roaming everywhere. Sometimes I go to places where you think that you wouldn’t see cattle, and then there’s cattle out there, and every time I see them, I think: one day you’ll all be Buffalo,” she said.
As many Nations work toward rematriation, they are even starting to see plants return. Northwest said that some elders in Kainai Nation have seen birds returning that they’ve never seen on their land. Because Buffalo support the land and many other animals, their return has been compared to a missing puzzle piece. It brings back the land, but it also brings back the songs, the ceremonies and the way the prairies are supposed to be.
Driving across the prairies in Alberta and Saskatchewan, along what I’ve come to think of as the Buffalo road, offers a view of the landscape’s interconnectedness. With thunder and lightning in the distance — these prairie storms often occur in August due to the intense heat and humidity that build up during the summer — the smell of prairie grass was earthy and clean.
Melissa Arcand, a soil biogeochemist and a member of Muskeg Lake Cree Nation, is interested in improving the relationship between Indigenous people and the soil by acknowledging historical exploitation and working toward reciprocal land stewardship. She is collaborating with Hubbard on Buffalo rematriation efforts, contributing to a network of Indigenous scholarship.
“My hope, at least with working with [International Buffalo Relations Institute] and the research network, is to see if any research that we do with Buffalo is actually serving the communities who are trying to rematriate them, or who are trying to do restoration of their lands,” she explained.
The soil conditions on the prairies have been shaped by thousands of years of ecological processes, including the significant role played by Buffalo. Grazing stimulates plant growth that is then replenished with nutrients from the Buffalo’s manure and urine, which return essential elements like nitrogen, phosphorus and potassium to the soil. Buffalo hooves and their movement across the land help to aerate the soil and prevent it from becoming overly compacted.
Even in areas where Buffalo have been absent for a century and a half, the land still retains their legacy, embedded into the soil’s organic matter and microorganisms.
“What’s really cool is that our soils, even if they’ve been disturbed, even if they’ve been influenced and altered by agriculture, they still carry a lot of the legacy of 10,000 years, not just the last 100 years, or ten years or 20 years,” Arcand said.
“Our prairie soils are actually made to house bison because they helped develop them through their grazing, through the grasses that are there, through the defecation.”
Prairie soils are notably carbon-rich, making them a significant asset in mitigating climate change. These soils store carbon in the form of organic matter, sequestering carbon dioxide (CO2) from the atmosphere through plant photosynthesis and subsequent decomposition.
Arcand hopes to study whether Buffalo’s presence can support efforts to mitigate climate change by sequestering carbon and supporting conservation.
“We could say, hey, what we’re doing is actually conserving carbon. But we don’t know that yet.”
Arcand has begun soil testing with at least one community, focusing on areas where a herd is planned to be reintroduced. For now, it’s a matter of waiting to see how things develop and finding funding.
“In a lot of ways, we act as advocates. With our researcher hats on, we are providing that evidence base to advocate for ourselves. Because we live in a world where we are interacting with policies and legislation and regulations that come out of our Canadian colonial governments, that is the reality.”
The story of the Buffalo herd at the National Bison Range in Montana, in Blackfoot territory, is deeply intertwined with the Buffalo Treaty and the broader context of Indigenous stewardship. These animals descend from a small number of survivors of the “Great Slaughter.” According to tribal oral history, ?Atatic’e?, the son of Peregrine Falcon Robe, known as Little Falcon Robe, brought the orphaned calves to the Flathead Reservation. When they eventually lost their land, they had no choice but to sell the herd. The Canadian government was the only willing buyer.
For decades, the nations involved with the National Bison Range have tirelessly fought to have their land returned and to resume stewardship of the Buffalo. Their efforts were realized in 2022, when the land was officially restored to them.
Whisper Camel-Means, an enrolled member of the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes and wildlife biologist, explains that stewardship is about mutual care, not property. “It’s not about ownership. Right from the very beginning of the dialogues, we said, ‘No one owns the buffalo.’ We all have our part in taking care of them. They’ve taken care of us for so many generations, and it’s now our turn to take care of them. How do we work together to make sure their life is good?” Camel-Means says in a scene from Singing Back the Buffalo.
Leroy Little Bear is a Blackfoot scholar who has been instrumental in the creation and implementation of the Buffalo Treaty. Over Zoom, wearing a T-shirt with a Buffalo on it — just as Hubbard and Northwest did during our conversations — Little Bear tells me that the treaty emerged from extensive conversations among Indigenous leaders and communities.
Recognizing the need for greater support for their relatives, the iinii (the Blackfoot word for Buffalo), particularly for new or less-resourced signatory nations, the International Buffalo Relations Institute established a nonprofit to aid in various capacities, such as funding research or curriculum development related to the treaty.
“See our youth, they hear the stories, they hear the songs, they participate in the ceremonies. But when you look out the window, there’s no Buffalo to be seen,” Little Bear said.
When asked about how it feels to have a Blackfoot herd, Little Bear said, “It’s kind of like my relatives coming home.”
“I go and visit them. They’re just right off the road. They claim that territory. They roam around over there. We go over there and sing to them. Sometimes, they hear us and come towards [us]. The more people that know about Buffalo, the better.”
As I stood up and peeked through the moonroof of the black Bronco I was travelling in, I watched the herd slowly graze across the rolling hills of the National Bison Range. They moved slowly but deliberately, often stopping to graze and wallow. It felt healing to watch them in an open space, as they were meant to be.
Back at the hunt, the hunters from the Montana First Nation brought the Buffalo back to camp, where they skinned it and assessed its size. Elder women and youth joined the effort to process the meat. Together, they quartered the Buffalo and prepared some meat for the smoker. The brain would be used for tanning, and elders requested bones to make bone broth and tools. One cleaned shoulder blade became a fan for the fire.
The involvement of youth in the whole process — from the hunt to the preparation and distribution of the meat — was particularly significant. The elders were proud and pleased to see the younger generation engaged and learning traditional skills, something many of the youth’s parents hadn’t grown up with the opportunity to do.
Some young boys had been involved from early morning, assisting with every stage of the process, including tracking the herd, cutting up the meat and monitoring the smoker overnight. Other children, initially hesitant, grew curious and excited about touching the Buffalo’s wirebrush-like fur, asking questions about the hunt and the animal.
It isn’t only children who are rediscovering the Buffalo and forging new relationships with this old relation. The magpies, prairie dogs, pronghorns, rattlesnakes, flies and ants I witnessed all found resources and refuge in the habitat shaped by the Buffalo. In under three days’ time, Hubbard and her companions saw a Buffalo wallow transform into an entirely new ecosystem, becoming a temporary wetland where boreal toads were singing and competing with each other to fertilize their eggs.
On the road, Buffalo seemed to emerge like ghosts, their forms becoming visible in the clouds, treelines and distant rolling high slopes. I joked to Hubbard over text about how I finally began to understand Buffalo consciousness in a deeper, more instinctive way. Reflecting on rewilding, I was reminded of Robin Wall Kimmerer’s insight in Braiding Sweetgrass that “all flourishing is mutual.” I hadn’t fully grasped the significance of a prairie without barriers for its inhabitants until I spent this time there.
I thought about how many of us yearn to escape from our technology-driven lives and reconnect with the land after the spiritual trauma caused by colonization. Buffalo are medicine. They guide us and offer direction on how to live.
“I think Buffalo has been patient for a long time while the humans catch up to what needed to get done,” Hubbard told me. “I think that we’re in a time where they are really permeating consciousness.”
As I drove across highways and interstates, through the desolate country and scattered cities, I scanned the landscape for any trace of Buffalo. They were both nowhere and everywhere, their presence woven into old signs, street names and the stories I heard from Banff to Missoula. An indelible part of our nations’ histories, and our futures too.
Get the inside scoop on The Narwhal’s environment and climate reporting by signing up for our free newsletter. On a cloudy evening in early September, fisherman...
Continue reading
This story about an effort to bring clean, reliable electricity to remote First Nations is...
Millions of bison once roamed the grasslands, until colonialism nearly wiped them out. Now, Indigenous...
The program in northern B.C. has trained hundreds of Indigenous people, and fed thousands more....
