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magazine / ma05
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March/April 2005 issue |
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FEATURE
Wild horses
Mustang valley
Wild horses have come to symbolize one First Nation’s battle over territory in British Columbia’s Chilcotin country
Excerpt of story by Andrew Findlay with photography by Patrice Halley
The horse stirs and tosses its head anxiously, its muscular body chestnut- brown save for
a white stripe running down the length of its snout like a couloir of snow. Chief Roger William
adjusts the saddle cinch in silence, slips a boot into the stirrup and hoists himself into
the saddle. A gust of dry air blows down the valley, rattling the aspens and shimmering the
pine grass in golden waves, while two ravens soar on a thermal, riding up the crumbling sedimentary
flanks of Mount Nemaiah before resolving into black dots against the blue sky.
If William is nervous about the mountain race about to begin, it doesn’t show or,
at least, he is keeping his emotions well concealed behind mirrored sunglasses. The 39-year-old
chief of the Xeni Gwet’in (ha-nay gwet-een) has ridden his quarter horse Morgan to
victory in the legendary three-quartermile race five times. The only other competitors this
year are Terry Lulua, a veteran mountain racer, June Cahoose, a steely-nerved young woman
from Anahim Lake, and George Anderson, a brash tobacco-chewing Carrier from Quesnel, whose
constant chatter betrays his nerves.
In the valley far below, country music croons while an excited crowd of cowboys, tourists
and locals waits for the start of the race, the marquee attraction at the rodeo hosted every
August by the Xeni Gwet’in First Nation, one of six Tsilhqot’in (tsil-ko-tin)
communities that form the Tsilhqot’in National Government in the heart of Chilcotin
country, the region between the Fraser River and the Coast Mountains of west-central British
Columbia. To the southeast, Mount Ts’yl-os (sigh-loss), the central figure of a Xeni
Gwet’in legend, keeps a silent vigil over the proceedings, sunlight glistening off
a silvery tongue of ice that tumbles down its face.
Two weeks ago, 10 wild horses grazed lazily in this pasture. Among them were three mares
as black as obsidian, two with one clumsy white foal each and a third one expectant, its
belly swollen. Like nervous teenagers, two frisky colts pranced at a respectful distance
from the powerful light brown stallion, whose blond mane lent him a regal, authoritative
air. Today, the wild ones are nowhere to be seen, perhaps chased by the midsummer heat into
the shaded woodlands higher up on the Chilcotin Plateau or, more likely, by the ringing bustle
of the rodeo.
In a thunder of hoofs, the racers are off, galloping down the incline at a ludicrous pace,
a cloud of dust billowing behind and all but obscuring the riders. A fall here could be fatal
for horse and rider. In under a minute, the competitors are splashing across Nemaiah Creek.
As they break onto the grassy flats of the rodeo grounds, William has a comfortable lead.
Lulua, soaking wet and splattered with mud, has dropped from second to third after being
unceremoniously dumped into the water by his stumbling horse. Spurring Morgan to the finish,
cowboy hat still clinging improbably to his head, William and his steed are a study in grace
and speed. Together, they easily notch up another victory in a display of horsemanship that
evokes pride throughout the Xeni Gwet’in First Nation. In just 90 seconds, the race
is over.
For the rest of this story, visit your local newsstand or go to our store to buy this issue.
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