The Legend of The Hand Hills and Mother Mountain.

[Chandler Stephon Armstrong]

My Grandparents owned a ranch in the Hand Hills when I was a child, and we spent a lot of time in this wonderful place roaming the hills on foot and horseback. One of our favorite places to visit was Mother's Mountain, it's highest point, and event at a young age remember feeling the tremendous energy, and spirit of this place.

One cannot travel through these hills without being constantly reminded of the pre-historical history of this region. One of the interesting features are the many stone circles, often through to be "teepee rings" but believed by many to be the medicine wheels. Their full story may never be told, however, we do know that many of the young braves of the Blackfoot Nation carried out their fasting an vision quests here to connect with their spirit guides and animals that were part of their sacred traditions.

For those who are not familiar, the Hand Hills rise almost 185 meters above the surrounding prairie, providing a breathtaking view from the top. The Handhill are the second highest point between the Rocky Mountains and the east coast. Located 35 km west of Hanna off Highway #9.

They are called by the Crees "michichi ispatinan" or "hand hills" which has been said is on account of their resemblance to the outstretched fingers of the hand, the top of the table land not being flat but composed of five ridges which radiate from a centre lying to the south-east.

There is, however, another version, which has more support from those who know the stories and oral history handed down, which holds that the name means "little hand" and refers to a Blackfoot chief by the same name who was killed on one of these hills, and as his name suggests, had one small hand. I've included this legend below...

THE LEDGEND OF THE HAND HILLS

by the Hand Hills book commitee

"Several theories have been offered to explain the naming of these hills. One of the most widespread suggests that the range consists of five ridges, spread like the fingers of a giant hand. A study of the hills themselves, however, does not support this theory. The true explanation goes far back into the dim past. The exact date is unknown, but the events probably took place between three and four hundred years ago. Ancient Blackfoot, Cree and Assinboline legends give an inkling of the truth. These Stories have been handed down by word of mouth from father to son, and during the centuries have been changed and distorted. However, when all the fragments of information from various sources have been pieced together, there emerges the story of a man whose name once spread fear throughout southern Alberta.

In the seventeenth century the country along the Red Deer River was largely unknown to the white man. It was a wild, desolate land hot, dry summers and fierce winter blizzards. It was a silent, lonely land where the cry of a circling hawk, or the call of a coyote from a hillside were the only sounds to break the stillness. the thick upland grass thrived in the sandy soil and provided some of the finest buffalo range in the west. The great herds roamed through the hills and along the river valley and sheltered in the brushy coulees. Their principal enemies were the roving bands of the Blackfoot and Cree hunters.

Horses had not yet appeared on the western plains. Their coming, which did not take place until the beginning of the eighteen century, was to completely change the way of life of the buffalo hunters. These horses, the wild descendants of those brought to Mexico by Hernando Cortes in 1518, gradually spread up through the central plains. Around 1730, in a skirmish with the Shohonis (Snakes), the Blackfoot first came into contact with mounted warriors. At the time of this story, however, the tribesmen wtill hunted on foot, working in the relays to run down the buffalo.

Peter fidler, who traveled through this country in 1792, and was probably the first white man to see the Hand Hills, described a buffalow hunt. He tells how the young men drove the animals between converging fences of brush and stone plies to the "jump". This was usually a "cutback" or cliff of suitable height and a corral of brush and poles was constructed at the booth. These killing places, which the Blackfoot called "piskun" or "blood kettle" were fairly common in Alberta and the Northwestern States, and many of them had been in fairly constant use for thousands of years. Fidler mentions the terrible smell from decaying meat, which carried downwind for miles. For this reason the "jumps" were often made so that the prevailing binds would carry the smell away from the driven buffalo. The hear was kept constantly running and was stampeded and broken animals were slaughtered with stone axes and spears. The women of the band w2ould then cut up the carcasses and take the choice parts, leaving the offal and bones for the coyotes and carrion crows. Much of the meat was dried and pounded up with berries and melted fat to form pemmican for winter use. If the hunters failed, they stared. It was simple as that.

This was a harsh land, where life was short and unbelievably hard. Death was always near, from disease or winter famine, from the up thrust horn of a buffalo bull, or from a whisper of a flint-tipped arrow shot from ambush.

At this particular time the Blackfoot fortunes were at a slow ebb. They were being slaughtered in unending raids and driven from the best hunting grounds. It added little to their joy when a crippled baby w3as born in a small camp along the Red Deer River. The child had one shrunken hand that resembled the claw of an animal and it's chance of survival seemed small indeed.

Starvation during the long winters was an ever present threat and the aged and the sick were usually the first to succumb. The fact that the able-bodied hunter must survive and remain strong was recognized by all, since the very existence of the whole band depended on their ability to hunt. The crippled child, therefore, fared poorly in times of shortage and lived on such scraps as he could find or steal.

In spite of everything the boy lived and thrived, although the other children in the band threw stones at him and called him Little Hand. He soon learned to hold his own and his growing skill and sheer ferocity more than compensated for his handicap. It soon became clear that it was unwise to anger Little Hand. He forced his crippled hand to draw a bowstring and became skillful in the use of all the traditional weapons. At the age of sixteen, in the blood and agony of the ancient tribal ceremony Little Hand became a man.

The coming of age ritual was a savage and painful ordeal that every Blackfoot boy had to face before he could become a warrior. It has been described many times by early traders and explorers. Briefly it was as follows: the young men to be initiated entered the Sun Dance lodge and knelt, one at a time, before the medicine fire. The medicine man, with a sharp flint knife made two deep cuts in the left breast, about two inches apart, and ran the knife under the flesh between the bashes. Then he passed a rawhide thong through and tied. Then one end of a long rawhide rope was fastened to this thong and the other end tied to the Sun Dance pole. Then, while the sacred drums throbbed to the beat of the Sun Dance song, the young initiate danced and tried to tear out the flesh that held him captive to the pole. This sometimes took many hours and the boy was expected to laugh and sing during the ordeal. The warriors of the tribe watched him closely, and if he fainted from exhaustion, showed signs of pain, or failed to tear out the flesh he would be marked as a coward and could never become a warrior. He would be allowed only to help the women in their camp work and would be exposed to the scorn of everyone for the rest of his life.

To help him to avoid this fate his mother and younger brothers would sometimes come and pull on his shoulder, to aid in tearing out the flesh. An alternate method was sometime used, in which two buffalo heads were suspended by thongs from slits in the boy's back. He was expected to dance until the tore loose. Every Blackfoot warrior carried the scars of this ritual to the day of his death.

Not much is known of the early life of Little Hand. Like other Blackfoot boys he fasted in the lonely Badlands, seeing his pagan gods, and praying for a vision. By custom, most warriors received at least three different names during their lifetimes. The later names were usually given to commemorate a victory, as successful hunt, or some other event in the warrior's life. A foolish or cowardly action might also be commemorated. A "good" name was great ly valued by the Blackfoot, and occasionally given by an old warrior to a young man who had performed some outstanding feat. If Little Hand had other names they have not come down to us.

In the following years he took part in numerous skirmishes and proved himself to be a capable and feroious figher. His fame as a warrior and a leader spread, and in due time he was appointed a chief of his band. A new name was spoken more and more in the Cree lodges. It was Michichi, or Hand.

Michichi carried the war to the Cree for many years, from the Blood Indian Creek to the rosebud, from the Neutral Hills to South Saskatchewan. His name was known in the far away Sweet Grass Hills (Kutoyisks). He knew the Serpent God on Berry Creek and made offerings to the ancient Ribstone, on its great hill far to the northwest. The Blackfoot hunted far afield in the long hot summers. They had slain buffalo in the Black Hills, and traded for obsidian in the Yellowstone country, but always Michichi returned to the hills of his boyhood. He was now an honored war chief and champion of his people. Perhaps he grew old and a little careless.

On summer day a Cree war party ambushed him in a brush-filled coulee. the war arrows hissed and Michichi fell, mortally wounded. With the hand of death heavy on him the old warrior was still dangerous. He called out, "I am Michichi. If you want my life you must pay for it." He prayed to the Sun for strengh, spread his arrows on the ground before him, and watched the circling Cree. The afternoon waned, the ring of dead and dying enemy grew, and Michichi chanted his Death Song as the last arrows were sped. When the ghost of Michichi walked the dark Spirit Trail he took with him the best and bravest of the Cree warriors.

The survivors hacked out the still quivering heart with their stone knives, and divided and ate it, so that its courage and strength should enter into them. Then, by ancient custom they mutilated the body and went their way. Michichi still lies in a shallow, unknown grave on some lonely slope of the hills that he loved, the Michichi, or Hand Hills.

The Red Hunters have gone forever and the ashes of their hearth fires are buried beneath the prairie sod. Their way of life is hidden in the mists of the lost centuries, and yet - if you ever stand on a high hill and look out over the blue shadows of the Red Deer Valley, the summer breeze may whisper the legend and it may all seem believable to you?"

Mother Mountain, Sacred Land of the Serpent God (Lightening)

As for the significance of these hills as a sacred site, from my limited research, these hills were the sacred lands where Michichi would honor the “Serpent God” which manifests in nature as lightening, which rears and strikes the earth to fertilize it; and brings the power of the heaven’s. In the interaction of the six sacred directions – north, west, south, east, above and below, the serpent god brings the power of heaven to the earth. Mother’s mountain is the highest point between the Rocky Mountains and the east coast; rise almost 185 meters above the surrounding prairie plains, As we all know, lighten seeks the highest point when it strikes, making Mother Mountain a perfect place for it to manifest.

In Closing

With a greater understanding of the legend of the Hand Hills, I've planned to return - possible with Roger and a few of his crew, to re-connect with this wonderful place of my childhood. I welcome anyone who has more information or something to contribute to share their insights, revelations and stories about this remarkable place.

- Chandler Stephon Armstrong