Grit & Grace: Mud, Muck, and the Heart of Gimlet

Mud, Muck, and the Heart of Gimlet

    If you head out looking for Gimlet, Alberta, you’re going to find a lot of pasture, a lot of farmland, and very few houses. You’ll pass the old church barely standing its ground, and right after that, you’ll hit the Gimlet Community Hall and Rodeo Grounds. The community literally kept the bones of the old school and attached the hall to it. It’s a place that refuses to be forgotten.

    This past Sunday was the 59th Annual Father’s Day Rodeo. When I woke up, the sky was pouring. I sent a quick text to see if the event was still a go, and the answer came back immediately: Rain or shine. Off we go.

    When I pulled up to the gate, I realized I had made the ultimate rookie mistake and forgot to pack cash. The girl at the gate recognized me as the photographer and let it slide, which is the exact kind of small-town grace you only find at these events. But one look at the arena told me my standard cowboy boots weren't going to cut it. The dirt was practically floating. I had to make a business decision: drown my gear in the muck, or ask Josh the announcer for some real estate up in the booth. I took the stairs. I might have missed a few angles being directly over the chutes, but the glass stayed dry.

    From up in the crow's nest, I had a front-row seat to what grassroots rodeo is actually about.

    As the rain kept coming, you could hear the scratch-outs rolling in. People were turning out because of the arena conditions. But what mattered were the ones who showed up anyway. There were no arena records being broken in the barrel racing—it was purely about survival and keeping the horses safe. Yet, everyone from the ladies down to the 12-and-under division showed up to run. We had girls losing their hats on the run home, hoping the prize money would cover a good cleaning.

    But the highlight of the day was a young girl in the 12-and-under whose feet couldn't even reach the stirrups. She ran that pattern basically bareback, crossing the timer line with mud on her helmet and an absolutely massive grin on her face.

    That right there is the pulse of the Central Alberta Rodeo Association (CARA).

    It is generational. It’s watching a team roping run where a young girl backs into the box to head, and her Grandpa—a gentleman by the name of Cruickshank—is sitting on the heeling side. She did her job, she caught the head, and Grandpa did his job and caught the back feet. Hearing the announcer light up over a fast time from a grandfather-granddaughter duo is something you just don't get in the big stadium shows.

    It wasn't just the roping and racing, either. In the roughstock, it was pure, unscripted chaos. I watched a rider get completely face-planted in the slop, yelling out, "I can't see!" A bullfighter had to physically guide him back to the bucking chutes while someone scrambled for a towel just so the kid could wipe the mud out of his eyes. It sucked for the athletes, but you cannot put a price tag on that kind of entertainment.

    And speaking of price tags—for $20, a whole family could pull up and watch five hours of absolute grit, generation after generation teaching each other the ropes in the pouring rain. The local sponsors who step up to keep the admission that low are the unsung heroes of this sport.

    Gimlet might be off the beaten path, but as long as they keep backing into the box and nodding their heads in the mud, it’s exactly where I want to be.

Lee Kemp

Every Moment Is A Choice Studio

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