In June, 2013, large swaths of downtown Calgary were swamped with massive flood waters – and the Stampede grounds were not spared. Everything, from the horse barns up to the grandstand, was covered in silty brown water. But once the river receded, a force of 900 workers was marshalled for cleanup and rebuilding. The rodeo and exhibition, by an extraordinary feat of logistics, still went ahead two weeks later.
Crucially, Stampede organizers promised then-mayor Naheed Nenshi that their cleanup would put no more strain on the city, which was struggling to deal with ruined homes and 80,000 displaced residents.
This summer, the Stampede is again vowing to go on – despite a massive break in Calgary’s main water artery that has led to a shutdown, cutting supplies in half and putting the whole city under voluntary and mandatory water restrictions. The Stampede begins on July 5, but repairs could go on for weeks after that. “Come hell or high water,” was the slogan in 2013. This year, “Come hell or no water” is circulating.
This might not be as big a disaster as the 2013 floods were. But this time, it’s hard to be confident there will be no broader stress due to the Stampede, given that city officials have warned the taps could actually run dry.
Still, there was really no question the show would go on. There would certainly be a massive economic hit if the Stampede didn’t happen, with at least $300-million in tourist dollars riding on it. The city’s hotels and restaurants all count on being busy at this critical time.
Stampede chief executive Joel Cowley has said the exhibition will do whatever it can to offset the use of city water – including trucking it in for the 1,000 animals on site each day, and for the humans, too. The city says many people get out of Dodge during the busy Stampede period – which acts as a counterweight to the influx of tens of thousands of visitors – and that water use doesn’t necessarily spike.
The critics of the Stampede – who oppose the use of animals for entertainment, and the substantial influence its leaders hold over the city – don’t need much nudging to point out the risk of this gambit. There’s no guarantee visitors will follow guidelines asking them not to flush or shower too much. A heat dome could hit. Many Calgarians have come to accept letting their outdoor plants die and the mountains of dirty laundry pile up. But some will see the Stampede proceeding as a signal the water crunch isn’t really that dire. The city and the Stampede will have to do a lot of work to explain why this isn’t the case.
On the other hand, that oversized sway of the Stampede also means there’s a strong motivation to have the repairs done quickly, perhaps even ahead of schedule.
For many people outside the city, it’s hard to understand Calgarians’ attachment to the Stampede and the way it takes over even beyond the fairgrounds, with parties, free pancake breakfasts and cowboy cosplay. The massive buy-in is scary, but spectacular. The event also provides a cultural touchstone for the thousands of newcomers – many of them interprovincial migrants but most from overseas – arriving in the city each month.
The Stampede is even part of my family story, in that it figured prominently in my grandpa’s childhood.
At the age of 12, he was allowed to leave the cloistered world of the family farm to accompany a large team of Percheron horses to the 1925 Stampede. He rode his “best mare” Fanny behind his uncle’s chuckwagon 140 kilometres from Bassano to Calgary, where he slept next to the Mewata Armoury each night, and feasted on roasted buffalo during the day. He hung out with the other cowboys and learned how to lasso. Through his parents’ divorce, his time as a flight instructor in the Second World War, and his decades as a teacher, he never forgot those coming-of-age days the Stampede gave him.
Ninety-five years later, the Stampede was cancelled because of the pandemic. In 2021, one year after that, only a pared-back line of floats was allowed for the Stampede’s parade day. There were no crowds. The event was staged for the cameras, as we were living through another ugly COVID-19 variant. Still, standing on the media sidelines, I was grateful for each horse rider and marching band that passed by. We were getting some version of normalcy – something to mark tradition.
Here we are, in the midst of disaster again, both near and far. The Stampede is fun and frivolous, but it brings us together for a shared experience. And many of us need that right now.