These Indigenous communities are revolutionizing tourism by teaching culture on their own terms | Canada Voices

The decomposing bear head arrives without warning.

Zack Boyden, our Cree guide at kâniyâsihk Culture Camp in northern Saskatchewan, grins as he thrusts the skull toward us. “Show and tell, guess and smell,” he announces, launching an icebreaker to test our comfort zones.

Next came the beaver castor glands – pressed against our faces for a sniff. “This is how beavers identify each other,” he explains. The learning has just begun.

Welcome to Saskatchewan’s answer to a question that Canada’s $3.7-billion Indigenous tourism sector is starting to explore: What happens when Indigenous communities abandon notions of settler comfort and start teaching culture on their own terms?

About four hours northwest of Saskatoon, deep in the boreal forest on Ministikwan Lake Cree Nation’s Treaty 6 territory, kâniyâsihk Culture Camp immerses guests in rustic Indigenous tourism.

Down on all fours in June, 2025, I’m learning how to tan an elk hide by rubbing in a solution of boiled moose brains and Sunlight laundry soap, transforming it into soft leather. Earlier, we scraped the same hide with metal tools – a violent shave that sent fur flying. Before that, it was netting, scaling, gutting and filleting 11 fish. As I plucked a glistening scale from my hair later that evening, I was reminded how even scales have purpose here – for jewellery and hide decoration.

As I awkwardly scrape the elk hide, muscles burning, our instructor Darla Campbell reminds me, “We’re teaching survival, not selling souvenirs.”

Beside me, a mother from the community teaches her young daughter Campbell’s technique. Witnessing this intergenerational teaching reveals kâniyâsihk’s true purpose: Founded on the fear that traditional Cree ways were slipping away, the camp prioritizes educating younger generations.

Campbell teaches the 13 stages of hide preparation during camps held throughout the year at kâniyâsihk. It’s an activity open to families from the nation as well as non-Indigenous groups. Visitors are welcome – but as students, not tourists.

“At the end of the day, we’re always preparing for winter,” explains Kevin wâsakâyâsiw Lewis, the camp’s founder and Indigenous language instructor at First Nations University of Canada. For the Cree people, he notes, asking someone’s age means asking “how many winters are you?” It gauges one’s experience with survival – with hunting, fishing and tanning hides to endure the cold season. Ancestral knowledge is encoded in the language itself.

According to a 2025 report from the Conference Board of Canada, the country’s Indigenous tourism sector was hit hard by inflation and is still recovering from pandemic lows, with revenues remaining below 2019 levels. However, the number of entrepreneurs and organizations have increased from around 1,900 in 2021 to more than 2,750 in 2023, reflecting new business activity across the sector.

“Canada is leading the world as an Indigenous destination. We have the highest number of businesses and people employed,” says Keith Henry, president and chief executive of Indigenous Tourism Association of Canada. But rapid growth also comes with risks of cultural appropriation and demand outpacing supply.

“Most Canadians don’t know if an experience is authentic or not,” Henry says. Founded a decade ago, ITAC launched an accreditation program for Indigenous businesses in 2022 “to ensure Indigenous standards and market readiness.”

“The Original Original national brand, which so far has certified 278 businesses, helps bring customers to an accredited business,” Henry says. The review process typically takes around three weeks to reach a decision. However, a business may work toward meeting program criteria – including community engagement, visitor experience, sustainability and business acumen – over a much longer period.

Kâniyâsihk Culture Camp is currently on the journey toward accreditation, offering year-round hide camps, traditional ways of fishing, the art of birch bark canoe-building, outdoor cooking in the summer, as well as dog sledding and snowshoeing during the winter. All experiences are wrapped in traditional Cree practices and storytelling.

Boundaries remain clear though. Sacred sweat lodge ceremonies take place at the camp based on community needs – never for tourism. But the camp has built a sauna by the lake to offer visitors similar benefits without commodifying the sacred practice. When Lewis invited our tour group to participate in a pipe ceremony with him, we felt honoured. “If visitors witness these ceremonies, they’re seeing authenticity, not performance,” he stressed.

As an academic, Lewis studied how the Maori people in New Zealand created working communal spaces with teaching facilities and group sleeping capacity. He’s building a similar Maori marae structure at kâniyâsihk, with cooking facilities and showers. It will be an upgrade from the guest cabins and outhouse.

“Bringing researchers, educators and learners to this land is how we share,” Lewis says. The camp’s annual Water Gathering, which will be in its seventh year this July, exemplifies this idea: 150 participants from around the globe, including PhD researchers and community members, gathering for language, culture and teachings on topics from climate change to reconciliation.

Lewis says that Saskatchewan’s Indigenous tourism offerings remain underappreciated – a “gem nobody knows about.” But perhaps that’s the point. These aren’t attractions designed for viral moments. They’re invitations into genuine learning and require humility, effort and acceptance that comfort isn’t the goal.

An hour and a half north, at Waters Edge Eco Lodge, Waterhen Lake First Nation attempts a different balance: cultural authenticity within a resort.

The lodge is around 375 km northwest of Saskatoon and the land was purchased by the First Nation in 2022 because of its “deep significance as historic trapping and fur trade territory,” explains lodge manager Destiny Millar.

Water’s Edge represents a different model than kâniyâsihk. It’s more curated, designed for families and corporate retreats, alongside cultural programming. The Tipi Village has 10 platforms and tents with queen beds, coffee makers and climate control. Yet, the canvas tents still honour tradition: They’re built in a circle representing family, with a hole at the peak to vent smoke, and a door facing east, where the sun rises, to signify new beginnings.

During my stay in June, when temperatures dropped to 5 C overnight, I was grateful for the heater. And even more grateful when someone called through the canvas, “The Northern Lights are dancing!” We all rushed out to watch, and I remembered what Millar said about the significance of the lights: “Seeing the lights creates a quiet sense of connection between the living and spirit world, something that is meant to be respected.”

The Conference Board of Canada report found that much of the Indigenous tourism sector expected a boost in visitors in 2024, with businesses forecasting an average revenue increase of 6 per cent over the previous year. ITAC’s Henry says the sector welcomes about 60 to 70 per cent domestic visitors, around 20 per cent American tourists, and a further 10 to 15 per cent from other international markets. The association has set a target for Indigenous tourism to contribute $6-billion annually to Canada’s GDP by 2030.

ITAC also recently announced plans to partner with Intrepid Travel, a global tour company. By the end of 2026, most of Intrepid’s 12 Canadian tours will include at least one Indigenous experience, with the long-term goal of 100-per-cent inclusion across all itineraries. Henry says the five-year partnership is the largest commitment the association has made with a tour company.

The increased interest in Indigenous tourism and experiences that educate shows how reconciliation works better as a verb. Verbs require action, discomfort and willingness – as I experienced in Saskatchewan – including having moose brains squished between your fingers while Cree knowledge-keepers patiently explain why this matters.

“Canada as a whole has started the relationship with us,” Lewis said, as I prepared to leave kâniyâsihk, “but they haven’t seen the beauty of it yet. That’s the story we want to share, with both Canadians and the world.”

Pick up skills, not just souvenirs, across the country

Alberta

Walk the trap lines in rural Alberta with a local guide and learn more about hunting, fishing and how to tan a hide. Details at warriorwomen.ca

Yukon

Head to camp with members of the Champagne and Aishihik First Nations. Learn traditional tool-making, drum-making, beading and ice-fishing. Join guided hikes and campfire storytelling. shakattunadventures.com

British Columbia

Head out bear-spotting and whale-watching within Ahousaht haḥuulii territorial lands near Tofino on Vancouver Island. ahousadventures.com

Quebec

Learn how to build an igloo (and stay overnight, weather permitting) with the Nunavik Inuit. Witness migrating caribou, polar bears and the Northern Lights. indigenousquebec.com/things-to-do/inuit-adventures

Northern Labrador

Hike and camp at the Torngat Mountains Base Camp and Research Station and learn about Inuit culture. thetorngats.com

Discover more Indigenous tourism experiences at indigenoustourism.ca and theoriginaloriginal.ca.

The writer was a guest of Tourism Saskatchewan, which did not review or approve this article. Stories are based on merit; The Globe does not guarantee coverage.