the Alberta "Badlands"

A road trip to Drumheller and the Alberta Badlands.


Four girls pack themselves into an air conditioned SUV and head EAST - yes, east. Not to the mountains, but the other way - where the landscape begins to slowly transform into the flatter plains of the Canadian prairies. Once we leave the construction-bound traffic of Calgary, we drive along a relatively open stretch surrounded by hilly green pastures and grazing animals -cows, goats, donkeys, horses. Nothing particularly distinctive appears in the horizon except maybe a few trees and then I start to register a new silhouette - one I have not seen before in such a landscape - oil pump jacks. These little machines are scattered through the fields, all pumping up the black gold at a slow, even rhythm. I guess oil is everywhere in Alberta and everyone is pumping it.

Badlands - I don't know exactly why they are called the Badlands...I ask a couple of people and they look at me oddly, like my accent isn't Canadian or something. Anyways, on the Internet I find some explanation about they the name took as nothing much can survive out there because of the desert like conditions...well, except for the numerous critters and cacti...and dinosaurs a few thousand years back! Either way, I'm drawn to the Badlands because places like this intrigue me - to us humans they don't seem to have much value or a manicured beauty, but there is something to them and my hunch is satisfied when I finally stand at the top of the massive canyon of the badlands - yes, its a place that holds it's own magic and doesn't advertise it on a billboard.

Driving through Drumheller...well, it's like driving through any other small Canadian town...lots of billboard directing you to tourist attractions (that do little to inspire the imagination); Safeway, Dairy Queen and MacDonald's types line the streets that do little but inspire me to get out dodge. Being "famous" for the dinosaur fossils found this region, I guess it was decided that placing a bunch of plastic, toy-like dinosaurs all over Drumheller was a good idea/appropriate. We kept driving.

We hit Horsetheif Canyon...I start to dream up a "cowboy and Indians story" about why it's called "Horsetheif Canyon"...I contemplate calling my dad, who's imagination would definitely add colour to this story; but in all honesty, the ruggedness of this canyon distracts me and absorbs me. Before entering into the canyon, there is a sign: "Enter at Own Risk"...ok, I'm in. "Hiking in" is a funny sensation because we are starting at the top and making our way down in this huge, open hole. The ground underneath feels like old sand - crunchy, hard. There is spots of black scattered throughout - it's coal. The textures and contours of these rocks are stunning - some have etchings of ocean-like waves, others look like they have been in the hands of a potter, except the potter were the elements of air and water. As we hike along, the expanse of this place opens up before us and the visual drastically change as the true depth and size of this canyon mouth reveals itself the further you go in. I am once again in awe of the amazing space offered up by the Canadian landscape. At the bottom, for a while we walk along a dried up river bed. The mosquitoes do not like our company and let us know. The sun is hot, but coupled with a cool breeze, its a perfect day.

We head out and hit a small town called Wayne on the way. You have to cross 11 bridges to get to Wayne. Most are old and one way and with each passing bridge the land scape alters, becomes a bit more wild. Wayne is small. It's so small, its not really a town. There is no MacDonalds or Wal-Mart here. Its cradled in the nook of a foothill. It carries the essence of it's residents: the houses are sturdy looking but not particularly adorned, the surrounding plots have lots of over grown grass and shrubbery. The main drag has a few homes along it, all of which have a number of old, beat up cars sitting in the front or back of the house. I am intrigued why people in Wayne collect so many cars? A friend told me about the Last Chance Saloon in Wayne - yes, a real western saloon a 2 hour drive outside of Calgary! This is really why we are here - to check out the an old saloon, Alberta style, and have a cold beer. We pull up and the SUV parks next to a long line of bikes. A simple sign hangs over the door - "Last Chance Saloon". Next door is a hotel (I suppose in case you used up your last chance). The inside of Wayne's has tables, a small bar and walls lined with memorabilia one would expect to find in a western style saloon - hunting trophies (heads of deer and bears line the walls), and other things I didn't register because the decapitated heads of these animals kept grabbing my attention! A nice young guy, slim, with a strong voice and big hands takes our order. He eyes us a bit (there's a bit of a squint when he first approaches our table), but his eyes are brown and moist - I sense he is a nice person. He's direct and takes everyones' orders without ever writing anything down.

We share a table on the back patio with a Wayne local. He is rather tickled with our company. He seems like a nice enough guy, but I get a sinking feeling in my gut as he tells us snippets of his life - about his 12 children, that he's been drinking and smoking for 60 years, that his "wife" is prison... The romanticism of a small rural town takes on another shade. There is something harsh in the ruggedness here. A lingering sense of isolation does hang in the air. I suppose in a land so vast, it's relatively easy to find an isolated corner. I consider that this is also an intrinsic part of the Canadian landscape. One which some hope to escape and some will always find comforting and call home.