Psst...Want to Know a Best-Kept Secret?

There is a narrow road off highway 21, about two kilometers north of the sleepy country town where I live. Drive down that road another fifteen kilometers and then look to the right—keep looking; don’t blink. Without warning, through the dust of the road that casually turned from paved to gravel somewhere along the way, beyond the sporadic trees and tall grass, you will witness the earth drop away from farmers’ fields and the weight of time slide down steep plateau hills into a deep roaming valley. Welcome to Dry Island Buffalo Jump, one of my favourite places in the world.

Dry Island is named for the flat-topped butte that stands above the Red Deer River. This unusual landmass was eroded by wind and the soft, crumbling layers of bentonite clay buried beneath untouched native prairie grasses. It has never been surrounded by water, but stands prepared like Noah’s Ark. This is also the site of an historic Cree hunting ground, where herds of bison were driven off the steep cliffs, fashioning enough meat and natural resources to see a tribe through the winter.

There are two ways to take in Dry Island. First, the viewpoint at the top of the valley, where you look out over the expansive landscape with its raw edges and rolling turns. Stroll along the cliff; read the points of interest signs that briefly describe the land, fauna, and history; feel the flutter in your stomach as you picture yourself as a bison chased by ancient hunters before tumbling over the edge onto the rocky bed below. Once you have pictured this place a thousand, a million, a billion years ago (and you will) then drive down the steep, barely passable, hair-pin road into the depths of the valley.

Park the car near a cluster of picnic sites arranged in no conceivable order, head toward the river and look out for the dozens of species of birds and insects that make this place their home.
Skip some rocks along the river surface. If you have a canoe, use it—there is no place better for a casual paddle. Life slows down here, and it is a different kind of adventure. Once you have finished at the river, do what I love to do the most. Pick a direction, and start walking, because this is the best part of Dry Island. There are real paths. No manicured trails shepherd visitors to the best viewpoints. There are no fences and rails to keep you out or in. Climb through the hills, wander between the trees, experience this place.


People like to talk about the mountains and how they make a person feel small, but there are more ways to be big than simply by being tall. To me, the badlands are the best at making me feel little, both in size and in age. You can almost see dinosaurs wandering around these hills. This is a place of permanence. This is a place I come to remember that I am part of something so much bigger than myself. This is the prairies, and this is my Alberta.