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As the ragged ribbon of road — no, jeep-trail is more accurate — meandered through the god-knows-where prairie, a timeless aura soon took hold. No pioneering boy had ever plowed these plains. I could be on Mars, I thought. And about the only thing that told me I wasn’t was the odd sign or marker. One indicated that an old schoolhouse had once existed on that spot a hundred years ago. And a couple of others indicated, thankfully, that I was on the right “road” to the ancient medicine wheel.

So, cosy in my beat-up 4×4, Corb Lund croaking on the stereo, I went deeper into the unknown. And, after 20 minutes, give or take, of bumping along I finally reached the site: “Canada’s Stonehenge.” I parked the truck, gathered some photography gear, hopped outside (no point locking it, there was no other soul within 20 kilometres) and scampered to the top of the hill to the ancient cairn of rock.

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When I reached the lichen-coated stones I looked all around, got my bearings, and felt the warm Chinook wind sweeping over everything. I was on the highest point for, perhaps, 100 kilometres in any direction. The power of this place, this pre-historic “wheel,” was sneaking up on me. To the west, thin, wind-blasted shortgrass, as far as the eye could see, morphed into sky. To the east, the deep, water-carved banks of the Bow sliced through the golden plains. They definitely picked a nice spot, I thought.