Day three
I’ve spent a lot of time driving the backroads around Edmonton. As a photographer, you need to put on some distance from the city before things start looking ‘authentic’. You know, the kind of stuff people would see in pictures and say, Nice picture, or, wow, or, I want to buy that! But even at some distance Edmonton isn’t particularly pretty. The road we followed drove that message home more clearly than ever.
From Wainwright, south along the edge of river valleys that cleave the land into different ecosystems, through vast open prairie, increasingly it is the land that that truly dominates our photographic journey. Our first days brought teasing glimpses of the dramatic beauty of our province. Southeastern Alberta held some secrets of her own. Birds of prey perched along the road in numbers that suggested they were the main residents of the endless fields that dominated the area. Hills rolled, but very very slowly, until a hidden valley would emerge suddenly, then quickly disappear again.
Lakes and ponds, their shores white from the salt deposits common to the area, and vast wetlands, now dried and bleached into a patchwork of albino deserts amid the green and amber fields.
We retraced our steps out of the Acadia Valley and headed west along Hwy. 571. Within a moment an odd shape poked out of a landscape of gold. Having put some miles on British roads, I’ve seen a few castles; this had the look of something medieval. We turned down a secondary road to get a closer look.
As we drew nearer it was obvious: There appeared to be an ancient stone tower in the middle of a farmer’s field. A path sliced through the field; we accepted the invitation to get closer.
My father and I had lengthy discussion about the origin and purpose of this tower. Driving up I was convinced it would be a church tower, or maybe somewhere to house a work bell from ‘back in the day’. Our excitement at having potentially found some quirky piece of history mounted. Once there, however, the clues disappeared–that is, there were none. No evidence of any purpose or significance; no historic plaque, no ancient relics. These stones were new-ish. They could have been built in my lifetime–probably were (I’m pretty old). Still, there had to be a reason. Who would just build a tower in the middle of nowhere for the fun of it?
A narrow set of stairs wound around the structure to enable access to the tiny portal that led inside. We listened for the sound of chanting, or maybe some etherial hum from whatever lurked inside. Nothing. I headed up the stairs. The tiny portal led into a lower chamber. There small space was dominated by a ladder leading to the roof. An odd lump of concrete protruded from the floor, and a wooden box on the floor invited ‘comments’
Up the ladder to the roof. Up here, whatever the primary purpose was, it was obvious that the tower offered a spectacular view of the surrounding area. A farmer could survey fields, photographers and astronomers could exploit the open, endless sky, and a paranoid could keep tabs on the whole country.
Ultimately, we may never know the story of the tower. A post in a forum has invited speculation, most of it points to an act of folly; the whimsical work of some bored or eccentric resident. A few folks seem to know the owner, and they don’t disagree.
My father and I mused at the idea of punking the owner. We would first send a few cryptic messages about ‘the gathering’, and the ‘return of the mothership’. Then, on a dark night, a parade of torch bearing, robe wearing, weird-chanting people would slowly march toward the tower — the same tower pictured on the badges on their robes … Of course, we would have to hope the landowner had a good sense of humour. This isn’t something you’d want to try in Montana.