So picture this — a cool fall morning in the Drumheller badlands, coffee in hand, and me with a simple plan: scout the old rail line west of Wayne. That’s it. Nothing fancy, just a quick check to see if the old bed was still passable and worth tackling next year on my e-bike with camera gear in tow. I wanted to see if those old bridges were still standing, maybe note a few promising photo stops.
Well… you know how that goes. One minute you’re “just scouting,” and the next, you’ve found yourself knee-deep in a forgotten little story the prairie wasn’t quite done telling.
An Unexpected Detour
Near where the old line met the highway, I spotted something that tugged at that little curiosity switch in the back of my head — a leaning garage, the remains of a house, and a few classic cars baking quietly in the sun. I parked and wandered closer, thinking I’d just take a look.
The place had that eerie, peaceful stillness. No wind. No sounds. Just the soft hum of the coulee and the crunch of dry scrabble under my boots. And that’s when it hit me — this wasn’t just a relic; it was a memory with roots. So yeah… the scouting plan got tossed right out the window.
Last Stop Before Nowhere
From a distance, the old cars looked like they’d pulled in together — maybe a convoy that ran out of road. The coulees rose up behind them, catching the afternoon light, calm and endless. The whole scene just… sat there. No drama, no movement. Just that quiet, timeless kind of beauty that Alberta does so well.
Coulee Garage
Closer up, an old car rested near a collapsing garage, its door hanging open like someone had hopped out to grab something and never came back. The coulee wall behind it looked like a painting — those layers of color and texture stacked like time itself. Standing there, it was hard not to imagine the story frozen in place.
Fence Line and Forgotten Roads
Just down the path, a tattered fence ran along the coulee edge. One post still held a loop of barbed wire — a small, human detail in the middle of all that wild openness. The cars behind it looked almost restful, half-swallowed by the grass, waiting for something that isn’t coming.
Driver’s Seat to Yesterday
I leaned in through the driver’s side window of one of the cars and froze for a second. The greens of the new growth were almost glowing against the rusted metal. The steering wheel — cracked, worn, ghosted with the memory of hands that once gripped it — faced the same horizon it always had. There’s something oddly peaceful about watching nature take the wheel.
Badge of the Forgotten
And then, the last little gem — a Pontiac badge still clinging stubbornly to a trunk pocked with rust and bullet holes. Somehow, it still caught a flicker of light, flashing a little bit of pride, a whisper of its former glory. It was the perfect note to end on — a relic still shining, just enough to say, “I was here.”
Looking Ahead
By the time I made it back to the truck, it was mid-afternoon and I realized I’d spent most of the day there — camera full, heart full, belly empty, and not a single rail bridge inspected so far. So much for the plan.
After taking a quick break and enjoying a picnic lunch on the tailgate of my truck, I figured it was time to get back on task. For this, I relied on my drone and sent it off on patrol. Flying over the old rail line, I was blown away at the number of bridges crossing the meandering river.
Did the day go as I had originally planned... nope!! But honestly? I achieved the goal, got some quality camera time, and a new visual story. If you ask me... That’s the best kind of day!!
Next year, I’ll be back — e-bike, camera, and a lot more time to wander the length of that old rail line. There’s more out there, I can feel it.
The rails might be gone, but the stories are still very much alive.
