We went on another Southern Alberta photography excursion last week and, although we’re never really certain what we’ll find, that just makes a trip more adventurous.

Clive was getting antsy. He hadn’t been far lately from the photography blind he’d built across from his house on a pond frequented by waterfowl. He threw out Waterton as a possibility, then the Livingston Gap. But, he’d never been to Writing-On-Stone Provincial Park. I’d been there several times when the kids were young, 25 years ago.

When the day broke sunny here, we figured we’d made the right choice, even though Conservation Officer Greg Ottway told us over the phone it was cloudy there “and you really should have sun if you’re going to shoot the writings.” Although he would be unable to take us on a tour of the restricted area that contains most of the rock art, some would be available to shoot, and that was important to Clive.

As the brochures explain, some of the writings and art go back 3,500 years and remain important to First Nations people, who consider the area sacred and continue to seek spiritual guidance from the sandstone etchings.

We also hoped we’d see some wildlife ­ – Greg mentioned he’d seen bobcats and that pronghorns frequented fields across from the park.

The first sign it was going to be a good day came just off Highway 4 near Milk River. About 20 pronghorns grazed casually in a field, but out of camera range.

As we neared the park, Clive marveled at the volume of glacial water that must have created the valley the road crossed, then had to stop to shoot the Sweetgrass Hills when the sunlight started to hit them. Another good sign.

“They’re old volcanoes, you know, right in the middle of the Prairie.” He wondered out loud how high they were, and found out later the tallest was 2128 metres.

“That’s higher than the Cypress Hills, which are 1468 metres. I don’t know why I remember that.” He remembers everything.

When we reached the park’s valley, we were like kids in the summer who head straight for the hoodoos as soon as the car stops.

Like magic, the sun appeared. It remained shining as we hiked the hoodoos, toting cameras, lenses, tripods and monopods for the next five hours. The sky and clouds provided a magnificent backdrop to the tan sandstone.

“Complementary colours,” Clive reminded me. Polarizing filters helped capture the most amazing colours: “The sky’s almost black,” Clive said pointing his Sony at the top of a hoodoo almost perpendicular to the ground.

It was like a revelation around every corner, through every gap between hoodoos, over every cliff, too abrupt for anyone with vertigo.

On the way back just outside the park, we pulled to the shoulder to watch about 25 white-tailed deer cross the road. As we waited, I looked up a telephone pole about 10 metres from the truck just in time to see a golden eagle lumber off.

And not another human. All day.

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