The Pinhorn Grazing Reserve is a huge section of public lands south of Medicine Hat. Established in 1961 it covers 75,000 acres in two separate blocks. Recreational access is permitted on the condition that you don’t disturb cattle on privately held leases. Summer access is limited due to the cattle. But come spring, fall and winter—the land is there for the walking. Email (access.pinhorn@gov.ab.ca) and you’ll receive instructions.
The lion's share of the reserve straddles the Milk River straight south of Medicine Hat—from the 501 to the Montana border.
But it is the northern section that has captured my heart. All these pictures are from the Northern Block. Though much smaller it includes a large complex of coulees. I have walked every branch of this coulee system—totaling about 85 kilometers over a handful of hikes this the past year. It’s so beautiful! But be careful, beauty can mask dangers. Also getting caught in a prairie storm with no shelter anywhere can be rough.
As a thru-hiker of the 3,500 km Appalachian Trail I like to stretch my legs. The prairie tempts, but only teases. For all the seemingly wide open spaces that surround Medicine Hat access to backcountry areas is limited.
However, the effort to find places to roam is equal to the treasures that the prairie hides. Coulees are cut into the earth so you can be a 100 feet from a beautiful coulee and not see it. I’ve taken to searching Google Maps Satellite view for coulee systems then figuring permission and access.
Range Road 63, south of 501, cuts through the Northern Block. The coulee system is on either side.
My first day in the Northern Block was during the first spring Covid shutdown. I spent a beautiful spring day in utter bliss. I lay in the new green grass and indulged in the solitude. Not another soul to the horizon. I savoured the long evening light and didn’t get home until dark. Safira was already asleep.
I kicked off my muddy clothes and got into bed. I quickly fell asleep, but the feeling of something crawling on my leg woke me up 30 minutes later. I brushed it off and went back to sleep. Again I was awoken by something on my leg. I turned on the light. My subconscious knew before I could make out what it was. I recoiled in horror. A tick!
This is along a dry creek bed. In the spring thaw I’m sure it’s a small waterfall.
There were three more on my legs and three more in the bed inching towards Safira. I naturally freaked out. Safira then had to conduct a midnight, prison-level, body examination to make sure we didn’t miss any more. We found another three ticks on my pants.
This is the only tree in this Garden of Eden. The forked trunk makes a pretty good tree of good and evil.
There are few insects that inspire such terror as a tick. It’s not just the risk of Lyme Disease (1 in 10 ticks in Alberta carry Lyme Disease), it’s something about the way they look. Freaky little tanks. If you’ve ever tried to kill one you know how difficult it is. They don’t go down without a fight.
I learned my lesson and for each successive hike I pulled my socks high up over my pants like Steve Urkel. It is alarming how common ticks are in the Northern Block. I spent 165 days on the Appalachian Trail over 14 American states and some of the riskiest tick habitats. I didn’t see a single one. A day in the Pinhorn and they’re everywhere.
I’m guessing it has something to do with the presence of cattle because in the nearby Milk River Natural Area I’ve never seen one. They are worse in spring when its wetter. Southeast Alberta is hot and dry. Not typical tick habitat. They tend to congregate on cattle trails—standing on the tips of grass ready to latch on to a passing traveler. Once they’re on your shoe or pant leg they hang on so tight they never fall off unless you intervene. Be warned. The backcountry has many rewards, but it’s not for the faint of heart.