During my years with National Historic Parks there was a policy to have an official ceremony for the unveiling of a new memorial plaque or when a site or historic building was opened to the public. So in the spring of 1968 the ceremony was set to open the reconstructed and furnished Farwell’s Post. It and Solomon’s Post are located only minutes from Fort Walsh on the Battle Creek in the Cypress Hills. The two posts were where the Cypress Hills Massacre took place.

These ceremonies were always public affairs and Dorothy often accompanied me to them. Normally when working at Fort Walsh or nearby Farwell’s Post I would stay in Maple Creek; it was the closest accommodation. This trip we had driven in our station wagon and because I had so many last minute preparations to make the morning of the ceremony and both enjoying camping, Dorothy and I decided to spend the night in the station wagon at the site. The next morning it was risky but rather amusing when Dorothy and I did our morning wash skinny-dipping in the waters of Battle Creek.

Amongst my other duties that morning I also had to pick up Senator Sid Buckwold and his wife, thirty minutes away, at the nearest air field in Maple Creek. It had been arranged that Senator Buckwold would be the Minister’s representative at the ceremony. The Buckwolds had come to Maple Creek in a private aircraft belonging to a Calgary contractor. When Dorothy and I got there, the Senator, like a kid with a new toy, had to show off that fancy transport, it was indeed well appointed, attractive and comfortable. Both the Buckwolds immediately seemed very friendly and easy to get to know; people we would enjoy to be with for that occasion.

To prevent erosion of the natural environment by a road and visitor cars I had insisted that in the future the public would not be allowed to go beyond Fort Walsh itself and would be taken by bus the further few miles  to Farwell’s Post. This included a drive to the top of the overlooking hill to see the view of valley and Farwell’s Post below. On this occasion the Buckwolds, the platform party and Dorothy and I went by bus and for that occasion only the public was allowed to take their own vehicle.

All morning on that beautiful day I had been watching a small, very dark cloud drifting our way in the otherwise clear blue sky. The ceremony had hardy gotten started when that cloud was above our site and opened up and proceeded to pore down upon us. All ran for cover either into the shelter of the limited space inside the little post or to their vehicle. As was common in all museums at the time visitors were asked not to touch the artifacts and I had reminded everyone on the way in of that practice.  I was amused when the Senator, while advising everyone else not to touch any of the displays, himself  seemed unable to not see how everything felt.

Soon enough the little cloud passed on and sunny conditions returned so the ceremony could continue. We had a couple of Mounted Police in old North West Mounted Police uniforms on horses flanking the platform. One young animal had become very restless and hard to keep in place, so the young officer  let his mount have its way and they took off across the valley. What a thrilling site that was with that Mountie in scarlet riding among the wooded hills just like historic times at Fort Walsh.

With the ceremony over, a new and very real problem became apparent. The downpour had turned the bare soil into gumbo and there was no way that those who had parked in the valley were going to be able to move their vehicle. I had been suspicious of that threatening black cloud and had asked that the bus be taken to the top of the hill above the Post so that if the rain did happen there was a better chance of getting out. That meant there was a fairly long walk up hill through slippery, sticky mud to get from where we were to the bus. Thinking of her shoes, I am sure, the well-dressed Mrs. Buckwold lamented, “What are going to do?” and my reply was not too sympathetic.  “I guess you either walk up that hill or stay until it dries in a few days” I said.  She answered, “OK, I’ll walk”.

Even then our troubles were not over. The dirt trail back to Fort Walsh wound down the hill upon which the bus sat and going down it the bus slid side-ways across the trail, and ended up leaning at quit an angle. We passengers all had to unload for safety sake, while the driver maneuvered the bus back onto the trail. Anyway, we in the bus did get out, while the general crowd had to find some other means of getting out of their situation. I heard that there were some vehicles still there at Farwell’s Post days after the official opening.

The senator and his wife seemed quite happy to call the day’s experience an adventure and were almost insistent that Dorothy and I accompany them in that private aircraft back to Calgary.  Although it was very tempting, I had things yet to do back at Fort Walsh and besides I had a vehicle that also had to go back, so we had to decline. I would expect that everyone, including us, never forgot the official opening of Farwell’s Whiskey Post National Historic Site.