From the old rifle pit above the great meander ***bend of the South Saskatchewan*** I could feel the sun sinking its last rays painting the earth a subtle pink presaging the no-colours of dusk. Then, behind, the moon rose with a new light, washing the century old buildings at this place called ***Batoche*** - the place where the ***Metis*** made a final, desperate, futile stand in their battle for recognition as a distinct and separate people. ***Richard Thomas Wright, author Winter 1977***