I heard about this at least twenty years ago and promptly forgot where it was, figuring I would never see it anyway. Then while in San Diego, our Canadian RV neighbors told us about it and said we should visit. Then somewhere else along the way someone else mentioned it too, and then a couple of others. And really, they had us at the "Head-Smashed-In" part, because you know, you HAVE to have that t-shirt.
We were totally expecting a sort of "Roadside America" experience, similar to that place where we camped right outside Petrified Forest National Park, where the dinosaur sculptures were falling apart and the gift shop was never actually opened although there were always at least three cars in the lot. I was brainstorming some sort of hilarious post and even Kevin was saying, "I can't wait to see the spin you put on this one for the blog." And then we arrived at said attraction.
Then there is the little matter of how the buffalo jump got that interesting name. We thought it was because when the buffalo were driven over the cliff they got their heads smashed in (duh, right?). But actually, the legend says a young boy hid under the ledge during one of the hunts because he wanted to see the giant beasts fall. When the hunters came down to retrieve the fallen animals they found the child with his head crushed by the weight of the bison. That's horrible. At some point this week I will likely have a nightmare.