Torrington doesn’t shout for attention. It sits quietly at the junction of Highway 27 and 805, about 160 kilometers northeast of Calgary, surrounded by fields that roll just enough to remind you the land has a pulse. It’s the kind of place you could miss if you blink — but if you stop, you’ll find a hamlet that knows exactly who it is.
The town’s roots go back to the early 1900s, when the railway and agriculture were carving out communities across Alberta. Torrington was incorporated as a village in 1967, but in 1997, it stepped back into hamlet status under Kneehill County. That might sound like a demotion, but here, it feels more like a shrug — a quiet confidence that doesn’t need a title to matter.
Agriculture still anchors the place. You’ll see grain bins, cattle fences, and the kind of pickup trucks that have earned their rust. But Torrington’s real claim to fame is a little more… unexpected.
In 1996, the town opened the Gopher Hole Museum — a collection of taxidermied Richardson’s ground squirrels dressed in tiny costumes and posed in miniature dioramas. There’s a curling gopher, a hairdresser gopher, even a motorcycle-riding gopher. It’s weird. It’s wonderful. And it’s completely sincere. What started as a tongue-in-cheek tourism idea has become a full-blown attraction, drawing visitors from across Canada and beyond.
Outside the museum stands Clem T. GoFur — a 12-foot-tall gopher statue with a grin that says, “Yeah, we know.” And if that wasn’t enough, all eleven of Torrington’s fire hydrants are painted to look like gophers too. Each one has its own outfit and personality. It’s the kind of detail that makes you smile — not because it’s flashy, but because it’s so unapologetically local.
Beyond the gophers, Torrington is quiet. There’s a curling rink, a cemetery with stories etched in stone, and a café that serves up a surprisingly good slice of pizza. People wave when they drive by. They nod when you pass on the sidewalk. It’s not performative — it’s just how things are done.
Torrington doesn’t try to be more than it is. And maybe that’s what makes it worth visiting. It’s a reminder that charm doesn’t have to be loud, and that sometimes, the best stories come from the places that don’t ask to be noticed.