The Nahanni — Valley of Headless Men

In the frozen silence of the Nahanni Valley, the headless guardians watch from the shadows of the peaks. I have seen their spirits drift south, drawn to the heat of the pitch where Alphonso Davies strikes like lightning. When the air turns cold and the maple leaf glows bright on the chest of Les Rouges, the valley's ancient power flows through our boots. They say gold is buried in the north, but our true treasure is found in the grit and glory of the game.