The raven ranks among the world’s most intelligent creatures, displaying high learning ability and use of logic for solving problems, in some tests even surpassing chimpanzees. (courtesy Kerry Banks)

Ravens may be common in the Rockies, but they remain a novelty to me. I find them to be impressive birds: large, intelligent, playful and talented mimics. I remember sitting beside a beach in Tofino one afternoon listening to a raven imitate a dripping faucet. The same bird then made me jump when he did an uncanny and eerie impression of a human voice, calling “Tommy. Tommy.” Actually, it sounded just like the vocal in The Who’s song, so maybe the raven had been listening to the tune on someone’s stereo.

I stroll down the main drag, Banff Avenue, which may be the only street in town not named after an animal. The critter roll call includes Squirrel Street, Caribou Street, Lynx Street, Wolverine Street, Whiskey Jack Crescent and Porcupine Place. The town itself is named after Banffshire, Scotland, the birthplace of  Lord Strathcona and George Stephen, two major financiers of the Canadian Pacific Railway.

Able to accomodate 1,700 guests in 700 rooms, the baronial Banff Springs Hotel has been described as having “corridors for the invalid, turrets for the astronomer and balconies for lovers.”

My destination is the Banff Springs Hotel, a gothic castle at the south end of town. And the man behind the creation of this five-star luxury hotel: William Van Horne, General Manager of Canadian Pacific Railways, who viewed the hot springs near the railway station of Banff as a potential tourist attraction. His vision was fuelled by the philosophy “If we can’t export the scenery, we will import the tourists.” Hence, in 1886, Van Horne commissioned Bruce Price of New York, one of the foremost architects of the day, to draw up plans for a hotel to be built above the confluence of the Bow and Spray Rivers overlooking the Bow Valley. Construction began in the spring of 1887, and the palatial resort opened on June 1, 1888. At the time it was reportedly the largest hotel in the world.

Like any grand old hotel, the Banff Springs is said to have its share of ghosts. For example, there are frequent sightings of Sam Macauley, a bellman who died here in 1976. It is believed that he still haunts the upper floors of the hotel. Several people have identified him as a real person and have spoken to him. But then, suddenly, he disappears right in front of their eyes.

And too there is the story of infamous Room 873, which no longer exists, though the hotel does have rooms 872 and 874. According to the legend, a family was murdered in Room 873, and strange things kept taking place after the room was cleaned up and re-opened, including a mirror hung in the room that displayed the fingerprints of the little girl who died there. No matter how many times the staff cleaned the mirror, the fingerprints constantly reappeared. Coupled with the reports of guests who claimed to see the family on occasion, the management decided to close off and wall up the room. Today, staff and guests still reported seeing the spirits of the family near where the room has been closed off.

I spend a couple of hours looking around the hotel and taking photos from various vantage points. I don’t encounter any ghosts, but in the hotel’s flower garden I do find a ghostly coloured moth that looks like it fluttered right out of the pages of a children’s book of fables.

Not all moths are nocturnal, as is clear from this photo. But the identity of this silvery species found in the flower garden outside the Banff Springs Hotel is a mystery to me. Does anyone know the answer?

By the time I meet up with Masters in a coffee shop back on Banff Avenue, I have a headache, the result of tramping around like a maniac in the high altitude air. (At 1,463 metres, Banff is the town with the highest elevation in Canada.) Mysterious as always, Masters refuses to tell me what he did all afternoon. We drive over to the Pox, er the Fox Hotel, where, thankfully we find that the desk clerk’s face is not melting. She has an Australian accent, like about 70 per cent of the people we have met so far who work in the Rockies’ service industry.

Dinner is at the upscale Maple Leaf Grille and Lounge. The Maple Leaf was recently awarded “Best Resort Restaurant, North America” at the United Kingdom’s 2009 Hardy’s Skiing and Snowboarding Awards. I’m not exactly sure what this means, but it is proudly noted on the restaurant’s website. I order the barbecued rib-eye; Masters opts for the Wild B.C. Salmon. “We are in Alberta—the land of beef. Why are you ordering B.C. seafood?” I ask.

“I felt like salmon,” he replies.

The front balcony of the Banff Springs Hotel looks out over the Bow River and the gap between Mt. Rundle and Tunnel Mountain.

“OK, salmon boy. Let’s head back to the Pox. According to our official itinerary we have to be in Lake Louise by  8 a.m. for our hike.”

(To be continued …)

Part I, II, III

Photos: Kerry Banks

The Spray Lakes Reservoir began as a series of small lakes. In 1951, a hydroelectric dam was then built, raising the water levels to create one beautiful lake. Today, this 88-kilometre stretch of water is used both for recreation and to generate power for Canmore and the rest of the Bow River Valley.

From Three Nuns to the 1988 Winter Olympics: Canmore to Banff

The metal jangle of Ry Cooder’s slide guitar serenades us as we motor through a corridor of giant stone crags. It’s a beautiful morning, clear and crisp, and there are dozens of photo opportunities. But once again it’s a tight schedule. Though bound for Banff, on way we’re stopping in Canmore, where the road into town descends sharply for a spectacular vista of the valley and Canmore’s signature landmark: The Three Sisters. Originally called the Three Nuns, these three peaks are now known by the locals as Faith, Hope and Charity.

Formerly a coal-mining town, Canmore has experienced a boom since the 1988 Winter Olympics – when it served as the site of the cross-country and biathlon events. Although Masters is generally vague about his past, he now admits to spending time here some 20 years ago. Evidently it was a tough place back then, he recalls, and the town’s main social hub, the Canmore Hotel, “was a good place to have a beer or get into a fight.” Most of its young people were here because rent was cheap and the town was close to the ski hills around Banff and Lake Louise. But now Masters wants to see how the town has changed. He expects he won’t recognize it.

Besides coffee mugs, Seattle-based Authentic Hendrix also markets a Jimi Hendrix lava lamp, a Jimi Hendrix afghan patterned after the musician's second album, Axis: Bold As Love, and Jimi Hendrix infant wear, including an “Are You Experienced?” diaper cover that comes in three sizes.

A stroll down the main drag confirms his worst suspicions. There are a lot of gift shops. In fact, just about every second store qualifies. “Very boutiquey,” he sniffs. He walks more quickly, his disgust growing. Then something catches my eye in one of the windows. I tell him to wait, and a few minutes later emerge with my first souvenir from the trip – a psychedelic Jimi Hendrix coffee mug that proclaims “Do Your Thing” on the inside rim. I’m pretty sure Henrix didn’t coin the phrase. Still, this is the first Jimi Hendrix mug I’ve ever seen. It’s made in China and sells for a ridiculous $13.95.

We resume walking and Masters spots the Canmore Hotel. “It’s still here,” he says, surprised, “and it looks pretty much the same.” Inside is the dark atmosphere and yeasty smell of your classic Canadian tavern. There are pool tables, a horseshoe-shaped bar, and even though it’s not yet noon, several patrons who look like they’ve been here awhile. “It doesn’t look like they’ve changed the upholstery in the last 20 years,” concludes Masters.

“Well, I’ve never been here before, but I’m sure  at least one thing is different from 20 years ago.”

“What?”

“I bet that they didn’t have that back then,” I note, pointing to the “No Smoking” sign affixed to the front door. 

As much as it has evolved into a tourist haven since 1988, the recent economic recession has hit Canmore hard; we pass several massive resort developments standing unfinished as we roll out of town. It’s not exactly a boulevard of broken dreams, but it is a sobering dose of reality.

Back on the highway, I pull out the itinerary. I don’t have my reading glasses on and I mistakenly tell Masters we’ll be staying tonight at “the Pox Hotel.” He quickly corrects me, “That’s the Fox Hotel.” (He probably stayed up all night memorizing the itinerary.) “It would be interesting though,” he adds, “if it was actually the Pox Hotel and when we arrive the desk clerk’s face is rotting off.”

Aspen, the leaves of which turn bright yellow in the fall, are the staple food of beaver. The tree's buds and shoots are also favourites of moose, while its bark and underlying layer of cambium are eaten by elk and deer in winter.

I scan for more names in the blurry pages and announce my distorted findings. “I see that tomorrow night we’ll be staying at the relaxing Migraine Lake Lodge. The day after that is a pleasant hike to the Lake Agony Teahouse.”

Masters laughs. “It all sounds delightful.”

We make it to Banff in time for lunch at the Coyote Deli and Grill, where our greeter informs us we’re 40 minutes late. It’s a rather pointless observation since the place is half empty. Fortunately, the chow is better than the service.

Banff is a town I’m more familiar with. I first came here in the late 1970s during a cross-Canada roadtrip with my pal High McEachern. We were camping, and while we paid our night’s fee, the ranger told us that bears had been spotted in the vicinity. He wasn’t kidding. The next morning, as we cooked breakfast over our fire, a big black bear wandered into the campsite area, looking for a snack. He disdainfully knocked coolers over with his massive paws as made his way between sites. We tossed our frying pan in the trunk and jumped in the car. It seemed a reasonable response, but the other campers chose a different tactic: they hurled rocks at the bear and yelled. Luckily for them, it worked. The bear left, but it could have been a bloody scene.

There are no bears on the menu today, but we are scheduled to join another trail ride. “I’ve decided that I am too sore to do two more hours in the saddle,” I tell Masters. “Besides there are some things I want to see in Banff. He agrees and we cancel the cowboy outing, arranging to split up and meet again at 5 p.m.. I set off down the street headed for the Banff Springs Hotel, but as is so often the case, I get distracted.

(To be continued …)

Part I, II

Photos: Kerry Banks

A popular haunt for X-country skiers, hikers and mountain bikers, the Smith-Dorrien Trail is a gravel road that winds through the heart of one of the wildest and most scenic landscapes in Alberta's Kananaskis Country.

Back in the car, plotting our course to Mt. Engadine Lodge, I say: “Everyone on a roadtrip has to have a role. Why don’t you be the  take-charge guy.”

“Who are you going to be?” asks Masters.

“I’ll be the distracted, laid-back guy. I’ll be Good Time Charlie.”

Luckily, Masters consulted the road map while I was shooting photos of the lake, and confidently predicts we’ll be at our destination soon. He’s right. From out of nowhere, the road to Mt. Engadine Lodge suddenly appears on our right.

The lodge is a major surprise. I was expecting antlers, cowboy paraphernalia and massive wooden beams and split-pine finishes everywhere. And there is a lot of wood, but nothing else is predictable. For starters, the place is not a working-ranch-cum-guest house but a sophisticated boutique backcountry operation operated by Chris and Shari-Lynn Williams, a pair of professional innkeepers. (Chris, a former air-traffic controller, and Shari-Lynn, an accountant, left their day jobs to run resorts a decade ago.)

The lodge's dining room windows afford a spectacular view of the Rockies rising sharply across Moose Meadows – a natural habitat for coyotes, moose, elk, deer and beavers.

Before coming to Mt. Engadine(www.mountengadine.com) in 2007, the couple worked for five years at the Wickaninnish Inn in Tofino, B.C, where Chris was the chief concierge and Shari-Lynn the front-office manager. The well-travelled couple have also worked as innkeepers in Vermont, New Mexico, Cape Cod, on Prince Edward Island and on St. Lucia in the Caribbean. Here at Mt. Engadine they also supervised a major renovation, with the lodge’s nine rooms transformed from dorm-style bunk beds to luxurious suites complete with king-size beds, living areas and private baths. And the rooms are now named (and decorated) after indigenous animals, which are easier to remember than numbers. I’ve been assigned the Moose room, which is appropriate since the lodge is reputedly the best place in the Kananaskis to spot moose. The ungainly beasts like to congregate in a mud wallow adjacent to the property, supposedly attracted by the minerals in the soil.

I have a half-hour before dinner so I wander off down the road to a nearby bridge to take photos. The lodge has an incredible setting, on a hill overlooking a broad meadow and surrounded on all sides by soaring mountains. I’m enjoying the peace and solitude when two tour buses suddenly pull up and disgorge a pack of noisy German tourists. Their timing could not be better: minutes after they unload, a mother moose and her calf begin approaching across the meadow. The sight silences the crowd.

Spray Valley Provincial Park (along with neighbouring Peter Lougheed Provincial Park): more than 100 km of hiking and mountain biking trails, plus canoeing and kayaking on easily accessible lakes and rivers.

It’s occasions like this that make me wonder what European tourists think of Canada. This is the first moose I’ve ever seen in the wild and I’ve lived here all my life. This bunch of Bavarians may well be under the mistaken impression that you can order up exotic wildlife here at will.

_______________________________________________

“A visit to this mud wallow, where the moose

come every day about now, is like a once-a-day vitamin,”

says Engadine manager Chris Williams.

________________________________________________

I make it back just in time for dinner. The roast chicken is delicious, the wine terrific. Masters and I share a communal table with a group of Americans touring Alberta with an outfit called Country Walkers. The company (www.countrywalkers.com) offers 75 worldwide walking itineraries, and on this one, local guide Dave Holder spearheads daily, rigorous hikes into the wilds. Judging by the speed with which the day’s survivors are wolfing down their food, all that walking must work up a serious appetite.

After dinner, we talk with Chris about Mt. Engadine’s niche in the backcountry market, and how the level of personal service and attention to detail is what he thinks sets it apart. For example, he hand picks the wines, seeking out moderately priced, tasty stuff that most guests will not be familiar with. Likewise, the beer is from small, local Alberta breweries. And during the summer months, he brings in musicians – overlooked Canadian talents such as Suzie Vinnick, recipient of the 2008 Canadian Maple Blues Award as Female Vocalist of the Year. “The musicians stay here over the weekend and interact with the guests,” he says. “It’s all very casual.”

Local moose gather daily at the mud wallow alongside Alberta's Mt. Engadine Lodge. The site is rich in selenium, a nutrient the animals need for bone development.

The overall goal is to provide visitors with a unique experience. Of course, the wildlife also contributes. Later that night, as I’m savouring a glass of wine on the outdoor deck, a large owl makes a screeching descent into a nearby pine tree. This intrusion instantly attracts the attention of the country walkers, who are diligently keeping track of Canadian fauna spotted on their trip. They’re still debating whether the bird is a great horned owl or not when I finally stumble off to my Moose room and climb into my Moose bed.

Part I, III

Photographs: Kerry Banks

“Just give her a kick in the belly,” says Dayleen. Our trail guide is growing impatient with my mare’s plodding pace. But I feel sympathy for Hazel, who is 16 and has been humping tourists through these Alberta hills for a decade. If the mare wants to take her time, it’s all right with me. I’m in no great hurry, and staying a few paces back keeps me clear of the goofy antics of Champ, who is second in our three-horse procession.

____________________________________________

“We are a few hours into a five-day roadtrip

through the Alberta Rockies and, just to make it

perfectly clear that we are in cowboy country,

our hosts have made sure our adventure kicks off

with a two-hour trail ride.”

__________________________________________

It appears that Champ wants to run, or else bite Dayleen’s horse in the ass, neither of which is making it easy on John Masters, a my travelling companion. A freelance writer, Masters isn’t fond of horses and is an inexperienced rider – a bad combination when climbing ridges with steep fallaways while trying to control a skittish gelding.

We are a few hours into a five-day roadtrip through the Alberta Rockies and, just to make it perfectly clear that we are in cowboy country, our hosts – the folk at Travel Alberta – have made sure our adventure kicks off with a two-hour trail ride. In fact, tomorrow’s schedule features yet another two-hour ride at a locale outside Banff, which would be fine if we were ranch hands or had titanium buttocks, neither of which happens to be the case.

In addition to the Boundary Ranch, Alberta's 4,211-square-km Kananaskis Country features campgrounds, golf and two alpine and X-country ski areas developed for previous winter Olympics.

There was supposed to be other journalists on this trek, but for some unknown reason a tour of Alberta’s Rockies inspired little enthusiasm. In fact, of the 120 international and Canadian travel writers who signed up for this fall’s Go Media Canadian Tourist Commission-sponsored tours, I was the only one who selected “Working the Rockies.” Masters is here by default – he was booted off his first choice, a VIA Rail trip across Canada – because he had done it before. And since there are only two of us, Travel Aberta has opted to dispense with the customary escort, supplying us instead with a road map, directions, booked accomodations, a rental car, unlimited gas and – just so we don’t get too footloose – a 13-page itinerary.

Our car, a Mitsubishi (and I thought the company only made TVs and computers) has a couple of attractive features: good acceleration and a sweet sound system, which means we can better appreciate the CDs I burned for the trip. Of course, Masters, who is no audiophile, would prefer to listen to CBC news. It’s one of his daily rituals, along with reading the Globe and Mail and drinking a double espresso in the late afternoon. Incredibly, he requires no caffeine in the morning.

The toughest part of our trip so far has been getting out of Calgary, a city that doesn’t see any need for coherent signage, and which apparently believes that endless urban sprawl is what God intended. However, once we escaped from Cowtown’s cement runways and headed west into Kananaskis Country, the drive suddenly changed for the better. Set in the foothills and of the Rockies, the province’s 4,211-square-kilometre recreational district boasts numerous provincial parks and some spectacular natural beauty. And though the area is open to tourists year round, fall may be the best time to visit because the highways aren’t clogged with camper trailers.

Before we reached our first stop – Boundary Ranch – I had already made Masters stop a couple of times so I could snap photos of the stunning landscape. Interestingly, we both have the same model of camera, a Panasonic digital, and even odder we both have the same model of backpack, a piece of swag we both scored on a previous media trip. Fortunately, no one is going to take us for twins. We look nothing alike.

Masters (in green shirt) and Dayleen. An hour later, waiting for the circulation in his legs to return: "Ice picks in the knees," Masters groans while hobbling about in the dirt.

I’m not the only person who finds this rugged terrain visually inspiring. Kananaskis Country has served as the setting for many movies, including Russell Crowe’s Mystery, Alaska; Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven; Brad Pitt’s The Assassination Of Jesse James and Heath Ledger’s Brokeback Mountain.

Boundary Ranch www.boundaryranch.com/ has a connection with the movies as well: the owner, Rick Guinn, a former rodeo star, also had a brief acting and modelling career. He starred in Buffalo Rider, a 1978 film that dramatizes the true life of Western legend C.J. “Buffalo” Jones, who worked to prevent the extinction of the American buffalo during the 19th-century. ”Guinn landed the role largely because he was the only actor the producers could find who could actually ride a buffalo.”

_____________________________________

“Guinn landed the role largely because he

was the only actor the producers could find who

could actually ride a buffalo.”

_____________________________________

After finishing our trail ride and waiting for the circulation in Masters’  legs to return – “Ice picks in the knees,” he groans while hobbling about in the dirt – we tour the grounds. Boundary Ranch is a major operation with about 90 horses, so it can accomodate large tour groups. In addition to trail rides, which last anywhere from one hour to six days, the ranch also offers hikes, canoe trips, rodeos, gunfight re-enactments, chuckwagon races and chili cook-offs. The outfit has even partnered with another company to provide a “Surf & Saddle” package to those who want to combine trail rides with whitewater rafting.

Under the savvy tutelage of its buffalo-riding owner, film and rodeo star Rick Guinn, the Boundary Ranch has expanded its amenities since the 1930s to include gunfights, Wild West rodeos, photo safaris, sleigh rides, calf and horse roping, mountain biking and more.

We don’t have time for the Surf & Saddle combo, unfortunately. We have to get to Mt. Engadine Lodge before dark. It’s located about an hour’s drive away along a gravel road called the Smith-Dorrien Trail. And as we accelerate into the afternoon sun I plug in a CD. Elvis Presly’s voice fills the car – “A hunk a hunk of burning love …”

“A little rock n’ roll for the Rockies,” I say, and put on my shades.

Continued…Part II, III

Photos by Kerry Banks

The outrageous idea arose from the mind of Geoffrey Pyke, an eccentric British scientist who worked as an advisor to Lord Mountbatten, Chief of Combined Operations. In 1942, Pyke began wrestling with one of the Allies’ most daunting problems. In the mid-Atlantic, beyond the range of the land-based aircraft, was a stretch of ocean where Allied shipping was being cut to pieces by the merciless German submarine fleet. What was needed, Pyke decided, was a means of providing air cover for the merchant ships. His solution was icebergs that resembled aircraft carriers. The platform would melt eventually, of course, but Pyke believed that a large enough piece of ice would last at least a few months—longer if it were insulated on the outside and cooled from within by a refrigeration system. Better yet, the platform couldn’t be sunk; and even if damaged by torpedoes or bombs, repairs could be made simply by freezing new chunks of ice into place. In battle, the ice ships could put their onboard refrigeration systems to effective use by spraying super-cooled water at enemy ships, icing their hatches shut, clogging their guns and freezing enemy sailors to death.

Winston Churchill was receptive to the idea. After reading the formal War Cabinet report on the Habbakuk project in December 1942, Churchill shot back a memo stamped Most Secret. “I attach the greatest importance to the prompt examination of these ideas,” he wrote. “The advantages of a floating island or islands, even if only used as refuelling depots for aircraft, are so dazzling that they do not need at the moment to be discussed.”

But before the plan could be put into anything even close to reality, Pyke had to solve one fundamental problem: ice melts. Early in 1943, two researchers employed by Pyke discovered that by mixing wood pulp, sawdust, or cotton wool with water and freezing the slurry, they could create a substance that still floated nicely but was much stronger and less brittle than plain ice. It could be shaped with ordinary woodworking tools and it melted much more slowly than ice. The material was dubbed pykrete in honour of Pyke.

Pyke excitedly showed the stuff to Mountbatten, who was so similarly afflicted that he rushed into Winston Churchill’s bathroom and in a scene that sound like something out of Monty Python, dropped a block of the stuff in the PM’s bath water. Churchill’s bath may have been ruined, but he gave Mountbatten the go-ahead. Pyke was ordered to produce pykrete in large quantities to test and perfect it. Utmost secrecy was required, so he set up shop in a refrigerated meat locker in a Smithfield Market butcher’s basement; his “shop assistants” were disguised British commandos. The work was carried on behind a protective screen of massive frozen animal carcasses.

The butcher’s backroom soon produced enough samples for Mountbatten and Churchill to take their pykrete show on the road. Mountbatten unveiled the invention at a tense secret meeting of the Allied chiefs of staff at Quebec City’s Chateau Frontenac Hotel in August 1943. Mountbatten entered the project meeting with two blocks and placed them on the ground. One was a normal ice block and the other was pykrete. He then drew his service pistol and shot at the first block. It shattered and splintered. Next, he fired at the Pykrete. The bullet ricocheted off the block, grazing the trouser leg of U.S. Admiral Ernest King and ended up in the wall. Mountbatten’s unorthodox demonstration had the desired effect.

In the winter of 1943, Allied scientists began constructing a 1,000-ton, 18-metre-long, nine-metre-wide prototype on Patricia Lake to gather information about how it could be insulated and cooled. The ice ship was disguised with a tin roof to make it look like a boathouse. Although the vessel would move slowly, and the enemy could hardly fail to see it coming, this hardly mattered. “Surprise,” Pyke theorized, “can be obtained from permanence as well as suddenness.” The experimental craft proved seaworthy and its immense hull was as strong as Pyke had predicted, but Mountbatten eschewed the scientist’s reports for a more direct testing method: hauling out a shotgun and vainly trying to blow a hole in the side of their precious prototype.

The engineers managed to keep the model frozen during the entire summer of 1943. Unfortunately, the astronomical cost of deploying a full-size ship quickly became apparent. In the end, the HMS Habbakuk was never built. Land-based aircraft were attaining longer ranges, U-boats were being hunted down faster than they could be built, and the U.S. was gaining numerous island footholds in the Pacific–all of which contributed to a reduced need for a vast, floating airfield. The prototype was abandoned and when the ice ship finally thawed, its skeleton of wooden forms and refrigeration equipment sank to the bottom.

In the 1970s, the remains of the Habbakuk were found by divers and studied by University of Calgary underwater archaeologists. Later, in 1989, a plaque to commemorate the strange ship was erected on Patricia Lake’s southern shore. However, the plaque offers no clue to the fate of Geoffrey Pyke. After the war, eager to convey his unconventional ideas, he wrote and broadcast. He campaigned against the death penalty and for government support of UNICEF. But the more he thought about trying to achieve a better world, the more pessimistic he became–it seemed that human nature was antithetical to innovation in general and his ideas in particular. He was widely mocked in the media of the time, and a sense of gloom overtook him. On February 21, 1948, Pyke committed suicide by consuming sleeping pills.

Photo Credits:

 #1, 2: darkroastedblend.com

#3: cabinetmagazine.org

#4: discoveralberta.com