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The legacy of Van the Man

Canoeing on Lake Louise, Banff. Picture: John Borthwick

A Rocky Mountains skyline of snow domes and icy pagodas looms above the main street of Banff, Alberta. The peaks look down on buildings whose dress code is strictly alpine ersatz. Uniform heights and nostalgic, chalet-referencing architecture ensure that visitors will never mistake faux-rustic Banff for anarchic LA or even Vancouver.

Junk-food franchises and mini-marts, if they exist at all, are sequestered to the backblocks of Banff. I abandon my quest for a sandwich and humble half litre of chocolate milk and accept, nevertheless, that the burghers of this seemingly burger-free burg know exactly what they're doing, because each year their town of 8000 permanent residents plays host to four million tourists.

Visitors first came here for the sulphur springs at the Banff Springs Hotel. Built in 1888 and known as "the Castle in the Rockies", the hotel launched tourism in western Canada. It started life as a Canadian Pacific Railway project when Sir William Cornelius Van Horne, general manager of the railway, recognised the potentially lucrative connection between train travel and tourism. He famously declared: "If we cannot export the scenery, we will have to import the tourists."

Back then, Van Horne was Van the Man because his company had constructed in record time a vital rail line from Calgary to Vancouver that linked for the first time fledgling Canada's eastern and western provinces. Before that, in the 1870s the infant nation had been increasingly worried about the intentions of its hefty southern neighbour. Already Uncle Sam had snagged California from the Mexicans and Alaska from the Russians, and seemed keen on the idea of owning the continent's whole Pacific coast.

"We love having Aussie and Kiwi guests - you folk just can't seem to help having fun," says Ralph Sliger, boss of Rockies Heli Tours as he points us towards a waiting helicopter. We lift off above Kananaskis for a 20-minute circuit that seems like an Alberta "sampler". The helipad is at a casino run by First Nations' Stoney Nakoda people. Soon we're looking down on a group of wild mustangs, remnants of the large herds that once roamed here and that the Nakoda rode long before SUVs and pick-ups.

In the distance, the Canadian Rockies rise up towards their highest peak, 3956m Mt Robson. We swoop over alpine lakes, pine forests, ancient gorges in the Bow River and the arrow-straight lanes of the Trans-Canada Highway. Landing, we head out to explore what we've seen from above.

"A hotel for the outdoor adventurer and alpinist," declared Van Horne in 1890 when his CPR company built a one-storey log cabin some 60km north-west of Banff. Ambitiously named Chalet Lake Louise, it hosted visitors from his railway but soon enough burnt down (as wooden hotels tend to). It was rebuilt and serially expanded over the decades until the one-time summer cabin evolved to become the Fairmont Chateau Lake Louise.

Visitors today use this 554-room grand dame as a base for hiking, mountain biking, fishing, horseback-riding and skiing. Or just serious cocktail-quaffing while contemplating the sublime blue waters of Lake Louise. Often referred to as the "Jewel of the Canadian Rockies", Lake Louise is set in a valley surrounded by pine-clad mountains with glacial heights. It was named after Princess Louise Alberta, wife of the governor general of Canada and daughter of Queen Victoria, as was the province of Alberta.

"Do they paint the bottom of the lake blue to get that lovely colour?" The question is often asked, staff tell me, principally by visitors from "a certain neighbouring country".

No, not Russia. The intense blue is the result of suspended microscopic particles called "rock flour" that change the refractive index of the water.

It's time for us to venture out on the lake. Our guide makes much ado about what kind of single- blade paddle we each should choose. They seem much of a muchness and once in our inexpert hands, as time will tell, it makes little difference.

We climb into a classic, red Canadian canoe with eight seats and a graceful high prow and stern. Beautifully crafted from cedar and canvas, it is more fit for Hiawatha and Minnehaha than a bunch of pale-faced tourists. The guide tells the woman seated at the bow that, to her surprise, she is the "captain" and must call out changes in our paddling direction. We head off across the lake towards Mt Victoria where the weather is darkening above its formidable peak. A distant glacier growls.

When it's time to turn, our captain calls "lift!" in a Kiwi accent. Nothing happens. She calls again. The Canadians aboard seem puzzled. Our guide, seated at the stern, appears unconcerned and urges us to strike up an obscure Canuck paddling chant. I'm about to propose something more familiar like "I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK" but the shoreline draws ever closer. "Lift more!" cries our captain as we head for the shallows. The guide finally intervenes and steers our ship of fools away from disaster.

Banff National Park, established in 1885 as Canada's first national park, is now a UNESCO World Heritage wilderness. There are lynx, snowshoe hares, cougars and bears in these hills above Lake Louise but we see none of them as we tramp up a forest track on a sunny morning. Other than trail-ride horses, the only quadruped I spot is a skittish little chipmunk.

We're at 1720m and looking at three grand peaks, mounts Temple, Victoria and Lefroy. "Each one is over 11,000 feet," says our guide, thus illustrating the other bilingual aspect of travel in Canada: constant switching between imperial and metric measurements.

The domed butte of 2270m Beehive Mountain that towers above us looks as if it was turned on the lathe of mountain gods. Its striated face reflects symmetrically in the windless waters of the aptly titled Mirror Lake.

I drink here from a waterfall - the water, like the air, is pure, fresh beyond flavour - and then we hike on, higher through the forest to our destination, Lake Agnes.

After a picnic lunch, we make an easy descent back to the shimmering, turquoise lake and the hotel. It's been an easy, 7km round-trip, with a climb of just 370m. Perfect for priming an afternoon cocktail thirst.