Travel Guides: All Countries / North America / Canada
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| | | | Fantastic all year-round
Wonderful. We have stayed in Banff summer and winter.
Tunnel Mountain in a camper van in the sun or in the snow. Fantastic. Just to see the wildlife running free is an experience not to be missed
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Mountaineering the easy way
Welcome to the Rocky Mountaineer! said the bobble-hatted attendant, giving me a 100-watt smile that could have vaporised a polar ice cap.
Outside Vancouver Central Station it was cold and dark, but inside the passengers were basking in the warm glow of excited anticipation.
The attendant beckoned and we boarded, ready to embark on what the brochure modestly described as 'The Most Spectacular Train Journey in the World'.
The Rocky Mountaineer departs at an uncivilised hour. But a 6.45am start is a necessary evil in order to complete the journey from Vancouver to Calgary via the majestic Canadian Rockies in just two days.
Dawn broke and we began to thaw out in the plush air-conditioned two-storey carriages. Ours consisted of a cosy dining room downstairs and 'dome window seating' upstairs.
Imagine a goldfish bowl on wheels and you're halfway there. Whatever you call it, the glass roof afforded stunning views of the Rockies.
The mountains, however, were several gin and tonics away. After leaving the station we rumbled through grimy suburbs before breaking out in to the wilderness.
The Goldleaf Service includes breakfast, three-course lunch, snacks and a bottomless vat of eggnog. If you're not bothered about extravagant dining and dome windows, opt for the Redleaf.
In the serenity of Goldleaf, we reposed in our seats, soaking up the prairies, gorges and mountains whose white faces grew ever more sheer with every mile.
White faces were also to be seen in coach number 10 as we crossed some spectacular ravines on bridges that, from afar, appeared to be constructed from matchsticks. As we rattled across, the ground would plummet away leaving a queasy drop.
Everyone recovered pretty quickly, and thankfully it didn't affect our eggnog consumption. But barely had we quaffed an eggnog or five, and it was time for lunch.
The tables were laid with crisp white linen, delicate cutlery and fresh flowers.
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Have a terrific time in Toronto
From the Daily Mail
Toronto may not be Canada's capital (Ottawa gets the honours), but it's top of the pile in every other respect. It is the country's largest city, as well as its major shopping, theatre and sports destination.
As the weather warms up it makes a great location for an offbeat long weekend. And, it's cheaper than you think. With a flight time of under eight hours from London, you can be there by late Friday afternoon and get three full days under your belt before flying home on Monday night, arriving back first thing on Tuesday morning.
ESSENTIAL PACKING
A fistful of Canadian dollars and your passport - no visas are required for British citizens.
WHAT'S MY FIRST STOP?
If it's a clear day, head for the CN Tower (daily until 11pm), which is still clinging to its claim to be the world's tallest free-standing building. Get your bearings from 1,465ft and then take a walk - if you dare - on the glass floor (don't worry, if it had to, it could withstand the weight of 14 hippos).
AND THEN?
After a traditional Saturday morning bacon butty at the St Lawrence Market, call at the Hockey Hall Of Fame for an introduction to Canada's national sporting obsession (it's the iced variety). Don't miss the Royal Ontario Museum, with everything from dinosaurs to Egyptian mummies. The interactive Children's Own Museum is next door.
In the afternoon, take a ferry across Lake Ontario to the Toronto Islands for super skyline views or meander through the city neighbourhoods. Catch another museum: The Pier, for nautical exhibits, the Art Gallery Of Ontario or the Shoe Museum, complete with former Spice Girl Geri Halliwell's footwear.
Keep Sunday for a day trip to Niagara Falls, 90 minutes' drive from the city, and included in many city-break packages. Although the close-up cruise, Maid Of The Mist, does not start until May, you can always enjoy wine tastings, a horse-and-carriage ride around Niagara-on-the-Lake and - best of all - a helicopter ride over the falls.
On Monday, allow time to check out Canada's Walk Of Fame in front of the Royal Alexandra Theatre. You didn't know Jim Carrey was Canadian? Shame on you.
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Bags of fun in Toronto
You'd think that New Yorkers would be happy shopping on Madison Avenue. Not my friends there. They've been going to Toronto, where everything is much cheaper.
There was nothing else for it - I would have to go there to find out for myself.
When I first visited the city in the late Sixties I was advised to take everything I could conceivably need, as there simply wasn't anything to be found in the shops that a person would want to buy.
I had no problem fulfilling this brief as my shopping habit and love of clothes was well established at a tender age.
I had a great time in the city, making it my mission to try every variety of cheesecake but didn't do much shopping.
Returning five years on in the Seventies to attend a tennis tournament, things were changing and the boutiques and coffee shops on Yorkville were starting to emerge.
In the late Eighties, I paid another visit to the city - famous for its 1,815 ft landmark, the CN Tower - this time to call on a friend who had been sent there to work. I didn't recognise the place. It had changed beyond recognition.
I stayed at the Park Hyatt which just happens to be - and now all will become clear and you will realise why I chose it - smack bang in the middle of the shopping district of Bloor and Yorkville.
On leaving the hotel for an initial inspection of Toronto's shopping thrills, I stumbled upon the first one next-door: Vera Wang who is renowned for her wonderful wedding dresses.
Now, I hasten to add that I am not planning to marry in the foreseeable future but, as Vera Wang also designs stunning evening gowns, I simply could not resist a quick visit.
The clothes were sumptuous. It is easy to see why Victoria Beckham chose Vera Wang to create her wedding dress.
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Rocky ride on a jolly slow train
From the Daily Mail
There's a train service in Canada where passengers really don't mind if the train arrives late. On board the Rocky Mountaineer, glass-topped dome cars provided a 360-degree kaleidoscopic view of the dramatic ice-mantled peaks of the Canadian Rockies.
Our journey was barely under way when an attendant served us champagne and orange juice. A toast was the prelude to a party atmosphere with conversation and laughter so loud, you barely heard the commentary.
Everyone had an allocated seat, but no one remained in it for long. Outside our hermetically-sealed dome-car, snow had transformed the landscape into a post-apocalypse, monochrome setting. And low cloud resembled vapour trails left by the Red Arrows.
From Castle Mountain, near Banff, we passed Lake Louise. Then it suddenly got very dark as we entered the spiral tunnels of Cathedral Mountain, which was used in Doctor Zhivago. In an incredible feat of engineering, we turned around in the mountain and doubled back on ourselves twice before re-emerging once more into daylight.
Before its construction in 1909, the track had twice the recommended gradient for a railway line; the result was many runaway trains. Today, longer freight trains can sometimes be seen entering and emerging from tunnels simultaneously.
The Rocky Mountaineer certainly restores some of the romance of rail travel, with signs for exotic places such as Kicking Horse River, 'Avalanche Area Ends' warnings and cries of: 'Look, there's an elk!'
Our train also proved that it's possible to spend a few winter days in the Canadian Rockies without hitting the slopes. The only injuries aboard our train were pulled muscles when jaws dropped open in awe of the scenery.
Most passengers stay on for two days all the way to Vancouver, retracing the legendary western Canadian routes of the first transcontinental railways. But we joined it for only a day between Banff and Kamloops. It would leave for Vancouver tomorrow without us.
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Bear-spotting in Canada
From the Daily Mail
'Keep an eye out. Up here, you never know what you'll see - wolves, moose, even bears.' Sitting at the controls of a 3,000hp locomotive and sporting a Casey Jones outfit, Kelly Hopkins didn't look as if he'd know a brown bear from a wolf. But he's had plenty of practice. Almost every day of the year, he ventures deep into the Canadian bush with one of the trains from the Algoma Central Railway.
It's one of the most breathtaking routes in the world. From his cab, 20ft above the iron road that links Sault Ste Marie with Hearst in northern Ontario, Hopkins communes with nature in the forested wilderness on the shores of Lake Superior. 'From up here, you get a grandstand view of some of the most beautiful country I have ever seen,' boomed Kelly with a voice as deep and far-reaching as the horn on his 45-year-old diesel.
Right on cue, a blue heron lumbered off the lily-covered surface of a deep black lake alongside the track. 'Blue heron, red-tailed eagle - you get fabulous birdlife up here. A week ago, I saw a moose cow and a calf. You get deer and wolves and bears - black bears not grizzlies. In fact, there are more black bears this year than ever before. You guys be careful out there.'
At the back of Kelly's train was a guard's van, or caboose as the North Americans put it, which had been converted into a camping car and would be our home for the next two days. At Agawa Canyon, Kelly left us - Rob, a friend of mine from Toronto, and two guides - in a riverside siding, while he continued another 184 miles to Hearst, a French-speaking town on the world's longest street, Yonge Street.
'I'd rather be staying with you guys at Agawa,' mused Kelly as he pulled down on the massive air horn to announce our arrival at the tiny halt at the bottom of a 500ft-deep ravine. The horn echoed round the canyon like a moose's mating call.
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In cod we trust
From the Mail on Sunday
Here's a little piece of culinary information you probably never knew before: in Newfoundland (a society whose historic raison d'etre has always been based on fish) the two great local delicacies are cod tongues and turbot cheeks.
And here's an example of Newfoundland's reason to exist according to other Canadians: What do you call seven Mounties standing in a circle? A Newfoundland firing squad.
That's a 'Newfie' joke.
The Toronto friend who told me it used the term Newfie to describe the indigenous residents of the isolated chunk of terrain located on the extreme edge of Atlantic North America.
Should you find yourself in Newfoundland, a word of warning: do not, under any circumstances, let the expression Newfie leave your lips. It's considered highly derogatory.
It calls to mind a long-standing Canadian attitude that folk in this vast island province are more than a little provincial - and, ergo, just a tad slow and utterly unworldly.
No doubt, the central reason why Newfoundland has always been lumbered with this sluggish, parochial reputation is its geography.
Because, with the exception of the far reaches of the Canadian Arctic, Newfoundland is about as terra obscura a place you can happen upon.
Coupled with Labrador, the province is a huge landmass covering more than half a million square miles of the North American north-east.
Off the coast, the island itself measures nearly 43,000 square miles - that's 85 per cent of the size of England - but only about 100,000 souls rattle around its empty confines.
And the fact that it is 'off the edge' of North America has always given this new-found-land an extreme sense of self-containment and an individual identity.
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Here is the Shipping News
From the Mail on Sunday
'There. I saw another one. And this time it was right out of the water.'
We were sitting in a restaurant - in Newfoundland. My wife had the superior air of the person in the seat looking out over one of the best sea coast views in Canada, while I was in the seat looking in, at waitresses bustling about with massive plates of halibut and chips and scallop chowder.
'And it made an enormous splash.'
'Where?' I asked, craning my neck. There was no sign of the 30-ton monster. The sea was flat and calm.
Do whales have a sense of fun? Seems they do. No sooner had I turned back to my snow crab salad when she-with-the-brilliant-view yelled: 'There's a whole group of them, and they are blowing now.'
I turned and this time caught one of the most joyful things you can see on the surface of any sea, anywhere.Spouts of water fountained up from humpback whales half a mile off shore. I checked the menu - they didn't charge extra for a whale sighting.
Now it was my turn to be smug. I spotted something else out there. The sun glinted on what seemed at first to be the top half of a space shuttle stuck nose-first in the sea.
I looked again; no, it was nature's ultimate limited edition, a sculpture carved from 1,000-year-old snow and rain.This was August, and we were lucky to see an iceberg so late. This one's huge, unseen bulk was snagged on the shallow sea floor.
There are four top experiences - or 'icons' - by which the tourist board is marketing Newfoundland, Canada's eastern seaboard island province. We had seen two of them from our table at the Lighthouse Restaurant, high on the promontory above St Anthony's.
I cannot believe film director Lasse Hallstrom (who made Chocolat) won't squeeze both whales and icebergs into his film The Shipping News starring Judi Dench, Kevin Spacey and Cate Blanchett.
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The city that laughs at itself
From the Mail on Sunday
When you talk to most Englishmen about Montreal, one of three things happens. They either know nothing about it - 'Montreal? Is that Vancouver?' - virtually nothing - 'It's in Canada, isn't it? They had the Olympic Games there' - or as good as nothing - 'Montreal's where they all speak French and they hate the English, isn't it?'
All my girlfriend Charlotte and I knew about Montreal was that it was in Canada - and it wasn't in Vancouver because we knew people who had been there. It was in Quebec, but it couldn't be completely French because they had a comedy festival, and there was also a jazz festival, so it might conceivably be boring.
However, that month in England, the summer was being overtaken by winter, while the thermometers of Canada were red and jumpy like a fox on a hot tin roof, so we decided to chance a trip to Montreal. We were never to be the same again.
Arriving in a city drenched in sunlight, we checked into our hotel. Our room at the Auberge du Vieux-Port was so large it must once have been a dry dock for the Canadian Navy, and so luxurious that Charlotte took photos of it. Reluctantly venturing forth for a guided tour, we were taken around Montreal in a large people-carrier by Louise LaFrance from the Montreal Tourist Board.
Louise, friendly, enthusiastic, deeply knowledgeable about her home town - and surely up for some Canadian equivalent of the MBE - showed us the entire city from top to bottom and, if time had permitted, would surely have shown us it from outer space. From the heights - where the embassies live, and where one rich, divorcing couple literally, and still-visibly, cut their house in half - to the poorer districts, where the staircases were built on the outside to save internal space, Louise and her people-carrier ranged tirelessly.
We visited parts of the city where, we suspected, no tourist has ever been before. It was thanks to Louise that we were able to discover the trendy shops and restaurants of Rue St-Denis, where even the pizzas looked French; the old Victorian houses high up the mountain which looked like Edinburgh with good weather; and the mad island city which was Expo '67, all giant golfballs and space-age apartment blocks.
Montreal's most blatant attempt to live in the future is, sadly, also the only place in the city we didn't want to revisit. The 1976 Olympic Stadium is a Seventies trimphone built over a giant's shower cap. Its impressive futuristic look is spoiled by the fact that the superlift which takes you to the top is in fact a loud and rickety cable car that clanks and wobbles like a mechanical elephant. By far the best thing in the tower there is a model of it made from milk cartons by local schoolchildren.
Most of the cliches about Canada are true, but they're doubled when you go to Montreal. Canada is supposed to be terrifyingly clean - in Montreal you are woken up by street-cleaning trucks at 5.30am every day. The sunlit, weather-beaten Vieux-Port gives you an idea of what a French North America would have been like, and almost makes you wish that the French had kept Canada and also invaded the USA just to impose their architecture on it. The only comparably beautiful city in America is, perhaps significantly, New Orleans.
But the other great Canadian cliche - that it's boring - is not true. Far from being the Belgians of North America, Canadians are cheerful and friendly - even the sole beggar we saw wished us a heartfelt nice day, while a derelict site near the hotel littered with cat food tins for strays indicated a pro-animal streak, unusual among French-speaking people.
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Mad about the beach life
From the Daily Mail
Where am I? I'm walking along a remote, beautiful beach in the evening light, shoes in hand, my eyes peeled for sun-bleached shells. The sand is so fine it squeaks beneath my feet like icing sugar. Is it the Caribbean, the Maldives perhaps? Nope. I'm in Canada, on the Iles de la Madeleine, or Magdalen Islands - a cluster of far-flung islands way out in the Gulf of St Lawrence, somewhere between Newfoundland, Quebec City and Nova Scotia.
You'd be forgiven for thinking that a lonely outpost like this would be wincingly cold, rugged and bleak, frequented only by people with feather-filled anoraks, weather-beaten faces and a penchant for frostbite. Yet here I was in shorts and T-shirt, covered in factor 15, beachcombing with the sun on my back like holidaymakers the world over.
But the weird thing is, for several months of the year, the Magdalen Islands do look like a scene from the TV wildlife series Life In The Refrigerator. Locked together by a frozen sea, they are visited only by intrepid seal watchers who come to ooh and aah at the thousands of pups born on the surrounding ice floes every year, while patient locals sit inside eating salted herrings, mending their fishing nets and waiting for it all to be over.
Then, in spring, warm currents melt the ice and by July, air temperatures climb to 28c and stay there for several glorious months, transforming the islands into a wonderfully improbable place for a sunny seaside holiday.
Yet the climate wasn't the only thing that had intrigued me about the Madeleines since I'd peered down at them from the aircraft on the first day of my trip. A few long wisps of sand dune surrounded by steely-grey ocean, this archipelago of 12 islands, measuring just 65 kilometres from end to end, looked far too fragile to exist at all. The prospect of a few big waves made me nervous; high tide was surely enough to wash them away.
So it came as something of a surprise on landing to discover that 14,000 people live here, some on French-speaking islands, others on Anglophone ones - and that there's the odd road and fishing port, not to mention several gourmet restaurants, where you can pay next to nothing to eat virtually your own body weight in lobster. Outrageously pretty, brightly painted wooden houses are scattered across the landscape, their clapboard walls decorated in glowing shades from sunflower yellow to emerald green, all visible for miles.
This vibrant colour-coding is, apparently, the whole point: it would once have guided the fishermen's boats back to the right part of the island after a hard day out at sea. Many Madelinots rent out their Technicolor properties for the summer, so you can spend lazy afternoons rocking yourself to sleep on your very own porch and dreaming about which house you'd buy when you resign from your job, sell your semi and move here for good (I'll have the lavender-blue one with the twiddly finials, please).
You could spend the rest of the day sailing, surfing, diving or sea-kayaking, then stop off at a coffee shop and listen to villagers talking about road congestion when there are more than three cars in sight. Next day you could hire a bike and while away the hours counting up how many sets of traffic lights you can spot on all the islands' roads put together (at the risk of spoiling your fun, I can reveal there are only two).
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Eight hours in Halifax, Nova Scotia
Like a beacon, Halifax's Citadel overlooks the city and marks the ideal starting point for a whistle-stop tour of Nova Scotia's spruce capital.
Reached by 122 steps - or effortlessly by taxi - the 19th-century British Army fort is inexpensive to visit, and tickets include a first-rate tour with a well-informed Parks Canada guide.
It's also a great spot to take panoramic shots of Halifax's skyline.
The Maritime Museum of the Atlantic is a short walk from Halifax's docks - ideal for tourists arriving by ship.
A Titanic exhibition with archive photos and memorabilia explains Halifax's role in burying the ship's dead after it sank off city shores.
Even more poignant is the 3D Titantic Experience - 20 minutes of underwater footage of the wreck shot in 1991, complete with eerie glimpses inside.
Lively Spring Garden Road is perfect for a spot of lunch after a hard morning's sightseeing around Halifax.
Bars, grills, restaurants and takeaways line both sides of the street. Beware of prices - advertised amounts tend to be pre-tax, so expect to pay a little more when the bill comes.
Lobster is a Halifax staple. Specials can range from about £2.60 to £5 per dish at Spring Garden eateries.
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Last roar of the white bear
From the Daily Mail
Its majesty inspires awe and fear in equal measure. But now the polar bear, the greatest predator on land, is in danger of falling prey to starvation as the ice packs of the North recede. I travelled to Churchill in Canada to see the evidence of the bear's decline - and found myself getting rather close for comfort to their fangs...
The first thing that strikes you, as you come within touching distance of a polar bear, is how small you are by comparison. Viewed from behind a zoo railing, they always seemed big enough. Crouching next to them they are positively enormous. I am just about to a run my fingers over its thickly-matted paw - which resembles the roller on a car-wash before you put the token in - when, realising that its eyes are still wide open and its jaw is moving, I jerk backwards.
'Go ahead, put your hand in his mouth if you want,' says zoologist Dennis Andriashek of the Canadian Wildlife Service, before going on to demonstrate. 'He won't hurt you.' That isn't what his companion Steve Miller was telling me earlier. Perhaps it's how they like to welcome newcomers to these parts, but Steve's tales are frighteningly fresh in my memory.
'And then there was the guy who was taking photographs from a buggy parked on the tundra. He put his arm a little too far out of the window and the darn bear took a chunk the size of a softball right out of his biceps,' he recalls, shaking his head at the memory. 'Mind you,' he adds by way of reassurance, 'don't think that polar bears always attack humans.
There was another woman, who had terminal cancer and had this thing about wanting to stroke one before she died. When the tour guide wasn't looking, she put her hand through the grille of a bear pen and a big adult male started licking her fingers. It didn't harm her. But when she took her hand away, she had lost £25,000-worth of diamond rings. I guess she'd lost weight with her illness and they slipped off and the little devil just went and swallowed them.'
I smile thinly. Here in the isolated sub-Arctic outpost of Churchill, Manitoba - proudly known as the 'polar bear capital of the world' - such yarns have passed into folklore. At night, its 600 souls are accustomed to being woken by the deep, throaty grunts of a hungry 1,000-pounder rifling through their dustbins. By day it is not uncommon to bump into a bear brazenly loping down the main street.
As a stranger whose only previous encounter with the earth's biggest and most fearsome land-based predator took place in a zoo, Steve's scare-bear stories are the last thing I want to hear over dinner. Particularly when, the following morning, his helicopter will be whisking me away from the relative safety of the disused military rocket base where we are staying, and dropping us deep into the heart of polar bear country.
What is more, this is no mere sightseeing trip. This is to be hands-on, cheek-by-murderously-fanged-jowl, close-up and personal stuff. For Steve and the other two men I am to go out with - zoologists Nick Lunn and Dennis Andriashek, of the Canadian Wildlife Service - are doing a job that makes David Attenborough's adventures seem tame.
Combining a deep practical knowledge of their quarry's lifestyle with the stealth, skill and sheer physical strength of an old-style hunter, their task is to track down polar bears, sedate them for long enough to carry out a string of revealing scientific tests and tag them for future reference. And, most importantly, to make sure they're airborne again long before the bear begins to regain consciousness with a very sore head.
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Up for the carp
Every summer since the early Nineties I've gone fishing in Canada. I love the place, the surroundings are frequently breathtaking, the people are some of the friendliest and most entertaining on Earth - and there seems to be fish absolutely everywhere.
I have fished from Nova Scotia right across to the Vancouver islands, as far south as Ontario and as far north as Hudson Bay, yet I've still barely scratched the surface.
It is a massive country with equally immense lakes and rivers. I fished one lake a couple of years ago that was the size of Wales.
Over the years in Canada I've caught pike, big trout, salmon, grayling and even monster halibut.
Last year I spent over an hour landing a halibut weighing more than 200lb. When it came to the surface beside the boat it was like a giant barn door.
But most of all, we fish for carp, which Canadians regard as trash fish and ignore. In some provinces, sadly, they are allowed to shoot them with bows and arrows - a sickening sport that is, happily, slowly being outlawed.
Most of the rivers and lakes in the southern part of Canada hold carp in large numbers and some are very big.
In winter most of the lakes freeze over and the carp go into a semi-hibernation in the deepest water they can find.
But come the spring, they pour into the shallows ready to spawn in their thousands and, in the summer months, they are very hungry and very catchable.
Ontario, on the St Lawrence River system, must have some of the best carp fishing in the world.
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The Rodeo Express
From the Daily Mail
The Calgary Stampede may have been over for the year, but Wild West fervour remained in rodeo country. When we arrived, there were still bales of straw at every corner, free pancakes and maple syrup on offer in the streets and everyone - even the airport staff - was still sporting Stetsons.
I was sorry to have missed seeing my old friends competing in the chuck-wagon races that form a big part of this great carnival.
The last time I was in Calgary I was driving a stagecoach or, to be more accurate, I was seen to be driving a stagecoach.
I had been cast opposite Kirk Douglas and James Coburn in a Western called Draw in which the stuntmen were all real cowboys.
In my role as a Shakespearean thespian travelling around the Wild West with a troupe of actors I was kidnapped by Kirk Douglas and rescued by James Coburn - would that it could happen in every movie!
The script called for me to drive the stagecoach but I was told it would be impossible for a woman to control the four huge quarterbacks led by a robust mare called Babe who would rear up on command and crash down to get the wagon rolling.
As a result I held on to dummy reins while two pairs of real reins led directly from the horses' harness to a compartment under my ample cowgirl skirt where two hefty cowboys, who were chuck-wagon experts, were concealed.
Hence my somewhat close friendship with the Calgary chuck-wagon champions!
But even in their safe hands, when we were going full pelt with Kirk Douglas chasing after us on his horse, the top-heavy stagecoach would lurch precariously from side to side and James Coburn was convinced we were going to topple over.
Fortunately, on my recent visit my husband and I took a rather safer, more sedate and luxurious form of travel in the form of the Rocky Mountaineer train on a voyage from Calgary to Kamloops and Jasper through the magnificent wild landscapes of the Canadian Rockies.
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Sailing in style on Cunard's Caronia
It took a tiring nine hours by plane and car - plus a night in a hotel - to finally meet Cunard's graceful liner, the Caronia, for a voyage from Quebec.
In the end, transits were the only arduous part of the journey. After embarkation, life on board was as sedate or action-packed as you wished.
Divorced from the world and daily stresses, with a personal steward to attend us, it was pure relaxation.
A gift of champagne and strawberries in each cabin set the tone for passengers beginning a Caronia cruise.
Armed with barcoded ID cards - scanned on entry and exit to the ship - a dining room table number and dress code rules, passengers who chose to could rest their brains all voyage.
Lectures, bridge lessons, films in the ship's cinema, tours, sports and activities were on offer for others.
Caronia's comfy "country house" decor was a surprise and the service seemed more akin to Buck House than an ocean-going cruise liner.
Public areas, like the Lido canteen, dining room, ballroom, White Star Bar and relaxing Garden Lounge, were manned by zealous teams of friendly staff.
Stewards on 24-hour call tidied cabins twice daily. Even a chicken sandwich at 3am proved to be no problem.
Days aboard the Caronia were casual, but at night you dressed for dinner. In a single week, there were two black tie nights. Even on "informal" evenings, smart blouses with slacks or a skirt were de rigeur for ladies, and men wore jackets. Tuxedos and suits were a must.
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An enlightening experience
Canada will always seem magical to me because of one March night.
No, I'm not talking about romance. I was staying in Banff Springs, a small town in the Canadian Rockies. It was late in the ski season and we had got a good package to ski Sunshine Village and Lake Louise, both mountains I would heartily recommend.
But there's not much at the base of the resorts; Banff is much livelier. People criticise it for being touristy, but there's really only one main strip that's busy. It's not touristy like Blackpool; we thought it was quite cute. Lots of log cabin houses, that sort of thing. And the hot springs are a real treat at the end of the day.
Anyway, none of that is the magic bit. But a couple of nights before we were due to leave, I looked up in the sky and I swear I thought I was seeing things.
It was like there was a huge white curtain sweeping across the sky. I thought it might be fog, but it was too rippled for that. As I walked towards the main street, more and more people appeared to gaze into the velvety night sky, and I found out that I was one of the lucky people to have seen the Aurora Borealis, or Northern Lights.
The light show lasted for ages, changing from a silky curtain to explosions of bright colours. It was so wonderful that I've been planning to go somewhere in Scandinavia, maybe Finland, where you're supposed to have a good chance of seeing the Lights.
Bear necessities
Exploring the mountains
From the Daily Mail
Until last summer, my only experience of seeing live black bears was gazing into the old bear pit at London Zoo. I was 10 at the time but old enough to be appalled by the sad-eyed, ill-kempt creatures surrounded by concrete.
On Whistler Mountain in British Columbia, things could not have been more different.
Guided by Michael Allen, the mountain's world-famous bear researcher, we approached a huckleberry field which would, in winter, have been a ski run.
There in the middle, munching away briskly on fruit, was Jeannie, a 185lb female black bear. She looked up, all fuzzy fur and cute snout, saw we were with her trusted Michael and placidly resumed her feed.
Behind her the huckleberries parted and up popped another, smaller snout. It was Jake, her cub.
We spent the morning on the leafy slopes of this beautiful snowcapped mountain, living the Grizzly Adams dream by tracking Jeannie and Jake through the undergrowth.
I was in Canada on a wilderness adventure - but the joy of this particular adventure was that it came complete with five-star accommodation.
Like many travellers, I'm happy to scramble up mountains, get soaked in pursuit of whales and even be thrown through the air from a skittish horse (of which more later), provided I can return to a soft bed, hot water and room service.
And at the fabulous Fairmont Chateau Whistler, the ski village's top hotel, I found all that and more.
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An old-fashioned adventure
When your wife coolly announces that she's 'met this interesting man on the Internet', alarm bells ought to ring.
Especially when she breaks it to you that he's a rugged individual called Gerald and you're all booked to fly halfway round the world to Canada to meet him.
Even more worrying is the fact that Gerald - of Edmonton, Alberta - runs canoe and camping holidays and I firmly believe canvas is best painted upon by artists and not slept under.
This new man in my wife's life met us at Jasper railway station in the heart of the Rocky Mountains.
He looked freakishly like a tougher, more rugged Jeffrey Archer, but his smile was broad and he had the kind of handshake that can only be achieved by a man who once built his own log cabin and fought off a bear that invaded his honeymoon tent 30 years ago.
Behind him stood a vast Ford truck and trailer loaded with three Coleman canoes and an immense heap of gear. It all looked fine, except for an unattached toilet seat. Also worrying were the axe and machete. His array of kit and general demeanour would make even Arnold Schwarzenegger feel effeminate.
Gerald's approach to canoeing can easily be summed up - there's not much to it if you don't wish there to be. He has paddled his own canoe in these waters for 30 years, from calm, easy flowing rivers to testing rapids, and can tailor a trip to suit all abilities.
But first he wanted to test us. Our first paddle was across a small lake outside Jasper town, placid enough for the pine forest fringe to be reflected undisturbed in the water.
We soon shattered that image as we slid into the canoes. My wife took the front position. Feeling that with Gerald around I had much to catch up with when it came to manliness, I took the rear from where the important work of steering is done.
He watched us thrash backwards and forwards, and nodded sagely. 'Yup, I think we'll make it a gentle start,' he announced. Our children, in the other canoe, were doing distinctly better.
Within the hour we were launching again, this time into the serious-looking Athabasca, one of Canada's major rivers. It rises in the Columbian icefield and flows to the Arctic with a speed which suggests someone at the North Pole has pulled out a plug.
Canada
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| | | | Grizzlies are elusive
The Rocky Mountaineer has perfected the art of sightseeing via rail to the last detail. Attendants with an encyclopaedic knowledge and plenty of maps will ensure you don't miss a thing.
Commentary accompanies everything from Hells Gate and Avalanche Alley, to the wildlife.
Grizzlies are elusive, but if you're quick you might spot a bald eagle or ospreys swoop overhead. I was excited to spot a black blob in the sky that looked like an eagle. It turned out to be a smear on the window.
By the time we pulled in to Kamloops for the overnight stop I was exhausted, and suffering from acute scenic overload. Transfer between train and The Plaza hotel was mercifully stress-free. We had already been checked in, and our luggage awaited us in our rooms.
All I wanted to do was sleep, but on the trip of a lifetime, that's not the done thing. Most people opted for the excursion to the Two River Junction buffet and musical revue.
At 6am the next morning everyone was back on the train for day two. After pulling out of Kamloops, we started to climb in to the snowcapped Rockies.
But - disaster - passing through the town of Golden, attendant Sue announced we had broken down, causing several people to choke on their eggnog.
'I think something is blocking the track' she continued. 'I can see it now, it's Santa's sleigh!' Sighs of relief from adults, and screams of delight from the children. With Santa waving us off, we climbed higher in to the Rockies.
The snow began to spread and deepen as we snaked through great spiral tunnels, coasted beside sparkling emerald lakes.
Every sightseeing tour has a high point, so I reasoned that 'The Most Spectacular Train Journey in the World' should have something exceptional. And it does. At 12,972ft, Mount Robson is the highest peak in the Canadian Rockies.
Eating and the Eaton Centre
HOW DO I GET AROUND?
There's a flat fare on the bus, tram or subway. Or buy a one-day pass. Below street level there's a six-mile network of interconnected walkways, shops, malls and lobbies, which are great for avoiding the cold weather in the winter months. Look for 'path' signs.
EATING OUT
The restaurants are diverse. Food portions are huge and prices reasonable, whether you're eating in Chinatown, Little Italy, Little Portugal, Little India, Greektown or one of the funky neighbourhoods such as the Annex or Bloor-Yorkville.
AND SHOPPING?
Downtown's biggest mall is the Eaton Centre on Yonge Street, with great prices on High Street goods. Nearby, try The Bay for Canadian fashion, gifts and souvenirs. Queen West is downtown's grooviest shopping area, for music, clubwear, vintage books and clothes; Kensington Market has more vintage clothes as well as corner coffee shops and hippy stores; and Yorkville is full of designer outlets. Don't forget that 15% tax will be levied on most purchases.
WEEKEND WASHOUTS?
Most major attractions are open daily, except the Shoe Museum and the Art Gallery of Ontario, which are closed on Monday. Most shops are open only from noon to 5pm on Sunday.
Walking tribute to consumerism
Wandering along Bloor Street I saw all the names you find on Bond Street: Cartier, Hermes, Tiffany, Louis Vuitton and Chanel.
Though I might look like a walking tribute to consumerism, even I am not daft enough to travel all the way to Toronto to buy a Chanel jacket.
However, what those brand names do signal to an inveterate shopper such as myself is: honey, you're in the right place.
First stop was Banana Republic, a shop I always visit when in the States as it is a great source of tops, T-shirts and easy-to-wear stylish casual clothes at a reasonable price. I began to see what my New York friends meant about prices.
While I don't understand the economics behind it, I can appreciate the result. A pair of cotton trousers which would have cost me 140 dollars (£91) in New York were 140 Canadian dollars (£58) here.
That's because there are currently 2.4 Canadian dollars to the pound and only 1.54 US dollars.
I then sped along to Holt Renfrew, a beautiful department store on Bloor, where I was determined to concentrate on American labels of which there were many, including Donna Karan, Michael Kors, Anne Klein and Ralph Lauren.
As I browsed around the store I couldn't believe how helpful the staff were. It was in marked contrast to a recent experience in New York when I was wandering around Bergdorf Goodman.
Fondling a rather wonderful black Sonia Rykiel suit, the assistant rattled out in rapid fire New York twang: 'That's too small for you, I don't have it in your size.'
I found myself increasingly drawn to an Oscar de la Renta outfit and thought it prudent to take a break for lunch in the store's cafe. It would give me time to think about the dress and coat and decide whether temptation or sense would prevail.
Jazz on a mountain pass
The arrival of a children's entertainer in our carriage coincided with my exit to an observation platform, the size of a boxing ring, at the rear of the dome carriage. Outside, I was greeted by air so fresh, it hurt when you inhaled. But I soon warmed up in the buffet car, where a jazz band, wearing all-white suits, played Louis Armstrong tunes.
Outside, snow hanging from telegraph lines formed high notes on a wintry stave. Fellow passengers relaxed over board games, but I stared out of the window at the unfolding wilderness in a hippy-like trance.
My nose was pressed against the window, like a child peering into a toy shop. We passed freight trains that seemed to stretch for miles, and grey and white frozen waterfalls that looked like Ho Chi Minh's beard. We were weaving through wilderness, miles away from civilisation, on the original steel road that opened up the Canadian West.
I've got this thing about mountains: others may climb them, or ski down them, but I just stare at them in awe. Flirt with them, but the mountains will always have the final dance.
With three full meals in an elegant dining car, the onboard service was good, and like everywhere in western Canada, staff seem on an unofficial wager to see who can say 'You're Welcome!' with the most gusto.
As the afternoon shadows lengthened, we were greeted to a glorious Neapolitan ice-cream-coloured sunset over Shuswap Lake and the town of Salmon Arm.
We stopped only twice: to pick up an entertainer and for a crew change. Mostly, we cruised at a pace slow enough to warrant this exchange from an elderly American couple on board. 'Well, it's hardly the TGV is it!' 'Yes it is,' his wife retorted, 'It's the tres grands vistas.' Few could argue with that.
Camping in a caboose
The camping car had been a caboose on the Green Bay and Western Railway near Chicago before being brought to Canada. Legacies of life at the rear of two-mile freight trains live on. In the living room was the guard's desk and the radio with which he could talk to the driver.
But the rest of the caboose had been purpose-built to accommodate four people in a level of comfort not normally found 100 miles from the nearest town. The Formica panelling and tufted carpeting you could live without, but there were indispensable luxuries: bunk room, living room with two sofabeds, kitchen, shower and air-conditioning.
More importantly, the windows were lined with bug screens. 'The black fly and the mosquitoes are northern Canada's national birds,' laughed Rob as we settled back to enjoy our luxury wilderness expedition. He had an economy- sized bottle of insect repellent in one hand and a beer in the other. Life couldn't get more Canadian.
The idea of the camping car is to entice fair weather campers into the deepest reaches of the Canadian bush without them having to wake up in a wet sleeping bag, eat cold baked beans straight from the tin or wonder if the rustling in the bushes is bird or bear.
In the local Ojibway Indian dialect, Agawa means sheltered place. So when the thermometer is nudging 90F (32C) and there is precious little breeze, there are two ways to keep cool. Jump in the Agawa River or drink a cold beer. Or, as our guides tried to ensure, do both at the same time.
'Catch,' shouted Mike from his Canadian canoe. Ten feet of icy cold and crystal- clear water separated our two canoes. When Mike's atrocious throw threatened to land the can of Molson Canadian in the river, I made a sitting dive for the projectile. 'Cans float,' Mike added belatedly as our canoe came within a centimetre of going down like the Titanic. But with both beer and boat intact, we continued our two-mile paddle up stream for a spot of trout fishing.
Once a day, the Agawa canyon echoed to the sounds of a train-load of hikers who came up for a couple of hours. For the remaining 22 hours, the canyon was almost silent, the only sound being the dipping of paddles in the river and myriad mammalian noises coming from the deep forest of spruce, maple and pine. Sadly, though, we had not a nibble of fish on our lines. The plan had been to take a canoe-load of trout back to the caboose for a barbecue dinner. Luckily, the camping car was stacked with comfort food: burgers, hot dogs and steaks.
Dusk is the best time to spot wildlife, which is not always a good thing. The threat of black bears hung over us as we traipsed through the bush, but Mike reassured us. 'Grizzlies are the dangerous ones, black bears won't bother you unless you get near their cubs or leave food around,' Mike said, before breaking into a grin. 'But make sure you're good at climbing trees, just in case.'
Magnificently bleak paradise
As the Encyclopedia Britannica will tell you, the island was first discovered by the Genoese-Venetian explorer, Giovanni Caboto - better known as John Cabot - 'who reached the island in 1497 while sailing under the English flag'.
And what Cabot discovered was a cold, magnificently bleak paradise for fishermen - so much so that, by 1600, the English and the French were engaged in active rivalry for the territory.
The Brits basically won the argument - but maintained the place for more than 150 years as a commercial fishing zone with a 1699 Act of Parliament prohibiting 'settlement of the island except as necessary to maintain the cod fishery'.
The French founded their own settlement, with the exceedingly curious name of Placentia, on the south-eastern shore of the island - and fought a series of skirmishes over fishing rights with the British.
This first protracted cod war ended with a 1783 treaty which 'recognised British sovereignty, but granted French fishermen the right to land and dry their catches along portions of the northern and western coasts'.
Immigration followed, with Irish labourers arriving at the start of the 19th Century to work in the cod fisheries.
Soon, the population swelled to such an extent that the island was proclaimed a colony in 1824 - though, by this point, there was (wouldn't you know it) a major sectarian schism between the new Catholic immigrant class and the Protestant fishing establishment.
Newfoundlanders will tell you that not only did these divisions continue well into the 20th Century, but that there are still divisive undercurrents about which family was or wasn't on the side of the confederationists who won the referendum in 1949 in which Newfoundland officially became part of Canada.
As you can possibly gather from this short historical sketch, this is a place in which fish have always been taken seriously.
It's also a place (like any small, fiercely independent-minded population) where everyone not only knows everyone's past familial allegiances but also what they had for breakfast that morning.
A polar bear sighted
The film, based on Annie Proulx's award-winning novel, tells the story of hapless newspaperman Quoyle (Spacey), a New Yorker who has spent most of his life being told he never does anything right.
When his wife is killed in a car accident and his aunt (Dench) suggests they return to the family's ancestral land, Newfoundland, Quoyle finally has the chance of a new start and find out where he properly belongs.
We were here to see where the film had been shot. If it puts this overlooked province on the tourist map, it is nothing less than these wonderfully friendly people deserve.
'Now how have all you folks been today?' is a normal inquiry from a stranger you meet on a footpath.
Then there is the gift-giving; 'I'm sure you will find a microwave to heat up this chowder,' directed our landlady Rita, as we checked out of her aptly-named Hagan's Hospitality Home.
'And this jar of bake-apple jam is for you to enjoy at home.' Another host gave us a travelling clock.
Newfoundland is a big island - 325 miles from north to south and 320 miles from east to west. Avalon in the Irish south is where native-born Canadians like Rita speak in accents fresh-minted in Cork or Limerick.
At the end of a boat trip out of Bay Bulls, watching whales and counting the puffin hurtling across our bows, our guide Steve O'Brien sang a couple of rollicking numbers from his ancestral turf.
On the Burin peninsula, the main associations are with the now tragically depleted cod. The abundant shoals in its waters were one of the world's great natural bonanzas.
Basques, Bretons, Portuguese and British came to fish and left a place name, or tumbled into the cultural melting pot.Our whale-watching restaurant was at the top of the northern peninsula. To remind us how north this is, there was talk at breakfast, in Tuckamore Lodge, where we were staying, of a polar bear sighted in the forest nearby. A few struggle ashore every year, after drifting south on ice floes.
The bizarre world of the underground loony
Canadians are also, famously, a people who share a sense of humour with us Brits. Perhaps this is why the Just For Laughs Comedy Festival is held here and why, despite the fact that you can go and see the cream of the world's comics, from Lee Evans to Robin Williams, you can have more fun watching street entertainers scare the living bacon out of spectators. One man who posed as a surrealist flasher drew enormous crowds, all keen to watch German tourists have heart attacks on seeing his large stick of celery.
Montrealers speak French as a first language, but most have no problem speaking the filthy tongue of the English oppressors who walked in unopposed nearly 240 years ago after General Wolfe captured Quebec. Possibly this is because of our nice English manners (and while US tourists are common in Montreal, British visitors are still comparatively rare). Possibly it's because no pleasanter people exist on God's earth. But if we're talking about Montreal's shopkeepers, possibly it's because of the state of the Canadian dollar.
Nicknamed the loony - a name which hints at a healthy Canadian disdain for money - the Canadian dollar is in such a bad way that if it were a boxer, it would be lying on the ground spitting out teeth and contemplating a career in panto.
One local cartoonist drew the loony as a hooker on a street corner desperately trying to solicit tourists, and he had a point. When Charlotte and I went through Montreal's clothes shops, like Visa-wielding knives through Tommy Hilfiger's butter, there were 2.4 loonies to the pound. Even Montreal's bizarre state tax, city tax and, for all we know, looking-at-people-funny tax could not obscure the fact that, frankly, you could clothe the entire population of Bristol for the price of a bottle of maple syrup back home.
Loonies apart, going shopping is actually one of the more surreal things you can do in Montreal. Not because Montreal's stores are particularly odd, but because most of them are underground. Designed to avoid consumer frostbite during Quebec State's severe winters, Montreal's enormous underground shopping city is a cross between Oxford Street and the kind of city Doctor Strangelove saw us living in after a nuclear war, except with waffle stands and BabyGap.
The shops are excellent, varied and the equal of anything in New York, London or Paris, but the unsettling thing about them is that the further down you go, the more you experience a weird kind of upside-down vertigo. Returning to the surface laden with Timberland bags, you feel like a cross between Jacques Cousteau and Imelda Marcos.
Symphony of sand
Yet whatever you do, you're never far from the coast - and with 180 miles of beach to choose from, you usually have the place to yourself. Sun, sand, sea, sand, more sand - in the end, it was sand that began to dominate every waking moment of my stay here. After a few days, I started playing a little game with myself to see if I could escape the stuff altogether.
First stop was a craft shop, which I thought was pretty safe postcards-and-pottery territory. Instead, I found artisans making everything from lamp bases to fridge magnets out of a gritty modelling compound containing secret gluey ingredients and - yes - sand. Next was a glassblowing studio which was originally established so that handfuls of the island's beaches could be turned into everything from choice tableware to replica fruit.
Then I headed for the hamlet of Havre-Aubert, only to find it was gearing itself up for the annual sandcastle-building competition - an extravaganza open to anyone who feels inspired to recreate a miniature French chateau in the space of a few hours in return for a slice of prize money and a star turn on the front page of the local newspaper.
All in all, I decided I preferred sand in its natural state, which is how I came to be wandering up on to the dunes above, snacking as I went on an odd combination of sea parsley harvested to flavour the local fish dishes - and tiny wild strawberries.
The dunes gave way to low cliffs made of rock as crumbly as shortcrust pastry (and just as tasty, if the speed at which the sea and wind eat into it is anything to go by - it disappears at the rate of one metre every year). As each wave crashed, land turned to sand before my eyes.
So, if you want to while away a couple of summery weeks on these lovely, gentle islands, make it sooner rather than later. In another few thousand years they'll be reduced to nothing more than a sandbank and the Magdalen Islands that I saw will be lost for ever.
On the waterfront
Bedford Row Art Gallery and Historic Properties - restored waterfront warehouses from the 1800s - and Duke Street shops are all worthwhile city stops. Attractions are generally well signposted, a godsend for tourists pressed for time.
Halifax's Public Gardens are tucked away in the city's downtown area, not far from Spring Garden Road and the Citadel.
The mid-Victorian landscaped park is populated by hordes of chubby ducks, gulls and pigeons who approach timidly for seeds sold by the bag at the park's run-down canteen.
Peaceful and pretty with flowerbeds and fountains, the gardens are a treat.
If need be, you can visit most of Halifax's downtown attractions by foot, but Fairview Lawn Cemetery requires a taxi.
There, hardened Titanic fans stroll the avenues where 121 victims are buried, 42 of them unidentified. The site is so popular, most organised tours feature it, along with two other graveyards.
Gray Line, for example, covers it in a three-hour trolley tour of Halifax.
Back at Halifax's docks, a trip to Pier 21 is a fitting end to a visit.
The National Historic Site was Canada's "front door" to more than a million immigrants, war evacuees, refugees, troops, war brides and children from the '20s to the '70s.
It also lays claim to one of the world's few holographic shows - using projected images onto a stage - which, at 24 minutes, rounds a day off well.
The A team of the polar bear world
There are estimated to be around 25,000 polar bears in the world and they live not only in Canada, but in Russia, Greenland, Norway and Alaska. But Churchill, in the south-western corner of Hudson Bay, provides a unique opportunity to study them closely because of its relatively mild climactic conditions.
In mid to late July the sea ice that surrounds the grain port for much of the year melts completely, forcing some 1,200 bears who live there to come ashore and wait for the big autumn freeze. Unable to hunt for their favourite meal of plump ringed seal, they laze on the shoreline, or further inland amid the crimson bearberries and lime-green reindeer lichen, conserving their energy until the ice returns and they can begin feeding again.
During August and September, therefore, the A-Team, as Steve jokingly describes himself and his two colleagues, are primed for action. Armed with a 'popgun' and a quiver of tranquilliser darts the size of small harpoons, their aim is to stun and examine as many bears as the unpredictable summer weather will allow.
By the time I arrive they have already bagged 128, but they are eager to increase that total, not least because their research - which was started more than 30 years ago by pioneering biologist Charles Jonkel - is beginning to yield some disturbing results. Results which may spell out a grave warning, not just for the long-term survival prospects of the polar bear, but for the fragile Arctic ecosystem as a whole, and possibly even for humans, too.
Their statistics show that since the early Eighties the average weight of an adult female has dropped by between ten and 15 per cent and their average cub production has fallen from one to 0.87 per year.
Because polar bears have a relatively long lifespan - a female can survive into her 30s, while a male usually dies several years younger - this has not yet had an effect on population. However, Dr Lunn warns: 'If this decline continues, there will be fewer bears as the adults die off, so, of course, we are concerned.'
As yet, the team has no idea what ails the Churchill bears. It could be nothing more than a cyclical blip that will naturally redress itself. On the other hand, it could be an early manifestation of global warming. The sea ice melted two weeks earlier than normal this year, depriving the bears of a fortnight's valuable feeding time and lengthening their enforced fast. More worryingly, this has been the trend for more than 15 years and it has been broken only once, in late 1991 and 1992, when the eruption of Mount Pinatubo in the Philippines forced a vast dust cloud into the atmosphere, causing freak global cooling.
Yet there could be other, more insidious reasons why the bears are growing thinner and less fertile. Harmful industrial chemicals, such as PCBs and pesticides, gravitate towards the poles, and it is possible that they are breaking down and creeping into the oceanic food chain. If so, the polar bear, as the chain's final link, may be showing early signs of environmental poisoning on a vast scale.
Miles of un-fished water
Fish of 20lb and 30lb are commonplace and examples of more than 50lb are caught every year.
Yet, unlike in the UK, where virtually all carp waters are crowded, you can often have miles of un-fished water all to yourself.
Four of us flew out last spring for what turned out to be our best trip ever and yet, amazingly, we probably fished less in this one week in June than we ever have before.
Our fishing holidays tend to be quite intense, we fish really hard from dawn 'til dusk and then we retire to a local restaurant for huge steaks and lashings of beer.
However, this trip was a bit different. Les Webber, from Reading, has been my regular angling companion for years, but this time we were rather hamstrung because I took my 10-year-old son Toby with me and Les took his grandson Jason.
Obviously, kids don't want to fish as hard as us so-called grown-ups and things were doubly complicated by the fact that the World Cup was being played.
With Canada being many hours behind Korea and Japan, it meant that every morning the football came on to the cable channel TV sets in our room and we had to watch every single match before we could leave our motel.
Coverage went on until mid-morning, so it was usually not much before noon by the time we got to the St Lawrence.
And then, of course, after hours of watching football, there was the playing of football and re-enacting the action of earlier in the day.
This was entirely my fault, because I had foolishly packed a football. The plan was that when the carp fishing went a bit quiet, which it seldom did, the boys could kick a football around.
However, this meant that wherever we wanted to fish had to be close to a nice, flat bit of grass.
See the terrain by train
The advantage of seeing the terrain by train soon becomes apparent as it passes on its single track through remote territory inaccessible by road. With its leisurely pace averaging 30mph and the driver slowing down for animal sightings, it proves to be a very relaxing experience.
We were also lucky enough to occupy one of the carriages which had a restaurant car serving gourmet meals below and a panoramic glass dome with comfortable seats above.
We saw elk, deer, bighorn sheep, eagles, osprey, mountain goats, moose, a wolf and one solitary grizzly bear.
We had hoped to see more of 'Ursus arctos horribilus'. However, our attendant and commentator, Louise, an amusing-French Canadian, informed us that most appearances are in the winter when the bears lose their camouflage against the white snow and ice crystals of the trees.
The bears' survival depends on them leaving human beings alone and it is an offence to feed them. Dustbins are all bear-proof and campers are obliged to attach their provisions on high wires positioned at some distance from their tents.
Louise explained that the grizzly is distinguishable from the black bear by a hump of muscle on its shoulder and a broader face. It is inadvisable to run from a bear as they can reach 25mph, but if it is a grizzly, you can climb out of reach up a tree.
Black bears, on the other hand, do climb trees, so if you encounter one, you are advised either to walk away very slowly or lie face-down and pretend to be dead, by which time it might be too late to adopt the appropriate survival method.
Louise had an interesting turn of phrase and would keep us entertained through the occasional intermissions when we ground to a halt as seemingly endless processions of freight trains went by.
She described Castle and Cathedral mountains as yo-ho, the native Indian word for awesome, while using other favourite words like gargantuan for Mount Robson, the highest peak, and humungous for the Pyramid Falls, which cascade 300 feet down Mount Cheadle.
Feeding your face and fighting the flab
Passengers typically gained a pound in weight per day on Caronia's cruise to and from Boston, via Canada.
Five-course lunches and dinners - on crested plates with crystal glasses - were there for the scoffing, as well as full breakfasts and afternoon high tea.
On-board Italian bistro The Tivoli, with its exquisite menu, is a must. Dinner is by reservation only and limited to one per cruise - most book on embarkation.
Fitness classes for passengers keen to keep trim ran daily on the Caronia.
A morning, mile-long jaunt around the Promenade deck kept the early risers chipper. Down in the gym, gentle aerobics sessions aimed at the over-50s were a pleasant way to spend an hour.
A small saltwater swimming pool - sweltering at 32C/89F - jacuzzi and sauna ironed out any aches and pains from port call walks or exercises.
Climbing aboard Caronia's tenders to visit Halifax, Nova Scotia, and Newport, Rhode Island, was a thrill.
After a day on the St Lawrence River and a choppier one on the Atlantic, it was fabulous to step on to terra firma.
We had up to eight hours to explore each place. A tour of Halifax's spruce 18th-century citadel was first-rate. Charming, leafy streets and old millionaire mansions graced Newport.
British and European pensioners make up the bulk of the Caronia's 677 passengers.
On cabaret nights, the ballroom was the one place everyone was sure to be, and an ideal chance to get to know fellow cruisers.
The Piccadilly Club - home to a naff, often empty, midnight disco - and the White Star Bar for pre-dinner drinks were enduringly popular haunts.
Caronia passengers can eat to their hearts' content, but drinks, tips and some services have to be paid for.
A seasickness jab - your best friend on a turbulent Atlantic voyage - costs about £12. Internet access was 65p/min, phone calls cost from £12.50/min. Tips were paid at passengers' discretion.
Twelve-day cruises on the Caronia will cost from £1,549 in 2002. For a brochure call 0800 052 3840.
Grey whale watching
My room was bigger than my flat at home, with a whirlpool bath, two walk-in cupboards and the fluffiest bathrobes one's heart could desire. And I had the best - but also the most expensive - massage of my life in the hotel's spa.
The recently renovated hotel restaurant, the Wildflower, has a private wine room and its chef, Vincent Stufano, could hold his own with anyone in Europe. We ate like royalty on caviar sushi, wild Canadian caribou and roasted duck.
The hotel's recent visitors include Sylvester Stallone, Geri Halliwell - and a couple from Blind Date.
Whistler itself is a friendly, pretty ski village, populated in the summer by wealthy hippies and throngs of mountain bikers who have careered down the precipitous ski tracks.
From Whistler we took our rental car (a must) on the ferry to Vancouver Island, a little-explored wilderness of rivers and forests the size of England, off Canada's west coast.
By ferry, car and speedboat we finally arrived at Clayoquot Sound, a fjord-like expanse of blue water filled with forested islands. It is the largest expanse of old-growth - never-felled - forest in North America.
We stayed at the Wickanninish Inn, a stunning, cedar- clad hotel perched on a headland in the village of Tofino. It was from here that we headed off into the open ocean to see whales.
Clad in waterproof suits we headed first for a nearby bay to watch grey whales feeding. To begin with, all we spotted was a puff of spray - so familiar, and yet, in real life, so strange.
Then, as we got closer, we saw the slowly-arching backs of the 45ft long grey whales as they surfaced for breath. Finally, a huge black tail fin, called a fluke, would appear and the whale would make a slow, elegant dive to the bottom to feed.
The rules dictate that whale-watching boats (of which there were several) should not go within 45 metres of a whale.
However, the whales themselves were no respecters of this, and one swam up to our small rubber dinghy, diving under one side and surfacing with an audible sigh on the other. It was extraordinary, and, frankly, terrifying.
Three hours' paddling
The water is milky, rich in minerals and silt. It did not look like a gentle start to me but Gerald reassured us none of it would be a problem.
We loaded the three canoes with tents, cooking equipment, bedding and our own bags, wobbled our way on to the seats and pushed off into the torrent.
Gerald paddled alone, I went with my wife and the two teenagers took the third boat. To my relief, we paddled easily downstream for half an hour. 'No problems, eh?' beamed Gerald as, with a subtle flick of his paddle, he made his canoe swivel and dance through the water.
Then white, bubbling water appeared ahead - our first rapids. There was nothing for it but to take the red plastic canoes forward, hard. Paradoxically, the faster the water goes, the faster you have to paddle to keep the canoe going the right way.
Gerald shouted: 'Stay in the direction of the flow of water, keep paddling and you'll be OK.' Amazingly, we were.
Suddenly the rapids didn't feel so fast and we relaxed, allowing our gaze to wander up to the rugged peaks around us: rock faces chiselled by unimaginable forces. Whoops! Slowing down your paddling in fast water is a mistake.
We extricated ourselves with difficulty from a pebbly bank under a bridge and carried on.
Three hours' paddling brought us to a small, midstream island. We slid towards the bank, landed with a crunch and stepped ashore. Gerald seized his axe and machete and started flattening out a campsite.
Small trees came tumbling down, bushes were dismembered. To British eyes the sight of Gerald making a camp is startling, enough to make a conservationist weep. But Canada is Big Country and Alberta alone is 10 times the size of Britain, so it doesn't miss a few spruce trees.
It is possible to stand on a patch of ground where no human foot has stood before. Ever. People vanish into the woods and are never seen again.
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| | | | Paparazzi-style clamour
As we slowed to admire the light bathing its glaciated peak, our car resonated with appreciative oohs and aahs.
This was quickly followed by a paparazzi-style clamour for snapshots, just to make sure 'the folks back home' were comprehensively jealous.
Lunch again, and this time I was in the second sitting. Baby shrimp salad, with raspberry vinaigrette, followed by roasted Alberta striploin with a cranberry demi-glace, finished off with chocolate cake.
After stopping briefly at Banff to let some of the passengers off, a final flourish of canapes were served to mutterings of 'Oh no, I couldn't possibly eat anymore - oh go on then.'
As the sun set on an exhilarating two days, the passengers of coach number 10 - me included - went very quiet at the prospect of leaving.
Okay, The Rocky Mountaineer isn't on a par with rail aristocracy like the Orient Express, but we'd all grown fond of kicking back in her snug recliners, being waited on hand and foot and glorying in the fairytale panoramas.
But perhaps the best thing about a trip on 'The World's Most Spectacular Goldfish Bowl-on-Wheels' is that it tastes as good as it looks.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Two-day journey on the Rocky Mountaineer in Goldleaf Service from Vancouver to Calgary via Kamloops, from £616, based on two sharing. Includes accommodation in Kamloops, breakfast and lunch, alcohol and dinner at the Kamloops hotel. Redleaf Service from £239, including accommodation in Kamloops. Prices valid at April 2003.
Accommodation in Calgary at five-star Fairmont Palliser from £49. Thomas Cook Signature: http://www.tcsignature.com tel: 0870 443 4444.
Massage and heat pads
Here was a lovely surprise - the bread served in the cafe was from Poilane, the French bakery famous for charging £10 for a sourdough loaf.
Dollars or sterling, I don't care because the bread is delicious and simply the best. Anyway, embracing a fashion statement in bread seemed to put me right on track for more shopping.
Smaller, individual shops are to be found on Yorkville and Hazelton Lanes, a covered plaza.
I loved some of the hair accessories in Hefter and costume jewellery in Fabrice. They do say that when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping but if you need to take some time out, there are numerous little coffee shops. For £6.50 I had a great club sandwich.
But what of dinner? Toronto has a diverse population so there's a district known as Little Italy and a Chinatown.
Here there are wonderful vegetable shops and an almost bewildering number of restaurants. You could spend an entire evening just making up your mind.
One evening I was taken to Le Select Bistro on Queen Street West which was heaven. It was everything you could wish a French bistro to be, warm and friendly with delicious food and a lovely terrace to watch the world go by.
The other reason for choosing the Park Hyatt was that I had heard it had a great spa. A bit of relaxation in a spa after shopping and before dinner is a must.
I have seen a few in my time and this one has a fantastic array of treatments. On the first day I tried a warmstone massage which involves stones being heated in water and then placed along the body's energy channels and used to relieve all those tight knots in the shoulders and neck.
The therapist uses hot little stones between your toes and the arches of your feet. Perfect if you have been pounding the pavements all day. It was absolute bliss.
On the day of my departure I had a glorious treatment involving massage and heat pads around my neck and feet. It set me up for the task of packing somewhat more than I had arrived with and getting ready to catch the plane home.
And yes, I did buy the Oscar de la Renta outfit. I convinced myself that we don't see enough of his beautiful clothes in the UK.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Air Canada offers return flights to Toronto. Visit http://www.aircanada.ca or call 0870 524 7226. Rooms at the Park Hyatt, with its sumptuous spa, are available on 0845 888 1234.
Tour operators to Toronto include Canadian Affair (tel: 020 7616 9185), Lakes and Mountains Holidays (tel: 01329 844405) and Travelbag (tel: 0870 900 1350). For more details on Toronto call 020 7771 7004.
Remake of Moby Dick
It's something I discovered on my first afternoon in St John's, when I cruised down Water Street - the main drag of Newfoundland's capital - to a coffee bar (yes, cappuccino has made it to the extreme edge of North America).
Several other people entered at the same time, the woman behind the till greeted each of them by their first name.
A little later, I found myself browsing in some upscale boutique (yes, such things also exist), and listened to two stylishly dressed women discussing the emotional vicissitudes of a friend, Joni, who had recently fallen pregnant.
'Is Dave the dad?' asked one. 'No, he left her for that waitress at . . .' the other said, mentioning a local restaurant.
'Really? But Dave and Joni had been going out since they first met at Memorial,' the first lady replied, mentioning the local, excellent university on the island.
'Yeah - but after Memorial, Joni dumped Dave for Charles.' 'Doesn't he work for the CBC now, in Toronto?'
'Yeah - and he married Paula, who used to go out with . . .'
Well, you get the idea.
Before embarking on the five-hour flight from London to St John's, I found myself trying to imagine what on earth the capital city of Newfoundland might look like - assuming that it must be a cross between a Melvillian fishing port (perfect for a remake of Moby Dick) and a contemporary suburban sprawl.
Curiously, my preconceptions were, as they say in North America, right on the money.
The outskirts of St John's turned out to be a largely depressing array of faceless bungalows, jerry-built fast-food strips and two bleak concrete shopping malls.
But then, suddenly, this world of semi-detached commonality vanished.
Awesomely huge country
We went looking, perhaps not too hard, one evening; no bear, but we did see an osprey, and some moose tracks.Shipping News author Annie Proulx lives part of the year up here, near Newfoundland icon number three. On the flat coast at L'Anse-aux-Meadow is positive proof that the Vikings discovered North America, around 1002.
We walked around the foundations of the small outpost, and collected sea shore stones on which the Viking explorer Leif Eriksson himself might have stubbed his toe.
The other icon is Gros Morne, a soaring mountain block set in a landscape more akin to Norway.
Canada is well known for wide open spaces and stupendous mountains, but I always assumed you had to take the long haul to Calgary or Vancouver at the far side of this awesomely huge country.
Newfoundland offers an accessible, more manageable, wilderness just four-and-a-half hours from London.Lasse Hallstrom chose as the setting for The Shipping News the area around the village of Port Rexton on the east coast of the Bonavista peninsula.
Englishman John Fisher put the film's stars up in his elegant guest house Fisher's Loft in the village. Alas he couldn't find room for us, but his friend Barbara gave us a wooden house, looking over a balmy bay.
The following day we went to Nan & Pop's homely hamburger joint. I spotted a newspaper cutting from the filming.Dame Judi was a regular here. 'And she's welcome back,' said the lady behind the counter. 'Now how have you folks been today?'
TRAVEL FACTS:
For a copy of the Newfoundland Travel Planner call Visit Canada (tel: 0906 871 5000 - premium rate).Air Canada (tel: 0870 5247226) operates daily flights from Heathrow to St John's. Newfoundland tour operators include All Canada Travel (tel: 01502 585825), and Bales Worldwide (tel: 01306 732700), Windows on the Wild (tel: 020 8742 1556) and 1st Class Holidays (tel: 0161 877 0432).
Jumping sheep and giant steaks
Charlotte and I honoured a Canadian tradition by going jet-boating through the Lachine Rapids on the St. Lawrence River. Once noble braves traversed these churning currents in tiny canoes. Now huge launches - known, madly, as 'saute-moutons' (jumping sheep) - skip over them nonchalantly for the sole purpose of putting the wind up teenagers.
The boat guides, barmy to a man, scrambled around us like fairground grease monkeys, oblivious to the giant rocks and frothing currents that surround the boat. Screaming our heads off, we approached an enormous tidal wave. Our guide turned to me. 'Goodbye, sir!' he said happily. Seconds later we hit a wall of iron spume and 20 teenagers squealed like monkeys on a griddle.
My favourite place in Montreal was either a record store where you could buy albums for the price of a second-hand pen, or a restaurant that served steaks the size of a jetboat. Montreal food is sized the American way and cooked the French way, which you have to admit is better than the other way round. Charlotte's favourite place was the Botanical Garden. Situated in the shade of the Olympic trim-phone, it is laid out with a refreshingly un-English lack of rigour - there isn't even a maze.
The gardens would calm Ghengis Khan, especially the Zen-like pond and rocks of the Japanese Garden, with its carp, all keen to eat tourist fingers, and the nearby Chinese Garden, regal, authentic and relaxing, and with more miniature pagodas and bridges than a goldfish tank (more goldfish too, come to think of it). As night fell, and the full moon's orb began to illuminate the still darkling waters of the jade garden, security guards had to pull Charlotte out screaming and biting into the car park. It was that good.
The next day it was all over. We ate a final, enormous lunch, took a cab to the airport and paid the very Canadian airport tax which raises an interesting point: what do they do with you if you've got to the airport and you've spent all your money? Make you a citizen? We changed our remaining loonies into glum old British pounds and reluctantly went home. I don't think I've ever wanted less to land at Heathrow airport.
Sometimes a holiday is a nice break from daily routine. Sometimes it's just a pleasant memory. Montreal was more than that; it was a brief, forever memorable visit to another dimension, one where people live on steak and wine, lounge in the sun - and, just for a bit of variety, occasionally get dragged, bellowing in terror, down huge rivers.
What if one wakes up?
Dr Lunn, a fresh-faced and rather earnest 38-year-old who gained his PhD at Cambridge, is not given to hyperbole. But there is discernible concern in his voice as he explains: 'These bears are a useful indicator of the general health of the ecosystem. If they are in good shape, you can pretty much tell that everything is fine below them. But if not, you can say something is going on below. The big question is, what?'
Early the following morning, as squadrons of snow geese swoop low over the old rocket base - now a nature study centre - and pale sunlight glistens off Steve's racing green Bell 206 JetRanger helicopter, the A-team and I set off in search of some answers. Fanning out endlessly below us, the tundra landscape is breathtaking to behold - hundreds of shallow, crystal-clear ponds and lakes surrounded by clumps of willow and pine, dotted with leaves of deep red and mauve.
Squeezed in the back of the cramped four-seater, my knees pressed against the hunting rifle that Dennis carries for emergencies, however, it is difficult to appreciate the view. My mind keeps drifting back to those stories. The drunken man who was eaten alive while rummaging around a burnt-out downtown hotel for a late-night snack, the bear that reputedly broke into a dormitory at our base, the one that attacked Steve's helicopter, smashing the cockpit and causing £10,000-worth of damage.
'What if one wakes up?' I ask Dennis over the intercom. He shoots me an ambiguous glance. 'I'm not worried about bears out here. They have very little interest in us, with the exception of the old males, that is. Often they are starving and close to death and they are the most dangerous. They have nothing to lose.'
We have been scooting low over the tundra, eyes skinned, for 25 minutes when the first cry goes up. 'There's one,' shouts Nick, staring down at what looks, to me, like a creamy yellow shrub. Instinctively Steve banks sharply to the right then twists a half-corkscrew, whereupon the inert white mass begins rolling away from us, like the sinister bouncing ball that captures and suffocates people in The Prisoner TV series.
My heart pounds and I begin to suffer motion sickness, but a few moments later my adrenaline is pumping faster still. To achieve greater manoeuvrability, Steve decides that Nick and I should be dropped on land until the darting process has been completed, and so, feeling horribly vulnerable in open country and knowing that a bear is just a couple of hundred yards away, we stand and wait in silence. We can just make out what is happening above the horizon. Dipping and swerving and stopping abruptly, midair, like a demented hornet, Steve lowers the Bell to just 15ft above the now-bemused bear, whereupon Dennis - a veteran crackshot with over 2,000 hits to his name - fires the dart directly into its bulging neck muscles.
His aim is precise, as it must be. Even when a bear has not fed for weeks, its fatty tissue can be nine inches thick, so if the dart strikes its rump the tranquilliser will not take effect. A stray dart could also pierce the animal's eye. Dennis has never caused such an injury, though later he confesses that, years ago, a bear he darted drowned. 'It was not a good moment,' he says sadly. 'We make sure they're well away from pools before shooting now.'
Mountains of spare tackle
This was seriously limiting, as a lot of the best spots for angling are close to swampy rushbed areas or big, rocky points.
We had to find somewhere each day with the equivalent of the pitch at Anfield or Highbury backing right on to it.
Luckily, in Ontario in the spring, it didn't seem to matter. We had an amazing week.
Thanks to Air Canada having a huge baggage allowance, we were able to take mountains of spare tackle and bait with us - mainly maize and Nutrabait's Boilies, which have never let us down.
We also took out some of the new artificial corn that most tackle shops stock these days. Although it tastes of absolutely nothing, the carp went for it big time.
The other limiting problem of taking the kids fishing was that we had to pack up quite early each day, too, because - in spite of us stuffing them all day with crisps, biscuits, pies and lemonade - like all boys they were ravenous after a few hours out in the open air.
All the running about on the bank being David Beckham and Michael Owen probably built up their appetite.
The extraordinary thing was that the noise didn't put the fish off at all.
Les and I sitting over the rods caught plenty of fish all through the week, and every once in a while one of the two boys' bite indicators would scream out and they would stop in mid-match and strike their rod.
The action was more or less non-stop all day, right through the week.
We caught dozens and dozens of carp, including some very big ones. The kids caught more fish in a week in Canada than they could expect to catch all summer in England.
Picture-postcard vista
James, our other attendant, related his comprehensive story of the sockeye salmon as we passed by their spawning ground in the Adams River near Squilax in the Shuswap Lake region.
Every four years around September more than a million salmon swim 305 miles up the Fraser River to the Adams River. During the voyage they change colour from silver to deep red, turning the water scarlet and, once they spawn, they die.
The following March 800 million fry are born and make their way to the Pacific Ocean. Four years later the survivors return to spawn all over again.
On a previous trip Bill Gates (of Microsoft) and his wife had rented one whole carriage to themselves for $72,000. In the two days that we spent on the train (with one night in Kamloops) we found we had made friends with our fellow passengers and were reluctant to leave them and Louise after such a memorable journey.
However, Jasper Park, the gem of the Rockies, was our next destination - 4,200 square miles of true wilderness with its ancient glaciers, cerulean blue lakes, thundering waterfalls, deep canyons, impenetrable evergreen forests, majestic mountain peaks and abundant wild life.
We stayed at the pretty Pyramid Lake Resort and dined at the fabulous Jasper Park Hotel overlooking Lake Beauvert. Renowned for its luxurious log cabins, cedar chalets and excellent cuisine in the Edith Cavell dining room, it also boasts one of the most magnificent golf courses in the world with every tee lined up against a spectacular mountain.
Our one all-too-short day in Jasper proved to be rainy. We were advised to go white-water rafting (as you get wet anyway!), or to luxuriate in the hot Miette Springs while admiring the views, but instead chose a boat trip to Spirit Island on Maligne Lake with its famous picture-postcard vista.
From Jasper we proceeded to Banff on the Rocky Mountaineer Bus via the Columbia Icefields and all too fleetingly saw the impressive Athabasca and Sunwapta Falls and the turquoise Peyto Lake, so christened by the Stoney and Blackfoot Indians.
Unfortunately, we were given a mere 15-minutes pause at sapphire Lake Louise, so famous for its breathtakingly beautiful 360-degree mountain backdrop.
Boat ride into wilderness
Our next stop was the Clayoquot Wilderness Reserve, originally an old logging station until the Twenties. Here, the wonderfully laid-back John and Adele and their two sons run an idyllic 16-bedroom floating hotel, tied to a jetty on the edge of a mountain.
In an outdoor hot tub, we soaked away the aches and pains of the day with cocktails.
We were a 45-minute boat-ride into the wilderness, with no roads and the nearest neighbour a distant fisherman. We hiked and explored a creepy old gold mine, hand-hewn by prospectors in the 'stake a claim' days.
A highlight was our day trip to Walk The Wild Side on Flores island, an Indian reservation. This is an environmentally-friendly 12km trail made by the Ahousaht tribe.
Another memorable excursion was to the Wilderness Resort's outpost at the mouth of the Bedwell River. Half a dozen quaint handmade canvas tents make a little campsite, a cross between Little House On The Prairie and the OK Corral.
I couldn't help but wish the Ahousaht village had been a little more like this eco-friendly place, with its wooden board-walks, windmill generator and oil lanterns.
It was here that I asked to ride the friskiest and fastest of the eight horses tied up and waiting to take us along the edge of the rushing turquoise river, on the grounds that I had ridden all my life and feared boredom on a plodding horse.
Within 10 minutes I had hit the deck as Cuff, my skewbald, panicked as I delved into my rustling backpack.
The net result was a large purple bruise in an unmentionable place to add to my memories of British Columbia.
But I didn't mind. It's good to know you can still live the raw, outdoor lifestyle, even if you do go home to a gin and tonic in the hot tub at the end of the day.
Travel facts: More details about the Fairmont Chateau Whistler at http://www.fairmont.com. Becky Morris travelled as a guest of Travelbag and Tourism British Columbia.
Tel: 0870 737 7874, or visit http://http://www.travelbag.co.uk or http://www.HelloBC.com
We saw bear prints
Although Jasper and Banff are national parks, the dangers are real. There are brown and black bears and the odd grizzly. None will attack humans for sport (probably) but all will protect their cubs, and themselves, if surprised.
This is why hikers in the Rockies carry jingling bells tied to their rucksacks; it lets the bears know you're there. We thought we saw bear prints in the sand. Gerald said it was fine, they were only wolf. There were elk prints too, but they stopped worryingly near the wolf ones.
Gerald likes to do the cooking, and no sooner were the tents up (and that wandering lavatory seat carefully positioned well away from the camp), than the spirit stoves began hissing and frying pans clattering.
Do not take this holiday if you're on a diet. Gerald wrestled from the coolbox a number of T-bone steaks which overflowed the sizeable pans like a wrestler's beer gut drooping over his belt.
We feasted till the sun set scarlet over the mountains and the foam at the river's edge ran red as blood.
Gerald began to tell us about his life. His grandfather arrived in Eastern Canada by ship, then travelled across to the West on one of the very first trans-continental trains.
He got a job cutting down trees to make room for the skyscrapers of Vancouver. That's how young this country is. Gerald himself has spent a lifetime hunting and canoeing and travelling in the 'bush', and his understanding of woods, mountains and rivers is encyclopaedic.
If hunting is not to your taste he won't talk about it. If it is, he'll teach you to call elk from the forests, explain how to snare squirrels with string and warn you sternly that 'you don't catch 'em if you don't mean to eat 'em'.
Before darkness, he took one precaution. Hoisting the food box up a tree at sunset might seem an unusual flag ceremony, but he insisted that a hungry grizzly could swim to our island.
No scrap of food remained at ground level, no invitation left for a bear to pay us a night-time visit. We were warned not to secrete chocolate or biscuits in our tent or to wear sweet-smelling toiletries. Bears have terrific noses.
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| | | | Edge-of-the-world realm
I found myself in an entirely different place - a distinctly 19th Century, edge-of-the-world realm of weather-beaten timber and venerable shingle; of steep stone steps and shadowy back alleyways.
With its terraces of wooden houses, its humpy streets, its tiny inner-city enclaves of fishermen's cottages, its stern monuments to shipping disasters, its genial working port atmosphere, and, of course, its geographic situation - St John's must rank as one of the more eccentric small cities on the planet.
Especially since, in the past few years, it has become a place where the Birkenstock sandal and the Gucci loafer co-mingle with the rubberised wading boot.
A walk through its compact city centre points up St John's contemporary quirkiness - and how it is wryly balanced somewhere between the Newfoundland version of high urban style and indigenous naffness.
On Water Street you can eat contemporary cuisine - say rocket-and-parmesan and char-grilled tuna - in an upscale minimalist restaurant.
Just like London, and so are the prices.
Next door, the bartender thinks he's working at Harry's Bar in Paris as he offers a choice of gin and vodka martinis.
But only a street or two away from this Terence Conran-goes-Canadian outpost of high urban taste, there is Velma's - St John's most venerated local restaurant.
The interior decor is pure luncheonette but everyone in town swears by her Two Eggs And Fish Cakes breakfasts, not to mention the wondrous things that Velma does with obscure parts of the fish anatomy.
Dinner there at most will run to the equivalent of £5.
'We've never lost anyone- yet'
To keep the bear on dry land, Steve uses his helicopter like a sheepdog, heading off its sudden surges and runs until, precisely three and a half minutes after the dart's self-triggering charge explodes, it sinks wearily on all fours, then slumps to the ground. The pilot returns to collect Nick and myself then lands a few feet from the motionless bear. Which brings me back to my tentative attempt to stroke the bear and Dennis's suggestion that I put my hand in its mouth.
'They always sleep with their eyes open when we dart them,' he tells me. 'We've never lost anybody yet.' Slightly reassured, I try to lift its head. Using two hands I can just manage to drag it off the ground and on to my lap, where it lays like a boulder. I give it a little stroke, discovering its coat to be surprisingly soft and odour-free, like that of my golden retriever. The bear grunts and snorts, its breath hot on my hand.
I have enjoyed many unusual experiences in my life, but I can't think of any quite so strange and exhilarating as being out there in the wilderness with the biggest carnivore to walk the earth in the last 10,000 years lying defenceless at my feet. Holding its huge floppy tongue to one side and gazing inside its mouth, I observe that one of its canine teeth is missing - lost, Dennis presumes, in some titanic battle for supremacy with another bear.
The three teeth that remain measure almost two inches long and they are as sharp as pickaxes, yet it is almost impossible to contemplate this bear - my bear - as some ruthlessly efficient killer springing into predatory action. Indeed, he appears so docile that the circumstances of our meeting seem somehow unfair. After all, a sub-adult male polar bear like this one can run at up to 20mph and kill a man with the most casual, fly-swatter's flick.
Sitting here, touching his moist black nose and glaring into his deep brown, slightly bloodshot eyes, therefore seems rather impudent, cowardly, even - like tweaking Mike Tyson's nose after someone has tethered his hands behind his back.
While I am pondering all this, Nick and Dennis are going to work. First they check the bear's ear tag and lip tattoo, number X17009, against its entry in the 'bear bible' - a well-thumbed black book that contains records dating back from the start of the project.
It tells them that this is a seven-year-old male first caught last year scavenging for scraps on Churchill's civic rubbish tip. The bear can count himself lucky - had he been snared by Wayde Roberts, the natural resources officer, he would have spent up to 30 days without food in the 'polar-bear jail', a windowless holding block for problem bears that stray too close to town. Last season 107 bears - mainly unruly teenagers - were banged up there. Most are released at a safe distance, but persistent offenders are packed off to zoos.
Next they extract one of his superfluous teeth, which will later be sectioned and stained, and read under a microscope like the trunk of a tree, to check that its age is accurate. A blood sample is taken for scientific purposes. They are trying to learn more about the polar bear's family dynamics, particularly after recently discovering that some mothers abandon their own litter a few weeks after giving birth, only to adopt another bear's babies.
Caught an absolute beauty
Toby's biggest catch was a 31-pounder and Jason caught an absolute beauty that weighed more than 37lb.
In England these are the fish of a lifetime for any young aspiring fisherman. In Canada, particularly on the St Lawrence, they are almost run of the mill.
Les and I caught plenty of big fish as well, in between retrieving the football from bramble bushes and undoing tangles. We landed many more than 20lb and several more than 30lb.
My biggest of the week, which was also my biggest ever from Canadian waters, was an absolutely mint, previously uncaught common carp of 40lb 4oz.
I caught it at about 6pm, after a comparatively slow day. Jason landed a 30-pounder fishing right next to me at the same time and it was obvious there were a lot of really big fish in front of us that had just come into the area we'd been fishing all day and were really turning on to our bait.
However, at that moment, it was time to pack up, because both kids were absolutely starving.
Kids! I love 'em, but I couldn't eat a whole one.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Anglers World (tel: 01246 221717) offers tailor-made fishing holidays to Canada with flights, accommodation, car rental, maps and information on fishing in the country.
Imposing alpine scenery
However, we did get a chance to go on a snow-coach and walk on to the freezing cold Columbia glacier itself. A fascinating experience and one I understood, with the temperature at minus 1C in July, why the glacier stayed frozen and the local shop did a very good, if exorbitantly priced, trade in fleecy jackets!
We finally ended our coach ride in the pretty heritage town of Banff, set among imposing alpine scenery. We particularly enjoyed the famous, soothing sulphur springs for weary travellers.
Before returning to England we broke our trip in Toronto. There, in temperatures of 32C and blazing sunshine, we luxuriated in the rooftop pool of the renowned Four Seasons Hotel and enjoyed the Parisian atmosphere of the numerous restaurants and street cafes in the adjacent Cumberland, Yorkville and Hazelton Lanes.
Toronto has its Blue Mountains at Collingwood, a popular ski resort, but they appear to be more like hills when compared to the Rockies. However, it does have the Niagara Falls.
The Rockies may have the stupendous Pyramid, Sunwapta and Athabasca Falls but they all become puny when compared to the wondrous Niagara Falls. We took the hydrofoil from Toronto across Lake Ontario to Niagara and there boarded the Maid Of The Mist boat to get up close to the Falls themselves.
They were magnificent - in the words of Louise, our Rocky Mountaineer train guide, they were gargantuan, humungous and totally yo-ho.
TRAVEL FACTS:
Tailor Made Travel (01386 712050/http://www.tailor-made.co.uk) arranges independent travel to Canada.
The steaks got bigger
Gerald scattered mothballs round the tents to put them off. At first, we giggled nervously at his precautions, but there were prints on the beach all right. Wildlife in Canada can appear suddenly, up close and personal.
That first gentle island night was just to settle us. In the morning we paddled on, then waited downstream while Gerald rode his light motorbike back to collect the truck and the rig.
He drove us on to another river, the wild and beautiful North Saskatchewan, because it is outside the National Park so the bears 'would know about guns and keep clear of us'.
We progressed to grade three and four rapids, bouncing off rocks and banks and roaring triumphantly through white water. As the week wore on, the steaks got bigger and the hunting tales taller.
We began to feel like travellers, not tourists, following in the wake of the old fur traders and surveyors who first explored this vast country hardly more than two centuries ago.
It was a real old-fashioned adventure, unpackaged and unpredictable, with Gerald as a safe but exotic guide. Miraculous, really, that it began in an utterly modern way: with my wife fooling around on the Internet.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
Alberta Canoe Holidays features a range of adventure holidays. Its tailor-made Rocky Mountain Magic Tour costs £63 per person per day and includes full board, all transportation, entrance fees to national parks and guide.
Visit www.albertacanoeholidays.com
Air Canada offers return flights from Heathrow to Calgary. Call 0870 524 7226.
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| | | | Hedonism and fish?
On the same downtown strip, you can find the sort of designer fashion emporia which wouldn't feel out of place in Covent Garden - street-smart, black-and-white fabrics and techno music.
Just down the road, however, is a local outfitters specialising in waterproofs and the usual fisherman's requisites, as well as a gimcrack pool hall which advertises itself as 'Billiards with a touch'.
And then there's George's Street which proclaims itself to have more bars per square foot than any other public thoroughfare in North America and likes to brag about its bacchanalian atmosphere on Friday and Saturday nights.
But this is Canada - and though the Canadians do many things well (snow, ice hockey, curling, interpreting Bach brilliantly on piano), they're not the most hedonistic folk imaginable.
Anyway, hedonism and fish have never mixed - so anyone visiting St John's expecting a weekend of wild debauchery might be a tad disappointed.
But what is so compelling about this wonderfully odd little urban outpost is the way it is caught between two identities: its attempts to be New Millennium chic, yet true to its briny roots.
And then there's the matter of the vast spaces beyond St John's.
I spent an afternoon driving up to the little fishing village of Brigus.
The journey from the capital took less than an hour - but within moments of leaving the city limits all signs of contemporary urban life fell away.
I found myself in one of those wide-open Canadian terrains where the sky seemed limitless and the landscape could best be described as a gargantuan version of Ireland with pine trees.
Breathalising for bears
By analysing DNA they also aim to discover which bears are fathering cubs, and how populations interrelate, and there could yet be important spin-offs for humans, too. For instance, the polar bear is able to fast for long periods by recycling its own waste body fluids - if scientists can understand more about this mechanism it could be of benefit to people with kidney problems, who currently need dialysis.
Breath samples are taken, too. Food from the sea has a different carbon ratio to that found on land, and this shows up in the air a bear exhales. By studying it, scientists may find out the importance of berries in a polar bear's diet - another small but significant step towards greater understanding of this remarkable and mysterious creature.
As Dennis administers a parting shot of penicillin, I ask whether he grows attached to the bears he meets. 'I think it's better not to,' he says. 'You don't want emotions to affect your judgment. I mean, if you call one Hercules and another Cissy it might alter the way you look at them in future. So numbers are best. But, of course, I feel privileged to work with these animals and to pass on a little knowledge because they're so special.'
Nick remains similarly detached. 'Well, there was this one bear,' he begins wistfully, 'the first one I saw, way back in 1981. We tended to see it again and again but no, I don't get too attached now. Once you start naming them they are almost like family pets. Don't think I'm cold. I'm not. But we handle so many that I'd be hard-pressed to tell you anything special about one individual. Bears do get people's emotions going, but they are just numbers to me, a species that allows me to answer questions.'
By end of a very long day, as the watery sun dips and fades into the shadowy tundra, one can well understand their lack of sentiment. During eight frenetic hours we have managed to quell and examine 11 bears, some of which have been fitted with radio transmitters as part of a tracking experiment. Each animal has had to be hauled on to its stomach and left, legs splayed, in the best recovery position, and even though our biggest bear only weighed around 60st - some 30st short of the maximum - it is strength-sapping work. So much so that after the first five bears, my initial sense of wonder has already started to evaporate.
For all my trepidation, Nick, Dennis and Steve are so skilled in their work that there is never any genuine danger. The one truly heart-stopping interlude comes midway through the day, when - with Bear X12798, a previously uncaught male, twitching nearby - the helicopter's engine refuses to fire.
We are well out of the range of land vehicles, there is no other suitable aircraft in service, and Dennis and Nick begin to discuss the possibilities of pitching the tent and camping out for the night.
In under two hours the polar bear we have just drugged will be awake and hungry. Others are almost certainly prowling nearby. Nightmarish visions of partly-chewed forearms and hideously dismembered drunks begin to resurface. But then, with sweat beads beginning to form beneath my windsuit, Steve finds a spare spark plug.
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| | | | One big-league city
Brigus itself was wonderful - a small village of brightly painted clapboard facing the stern waters of the Atlantic, where every local sounded like a refugee from Cornwall.
And when I stopped a denizen and asked for directions back to St John's, he said: 'Jeez, that place is sure too fast for me. Heck, I got stuck there once in traffic for five whole minutes.'
Heading back to the big, bad city, I encountered only three cars on the road.
And I made a quick detour to the lighthouse at Cape Spear - noted (in the copywriter cant so beloved of tourist brochures) for fronting one of the great seascapes in North America.
For once, the tourist board gush was spot on.
The vista was one of epic grandeur. The sea was ferocious in its whirlpool intensity; the sky a deep pellucid blue and the air had a saltcellar tang.
The sun was also at full wattage, so I spent nearly an hour loitering without intent on the walls of the lighthouse, thinking to myself: 'This is the actual point where the New World ends.'
Then, when I turned my back to the sea, thinking: 'And this is the actual point where the New World begins.'
As the light started to fade, I got into my car and drove the 10 minutes back to St John's.
Around a mile out of town, traffic came to a standstill. The gridlock lasted seven minutes (I timed it).
And when I mentioned this fact to someone in a George Street bar later that night, he whistled through his teeth and said: 'I tell you, St John's is certainly one big-league city now.'
Then he shot me a challenging little smile - as if to say there is something called irony on the extreme edge of the world.
TRAVEL DETAILS:
All Canada Holidays offers trips to Newfoundland. Air Canada Heathrow/St John's return flights. http://www.all-canada.com Tel: 08705 642 642.
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| | Destination Guide : Canada |
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| | | Big country |  | Why go on holiday to Canada?
There's more to Canada than wide open spaces and Niagara Falls. French and British traditions mix with numerous other cultural influences brought by migrants from all over the world.
The cities are generally large and modern, while the flora and fauna are spectacular.
How much does it cost?
Prices can vary dramatically depending on the seasons and where you're headed. The cheapest flights start from £200. Short breaks from £350 (three-night stay in Toronto), mid-range hotels from £35 per room, motels from £25.
When should I go?
There's something worth going for all year round. The warmest area of this huge country is along the US border.
Overall warmest areas are British Columbia's south and central coast and southern Ontario.
Summer temperatures here are in the mid and upper-20Cs (70s). British Columbia gets the warmest summers and most sunshine.
Ontario and Quebec have warm summers with not much rain. Summers in the Yukon and Northwest Territories can be pleasantly warm and have very long daylight hours.
Canadian winters are long and in most of the country temperatures drop to -18C (-7F).
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| | | Cities and wilderness |  | What should I do when I'm there?
With Mont Royal dominating the skyline, Montreal is a stylish and proud city with a European streak. The old precinct has some great buildings and the Point-a-Calliere, the Museum of Archaeology and History.
Hilly Vancouver, with its stunning ocean views, seldom fails to win a place in any visitor's heart. The Victorian Gastown area and Stanley Park are highlights, along with the natural wonders of Vancouver Island.
The sprawling Rocky Mountains are barely contained within the Banff and Jasper national parks. Moraine Lake and the Columbia Icefields are must-sees.
The vast prairies offer lots for bike riders and walkers. The Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump is a fascinating Blackfoot Indian heritage sight.
Is Canada good for outdoor activities?
You bet, Canada has the lot. Many parks provide outfitters for canoeing, kayaking and white-water rafting. There's surfing on the east coast and skiers are spoilt for choice. Eco-tourism is well established in Canada, and relatively inexpensive.
What's off the beaten track?
Who said Canada was boring? The Prince Edward Island Potato Museum in the far-east town of O'Leary is worth a visit. The Arctic Northern Games, up north in Inuvik, is a feast of traditional Dene and Inuit sports and crafts.
Wells Gray Provincial Park in British Columbia's Caribou Islands is a huge, undeveloped wilderness park with scenic waterfalls.
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| | | Dancez! | | Where's good for nightlife?
Toronto has the country's largest theatre scene - dinner theatre is also popular here. Montreal has the longest drinking hours - clubs serve alcohol til 3am in this lively night city.
Vancouver buzzes with clubs, music, theatre and dance - check the Georgia Straight which comes out on Thursdays for details.
Rue Saint Jean in Quebec City is alive at night.
Though small, the city has plenty of nightspots and lots of restaurants have live music. Check out the French entertainment paper Voir for ideas.
What's the food like?
Canada's cultural diversity is reflected in its cuisine. Cities have all the Greek, Italian, Mexican and Chinese restaurants you would expect.
On the east coast, greasy spoons abound, varying from excellent to awful. Home- produced cheese and fruit are superb.
Both coasts boast wonderful seafood, salmon, crab, lobster and scallops. French food is a treat in Quebec and if you get the chance, be sure to try Native Indian food like buffalo meat and wild rice.
What should I buy?
Every region has its specialities - try smoked or fresh salmon from British Columbia (you can get it shipped home), maple syrup from Quebec or rye whiskey from all over.
Western-style gear is big in Alberta and Saskatchewan. Hudson's Bay blankets and wool coats are traditional.
What is there for children to do?
Apart from exploring the great outdoors, Toronto has several good museums for kids - check out the Children's Own Museum for two to eight-year-olds, the Ontario Science Centre for older kids and Paramount Canada's Wonderland theme park.
The Vancouver Aquarium is Canada's largest. Whale watching off the western shore of Victoria is magical for kids.
Tourist office
Visit Canada, PO Box 5396, Northampton, NN1 2FA. Tel. 0906 871 5000 (60p a minute).
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| | Fact File : Canada |
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| | | Canada | | Did you know?
Trivial Pursuit was devised by two Canadians in the 1980s - since then more than 50 million games have been sold.
Language
English, French and 53 native languages.
Visas
None required for UK residents.
Getting there
Main international airports are in Vancouver, Montreal, Halifax and Toronto. Flights from London are regular. Access from the US is plentiful and straightforward.
Flying time from London
Depends on your destination, but probably around eight hours.
Getting around
The bus network is cheaper and far more extensive than the trains. Internal flights can be expensive but necessary. The best way to see the country is to hire a car.
Currency
Canadian dollar
Costs
Approximate costs but things will vary between states: pint of beer £2 (a three pint pitcher is better value at about £5), roll of film £3, moderate restaurant meal £5-£7, litre of petrol 40p, short taxi ride £2.50-£3.50.
Weather
The warmest areas are along the US border, British Columbia's south and central coasts and southern Ontario. Summer temperatures are in the mid and upper-20Cs (70Fs). British Columbia gets the warmest summers and most sunshine, while Ontario and Quebec have warm summers with not much rain. Summers in the Yukon and Northwest Territories can be pleasantly warm and have very long daylight hours. Canadian winters are long and in most of the country temperatures drop to -18C (-7F). Generally, the further north, the more snow.
Time difference
Due to Canada's size there are six different time zones. At one extreme, Newfoundland Standard Time is three and a half hours behind GMT. At the other, Pacific Standard Time is eight hours behind GMT.
International dialling code from the UK
00 1
Voltage
110V - bring an adaptor.
Opening hours
Shops are similar to UK. In shopping malls some stores will open until 9pm. Sunday opening varies. Banks open Mon-Thurs 10am to 4.30pm and until 5 or 6pm on Friday. Post offices open Mon-Fri usually from 9am to 5pm.
Health - Before you go
No jabs needed. Take out good travel insurance.
Health - When you are there
No major problems here. If you're out in the wilds don't drink lake and river water without asking the ranger about the quality (if you're in a national park) or purifying it.
Warnings
Be polite to bears. Don't leave food in your tent which will attract them and other critters.
Emergency
Police/medical Tel 911. British Embassy High Commission, 80 Elgin Street, Ottawa, Ont, K1P 5K7. Tel: 613 237 1530.
Customs
If you need the loo, ask for the bathroom, washroom or restroom - don't use that nasty word toilet!
Pets
Canada is now part of the PETS travel scheme so you avoid subjecting your pooch to six months in quarantine on return to England. That said, it's not as easy as just turning up at the airport. Speak to your vet as it can take a few months to set up.
Tipping
10-15% of the bill. Particularly useful for winning good service in bars. If a service charge is on the bill, no tip is necessary.
Tourist office
Visit Canada, PO Box 5396, Northampton, NN1 2FA. Tel. 0906 871 5000 (60p a minute).
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| | Available rental properties in Canada |
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Why Rent With Us
