A visit to the Siksika Nation — the Blackfoot of Alberta – is a journey that tells us much about how the “sense of place” of the Aboriginal, or First Nation, peoples of Canada.

The event was a community affair; we had been invited to attend the unofficial inauguration of the magnificent Siksika Nation-Blackfoot Crossing Historical Park Interpretive Centre. In many respects it was like an enormous family picnic during which a great deal of inter-generational bonding was going on.

On another level, it was a soft-spoken but triumphant celebration of thousands of years of Siksika history; a validation and reconfirmation of the soul of a people. It was a day for reconnecting through low-key speeches, exhibits, various cultural demonstrations and displays, a focus on eldership and storytelling, visits to the strategic moments in time nearby, and a traditional feast. This was a day on which the Siksika would quietly assume ownership once again of their heritage.

We had made our way to the Siksika Nation across very windy and rather damp grasslands. Dark theatrical clouds formed, reformed, and shifted across the vast prairie sky. On this day, nature seemed to be cautioning us to take care, and to be prepared to take shelter if necessary.

Turning south from the Transcanada Highway, we entered the Siksika Nation reservation and followed a road, along which there were few of the usual indicators that mark the route being followed. And yet there was a subtle sense of direction as if the slightly rolling landscape was gently urging us onward. We went with the flow until up ahead there appeared an apparition, at an indeterminate distance. Initially it looked like sailing ships about to slip over the horizon. And then as we came closer, the lofty, tent-like structures defined themselves, and stood out starkly against the moody sky. I was reminded of the approach to the great Gothic cathedral of Chartres across the pastoral countryside of rural France.

The emblem of the Siksika

As we pulled into the parking lot, I was drawn to the sight of three traditional tepees standing self-assured on a low hill, somewhat of an anomaly itself in the flat prairie landscape we had just traversed. Behind them the Siksika had erected a long white dining tent of modern materials and design but with a sculptured look that provided a perfect contrasting background. This initial “visual” also established what would be a key theme for the day, the artful blend of time past and time present.

As we reached the top of the low-rising hill, we looked out over a magnificent landscape, one small part of the ancestral lands of the Siksika. The panoramic view is of the Blackfoot Crossing, a low-lying valley and wooded area that embraces the gently meandering Bow River.

This was also a transit area for Aboriginal hunters and their prey (primarily the great buffalo herds) for thousands of years. Later it was a crucial crossing point for explorers as they began to open the West to the European newcomers.

Looking to our left, we saw for the first time, the new Interpretive Centre. Its design is a masterful combination of structural configurations and architectural themes that embody the traditional and the futuristic. Facing westward over the valley, its prominence in the landscape is striking but not overwhelming. The symmetry of this state-of-the-art structure creates a very successful blend with the natural environment of the prairie that surrounds it, and the valley over which it presides.

The Interpretive Centre is an architectural tour de force that personifies the Siksika culture and ethos. It is a conceptual building that also embodies in its physical structure the ancient stories and metaphors of the nation it celebrates. It is a highly integrated structure that “flows”, following the patterns inherent in the landscape.

Not only does the new centre look over an important historic site, it is also a window onto a remarkable environmental site; the largest prairie riverbank ecosystem still in existence on the planet. The centre is also a complex iconic structure, a testament to the Aboriginal way of life in which the interconnectedness and interdependence of all things are understood on a profound (often non-verbal) level.

In integrating the theme and metaphor of the tepee in the design of the Centre, the architects (and the Siksika elders who advised them and contributed their inherited wisdom) did indeed risk creating an imitation of a cultural and geographical heritage. However, because the process was a truly shared experience, what they have produced is true to the Siksika consciousness, and at the same time innovative. The building is a living metaphor for the natural balance that is at the core of the Siksika belief system; and it is also successful in leaving a soft footprint on the land.

The approach to the Centre up an S-curved lane sets the tone of following the landscape. To the left of the entranceway are a series of Buffalo rub rocks, highly polished boulders that bison over the millennia have used to rub against in an attempt to remove mosquitoes and other insects. These rub rocks are in a way touchstones to the past when the great herds of bison roamed these grasslands, and were hunted by the forbears of the Siksika and other nations. The bison that is part of the coat of arms of the Siksika is representative of this animal which is sacred to them given that it sustained their ancestors in many ways.

The overall spoke-like design of the building too is a link to the past, and representative of the medicine wheels; large stone circles still found throughout Alberta which confirm the existence of some of the earliest peoples on the Great Plains of North America.

You enter the Centre under a feature that I particularly admired, a luminous glass eagle feather fan. The eagle is sacred to the Siksika; and this luminosity is a central motif in the Centre. The seven sacred tepees on the roof are also skylights; and they are also connected to a central tepee “Sundance Arbour” which allows the prairie light to permeate the structure. The enormous windows that look out to the west are covered with an energy-efficient reflective gold and blue glass curtain. In telescope-fashion, the great wall of glass brings the panorama to the viewer. If you were an eagle, this would be the place from which you would launch yourself and soar over the landscape, confident and free.

When a member of the Siksika creates his or her own tepee, it is painted with symbols and images that come to the individual in the form of a vision or a dream. This new Centre is part of a visionary 21st-century dream of creating a place where travellers can come from all over the world to learn about the great stories this land has to tell. It is also, of course, a new and dramatic focal point for the members of the Siksika Nation.

But the Centre and the Blackfoot Historical Crossing Heritage Park are also part of a strategic business plan on the part of the Siksika. This is a travel and tourism initiative that will attract especially those who value the kind of historical-cultural travel that informs and enlightens.

And this Centre will be the entry point, for non-Aboriginal people especially, into a history that pre-dates that on which people of European descent often base their frame of reference.

The Siksika Nation has approximately 6,000 members and is part of the much larger Blackfoot Confederacy whose ancestral lands (approximately 113,000 square kilometres) once spread over most of southern Alberta and into what today is Montana. Their history adds 10,000 years onto what is usually considered the span of Canadian history.

Treaty 7, signed by the Siksika Nation and the Crown, is considered one of the most “defining” of the so-called “numbered treaties” under which the Aboriginal peoples surrendered parts of their land in return for direct payments and other promises on the part of the Crown. It played a crucial role in uniting Canada. Because of Canada’s special geography and the constant fears of expansion northward on the part of the great new republic to the south, the newly formed government of Canada knew it had to acquire full control over the vast lands to the west. The only way to do this was to build a transcontinental railroad — a political unification strategy that took into account the great inland waterway of the St Lawrence River and the Great Lakes, which stops of course at the western end of Lake Superior.

A railroad across the prairies and then through the largest obstacle of all — the Rocky Mountains — became therefore the “national dream” of Canada’s first prime minister, Sir John A Macdonald. Such a railroad, however, was also crucial because it was the key “bargaining chip” for bringing British Columbia into Canadian Confederation, which it did in 1870.

Because “Indian lands” were under control of the federal government — as stipulated in the Royal Proclamation of 1763 — the government in Ottawa had to deal with the aboriginal people whose land stood between the onward thrust of the railroad: over 80,000 square kilometres. And a large part of this land was the ancestral homeland of the Siksika Nation. The treaty that allowed the transcontinental railroad to go ahead was Treaty 7. And as you stand looking out the windows of the Interpretive Centre, you can see Blackfoot Crossing, the exact spot on which that treaty was signed.

Were these just real estate deals? What was the spirit and the intent of each party in the negotiations? In one document I was shown by the Siksika, there is the statement: “Siksika has a rich culture that has been eroded and overrun by a Eurocentric view of the Aboriginal role in the development of Canada. Blackfoot Crossing Historical Park will help revive our noble heritage and will add a new dimension to Canadian history. This is our gift to you, an expression of the partnership understood when our ancestors signed Treaty 7.”

Like most indigenous people, the Siksika have invested a great deal of trust in their oral history, a record that has been passed down from generation to generation for thousands of years.

The Blackfoot Crossing Historical Park Interpretive Centre is a collection of stories. And while there is much tangible evidence of the long-term shared knowledge, wisdom, and art of these people to be found in the Centre, the non-Aboriginal visitor would do well to bear in mind the intricate narrative that the Centre and the Blackfoot Crossing Historical Park communicates on many levels, through many layers, and in many ancient forms of “media”. This is grand theatre with all that such historic dramas imply: impressive settings, dynamic characters and characterisation, complex plot lines, crises, and a dénouement.

I am confident that what the Siksika Nation’s new Heritage Centre will achieve is a new level of dialogue between the Siksika and the visitors they welcome to this wonderful site.

While other 20-year-olds were heading for the all-night discos of the Mediterranean, Hannah Abbott chose to Go West…

Cortes

A Mecca for East-coast Canadian travellers partial to a bit of peace and love, the islands off the West coast of British Columbia would have remained undiscovered for me were it not for a friend of a friend of a friend. Well, one island in particular: Cortes.

I spent a month there, variously staying with old friends, crashing at new friends’, sleeping under the stars, and living in a refurbished 1955 school bus. It’s just that kind of place.

We certainly got there in style. Bleary-eyed on arrival at Vancouver Airport, the nearby Flying Beaver Bar proved our salvation – overlooking a stretch of river, we enjoyed steaks in the blazing sunshine against a backdrop of seaplanes taking off and landing.

Revived, the sunset flight to Campbell River, Vancouver Island, was a delight, as we took in magnificent golden-hued views of the island-dotted straits. It was getting late, and though we were lucky to make the last ferry to Quadra island, how we would get beyond there to the considerably more remote Cortes was another matter. Fortune prevailed by throwing us an amphibious taxi driver! Crossing Quadra by car, we were then ushered into his speedboat and concluded our journey bouncing across the water at a thrilling pace, wind in our hair and spray in our faces beneath a burning orange full moon.

After the intensity of the journey, days spent relaxing on the shores of Hague Lake at Manson’s Landing felt well-deserved. Staying with local friends, and adhering closely to the adage “when in Rome…”, much of this time was spent soaking up the sun on the large rocky outcrop that is the nudist area of the beach, occasionally launching off to cool down in the crisp water.

If it weren’t for the friendly and generous locals, to go much further afield than this without a vehicle would have been a challenge – I certainly didn’t see any buses! But as it happened, many an exciting distance was covered whizzing around in the back of pick-up trucks in a community where hitch-hiking is the norm.

If you are a nature lover, Cortes has it in abundance. The mountainous landscape, pebble beaches and sapphire waters are reminiscent of the West coast of Scotland and its loch-speckled Highlands, though on a much vaster scale. But trekking through steamy forests of ancient trees, pushing past enormous ferns, I would barely have raised an eyebrow had a dinosaur lumbered by. A trip by boat will take you past seals sunning themselves lazily on rocky islets. At the destination of one charmed walk, we emerged onto the beach to the sight of a Bald Eagle, while playing nearby was a family of otters. There are also bear, wolf and cougar sightings. Perhaps the most magical encounter though was a night swim in phosphorescent algae. More pleasant than they sound, these tiny organisms become visible as bluish glowing dots when they detect motion, so that your movement in the water creates beautiful streaks of light. Emerging from the sea, you are momentarily drenched in a luminous waterfall.

As far as nightlife goes, this was mostly located on the beach at Smelt Bay, where we witnessed night after night of ever more fantastic sunsets and watched the stars far from the glow of light pollution. Should we feel peckish, an entrepreneurial local came laden each night with delicious freshly baked pie at $1.50 a slice. To draw a comparison: less sipping cocktails on the golden sands of a Greek island, this was more swigging wine from the bottle on the shores of Loch Lomond – though on Cortes you don’t need to worry about your ipod being stolen while you go for a skinny-dip!

Cortes is home to Hollyhock, a health and educational tourist retreat offering yoga, meditation and spiritual exploration to its affluent guests. Our experience of it was largely from the other side of the fence; that is until a raucous night at the Tak, pizza restaurant-come-occasional nightclub, ended in a group of us clambering over it to sneak in a late-night hot tub. Of course the abiding memory of the evening is being frog-marched out, heads hung in affected shame while trying not to snigger. Other night-time events included fantastic live music and dancing in the community halls. If clubbing’s your thing, try to time a visit around August to catch the annual open-air Carrington Bay Party, and Shambhala Music Festival on the mainland.

It is possible for non-residents to attend events at Hollyhock; we joined an evening of tabla drumming and meditative chanting. Not really my cup of tea, but then I’m more of a milk and two sugars girl than a lover of weird and wonderful herbal infusions.

Shopping highlights include the market at Manson’s Landing – packed with local produce, art and beautiful imports from India. And the saying “one man’s rags are another man’s riches” is never more true that in Squirrel Cove’s Free Store, a sort-of jumble sale run on trust, where islanders swap their unwanted clothes, appliances… anything reusable really. Don’t worry about taking a bag full of books – swap the one you’ve finished with a well-thumbed edition from one of the “help-yourself” bookshelves.

A place sure to tickle one’s sense of novelty is Wolf Bluff, known locally as Karl’s Castle. On an island where everyone seems to build their own houses, it is a five-storey castle lovingly constructed by owner Karl. Out of breezeblocks. In exchange for a donation we were able to explore its towers and dungeons, indulge in some historical fancy dress and photograph Karl with his tiara-adorned pet dog.

Dramatic and beautiful, Cortes is a breathtaking holiday destination. But what really sets it apart is the strong sense of community and friendship. Don’t just be a tourist, and you will be welcomed into the fold. It is hippie values and spirituality with a bit of hedonism thrown into the mix. Be warned, if you go there you might not want to leave.

by Hannah Abbott

Stan Abbott determines the bare necessities of walking in the wild Rockies…

Stan surveys the magnificent view from Skoki Lodge

Canadians have a tip about how to distinguish grizzly bear droppings from those of the less aggressive black bear – the grizzly’s are the ones with bells in.

Bear bells are supposed to be worn by humans hiking in grizzly country, the idea being that a grizzly hearing the bells will make itself scarce, because it would rather avoid an encounter with people than eat them.

Parks Canada publishes Bears and People, a helpful little guide for backpackers, which makes the casual understatement that “some research shows that bear bells are not enough”.

Our problem is that we face a three to five-hour eight-mile hike across bear country to reach our accommodation for the next four nights – Skoki Lodge, the oldest, and among the highest and most remote of the Canadian Rockies’ backwoods log cabin lodges.

The portents are not great: the grizzly killing earlier that month of a jogger – just outside the nearby town of Canmore – seem to have prompted a run on bear spray in the shops of Banff, the nearest major centre to the Lake Louise ski area, which will be our last contact with civilisation. Bear spray is supposed to offer a last ditch defence – the optimistic blasting of a jet of pepper gas into the face of the onrushing grizzly, though we hear tales of perhaps apocryphal European tourists trying to use it as a deterrent, applied to the body like mosquito repellent or underarm deodorant.

Then, as we are taken by van to the start of the Skoki trail, an adolescent female grizzly and a youngster are browsing in a meadow nor more than 30 metres from us. We hurriedly re-check the Parks Canada advice, which suggests clapping hands, talking loudly and singing.

The lightly-loaded American couple who’ve been with us in the van shun the advice that bears don’t often attack groups of four and forge ahead without us. If I try talking, the subject always seems to come back to bears, so singing it is. A medley of all the songs we know with the word bear in the lyrics, plus suitably oursified old Beatles numbers and Northumbrian folk songs seem to provide the bear deterrent. For some strange reason, we don’t see any people either.

The biggest threat proved to be to our lunch, and came from a hopeful ground squirrel. In a surely hopelessly incorrect move, we recorded his chirping call on a mobile phone, which we would later use to make bemused conversation with other ground squirrels we encountered.

Ptarmigan Lake on the ascent of Boulder Pass

The trail rises through mixed forest, giving way to conifers, then dwarf birch and alder as we cross the treeline. Cresting the recently glaciated Boulder Pass, where deeply scoured frost-shattered rocks lie in crazy piles like the aftermath of some titanic struggle between the gods, Ptarmigan Lake hoves into view.

We are at 7,694ft (2,345m), it’s late June and it is not warm. The vegetation is now high alpine, with purple saxifrage raising a timid head above the residual snow. The cold, thinning air makes for slow going as we toil to the head of Deception Pass (8,200ft, 2,485m), from where a quite fantastic vista opens northwards before us.

On our left are the Skoki Lakes of Zigadenus and Myosotis, owing their deep luxuriant turquoise hue to suspended silts from the surrounding glaciers. More careful inspection reveals that the foot of the glaciers is not ice at all, but a fine scree of light-coloured alluvial material. Later, at the Lodge, we’ll see comparative photographs that bear graphic witness to the retreat of the ice over the last half-century.

Beyond the lakes, as we negotiate deep snow drifts to descend 1,100ft to Skoki Lodge, the vast Wall of Jericho guards the left flank of the valley, whose name derives from a native word meaning swamp or marsh. Good call – the trail is fast becoming a river as first rain, then sleet, then snow assault us.

By the time we squelch into Skoki Lodge – in time for marshmallow crispy cakes and tea from the ubiquitous pot – we’ve been on the trail fully five hours. But we have not been eaten by bears and a watery sunlight illuminates bare, castellated peaks filling all points of the compass. I admire the linguistic thrift of the guy who called these the Rocky Mountains.

We are greeted by Leo and Katie Mitzel, proud managers of the lodge, which was opened in 1931 by the Banff-based Ski Club of the Canadian Rockies.

Although more rooms were added in the 30s, Skoki remains essentially unchanged – extensive recent renovations have seen the insertion of a solid foundation, but each plank of the floor and every stone from the chimney breast has been carefully numbered and returned to its original location. The lodge has no electric lighting and running water only in the kitchen. Solar panels help run a few kitchen gadgets and the log-fired sauna proves a great substitute for a hot bath. It’s a 40-metre dash to the earth closets.

The communal sitting room soon has a buzz as the jokes and story-telling begin. Fellow guests Maggie and Paul, from BC, are mountain lodge aficionados and say Skoki’s reputation for its fine food places it beside the best – that’s borne out by the arrival of a spread that belies the basic kitchen and strictures on menu-planning imposed by a weekly helicopter drop (we’re still a week short of the date at which Parks Canada permits packhorses to return to the trails). An immense soufflé stands proud even when cut – perhaps it’s the altitude.

On our first full day we opt for a round trip to Merlin Lake, graded “easy”. The trail quickly becomes a pencil line etched across steep and loose scree, where delightfully named hoary marmots sit on rocks, like sentries. A missed cairn sees me showering rocks down a precarious gully. Then we are faced by a rock wall, tantalisingly too high to clamber up. The alternative is to edge along a narrow ledge on the face of the cliff to a point where the climb is lower.

The reward is another stunning turquoise lake, ringed by dramatic peaks. The descent through the forest, for us hardened bear-song singers, is easier until we are faced with fording the cold and raging Skoki River. Katie tells us the bridge was washed away two winters ago but Parks Canada won’t permit anyone else to replace it (using plentiful local materials), pending the arrival of their own team with pressure-treated timber from British Columbia. “We’ve guys with chain saws here just itching to use them,” she says, ominously.

Back at the lodge after another five-hour hike, long-standing staff member Walter insists he can do Merlin Lake in half an hour. This seems like bravado until we catch sight of him through binoculars, scrambling up and back down seemingly vertical sections of the Walls of Jericho in the blink of an eye.

Katie tells how, four years ago, Walter broke half the bones in his body when he fell 40ft while free-climbing. He crawled three miles to the nearest road and had to squeeze beneath a bear fence before he managed to flag down a passing motorist. “He doesn’t like to talk about it,” she says.

The following day we circumnavigate Skoki Mountain and Deer Lakes and a day, which was cold enough for gloves at one point, ends with a strong hint of summer. By our final day it’s warm and clear enough for an assault on Skoki Mountain itself (8,845ft, 2,696m), from where there is a quite mind-boggling panorama of jagged peaks and yet more turquoise lakes. Any sense of achievement is diminished by coming across Katie on our descent, eight months pregnant but still nimbly leaping from rock to rock. Her confinement will begin with a (planned) helicopter exit from Skoki the following day.

The beautiful Lake Louise

Our heavy-hearted return from Skoki to Lake Louise takes us a more respectable three hours, but brings us close to grizzly encounter. Two young Parks Canada rangers advise against taking the Hidden Lake trail as they’ve just seen a cub, and the mother must be nearby.

A few score metres further and we spot a large, fresh bear dropping. There are no bells in it.

Getting there: it’s an easy two-hour drive into the Rockies from Calgary Airport, via Highway One. Rocky Mountains Sky Shuttle also offers a bus link from Calgary (+ 1 403 762 520; www.rockymountainskyshuttle.com).

Where to stay: Skoki Lodge (+1 877 687 7669; www.skoki.com) is open through winter for cross-country skiers, and through summer for walkers, with short closures in spring and autumn. It has 22 beds, some in the main building and some in cabins. Overnight rates (per person, full board with packed lunch) from $110 in April, $159 June to August (plus local taxes).

Check-in for Skoki Lodge is at Lake Louise ski centre at 0930, so local accommodation in the village may be advisable. Lake Louise Inn offers comfortable rooms from $90.50 per person per night (+1 403 522 3791; www.lakelouiseinn.com).

For every night spent in the Banff National Park, a fee of $8 per person is payable to Parks Canada (www.pc.gc.ca).

Skoki Lodge requires the longest mandatory walk-in of the Canadian Rockies lodges, though there are others that are more remote…

Purcell Mountain Lodge and Fortress Lake

Both these “eco lodges” in the British Columbia Rockies normally require access by helicopter. Purcell Lodge stands at over 7,000ft, on an alpine meadow on the border of Glacier National Park, near Golden, and is open winter and summer. It boasts hot water and electricity, courtesy of power generated from a mountain stream. Fortress Lake Wilderness Cabins are in Hamber Provincial Park, adjacent to Jasper National Park, on the shores of an 11kms lake. Not open in winter. Three-day packages, including helicopter transfer from Golden, range from $1,188 at Purcell Lodge and from $1,644 at Fortress Lake. For both lodges, telephone +1 250 344 2639; www.placeslesstravelled.com.

Sentry Mountain Lodge

Relatively new winter and summer lodge, at just under 7,000ft, in the Selkirk Mountains of British Columbia. Helicopter transfer from Golden. Three nights from $595 (self-catered and self-guided) or $1,095, all-inclusive. Tel +1 250 344 7227; www.sentrymountainlodge.com.

For those disinclined to walk in or take a helicopter, or who simply prefer their creature comforts, Moraine Lake Lodge is accessible by road from Lake Louise, Alberta, with individual cabins opening onto the archetypal turquoise lake. Open June to September, from $275 for a double room. +1 403 522 3733; www.morainelake.com