His sight has turned inside himself
To try and understand
The serenity of a clear blue mountain lake
John Denver

A frigid wind, oblivious to the fact that it is July, tumbles down from the ice above and penetrates several layers of hi-tech clothing. I am chilled and take refuge on the lee side of a small ridge, repose on the flattest rock I can find, and feed on the view. The postcard spread before me is Peyto Lake. From my perch the hand of man is not apparent. This is a primeval landscape, wild, and more than a tad intimidating.

I am exploring Canada's Icefield Parkway, 140 miles of roller-coaster asphalt, an artery to mind-blowing scenery, perhaps the most picture-perfect anywhere. And I do not make this statement lightly. This is the soul of the Canadian Rockies, a white-capped ocean of stone that straddles the Great Divide. Here are icefields, glaciers, psychedelic blue lakes, and wildlife. Even the griz, poster child of the wild, is out there somewhere.