The Banff Centre is situated at the base of Tunnel Mountain, a modest bump as far as Rocky Mountains go. It's also perched above the bustle of Banff proper, where it's possible to have all of one's maple syrup, fur garment and caramel corn needs met on streets named after furry creatures. At the same time, it's strangely difficult to buy Band-Aids or shoe laces or dish towels.

There's a popular walk between town and the Centre along the cliffy banks of the Bow River. I often go this route on a hot day expressly for the mist from Bow Falls. I'm also reminded of a George Saunders short story, "The Falls." A couple of tourists cascaded through Bow Falls by accident in a canoe just a few weeks ago. Since then I've wondered what it might have been like to stand powerlessly on shore, watching the imminent descent. This, of course, is the whole point of the Saunders story.

I've been told by a local guide that it's illegal to kayak Bow Falls, which is more a series of violently roiling rapids, but the occasional maniac will shoot through in the middle of the night, just to see themselves live through it.