The motorcoach detaches from the Trans-Canada and slides onto the narrower Bow Valley Parkway, where pine-scented wind presses against the windows and the peaks crowd closer. By the time the bus rounds the final bend the lake appears like a polished shard of turquoise cradled by gray granite and the blue-white sweep of Victoria Glacier. Guides gesture toward the Chateau across the shore; for an hour the group disembarks, spreads out along the shoreline and lets the mountains do the organizing—every ridge, moraine and crevasse directing the eye.