Texas Kaleidoscope Weekend trips throughout Texas, a country of its own.

On the drive from Calgary, I watch the wind swirl snow into snaking shapes across the highway, until they disintegrate, phantom-like. The fog flows by as towering mountains on all sides appear and fade, between sheets of mist. Cary says it’s like Disneyland for hikers here, but far from the flat Texas plains I call home, I’m reminded of a fairytale I once read—of a mountain that no matter how you try to reach it, remains on the horizon.

When at last we reach Lake Louise, we venture out onto the frozen surface. Her glacier blue waters have been transformed into a majestic ice rink, with a turreted ice castle of crystal ice blocks on one side. On the shore is Fairmont Banff Springs, a historic grand railway hotel. Built in 1887, it was remodeled in 1911 in Scottish Baronial style. The elegant outpost overlooks Mount Rundle, whose tallest peak reaches 9,675 feet or as the locals would say, 2,949 meters.

A horse-drawn sleigh trots merrily by, circling the edge of the lake and we follow on foot, taking care to step in the hoof prints and avoid slippery rail tracks. As night falls, the snow gleams with starlight. We find our beds at HI Lake Louise, a chalet-style hostel with a cozy loft for me. I climb up the ladder and dream of mountains.

Early in the morning, we take the Grizzly lift, which climbs and climbs and climbs to the summit. The panorama of neighboring peaks in the sunshine is blindingly white. My first snowboard run down Pika is mostly on my backside, avoiding treacherous drop-offs winding into sure-to-be-deadly black diamonds. Snow begins to fall, so by my third run, a plush powdered carpet lines my path. Snowmelt inches relentlessly down the back of my pants. Before our final run, snow flurries flutter down and catch in my eyelashes and grinning mouth.

But the day is not done. We trek to Banff Upper Hot Springs, where tired legs are forced up one last hill. Steam rises two stories high in the frigid air, revealing 100°F respite from the chill—the world’s most satisfying reversal of the Polar Bear Plunge. The few shrieking steps from door to pool in my bikini were perhaps the ten longest seconds of my life, but oh, so worth it. Full of rich minerals to soothe aching limbs, I float contentedly under a brilliant blue sky and white-tipped mountain peaks. On my face, feather-light flakes melt like tears down my cheeks. Recommended time? 10 minutes. We stay an hour. Mount Rundle silently nods in the distance. We are not faint of heart.