Moraine Lake is a half-kilometre of turquoise water in the Canadian Rockies of Alberta, closed in by ten peaks that rise straight from its far shore, and the view from the pile of rock at its outlet is the one Canada once printed on its twenty-dollar note. The colour is real and it has a cause: glaciers above the lake grind rock into a powder so fine that it hangs in the water and scatters blue light, and in July and August, when the melt is strongest, the turquoise is at its deepest. The lake is held in place by that pile of rock, the Rockpile, a natural dam of shattered stone that gave the lake its name; a short, steep scramble to its top delivers the whole sheet of water with the Ten Peaks stacked behind it. The peaks were first numbered one to ten in the language of the Stoney Nakoda, whose valley this is, and the tenth still carries its Stoney name, Wenkchemna, which simply means ten.
Most people climb the Rockpile, take the photograph and leave. The lake rewards staying. Red canoes go out from the dock, and from the water the peaks close in on three sides and the colour under the hull looks unreal; the water is glacial, cold enough that nobody swims. A flat path runs about a kilometre and a half from the dock to the head of the lake, past the reflections and into a quiet that the crowd at the outlet never reaches. Above the shore a trail climbs to Larch Valley, high meadows under the peaks where the alpine larches, the one conifer that sheds its needles, turn a vivid gold for roughly two weeks from the middle of September before the needles fall. From mid-July the same meadows flower, paintbrush and arnica among the trees. Since 2023 no private car can drive to the lake; you arrive by shuttle, and the valley has got some of its quiet back.