So what are my options? Well, Greyhound coaches, for one. The caravan of the compromised will take me almost anywhere and these days in some comfort too. Still, I'm not wholly enamoured with the prospect. Firstly I don't really want to go almost anywhere because I've been there, and secondly, I've got long legs.

Which leaves the rail system. Unlike the UK, train travel in Western Canada is not so much a question of getting from A to B, but rather an experience in and of itself. To this end there are the magnificent journeys into the High Rockies and transcontinental routes that offer the full vista from Pacific to Atlantic. But all I want is a short break, a mis-en bouche of the Great Canadian railroad experience.

Fortunately, last month saw the arrival of the Whistler Mountaineer, a new service launched by the Rocky Mountaineer Group. Following the route of an underused freight line north from Vancouver along the breathtaking British Columbian coastline to world famous ski resort of Whistler, the round trip can be done in some comfort in a day. Longer stays in Whistler are easily accommodated as part of an itinerary as are combinations involving other destinations. Myself though, all I wanted was a break.

Two classes of carriage are available; Coast Classic and the more luxurious Glacier Dome. In the morning light, either seems attractive attached to a muscular looking diesel replete in navy and white livery and sporting a rather fetching snow plough. And in case you were unawares, North American trains, much like the cars, are big.

The 8:30am service leaves from an inauspicious dockside rendezvous in North Vancouver. The port itself is the second busiest on the West Coast after San Diego but having exchanged greetings with the uniformed staff the industrial soon gives way to prime residential as the train rolls slowly through the luxuriant backyards of prosperous West Vancouver. And an odd thing occurs

People wave at the train. People walking the dog, jogging along the seafront, people tending vast gardens, people paused in SUV's at level crossings on the school run; they wave. At first, more familiar with the UK's platforms crammed with glum commuters, it feels vaguely unnerving as if perhaps they know something I don't.

The sense is of being part of a scene in a David Lynch movie; silent characters sliding by beyond reach, all smiles and waving gently……But then I remind myself that it is after all the worlds most liveable city. People here are content and so am I as I sip the glass of champagne that accompanies the elegant cooked breakfast. I join them in detached comfort as we head out of the city limits.

Exit the district of West Vancouver through the tunnel at Horseshoe Bay and the real scenery opens out and, frankly, it is glorious. Through the morning haze the Pacific Ocean glitters grey-green far below a track that clings to a precipitous ledge hewn out of a near vertical cliff face.

The drop is close enough to cast a line for salmon whilst farther out an early morning kayaker barely seems to break the glassy surface. He looks tiny against the vastness of the surroundings, but then, seen from his perspective, so will the train snaking along beneath the coastal mountains. It's eight carriages long and powered by two throbbing diesel engines but against the backdrop it may as well have escaped from the toy box.

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Despite the fact that the onboard commentary makes mention of 'the fragile environment' it's hard not to assume that British Columbia's monumental coastline is largely indifferent to the exploits of man. The history of the line is one of leaving Vancouver in 1912 with all fervour and finances in place but not completing the final spike until the mid-Fifties. Rather like optimistically struggling through the first ten pages of Finnegan's Wake only to glance forward and realise the whole book was like that too.

The endeavour though has paid off, literally in spades. Breakfast over I move to the Henry Pickering, an elegant open-sided observation car first commissioned in 1914 and a novelty in these days of air-con and sealed windows. To the west the view stretches out over Howe Sound, the southernmost fjord in Canada. Glancing across to the opposite window the rock face suddenly disappears to reveal glacier-fed waterfalls and inaccessible valleys shrouded in low mist.

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