Story and photography by Shilo Urban
Strolling in my cowboy boots through Cowtown, I feel right at home — but the long line of Rocky Mountain peaks on the horizon reminds me that I’m far from Fort Worth. So does the temperature; it’s 67 degrees on a June afternoon. Yet both Calgary and Fort Worth have a proud cowboy heritage, an independent spirit, and a deep-rooted character that’s cultured but never pretentious. There’s a palpable upswing of energy in Calgary, from the creative culinary scene to the eager entrepreneurs, akin to the Cowtown I call home.
Found where the foothills of the Rockies meet the gentle prairie, Calgary is the largest city in Alberta, often called the “Texas of Canada” for its cattle industry, conservative politics, and copious fossil fuels. Fort Calgary, like Fort Worth, was first established as a riverfront military base, a remote frontier outpost in Indigenous lands.
But Calgary’s Bow River, running through the center of town, isn’t quite like the Trinity. It’s clear and swift, with world-renowned fly fishing and trophy-sized trout. I wade in carefully alongside Quinn Soonias, the Cree guide who’s teaching me how to fly fish.
Quinn’s ancestors lived on the Bow River, and at 6’7”, he’s a gentle giant with a calm, soothing demeanor. He usually makes a tobacco offering before fishing, but today he’s forgotten his pouch.
We begin the lesson anyway, only stepping into the river after I’ve learned the basics in a nearby park. I cast my line again and again into the fast-flowing river, back and forth, to and fro.
My mind turns as clear as the water, focused and still amid the rush of wild nature. We don’t catch anything — was it the tobacco? No matter; I’m perfectly happy not having to touch a live fish (shudder).
Even beyond the river, nature shines throughout the city. Calgary’s neighborhoods unfold across rolling hills and rising bluffs, ideal terrain for an open-air tour in a motorcycle sidecar. I hop in the sidecar and find it surprisingly spacious and comfortable. Off we go in a caravan of vintage bikes, cruising past ridgetop mansions, funky statues, and a Buddhist monastery. People wave as we go by. We stop at an overlook above Stampede Park, the sprawling home of the Calgary Stampede, a massive rodeo festival held every July.
Rodeo is big news in Calgary. Alberta was once linked to Texas by the Western Trail, one of the four major Wild West cattle trails. Cowboys spent months driving their herds up to northern grasslands, fattening up the animals before returning down to American railheads (it’s less than a four-hour flight today). But the cowboys brought more than cattle — they also brought culture, which is why Calgary’s Western traditions feel like an old friend.
I peer down at Stampede Park’s chuckwagon racecourse and saddle-shaped Saddledome arena, ground zero for the 10-day rodeo. The event takes over the entire city with outdoor concerts, free pancake breakfasts every day, and white cowboy hats on heads, all around.
White hats are a Calgary signature, as is the Caesar, Canada’s national cocktail. Invented here in 1969, it’s basically a Bloody Mary with clamato. I’m skeptical at first. Then, I became a fan. The sweet clam broth tones down the acidic tomato, and the two pair splendidly with Alberta’s celebrated beef.
I expected excellent beef in Canada’s cattle country, and I’m not disappointed. But I didn’t anticipate such fun and eclectic cuisine. Like the Asian-Mediterranean fusion fare at Orchard Restaurant, where I feast on cod brandade fritters and bulgogi grilled cheese beneath a cavalcade of crystal chandeliers and live greenery. Major Tom makes potato donuts and tater tots that look like dessert, and Fortuna’s fancy Latin fare includes smoked shrimp aguachile, confit eggplant tacos, and beef tartare with watermelon salsa. Marigold cocktail, anyone? My dark chocolate mezcal ganache is so rich, I may need to go to confession — and I’m not even Catholic.
Luckily, I’m staying at The Dorian, where confessing your transgressions is encouraged. The hotel went all-in on its theme: Oscar Wilde’s Gothic novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray — and created one of my favorite stays of all time. Wilde’s novel is a witty, decadent story of beauty and pleasure, and so is The Dorian. Plush purples, dark blues, whimsical mirrors, swirling marble, everything feels lush and mysterious, like you’re in on a scandalous secret. My bed is a dollop of whipped cream; a peacock feather rests on my pillow. In the lobby, a handsome picture of Dorian Gray slowly mutates into a monstrosity, just like in the book, as guests confess their sins (anonymously, via QR code). Debauchery never felt so delightful.
Oscar Wilde might have been Irish, but his unapologetic individuality suits Calgary like a well-fitted cowboy hat — a white one, of course. And Calgary suits this Fort Worth girl. The city is charmingly different yet also familiar, like slipping on a stylish, brand-new pair of cowboy boots and discovering they’re already comfortable. So be sure to pack those boots when you travel to Calgary, Canada’s Cowtown and Fort Worth’s kindred spirit.