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As the frogs croaked around us in the utter darkness, all I could think about was whether a moose might turn up beside our circular yurt. The wildlife in Canada is very big. As is the country.

Giant animals, huge skies, vast vistas. Quite a lot of mosquitos. Colossal camp sites the size of Wales. And, as it happens, very nice people. 'I like Canadians,' announced my son, Lucien, nine, as we bedded down at Kejimkujik National Park in Nova Scotia.

Our yurt had everything a camper could desire. Primus stove, can of propane, pile of wood, interlocking saucepans, box of cocoa.

A very near-at-hand beauty: Nova Scotia is Canada at its prettiest, and is only six hours away

Canada's National Parks have ventured into 'ready-to-camp' accommodation, as Lucien and I discovered during our week in the easternmost provinces, the Maritimes.

Our first campsite was on the banks of the Mersey River. The North American one, that is, which was bursting with long reeds, sparkling water, kingfishers, herons and lots of frogs.

Meanwhile, on dry land, flying squirrels and chipmunks skipped about and chattered.

Mosquito coils, an outdoor 'privy' and a large spider gave us the requisite thrill of being hardily brave, Bear Grylls-style; the yurt's mattresses and its lockable door were reassuring touches of home.

We played cards and read stories. Once the sun went down, we were out of our comfort zone. But that was the point: the shared thrill of the darkness. Next morning was heaven: fresh coffee, grapefruit, maple-smoked bacon and eggs. Could things get any better?

Actually, they did, in the form of the improbably named Cody Whynot, an official guide who took us for a canoe trip. Cody looked like a close relation of Tom Cruise - but with a pen-knife. Both Lucien and I thought he was perfect. As he manfully (sorry, but it was so) powered our canoe across the water, teaching us how to paddle, and pointing out the eerie cry of the Loon bird, he explained that even the Yanks had realised Canada was an ideal 'getting away from it all' spot.

And here's where we put down roots: Lucien checks out the standard of accommodation in Nova Scotia

Is it a yurt or is it a home? Rosie found that the standard of 'tented' accommodation was very high

And us British? Well, as the Maritimes are only six hours' flight away (London to Halifax), with only four hours' time difference, the journey is easy.

We hammered 300 miles north-westwards to New Brunswick. Here, we luxuriated in an otentik, a wooden and canvas structure, which was extremely comfortable.

We went on the Little Big Bear Safari. Did the bears turn up? Yabbadabbadoo. We gazed on half a dozen of them from the safety of a tall tower. There were even several babies.

New Brunswick is almost wholly French and is crazy about lobster. En route to the next site, we sailed out onto the Atlantic and learned how to identify, catch and, yes, eat them.

Lucien, meanwhile, plumped for grilled chicken.

Was Canada all he had expected? 'It's a bit. . . big,' he said, cautiously, as we motored down yet another long, straight road bounded by around 10,000 Douglas firs.

Yet the calm of the journey gave us time to sing, talk about football, play I Spy and generally relax.

After a terrifying, but exhilarating, zipwire experience, diving 60ft off a tower at Cape Enrage, our final destination was Fundy National Park, on the steep banks of the giant Bay of Fundy.

Tom Cruise with a pen-knife: Lucien receives canoeing instruction from the improbably named Cody Whynot

A good holiday thoroughly enjoyed: Rosie and Lucien returned from Canada full of smiles

Here, we stayed in a simple but well-equipped tent. And here was the most magical moment of all.

Led by a park guide, Lucien and I (and about 80 other people) quietly walked around a big pond in the gathering dusk. We saw gnawed-through logs, the beaver's dam, and learned about how these extraordinary creatures live.

Just as it was getting dark, there it was, a little, whiskered face paddling swiftly towards us through the clear water. He dived in, showing off his glossy fur and huge wide tail, then popped up again.

Yes, it was a beaver; the symbol  of the Canadian National Parks, personally welcoming us to this giant, calm country of abundant wildlife, empty roads and a beguiling air of freedom and tranquillity.

Plus very comfy tents.