Hockey morning in Canada

Odin has been patient, waiting quietly until we rolled out of bed a little later than usual. He noses the back door, exits quickly in order to conduct his business before a yelp to open it again for re-entry. Odin swallows his breakfast; time for play.

The temperature is warmer than most mornings this week, -8 Celsius, having risen from a low of -14 overnight. I flooded the rink for a second time yesterday at dusk in anticipation of the cold, hoping to smooth out the last wrinkles. The expectant precipitation was supposed to be nominal, snow showers, according to Environment Canada, one of those moments happening as I ponder the conditions. No time like the present.

Odin bounds out the door, florescent vest strapped around his body – better to see you, my boy – following me to the basement to fetch my equipment and eventually to the edge of the rink, excited to begin. The past week has been in preparation for this moment. I have shovelled and watered and coddled the ice each day hoping to reach the point of skateability. I am not expecting Maple Leaf Garden quality, lake rough will be an accomplishment.

I prop the boots upside down on the bench to prevent the snowflakes from nestling at the bottom. The extra thick socks require more push into the skate as I lean back, stretching the lace taut before securing them with an especially tight knot on each foot. My skates have not been sharpened in years, assuredly dull from the hardness of outdoor ice, so my strides are strained, an ache in my lower back, my feet hurting.

Without thinking, I circle the rink withershins, bouncing the puck off the boards, picking it up for another round, repeating slowly. Odin decides he wants to join in and gingerly crosses to intercept me on the other side, sliding past with my sudden stop. Undeterred, Odin scrambles back, persists with his nose close to the surface, pawing at the black biscuit as I slide it between his legs, an intermittent bark in frustration before his head pops up and he parades the puck in jubilation. His success acknowledged, Odin plops the puck at my feet to await the reward, a doggie treat, before the game begins again.

Olga, my loyal and faithful fan, ventures out to her seat, quietly cheering, laughing at the antics, commenting that the ice looks good. The scene is idyllic. Snow blanketing the landscape, gently fluttering from the sky, the serenity of winter morning interspersed with the sounds of pond hockey on this Canadian morning.

After an hour the game is over. Olga has since returned to the cottage to get breakfast ready; Odin is ensconced in the snowbank on the sidelines, knawing on the spare puck. The first skate complete, hot oatmeal and some pure maple syrup awaits.

Ever since we rebuilt the cottage, winterized for twelve month usage, I have made the effort to construct a skating rink on the frozen waters of Loon Call. The challenge with weather and inconsistent visits have made each year an adventure, sometimes without success. I have learned from mistakes, experimented with improvements. This year I have plunged the manual auger at centre ice for the submersible pump and focused on thinner layers of water deliberately dispersed to build the base. And a new piece of equipment, the battery operated, self-propelled snow blower has saved this aging body.

The snow is falling more steadily, heavier now. The weather network warns of 5 to 10 cm by tomorrow with the temperature rising to 1 degree. There will be a good chance the combination will make for slush once the snow is removed, which will require a few waterings before the rink becomes skateable again. The next hockey game with Odin is probably a couple mornings away.

No matter. The effort will be worth the joy.