‘I wish I had a river…’ Community co-operation transforms stretch of Assiniboine into winter playground for skaters, skiers, sliders and strollers By: Ben Waldman Posted: 7:00 PM CST Thursday, Jan. 28, 2021

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 27/01/2021 (1429 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Bev Findlay steps onto the Assiniboine River with a purpose — nay, a duty — in mind: she wants to find a shovel, and she wants to work until she can’t work anymore.

In leather boots, woollen mitts and a dyed beaver-fur cap, each of her own making, Findlay climbs down the eroding river wall just east of Ferry Road on Sunday morning, skittering along the ice without falling.

She’s almost 60 years old and the river’s been her neighbour for nearly half her life. In the winter, the frozen water needs her help to become and to remain what she stands on: a glacial channel of vitality, a frozen lane with no cars. One passerby calls it, with dramatic flair but not a hint of exaggeration, “a Miracle of Ice.”

Of the river’s 1,070-kilometre length, the leg where Findlay stands represents only 4.5 km, but that stretch is jammed with skating trails, snow slides, 40 Christmases’ worth of evergreen trees, walking paths and hockey rinks, with the tracks of cross-country skis criss-crossing the fresh dust of snow like lines in the sand.

It is miraculous, sure. The river always is, in its depth, its history and its power, but this stretch is no miracle: it’s the result of teamwork, with no promise of wealth or renown or egotistical reward. Something like this doesn’t just happen without people imagining it — and then picking up the tools to make it happen.

Around 11 a.m., Findlay finds what she’s looking for jammed into a snowbank: a pair of robin’s egg-blue shovels slapped together with an X of spare lath and a crossbeam to rest her arms on. “Dean’s Dozer,” the crossbeam reads in all-caps. “Who’s Dean?” Findlay is asked. “Not a clue,” she says.

She picks up the shovel and gets to work clearing the skating trail of any snowflakes that dare touch down in her path. She puts her head down, the sound of Dean’s Dozer — kertch, kertch, kertch — filling the cold air.

• • •

The Assiniboine has frozen every winter for thousands of years, but the Bourkevale Winter Wonderland, as some have come to call it, has likely existed for around 25, give or take.

Individually, people who lived along the river consistently built their own personal rinks or toboggan slides, say Rob Dorbolo and Marlies Dyck, who’ve lived on Assiniboine Avenue, just down the street from Bourkevale Community Centre, since then. Slowly, those projects began to merge together, individual frozen veins fusing together to form a network.

“People realized we can connect everyone out on the river,” says Dorbolo. “I would say the river connects us much more than the street.”

There’s no formal plan for the wonderland, but Step 1, of course, is the big freeze: neighbours keep watch over the ice, testing the depth and waiting patiently for a moment when not just bodies, but benches and trees and hockey pucks can make their way out onto the frozen expanse. As January nears, the informal community grows out of the ice.

Neighbours map out intricate skate paths, an aerial view revealing an archipelago of small islets along the way. Innovations — such as Dean’s Dozer (built by Dean McLeod, a teacher and former outdoor educator, it turns out), homemade Zamboni and water pumps — are put together in garages and sheds. Dorbolo and Dyck’s son Devin shovelled tonnes of snow to build a giant toboggan slide off their backyard and onto the river.

“I like to call us Red Greeners,” Dorbolo says, a reference to the TV handyman played by Steve Smith.

It’s not uncommon for hundreds of dollars to be spent on the trail, yet nobody makes a dime off it, and no one person can take all the credit. “It’s a community project,” says Peter Burgoyne as he clears a small rinklet behind his house. The only rule: if you use it, respect it. Pick up a shovel and keep it beautiful for the next person to skate or walk or ski through.

Every year, the project draws dozens of visitors, but last year, with a very poor freeze, the wonderland was a bit of a dud in comparison to its finer moments. For the trail, the 2019-20 season was a rebuilding year. Dorbolo and Dyck were praying for a rebound.

If there is a miracle at play, it’s that their prayers were answered at a time when the trail was sorely needed. With a pandemic raging, the ice froze deep and strong.

This year’s path, which Dorbolo clocked at 4.5 km using his GPS, is the longest it’s ever been, he says, at least in his quarter-century as one of the river’s stewards. It’s also without a doubt the busiest it’s ever been, Dyck says, with people looking for an oasis in a year of despair and anxiety.

It’s almost as if the river knew.

• • •

As the sun gets brighter, many more pairs of feet step down on the frozen water.

Wendy Van Loon climbs down from the Wellington Crescent side with admirable grace. Wearing a pair of skis she bought on Facebook Marketplace, Pamela Friedrich trudges onward. Wrapped in a hot pink faux-fur coat and matching hat, Laureen Best is visible from two kilometres away.

Countless dogs arrive: Darwin and Willy and Jack and Maisy and Toffi and Joey and Molly and Fuzz, plus many more too busy chasing sticks and tennis balls to introduce themselves.

Ellis and Jude Parker glide around the ice in the freezing cold, their boot-wearing father Tim doing his best to keep up. “This is the coldest it’s been,” he says, laughing. “They still wanted to skate.”

The brothers Parker were also out on the ice a day earlier, when nine-year-old Ellis and seven-year-old Jude grabbed shovels to clean up. It was almost as fun as skating. “I love it,” Ellis shouts. Jude agrees.

The idea is that everyone pitches in, multiple neighbours explain: when a hay bale blows away, the next day, five appear, no questions asked. If you rough up the trail, you get it back to pristine condition. “It’s a neighbourhood thing,” says Dorbolo.

On a nearby toboggan slide, Xander and Hayden Shaw blast across the ice, rolling on the river.

Clint and Judy Toews walk, as they always do, arm in arm, not far from there.

Leanne Regehr-Lee ties her own skates onto her daughter Nadia’s feet as she sits on a bucket, their Australian shepherd-blue heeler Lou keeping watch. Nadia’s brother Matthew zooms by confidently.

“Oh my god, there’s, like, a guy biking on the river!” screams a teenage girl as a guy bikes past her.

The river is teeming with life, and signs of life yet to arrive: welcoming Adirondack chairs; ice sculptures of inukshuk and turtles begging to be Instagrammed; a picturesque hockey rink, with Sherwoods and Bauers popping out of the snow, waiting to be used for another one-timer.

“We’re so happy it’s here,” Judy Toews says exuberantly. “It’s making the world glad and it’s normalizing our existence.”

She and Clint walk on, arm in arm, laughing.

• • •

Hours have passed, with the cast of characters shifting accordingly: the Parker brothers are out of sight, as are the Toews, the Lees and, somewhat improbably, the electric pink lady.

One person who hasn’t disappeared is Bev Findlay, who’s still pushing Dean’s Dozer as if it were her true calling. Her brow is furrowed, her eyes are tearing up a bit from the wind, but Findlay is still smiling, still working, all these hours later.

Her phone is nearly dead. She texts her husband to bring her a black tea, not sure how many more hours she has left in the tank for the day.

“I feel good,” she says, not too tired at all. People thank her, but she insists she’s not unique or special. Just one of the hundreds of people who keep the trail alive. After all, something like this doesn’t just happen.

It’s now 2:15 p.m. The tea is on its way. And Findlay is still shovelling — kertch, kertch, kertch.

“I’m one of many. I just keep the edges clean and tidy,” she says. “I can’t do much, but I can shovel.”

When she leaves, she puts Dean’s Dozer down. Someone else will shovel tomorrow.

ben.waldman@freepress.mb.ca