Saturday in Montreal.

20 Jan Saturday in Montreal.

It’s softly snowing. Around zero degrees. I pass by the rink around noon; there’s not a soul to be seen. The ice is covered in snow.

I text my friend Erik and we agree to meet at 2:30. He’ll bring two sticks and a puck. I’ll bring two shovels.

I show up a few minutes early. There are four or five guys on each end of the rink. They’ve cleared out a small space to skate on each side. Two guys push around shovels on skates. The others skate around with their sticks and a few pucks. No one speaks.

I walk into the rink with my shovels, in boots, and start shovelling. Soon one of the guys skates up and asks for the shovel I’m not using. We slowly work our way towards the boards.

On the other end of the ice, perhaps motivated by the sight of our endeavour, the shovelling seems to have gone up a notch. It’s starting to look as if the two cleared parts of the ice, at first destined to host two separate games, will eventually meet.

Erik shows up and asks for my shovel by outstretching his hand and telling me to put on my skates. I walk off the rink and lace up.

I skate around a bit. A rhythm has formed: skate around a while, then skate towards one of the shovelers. He’ll give you the shovel with a nod, happy to skate around for a bit as you take his place digging in the snow.

This goes on for about 45 minutes. Skate, shovel. All in silence. In an unspoken ritual, a bunch of guys are claiming this space, this little piece of winter, to play.

The rink is cleared. By now there are maybe 12 guys, meeting at centre ice. The first words are exchanged. There are a few guys from the UK, one from France, one from NYC. And a bunch of Québécois pure laine.

We put all the sticks in the centre, and one of the guys separates them, half one one side, half on the other. The teams are formed.

The game gets under way. Some guys stumble, others fly. Still, we’re all in this together. Both sides score, but no one counts the points. Other guys appear, and we start to take shifts. 5 on 5, skate off to your side, another guy comes in.

This goes on for a couple of hours, some guys leave, others come. As I leave the ice, I wonder until when the game will go.

I put on my boots and they feel like soft, cushiony slippers. I am wet with sweat under my winter apparel. I feel good.

We live in Montreal. And this is how we spent our Saturday afternoon.