Frigid floe flotilla floating with the flow
Let’s take a trip back to 1975 and the ice floe races along the Otonabee River
In March 1975, when we were young and foolish (we’re no longer young), my wife, Frances, and I thought it would be great fun to push an ice floe down the frigid Otonabee River.
Living in Dorval, Que., at the time, we belonged to the Montreal Aquadynes scuba club. Our club heard about the 11th Annual Ice Floe race, organized by the Trident Underwater Club in the faraway mythical land of Peterborough, and sent a 15-person team to compete.
The morning of the race was sunny and cold as we gathered at Lock 24. There were 374 divers competing from all over Ontario, plus New York state and us Quebecers. With everybody in their black wetsuits, it looked like a penguin convention.
The ice had been chainsawed into large blocks. Most teams, including ours, pushed their floe from behind, kicking with fins.
However, the Trent Air Force Base team rowed their floe downriver, drilling holes into the ice for their oarlocks and stroking with military precision at the commands of their coxswain. Their floe, sporting a green dragon’s head at the “bow,” almost sank under the rowers’ weight.
The Mad Vikings from London, Ont., had shields and each diver wore a horned helmet. One group had a big seagoing St. Bernard riding their floe. I’m convinced the cask at its neck contained hot gin toddy.
Us Aquadynes just focused on getting in, pushing our 20-foot-by-12foot slab of ice, and getting out as quickly as possible.
A word about wetsuits: they’re wet. They’re designed to let water in, trapping it between the quarterinch-thick neoprene rubber and your skin, where you will hopefully warm it up.
The water was 34 F that day (we weren’t on Celsius back then, which would have made it even colder), so it was quite a shock slipping into the Otonabee and having that frigid water enter our suits! Quite a few gasps and expletives — in both official languages — filled the air.
Frances was beside me as we kicked the two miles to the finish line at Lock 23. Married for less than a year, I’m sure she wondered if she had made the right decision and if divorces were cheaper in Ontario.
We kept our heads and shoulders out of the water as we kicked, riding the back of the ice propped up by our arms. We quickly realized the Otonabee had a fast current, and struggled to keep our floe from ramming the shore.
It took us 29 minutes to cover the distance. Reaching the finish was not enough. Racers had to exit the river, shuck fins and sprint to the actual finish line. The whole team had to reach that line.
With the finish line in sight, Frances announced that she could no longer feel her feet. As we exited the water, she discovered she couldn’t walk, much less run. With the clock still ticking, myself and another teammate carried her to the finish line.
To this day, the only ice she can tolerate is in her drinks.
Our team wasn’t the fastest, but we did finish. We even won the award for the team that had travelled the farthest to freeze their buns.
Ironically, 10 years later, we moved to Peterborough. We still participated in the annual ice floe race — by sitting warmly on the riverbank, sipping hot cocoa and cheering the teams as they floated by. Been there, done that.