Spirits of Canadian Hockey Rinks

It doesn't get more Canadian than a look at a Zamboni driver's job. Practicing my journalism was never funner than when riding along before a hockey practice. Despite length, does this flow well? Do enjoy!

If you wander down to the lockers at SAIT's ice arena, you'll find Mark with feet up, doing his computer engineering homework. The heater underneath hums as it fights the ever-present chill.

Mark, a good natured native Calgarian, would love nothing better than to smooth ice down during a Calgary Flames Stanley Cup final game at the Saddledome.

Daydreaming is hard to do over din of constantly clanking pucks echoing down the hallway.

"Oh that? You get used to it after a while." Mark notes. "It's only when you're walking by and a puck hits right at the head on other side of the glass."

One of the great Canadian jobs is in hockey rinks with a rarely seen Zamboni driver who practices for years to create a perfect ice surface.

Intuition is a must to know front corners that are barely visible akin to backing up a minivan into a narrow alley.

There is a mix of precise driving, physics and almost art form in flooding a sheet of ice before a game.

The ice has to be cold enough for a full-house of screaming fans. An arena, with huge generator and radiator circulating to the roof, constantly hums to keep the air the proper temperature.

That same intuition develops with practice to drive slower or speed up to spread a level and consistent flooding of hot water; which seeps down more effectively to fuse layers of ice and fills in scrapes and dents.

"The coaches care. They just want a fair game on the best surface possible," says Mark.

Mark shows off the claws of the beast in a wicked set of razor-sharp blades on the back of the Zamboni that looks familiar to augers on farm equipment.

"Those will clean take your finger off, no problem." Mark says. "I heard a lot of nasty stories about guys who weren't paying attention."

Could well be an old truck engine and business end of a tractor plow. Sixty years ago, a farmer knew there was an easier way to re-flood the ice for his kids' hockey games.

He invented a vehicle that would flood and level the ice. His name was Frank J. Zamboni.

Essentially, the Zamboni is a Ford truck frame, four cylinder engine, and studded wheels. Heavy leaf-spring suspension supports a hot water tank and white bucket holding scraped ice. Hydraulics of a miniature dump truck unloads the ice bucket into a grilled pit below the parking spot.

"It's big enough to shove Troy in the bucket, that's for sure," says Mark, of the Trojan mascot, whose childish antics and big pawed pats are tiresome after a while.

Despite its 10/km per hour speed, there is almost a thrill of whizzing around the ice; the feeling of a four year old at the midway of our national past-time game.

It's as close as mere mortals will get to the surface of a local hockey rink where legends are born.

"I remember the first time is exciting kind of like a Disney ride, but without the line-up," recalls Mark, “but now it’s just another day on the job.”

He clanks the deadbolts on the double doors to the rink to signal to a pair of local teams playing that their 75 minutes time slot is up. A few Trojans hockey players are already dressed for practice and waiting for the Zamboni to do its circuit.

Beer leaguers are messier to mop up after.

"Those boys get a bit frustrated and scrappy, so there's a fair amount of blood left on the ice from those games," says Mark.

In the college league, Mount Royal and SAIT have a close rivalry that sometimes bursts into fighting to leave some blood on the ice. "I look down and yup, there's a blood patch alright."

Perched up on a high seat next to roaring muffler with steady scraping of blades, Mark smoothly turns the steering wheel with soft, practiced hands -- glancing back like a navigator at the helm watching a ship's arrow-straight wake.

In a way, it is like a boat upon a frozen sea, going from rough patches everywhere to a perfect sheen of glistening slippery ice in a matter of seconds as the Zamboni glides along.

"You could go back if the ice wasn't good enough, but I never do; it's just not efficient," says Mark.

With only fifteen minutes between periods, ten minutes is taken up by driving around and the nets still need to be moved back into place.

Of the jobs Mark has had, driving a Zamboni has been by far the best. After finishing high school four years, he applied at the local rink where he played hockey and found it to be fun.

He refined his technique at the Olympic Arena at UofC where smoothing the ice is practically an art form.

However, another art form is developing a pair of ice feet.

Jogging or full out running on sheer ice would seem crazy to most, yet rink rats do it with relative grace.

"Fortunately, I only fell a few times at first when nobody was around," Mark says with a grin. "You know the point where you start to fall? Don't stomp down or flail; just keep running forward."

Another idiosyncrasy of Zamboni drivers is belief of the spirits of the rink.

"Don't think I'm crazy for saying this, but sometimes, after everybody gone home,” Mark glances up, “you think you seen something move up in the shadows."

Some of the older rink drivers swear adamantly that spirits are present in the arenas.
Arenas built just after WWII tends to creak more and maybe it is only the pipes cooling and settling. Maybe it's not.

There is also the effect playing upon the eyes after staring at the bright ice to up where the shadows creep into the bleachers.

"Sometimes I'll glance up and out of the corner of the eye, it seems like someone is up at the windows,” says Mark in the chilly air, “then, when I look back up the shape is gone."

Whether it is illusions or spirits of hockey players past, the rink has a mystical atmosphere as people settle in to watch the great Canadian game.

"The puck drops. Players dash and skates a-flash, in the good ol'hockey game, the best game you can name," as Stomping Tom O'Conner rightfully sings.

And Mark will driving and waving to his own fans of children, among them, might be one who’s heart is set on to carry on a unique Canadian tradition.