March 21st, 2026

I stop in my tracks. Ahead, a child lays in the snow - prone. Beneath that snow is ice, and somewhere below that is liquid water in its unseen winter stasis. But up here in the land of the breathing...is this kid breathing? Like a fish jumped from the water beneath and tired out after flopping around, they’ve settled into an eerie stillness between life and death.

The fish-y situation blocks my path. Yet, another person walks past without a second glance. Am I the only one seeing this? ...Should I poke it with a stick??

“Danny!” a voice calls out from the ether beyond my parka’s hood. That’s a strange name for a fish. Nevertheless, the spirit stirs, ambles to its feet, and totters off in a non-linear way - off towards the voice I still cannot identify.

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Ahhhh winter in Winnipeg. It’s a season that, dare I say, is underrated. A stone’s throw away from my home, the river trail is full of people who would agree - though I’m not sure Danny would be one of them.

When the river freezes, it comes to life as an active transportation corridor. Pedestrians, skaters, skiers, cyclists...we all emerge from our holes to commute and play, no pavement or combustion required. Instead, it’s a return to the original highways - the waterways.

I relish every moment of it. I recommend it to all my friends abroad. And apparently, I also write newsletters about it.

Still, the cold makes people hesitate. So let me offer some encouragement in a couple of ways. First: there’s no such thing as bad weather when you have the right clothing. And second: let me introduce you to my neighbourhood, where I’m a wholehearted four-season Winnipegger.

Careful slipping down the bank as you follow me onto the ice, dear reader. River access requires a bit of care.

You’ve never walked on water, you say? Ahh, well welcome to the realm of prophets and chionophiles.

Our first stop is a culvert. Be wary! For the freeze around it is thinned by a trickle of water. But stop and listen for a moment...do you hear it? Chewing - LOUD chewing - comes from the dark within it. No no, it’s not a monster from the childhood documentary Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles that raised us. It’s...ahh, there he is! The resident burrowing beaver emerges and saunters up the riverbank to get a woody snack.

Onwards. We round a big bend, lit apartments rise up on one side while dark residential skies lie on the other. Again, listen! The rolling hoot of an owl comes from the darkness, conversing with an echo of itself off the far buildings. That’s our resident barred owl.

Oh! And look who’s coming right up the trail in front of us!! This is Gordie; a black lab who walks his owner 8 km every day at sunset. He casts us backward looks for scritches as we sidle in for a bit of his walk.

And then there’s the light. Lift your eyes and notice the magical character it takes on at -30 degrees Celsius...a crystal clarity, a pastel hue. Sun dogs chase the day in a low arc across the southern horizon, and aurora dance on the night’s dark stage to the north.

And the sound. The snow muffles the city’s din, drawing attention firmly to one’s feet on the ground. The crunch under boots...with a little practice, you’ll soon be able to ballpark the temperature out here based on its texture.

And, of course, the people! “Be bold, start cold,” they say. And “they” are the folks you pass in fellow layer-upon-layer-upon-layer outfits, offering easy smiles and waves in ecstatic comraderie.

This is my neighbourhood. Sure, it’s cold. But what else?

There’s a lot to be enjoyed in the what else.

I stand by my statement that winter is a great time to visit Winnipeg. And if you do take the bait, I’ll be the big bearded guy giving you a wave with a smile that the cold just can’t wipe off my face.

Cheers,
David