Coed game on homemade hockey rink makes the sweat fly

By MJ Henshaw

February 29, 2008 | CUTLER RESERVOIR -- It was a perfect day. A blanket of snow covering the ground glistens like diamonds. The Dodger-blue sky was so clear you could almost see through it. Each ray of sunlight seemed to spotlight a certain point on the earth below. Kevin Gunnell sees this as a perfect opportunity to play hockey with his friends.

"We always try to play outdoor hockey whenever we get a good day like today," Gunnell says. "This way we can enjoy the nice weather and still play hockey at the same time."

Cutler Reservoir is the place Gunnell has chosen to transform into an outdoor rink. It is located about 20 miles outside of Logan, in the town of Benson. Only dead trees and a bedspread of snow surround the silent frozen water.

Gunnell's truck breaks the silence as it cuts a path through the snow to where the ice begins. Gunnell and another young man emerge from the front doors, followed by two young women from the back seat. As they stretch their legs, the passengers gaze out upon the blanketed lake. Puffs of vapor escape their lips as they make their way around the back of the truck and begin to unload shovels, ice skates and hockey sticks.

Not long after the first truck pulls up, another silver truck flies in next to it, followed by a green Jeep, each filled with more young men and women. The back of the truck is filled with equipment including a mound of hockey sticks, and three boxes of unorganized black and white hockey skates. Staring into the skate boxes is like looking at a television set during a snowstorm.

The women stay back by the trucks, discussing which skates would fit them best, while the men grab shovels and head toward the frozen lake in a sea of calf-length snow. Each step the men take defaces the snow beneath them. The fresh-soft powder acts as a decoy to the six inches of ice underneath it.

The men, with shovels in hand, carefully step onto the ice and begin measuring out a playing area. Four of the men scatter to separate corners, with one foot taking the lead and the other dragging along behind it, drawing the boundary lines. They decide to only mark off a quarter of the ice for the game because it would take to long to shovel the entire thing.

The different lines form a rectangle, which marks where the remaining men need to start shoveling off the snow cover. With the help of all the men, it only takes 30 minutes to remove the snow from the ice field.

Some of the players have concerned looks on their faces as they approach the ice. One player, Amy Mann, who has never played ice hockey, decides to test the waters and walk onto the ice in her sneakers before taking the plunge of strapping on the ice skates. Her right foot is shaking as she slowly lifts it up out of the snow and onto the glasslike ice. Each step she takes seems to bring a different cracking noise deep below the surface.

"Don’t worry," she hears one of the men cry out from across the lake, "this ice is six inches deep you won't fall through."

Nervously, with hope filling her voice, she replies, "And even if I did, it's only three feet deep so it's not like I could drown or anything."

Gunnell, who is on the other side of the lake, chimes in to calm Mann's fears, "It may only be three feet of water, but if you get caught under the ice, it doesn't really matter how deep the water is."

The ice field is marked and the snow is cleared away from the ice. Three-foot plastic sleds, purple and red, are held upright by the snow on each side of the field to mark the goals. The players try to make the ice as smooth as possible, but chips and cracks remain throughout the ice and when you hit one, it feels as if you are skating on sand. The players, with sticks in hand, begin to etch their way to the center of the ice. Some of the inexperienced players are wearing jeans, heavy coats, hats and knitted gloves, while the experienced players are equipped with snow pants, light jackets or long sleeved shirts and heavily padded gloves.

Devin Smith, who has played hockey since he was 10, carefully explains how the teams will be divided. "In order to make the teams fair I need everybody to throw your stick in the middle of the ice, remembering which stick is yours. I am going to take your stick and throw it to one side of the ice or the other. Whatever side your stick ends up on is the team you're going to play with today."

The players anxiously throw their sticks down and watch as Smith goes to work. Every time a stick is thrown, the players part like a bad comb-over, trying to dodge the storm of sticks swirling around them.

Each player manages to find his or her stick and the game is ready to begin. Defending the purple goal will be a team of four men and one woman. Defending the red goal is a team of four men and two women. They all take turns subbing out for each other.

To the side of the ice field, a few of the women decide that playing hockey is about as appealing to them as going to the dentist and getting their teeth drilled. Instead they decide to entertain themselves by shoveling off their own rink and playing Kristi Yamaguchi while periodically checking on the hockey game to cheer on the best looking guy.

Gunnell skates to the center of the ice with a black puck in hand. Two men from opposing teams face each other with stone-cold looks on their faces. Gunnell looks at both men and asks, "Are you ready to play?" The two men look as if they are having a staring contest; their expressions don’t budge, but their heads barely move up and down, never losing eye contact, signaling that the games can begin.

Time seemed to slow down as the puck slowly falls to the ice. Like a car crash, the two men slam into each other, battling over which direction the puck should go. The purple team takes possession of the puck as they charge toward the other team.

The skates on the ice sound like multiple knives being sharpened. Soon the sound of panting is mixed with the sounds of shoulders colliding. Sudden bursts of speed are matched by waiting defenders and every few minutes a plastic sled falls back onto the snow by the force of the puck being shot at it.

As the game continues for the next hour, players begin to place their hands on their knees as they skate along, gasping for air. Some cling to the ice after being pushed down to enjoy the cool surface below. Most players peel off their hats and jackets to reveal sweat seeping through their shirts and dripping from their foreheads. Steam rises from the head of one well-conditioned player as he flies past the other players to try and keep the game going.

Suddenly a cry comes from one of the male players who decided to take a break in a fresh patch of untouched powder.

"Last goal wins!" he says. All the other exhausted players don't hesitate to agree.

The last face-off brings the puck onto the side of the purple team and into the possession of their best player, Smith. His skates sound like water being swished around in a bottle, as he maneuvers his way past the entire opposing team. He fakes out the last defender and puts all his might behind his final swing. The sound of the red plastic sled hitting the ice was all he needed to hear to begin his victory lap around the ice.

His teammates desperately try catching up to him and when they finally do all that is left of Smith is his feet dangled underneath a pile of rapturous players.

"Good game," cried Gunnell from the opposing team as they began to load the trucks back up. "I can’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon!"

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