I was bragging to my son-in-law the other day about how good the ice is at the Fuller Lake arena. He asked what made some ice better than other ice, and all I could think of was that the closer it is to natural outdoor ice (unmarred by early snow or ruined by a chinook), the better it is. I told him about the ice at the Hythe, Alberta, arena, which at one time, was natural and depended entirely on cold weather. Built in 1950, the Hythe Arena is apparently the oldest arena north of Edmonton, and it is chock full of character—especially when the bleachers are packed with screaming hockey fans.

Reminiscing about Hythe’s ice reminded me of one of my favourite stories about the place.

We were on the Flyers’ bus heading home from a game there against the Hythe Mustangs. I was sitting next to a pair of young fellows from Edmonton who were playing with us that year. Our goalie, and an old friend, Gary Ford, was sitting nearby. I don’t remember all the details but a conversation started when one of the young guys asked a question about the goal judge “perch” in the old rink. It wasn’t long before the bullshit was getting pretty deep.

The goal judge’s seat was unique because the rink’s end boards also formed part of the building’s south end wall, so there was no room for the goal judge to sit or stand at ice level. Instead, he or she had to climb a ladder and walk along a narrow catwalk to get to a seat that was basically right above the net. (It might have been the best vantage point any goal judge ever had!) That part is true. The rest isn’t.

Gary and I explained that the ladder and platform were a step up from the old days, when the goal judge would actually be strapped into a harness—much like a baby’s Jolly Jumper—and hoisted above the net using a rope and pulley system. The rope would then be tied off to a large cleat to secure the dangling judge in place. A “rink rat” (a boy who scraped ice and did odd jobs in exchange for free ice time) was tasked with raising and lowering the judge before and after each period.

This system worked well for a number of years, until the night the Mustangs won their first SPHL championship in the early 1960s.

The final game was an intense nail-biter that went into double overtime before Harold “Flukey” Kjemus scored the winning goal—into the net at the north end of the arena. The celebration was wild, with players and fans pouring onto the ice. At that time, the arena’s entrance, concession, lobby, and dressing rooms were all at the north end.

Meanwhile, Ernie—the goal judge at the south end—was still strapped into his harness, dangling above the net. Ernie was an unassuming, unmarried, quiet, and hard-of-hearing Hythe cowboy. It was bitterly cold that night, so he wore a knitted curling sweater, a heavy toque and his insulated chaps. 

Because it was so cold that March night the celebrations quickly moved from out on the ice to the much warmer lobby and dressing rooms at the north end. The forgetful rink rat on duty joined them.

When the happy and somewhat tipsy crowd finally left the arena later that night—from the north end—Ernie, whose voice was surely hoarse from yelling for assistance, was still hanging there.

Sadly, that playoff game was the last time the arena was used that winter. It sat empty as spring time arrived and the natural ice slowly melted into the gravel base.

Gary and I told the young fellows that Ernie had tragically perished and his decomposing body, chaps and all, were not found until it was time to put in new ice the next fall. 

Had they not seen the memorial plaque in the lobby??

Up to that point, I’m pretty sure they believed us. But when we added that, as a result of the tragedy, the CSA required that all new “Goal Judge Hangers” have an emergency release device, they started to get skeptical. They finally called bullshit when we claimed that another goal judge perished the next year, falling to his death after pulling the previously untried “emergency release” cord. As a result, the ladder and narrow catwalk were built the very next year.

(I don’t actually remember which parts of the “story” were mine and which were Gary’s, but I absolutely remember the fun and the laughing.)