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Illustration by Drew Shannon
As a gramma, who played on the Banff girl’s hockey team 50 years ago, I finally got up the courage to play shinny with my eight-year-old grandson and his dad. I felt naked without the hockey padding but tightened my helmet and stepped onto the ice.
The puck ricocheted off the boards and the slap of the sticks echoed off the mountains.
“Gramma scored,” my son-in-law shouted.
“Of course she did.” My grandson tapped the ice with his stick. “She was on a hockey team a really long time ago.”
My heart melted.
Memories of playing hockey as a teenager kept me company as I fell asleep that night. In the mid 1970s two brave Banff High School teachers started our girl’s hockey team and enrolled us in the Minor Hockey League.
We had many obstacles to overcome before our first game: learning the rules (important); learning to skate on hockey skates instead of figure skates (challenging); the art of stick handling, passing without losing the puck and skating fast (equally challenging). Plus, there were no funds to buy team jackets. But that was only a minor setback. We knit white, yellow and blue striped toques with big pompoms for everyone on the team, even the coaches. Why those colours? The wool was on sale at Safeway.
Our first real game was against a team from Jasper.
They skated fast. They deeked and passed and zipped up and down the ice like super stars. And then our captain got slammed into the boards.
I stood in the box with my mouth open. My teammates wore similar expressions. Our coaches – speechless.
We all looked at the referee. He did nothing.
I watched our player lean against the boards to pull herself up. She looked a bit rattled. When my line went out, I assumed my position – left forward. Skate fast. Pass. Stay out of their way. That was my strategy.
I flew down the ice (it’s my memory, I can go as fast as I want). Just as I went to pass to a teammate, I felt a solid thunk. The next thing I knew, I was on my back looking at the overhead lighting. I rolled over, got up on my knees and blinked. And tried to get some air.
That hurt. A lot.
“It’s a long way from your heart,” Coach shouted. “Get up.”
Those were the exact words I needed to hear to stop the tears and get back in the game.
We lost 13 – 0. We should have been devastated but we weren’t. We were just thankful we could all still walk to the dressing room. No one talked much. Our coaches, bless them, tried to tell us how well we did. We all knew we hadn’t come remotely close to doing well.
Our next practices included checking.
A month later we played Jasper again. We lost 4-0 but we were all pretty jacked with how well we played. And they hadn’t thumped us this time – both physically or on the scoreboard. A proud loss.
Our final game against Jasper was at the Easter Tournament on our home ice. In the first period there was a battle of sticks in front of Jasper’s net. And then the red light went on.
We scored a goal!
It felt like the whole team scored that goal. And it was the only goal of the game. A shut out our coaches talked about for years. We were victorious.
Last month, my grandson played in the arena where we beat Jasper years ago. In one of the hallways at the facility is a wall of fame – framed pictures of Banff hockey teams over the decades.
My grandson asked, “Gramma, how come your team picture isn’t up on there?”
Well, that will never do.
I texted a friend of a friend who knew someone who might have a team picture of the Banff Girl’s Hockey Team from 1974 and 1975. She e-mailed it to me and I managed to get a decent copy of the picture. Off I went to have it blown up and framed.
Next issue – I needed to get the picture hung. Our coach still lived in Banff and since he was the town mayor for many years, I figured he might have some contacts.
I found Coach online, friended him and he accepted. What a great guy. I sent him a message about the picture and my hopes to have it hung on the wall of fame at the arena.
“I’ll get back to you,” he wrote.
Days later, he sent another message: “I will make it happen.”
I drove to Banff and dropped the picture off at his house. An hour later, on my return trip to Calgary, he messaged me: “The picture has been delivered and is on display. One of the first people to see it was an old classmate of yours.”
Sweet.
Now, I can’t wait for my grandson to have another game at the arena so I can walk down the hall of fame with him and show him our team picture. When stepping onto the ice wasn’t as wobbly for me as it is today.
Barbara Wackerle Baker lives in Calgary.