“Am I really doing this?” That was the thought running on repeat through my head as I gripped the rusted handrail of a century-old ferry, rocking in the wind. I wasn’t somewhere scenic like Santorini or Venice. No, this wasn’t any idyllic travel moment worth a curated Instagram carousel. I was crossing the St. Lawrence River in the dead of a Quebec winter—to attend a speed-dating event on an ice-fishing hut. Yes, you read that right. Love on the rocks… quite literally.
How did I, a Montreal native with no known affinity for freezing my face off, end up here? Excellent question. Let’s dive in.
When “Going Outside Your Comfort Zone” Gets Very Literal
Here’s the backstory: My best friend Sophie, eternal optimist and part-time chaos agent, discovered the event on some artsy local website. “It’s quirky!” she gushed, tossing a link into our group chat. “Think about it—speed dating AND ice fishing. It’s niche!”
Niche, indeed. But also horrifying. My idea of winter romance usually involves Netflix marathons under seven layers of blankets, not permafrost and strangers in flannels. Still, maybe Sophie had a point. I’d been feeling stuck in an endless dating loop—candlelit first dates that faded into ghost texts. If nothing else, this bizarre adventure would be a palate cleanser. So, armed with thermal socks and highly questionable optimism, I signed up.
Love at First Ice Hole? Let’s Not Get Our Hopes Up
The “venue” was a row of vibrantly colored shacks on the frozen river near Quebec City, each about the size of a walk-in closet, decked out with folding chairs, propane heaters, and tiny fishing holes in the floor. It was giving très chic arctic bachelor pad energy. Sort of.
I arrived, cheeks already numb from the wind, to find a dozen or so hopeful romantics clutching coffee thermoses. The crowd was surprisingly diverse: François, a software engineer who looked way too calm about balancing on solid ice; Isabelle, a plant mom who immediately warned me about cats who “don’t vibe” with partners; and adorably nervous Philippe, who smiled like someone on a first day of kindergarten.
The rules were simple—five minutes per “date,” then rotate to the next hut. The kicker? You had to bait your fishing line or clean up your awkward nibble-free catch while talking. Multitasking has never been my strong suit.
The Conversations Were… Frosty but Fun
Let me just say this upfront: Trying to flirt while squatting over an ice hole is not for the faint-hearted. There’s something about the smell of raw bait that makes witty banter feel like a Herculean task. Here's a highlight reel:
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Date #1: The Small Talk Avalanche
My first match, Jean-Pierre, jumped straight into the weather. “Sure is cold, eh?” Five minutes later, we were still debating the merits of long johns. Plot twist: There are no merits. -
Date #2: Nature Enthusiast or Just Too Committed to the Bit?
Next came Sarah, who had a set of custom rods and a terrifying level of enthusiasm for fish facts. Trying to impress her, I mentioned how my uncle once caught a 20-pound pike. Her expression screamed disinterest, like I’d just mansplained Game of Thrones. -
Date #3: The Surprisingly Warm Connection
By the time I met Guillaume, half my fingers were numb, and I was convinced my flirting abilities had permanently frozen. Yet Guillaume had a solid smile (and a killer parka) and gently teased me about my clumsy attempts to bait the line. We didn’t catch anything, but we bonded over a shared love of Coeur de Pirate’s sad, moody lyrics and argued over whether poutine qualifies as a first-date food (it does).
Honestly, I probably wouldn't have remembered Guillaume in any other setting. But when you're on solid ice, even the simplest connection feels electric—or maybe my toe warmers were malfunctioning.
Lessons From the Ice (About Dating, but Also Life)
By the time I trudged off the ice, visibly frostbitten, I hadn't found my soulmate—but I didn’t consider the evening a disaster either. I had leaned into the absurdity of it all, and surprisingly, it gave me some valuable perspective about dating (and myself). Here’s what I took away:
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Lean Into the Weird.
No one’s fantasy date involves fishing poles and nose icicles, but there’s a certain joy in surrendering to the offbeat. Predictability is overrated—whether it’s dinner at a trendy gastropub or your love life. -
Let Go of Self-Consciousness.
After five minutes wrestling with frozen bait on a slushy floor, your dignity evolves—or vanishes entirely. It’s oddly liberating. Getting vulnerable, whether through shared laughter or ridiculous circumstances, is where magic happens. -
Date the Moment, Not the Outcome.
Ice-fishing speed dating doesn’t guarantee your meet-cute. And that’s OK. Guillaume didn’t end up texting me—but I left feeling oddly hopeful. If I could survive five “dates” in a sub-zero shack, surely I can handle a bad Hinge connection or the occasional awkward dinner plan.
From Ice Hut to Heart
Would I do it again? I’ll admit, probably not. But in the days after, I caught myself thinking of the experience every time I passed slower, more traditional dates happening in Montreal cafes. Sure, they were warm and comfortable, but would they have swapped awkward fishing fails or shared uncontrollable laughter over frozen toes?
Sometimes, the craziest places we find ourselves—whether on a frozen river or in the middle of an equally cold dating streak—teach us the most. So, go ahead: book that weird event, say yes to that quirky date idea, or throw yourself into something messy and new. Worst-case scenario? You’ll leave with a funny story. Best case? You’ll open yourself up to connections as surprising and fresh as a breath of St. Lawrence winter air.
Take it from me: real warmth has a way of showing up when you least expect it—even in the iciest places.
