Gimli Winterfest 2025: A Magical Celebration on Ice
- gear4greatness
- Mar 13, 2025
- 4 min read
Updated: Nov 17, 2025
🎉 Gimli Winterfest 2025: A Magical Celebration on Ice
There’s something about Gimli in February that hits me differently every time — maybe it’s the way the cold comes in off Lake Winnipeg like a slow breath, or maybe it’s the way the whole town seems to glow when Winterfest rolls around. ❄️✨ I’ve gone to enough winter events to know that most of them feel like quick stops, little pop-ups, here and gone. But Winterfest? It feels alive. I remember stepping out of the car, the crunch of fresh snow under my boots, the air sitting heavy with that perfect mix of cold and woodsmoke, and thinking, Yeah… this is exactly what winter is supposed to feel like. The shoreline was frozen solid, a giant sheet of shimmering white stretching out toward the horizon, and even before I pulled out my camera, I felt like I was already capturing something — that quiet sense of community you only get in small towns where everybody shows up just to be part of something bigger.
Walking through the festival felt like drifting from scene to scene in my own little movie. Skaters glided along the lakeside trail, their blades carving these soft, sweeping sounds into the ice while kids laughed and chased each other around in puffy snowsuits. I could hear the faint thumping of drums from one direction and the crackle of a bonfire from another, and every few steps someone handed me something warm — cocoa, marshmallows, a smile, a story. 🌄🔥 The Icelandic heritage pieces were some of my favorites. There’s something surreal about watching Viking reenactors stomping through the snow, axes glinting, fur cloaks shaking off little flecks of frost. It felt like Winterfest wasn’t just a celebration; it was a reminder of what this town stands on — history, strength, bright sparks of culture that refuse to fade even in the deepest cold.
I found myself pulling out my camera constantly, especially when the dog sleds passed through. There’s an energy in those dogs — pure, loud joy — and watching them sprint across the snow made me feel like a kid again. 🎥🐕🦺 Their breaths puffed into tiny clouds as they ran, their paws kicking up little waves of powder, and the kids watching from the sidelines were practically vibrating with excitement. Everywhere I turned, there was something worth capturing: snow sculptures carved with the kind of patience you only find in artists who love the cold, performers bundled up but still giving everything under the open sky, little groups huddled around bonfires telling stories that drifted through the air with the smoke. I remember holding my camera close, fingers numb, but feeling this little spark of warmth inside because moments like that make filming feel effortless.
By the end of the day, as the sun dipped behind the lake and the whole shoreline shifted into those soft winter blues and purples, I stood there for a minute just breathing it all in. The cold on my cheeks, the sound of skates, the faint smell of cocoa, the bright glow of the ice sculptures catching the last light — it all stayed with me. And that’s the thing about Winterfest: even if you go alone, you never feel alone. There’s this unspoken connection between everyone out there braving the same cold, sharing the same moments, celebrating not just winter, but the way winter brings people together.
Gimli Winterfest 2025: A Magical Celebration on Ice
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🌄 FINAL THOUGHTS
Every time I think back on that Winterfest day, I feel that same quiet warmth in my chest — the kind you get from standing around a bonfire with strangers who suddenly don’t feel like strangers. The whole event had this emotional pull, something that made winter feel less harsh and more alive. Maybe it was the glow of the fires, maybe it was the laughter floating across the lake, or maybe it was just me reconnecting with the side of winter that we sometimes forget to appreciate. ❄️💭✨
Being there reminded me how important it is to step outside the routine and let yourself be swallowed up by community energy for a while. Watching families skate, dogs pulling sleds across snow carved by the cold, sculptors shaping blocks of ice into living art — it taught me that winter creativity has a rhythm of its own. And filming all of it with my camera wasn’t about getting perfect shots; it was about capturing the feeling. The cold sting, the light bouncing off frozen surfaces, the breath that fogs up the lens for a second — these little moments are what make the footage feel honest.
Symbolically, Winterfest felt like standing inside a frozen heartbeat of Manitoba. The lake, wide and unmoving, becomes this giant stage where people gather not to escape winter, but to embrace it. The bonfires become stars. The ice becomes a canvas. The sound of laughter carries like wind across open space. You can feel time slow down in Gimli — like winter itself pauses to watch the celebration unfold. 🌄🔥
And maybe that’s why I keep thinking about going back every year — because some places don’t just host events, they hold memories in the air. Winterfest is one of those places.
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