A swimmer dives off a floating dock in the Ottawa River in Gatineau in July.Justin Tang/The Canadian Press
Dan Rubinstein’s latest book is Water Borne: A 1,200-Mile Paddleboarding Pilgrimage.
Entrance Bay, where the locks at the northern end of the Rideau Canal descend to the Ottawa River, is one of the most iconic places in the nation’s capital. Below the spires of Parliament Hill and across the river from the sweeping curves of the Canadian Museum of History, it played a central role in the timber trade that shaped this city. By the mid-1800s, the bay was often choked with sawdust, stressing the health of flora and fauna, humans included, and sparking the occasional methane explosion.
On a recent muggy afternoon, I cycled to Entrance Bay from my home in south Ottawa for a swim. The river is significantly cleaner than it used to be; other than after a heavy rain, it usually satisfies recreational water quality standards. But my dip was also prompted by a cultural change. I jumped into the river from the new East Wharf dock, part of the National Capital Region’s embrace of swimming and an international movement that is recalibrating our relationship to urban waterways.
The dock and tiered wooden seating area on Entrance Bay, which opened in mid-June, join a surge of new public swimming spots in Ottawa and Gatineau, Que. Along with a seasonal dock that was installed on an artificial lake on the canal in 2025, and a painstakingly restored century-old boathouse on the river east of downtown, there are now more than a dozen official free places to swim, including another dock that opened in front of the Museum of History in mid-July.
Swimmers jump in the Ottawa River at the launch event for the National Capital Commission's Canadian Museum of History Dock, in Gatineau, Que.Justin Tang/The Canadian Press
All of these projects were helmed by the National Capital Commission, the crown corporation that manages federal land in region. They embody one of three “big moves” in the agency’s core area plan: “turn towards the water.” Enhancing shorelines with water-oriented spaces and features, the marketing slogan proclaims, will create “cottage vibes, without the drive.”
Over the past couple decades, the NCC has successfully encouraged more and more people to walk, run and cycle along the paths and parks that verge local waterways. “Now that we’ve naturalized these rivers and reclaimed them from industry,” CEO Tobi Nussbaum told me, “we want residents and visitors to stop.”
Stopping doesn’t always involve swimming. People hang out in “blue space” in myriad ways, from paddling to picnicking. But research shows that any time we spend in, on or around water is generally good for our mental and physical health – especially for those at the lower end of the socio-economic spectrum, according to Mat White, an environmental psychologist at the University of Vienna.
Blue space also promotes a sense of stewardship toward the natural world and provides opportunities for social interaction across lines (race, class, age) that typically divide us. Makes sense: water is woven into our DNA, flowing through our bodies and communities.
Gatineau Mayor Maude Marquis-Bissonnette gives a high five as she swims in the Ottawa River, in July.Justin Tang/The Canadian Press
Swimming in a city – which is where most of us live these days – makes your relationship with water more intimate. And if access is equitable, urban waterways can contribute to livability, climate resilience and economic prosperity, according to Matthew Sykes, cofounder of the global Swimmable Cities alliance.
“For many years, we’ve been talking about walkable and cyclable cities,” said Mr. Sykes, who moved to Ottawa from Melbourne last December. “This is the next frontier in urban planning.
“By the end of the summer, I think people will have discovered that [the East Wharf dock] can be part of everyday urban life,” he added. “This transformation, from the impossible to the inevitable, is happening in cities around the world.”
Swimmable Cities was launched in 2024, before the Olympics in Paris, when swimmers returned to the Seine River en masse for the first time in 100 years. The organization now has more than 230 members in 115 cities and 37 countries, including municipal governments, NGOs and universities, working together to make it easier – and safer – to hop in close to home.
People cool off in the River Seine at the Baignade de Grenelle supervised swimming area, in July.DIMITAR DILKOFF/AFP/Getty Images
To Mr. Sykes, the international “gold standards” are Copenhagen and Zurich. The former is sprinkled with harbour baths; the latter has a lake and a river. In North America, innovative swimming projects are under way from New York City, where a plus-sign-shaped pool will be tested in the East River, to Vancouver, where a swimming deck on Burrard Inlet supported by private foundation funding will kick off a series of new structures.
Although Canada’s capital is at a “catalytic point” and a national trailblazer, Mr. Sykes said, swimming has yet to become mainstream here. “If you can have a dinner party and people don’t cringe when you talk about swimming in the Ottawa River, then we’ve got there.”
On the hottest day of last summer, my colleague Banu Örmeci and I went for a swim in the Rideau River, which drains into the Ottawa. Contravening a city bylaw, we jumped in from a public dock near Carleton University, where Ms. Örmeci is an environmental engineering researcher who specializes in wastewater treatment and I work as a writer in the communications department.
I was interviewing Ms. Örmeci for a story about swimming, and even though her lab was testing the water on that stretch of the river to show that it almost always meets pollution standards, I couldn’t convince any of my officemates to join us. They didn’t think that the Rideau was clean (yet probably wouldn’t think twice about an unmonitored lake in cottage country).
This anecdote is supported by an Ottawa Riverkeeper survey, in 2020, which reported that 92 per cent of respondents believe the Ottawa River makes life in the region better, but only 13 per cent consider it completely safe for adults to swim in.
People enjoy swimming and sunbathing on a hot day, in Copenhagen, Denmark, in 2019.RITZAU SCANPIX DENMARK/Reuters
Memories of industrial pollution and sewage flowing into urban waterways linger, said Ms. Örmeci, and perceptions of risk are difficult to change. “On a hot day, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” she said while treading water. “To me, it’s a quality of life and public health issue. We don’t always need fancy facilities. The number of places is more important.”
The NCC’s constellation of swimming spots is part of a broader effort “to build an inspiring capital,” said Mr. Nussbaum, and reflect a duty “to develop public spaces for everybody.”
There are several shallow, sandy beaches with lifeguards in Ottawa and Gatineau. The new docks are unsupervised and above deep water. “Let’s be responsible risk-takers,” said Mr. Nussbaum, mentioning the importance of learn-to-swim programs and “water literacy” to help overcome cultural and economic barriers. “We need to make tangible incremental improvements that people can see and touch, and it’s OK to talk about beauty when you talk about city planning.”
While three-storey River House is an elaborate mixed-use building, the swimming docks have low operating costs, don’t impose a downstream financial burden and can be moved to different places in the future if their initial locations aren’t working. And to extend the swimming season, the NCC plans to install a floating sauna at River House this fall, eyeing the thriving fjord-side sauna scene that has developed in the heart of Oslo.
For now, I’m content to cool off at the East Wharf dock, watching the clouds drift by and thinking about how much this river has changed.