Four-metre crepe-paper towers, constructed over months for a single night on Bay Street. The work is the reward — morning light turns them to confetti.
Shell Crown, Torch Yard, Brass Family — these aren't clubs, they're lineages. Grandfathers paste alongside grandchildren, and the craft passes through the hands.
Judges score choreography, costume detail, and sound — down to the cowbell pitch. Second place means you rebuild the entire float by next December.
Goatskin drums set the pace at 3 a.m. If your section falls behind the beat, the crowd knows. Precision lives in the muscle memory of ten thousand hours.