It started with a birthday party. No business plan. No investor pitch. No grand opening strategy. Just one throw — and someone saying,
“You’re really good at this, you should join league.”
Ten years later, that one throw has turned into Live Edge Axe Throwing — one of Calgary’s most community-driven, heart-forward spaces where competition meets connection, and where an 85-year-old can hit a bullseye right alongside a first-timer who swore they’d never even touch an axe.
Nick Kolomyja didn’t set out to become a business owner. At the time, he was a welder working 12-hour days, 21 days straight. Burnt out. Not a “people person.” But after joining his first axe league, everything changed.
“These are my people,” he realized.
That’s the thing about axe throwing — the axes might be the hook, but the people are what keep you coming back. Before opening Live Edge, he traveled to venues across the U.S., competing in tournaments and studying the experience.
What he noticed wasn’t all bad — but so many times it wasn’t personal. Groups would come in, be handed an axe, receive a quick explanation, and then be left to figure it out. You could see the frustration when axes dropped. And that never sat right.
“No matter what language you speak,” he says, “that’s human connection.”
So even before he owned a venue, he’d walk over to strangers mid-event and gently say, “Hey — step back a bit. You’ve got this.” Then they’d stick their first bullseye. And everything changed.
That moment — that shift from doubt to confidence — is what Live Edge was built around. Yes, it can be competitive if you want it to be. The owner has placed second in the world. Twice. He’s one throw away from a world title and heading back again this year with that fire still driving him. But when you ask about his most unforgettable throw, he doesn’t talk about the near-championship.
He talks about Grandma. A family visiting Calgary from China came in to experience a fun “Canadian” activity — grandma included. She was interested but unsure. Dropping throws. With the help of an interpreter (and a lot of exaggerated hand gestures), he coached her on foot placement and grip.
She adjusted.
She threw.
Bullseye.
She lit up. Turned. Nodded. Walked back to her cheering family like she was ten feet tall. “No matter what language you speak,” he says, “that’s human connection.”
That’s Live Edge.
It’s also a place where newlyweds show up in full wedding attire because they wanted to do something fun and different after their ceremony. And then the whole league cheered them on and pitched in to cover their night. Where league members chase perfect games for years and finally land them. Where over 100 unique throwers played over the competitive season — one of the largest leagues in Canada.
It’s a place that started in a garage during COVID. Before the storefront, before the leagues, before the tournaments — there was a sanctioned garage setup that saw every single participant qualify for spots at the World Championship that season. The original boards from the garage? They’re still mounted in the venue today.
This isn’t a flashy, neon-light, projection-heavy, entertainment factory.
It’s handcrafted. Literally.
He built it himself.
And you feel that when you walk in.
“Hey — step back a bit. You’ve got this.”
“We’re not here to be automated. We’re here to do it the way it should be done.”
There’s no ego at the line. The target doesn’t care who you are. The axe doesn’t care what you look like. Big, small, young, old — the line on the ground treats everyone the same.
If it sticks, it sticks.
If it doesn’t, you throw again.
That’s it.
And for anyone nervous to try? “Everyone’s nervous. You’re not special,” Nick laughs. “When you learned to walk, you fell down a lot. You just get back up.”
There’s something powerful about that mindset — especially in a city like Calgary. Diverse. Open. Welcoming.
Live Edge reflects that same spirit. It’s not about being the best thrower in the room. It’s about feeling like you belong in the room. And sometimes, you walk in thinking you’re just trying something different for fun…
And you walk out feeling ten feet tall.
Just ask Grandma.
