When the Lights go Out, it's just Another Winter Day in Atlantic Canada

Living in Atlantic Canada comes with its unique challenges.  Don't get me wrong, it comes with a lot of perks too. Incredible summers, a laid-back lifestyle, long stretches of sandy beaches, stunning scenery and a way of life like no other anywhere else in the world.  But there's the weather to contend with. The horrible weather that strikes between late September when those tropical storms and hurricanes barrel up the coast and between the months of January and March when we get dumped on with relentless snow, freezing rain and unforgiving winds. As if shoveling snow, navigating a landscape blanketed in a coating of ice or dealing with flooded basements isn't enough, there's the power outages.  I'm not just talking power outages that last a few hours, I'm talking widespread blackouts that leave tens of thousands in the dark and cold for days, sometimes even a week, at a time. 

It's not so bad when it happens in the Fall when the temperatures are above zero. It's downright dangerous when it happens in February as it did recently in Nova Scotia during a severe ice storm.  Yes, for those of you who are not familiar with the weather here, not only does snow and rain fall from the sky, ice does too. And boy, does it do a lot of damage.  Besides coating roads and structures with ice, it coats the power lines and trees with it too. You might look at a picture of this phenomenon we call Silver Thaw and think "wow, that's so pretty the way the tree branches glisten in the sun like that!"  Yeah, pretty alright. Until one of those heavy branches falls onto a power line and knocks it to the ground, plunging everyone on that grid into darkness. 

When news spread that a massive freezing rain storm was headed my way, I wasn't overly concerned. We get a lot of these storms. I'm used to them. In the back of my mind, I knew that a power outage was likely but I felt prepared despite the annoyance it would cause. I didn't realize at that time how much trouble a few hours without power could cause.  That's because it ended up being more than a few hours.  It ended up being four days. 

The day started off like any other February day in this corner of the world.  Cold and damp but with an eerie "calm before the storm" feeling in the air. The winds came up first. Then came the rain. That rain soon turned to a freeing rain that continued for about 48 hours. I lost my electricity around the fifth hour. That evening, it was still gone. Doable as long as the power company was correct and it would be back by the next morning. My fridge was still cold, the temperature in my apartment still livable as long as I kept my winter thermal gear on.  I was managing just fine with candles and flashlights. I sat in the dark watching cars go by on my darkened street.  One car.  Two cars.  Three cars.  100 cars. Wait, did I already see that car 4 times?  It occurred to me that, despite the high price of gas, many people were taking to their cars to get warm and charge their phones. At 1.50 a liter, I wasn't that desperate yet. 

 At around midnight, I tossed two thermal sleeping bags over my bed and crawled in for the long night ahead. Surprisingly, I fell asleep fairly quickly.  When I awoke, the power was still out. And by this time, the power company was saying it wouldn't be back until the next day. That caused some panic.  My first instinct was to save my precious food. With the cost of food these days, who can afford to toss out a fridge full!  I gathered up all my perishables and put them in the car where it was colder for the time being. Breakfast was out of the question. A granola bar for the road. I gathered up a toothbrush and change of clothes and headed for Dad's. 

Dad's power was out too. MacDonald's breakfast it was. MacDonald's had no power either. The mile-long lineup at the Tim Horton's drive-thru meant they had power as long as it didn't go out before we got to the window. We made it. I don't usually eat greasy breakfast sandwiches and sugary donuts but that morning, it hit the spot. 

Dad's power was back on by the time we got back. A drive-by of my neighborhood determined mine was not. Not happy with my day's routine thrown out the window and the inconveniences that come with not having power (the worry of pipes freezing), I retreated to the warmth of Dad's for the day and watched never-ending coverage of Covid-19, Freedom Truckers and the tension building up between Russia and Ukraine. By nightfall, my neighborhood was still in darkness.  I made the decision that it was too cold to stay there that night. I returned home to retrieve more of my belongings and was greeted with a scary surprise. 

 As I walked to my door, I could hear a beeping noise coming from somewhere in the darkness.  As I opened my door, I realized it was coming from inside my apartment. It took a second to realize it was my carbon monoxide detectors going off. If it had just been one going off, I would have thought perhaps the cold was affecting the batteries and triggering a false alarm. But it was two. And they were both doing the universal four quick beeps with a short pause which is the alarm indicating that there's carbon monoxide in the air and to get outdoors and call 911.  My first thought was to alert the other residents on the other side of the house. After frantic knocking, they finally came to the door. They had a gas stove going which I assumed was the cause. The alarms did not sound after the stove was turned off but I was glad I was staying at dad's that night.  It would be warm and I'd have the peace of mind in case there was danger present. 

I still felt uneasy when I returned home the next morning to check on things but everything seemed fine and the alarms weren't going off. The power company updated the date my service would return; the next evening at 11 PM. I gathered up more provisions and headed back to Dad's. 

That evening when I returned to check on things, I noticed that a mildewy smell was starting to set in.  By this time, it was so cold and damp in my apartment that I could see my breath.  The power company was now saying the power might not be back at 11 PM the next evening but the afternoon on the following day. They ran into unforeseen issues. I was losing my patience. 

After four long days, the lights came back on, the furnace kicked in and I was able to return home.  And yes, I shake my head and wonder why I go through this year after year for the last 41 years. You're probably wondering why anyone would choose to stay in a climate like this when there are so many other places to live that aren't buried in snow or covered in ice for half the year. Cape Breton summer, that's why! I endure this every winter because I know a Cape Breton summer awaits after the long cold and darkness.  If you've never experienced a Cape Breton summer, you should.  And maybe you'll never leave once you experience those long hot days by the sea and warm summer nights that are like none other I've experienced anywhere else. But you better have some long johns, some patience and some thick skin!

You Never Know What You'll Find on Cape Breton's Beaches

Beachcombing is a favourite activity of mine and there's no better place to indulge in this hobby than on the long, weather-battered beaches of Cape Breton.  I've found many interesting items over the years, the most interesting being a piece of an old ship that washed ashore at Dominion Beach in a big storm.

While looking out my window one evening, I spotted a blinking green light on the beach across the bay.  Unable to identify it from my house and being driven crazy wondering what the source of the light was, I trekked along the beach one night to the spot where the blinking was coming from.  It was a buoy that had come lose in a storm and washed up onto the dunes.

Almost anything I find on the beach serves a purpose.  Whether it be an old lobster trap that's turned into a makeshift seat from which to watch a beautiful sunset or a giant seashell used as a soap dish.  Many people make crafts with the treasures they find on the beach.  If anything, the often misplaced items found on the island's beaches make great subjects for photos.

An old lobster trap is the perfect subject in this photo.

Some people like to do interesting things with rocks at the beach.

I came across this piece of an old ship washed ashore after a storm at Dominion Beach.

Not doing a Whole lot of Snowshoeing but I did Find a Shipwreck

So summer is long gone and winter is almost over here in Cape Breton.  Usually winter seems to drag on but since we didn't have a particularly bad one, it flew by quite quick.  I think I only shoveled three times.  We did, however, have a lengthy cold spell with temperatures going into the minus teens for a few weeks.  Occasionally, we got a break from that extreme cold to enjoy a few hours of above zero temperatures only for it to freeze over again and provide us with a lovely (and dangerous) coating of ice.

So what's new in my world?  Well, I will be writing a new column for my local newspaper with the first article being published this Saturday, which also happens to be my birthday!  It's a column focusing on the past, present and future of my local community.  I have lots of ideas but I'm also hoping the people of New Waterford and area will contact me with some ideas.  So if you live in the area and have a business or event you would like to promote, I'd be glad to write about it.

Another very interesting thing happened back in November.  A monster storm caused massive damage to Dominion Beach (again).  I didn't want to see the damage but I had to know just how bad it was.  It was bad.  Debris everywhere, sand dunes flattened, the boardwalk severely damaged.  I walked the entire length of the beach that day like I always do.  It was hard walking with the debris everywhere but I slowly made my way down the beach where I found something that had washed ashore in the storm.  I later found out it was a piece of a very old ship.  The brass nails are an indication that it is quite old and the shape of the wood matches that of an old ship.  I sent some pictures off the a couple of local museums and someone should be out to look at it in the spring.  It's currently covered in ice and snow but still visible. This winter, I also spotted more seals on the beach than usual and the foxes and eagles are still around, seemingly unbothered by the changes to their beach.

So besides a sick cat and an idea for a new blog project, not much else is new.  I've doing a lot of writing and working on creative projects instead of spending time outdoors as it's too icy to be walking most of the time.  The lack of snow certainly makes it hard to do any snowshoeing! 





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Have You Ever Found Yourself in the Path of a Hurricane?

The Atlantic hurricane season is from June 1 through November 30 and the last few years were quite active with many powerful storms forming and sending bad weather to the east coast of Canada. Until recently, it was rare for full-fledge tropical storms or category 1 or 2 hurricanes to hit Nova Scotia and Newfoundland but warming ocean temperatures means storms are getting more powerful and they tend to gain strength rather than loose steam like they used to when they barreled up the coast. Fortunately, the 2013 hurricane season has not produced many storms and none of the ones that have formed have had any dramatic effect on eastern Canada…yet.

September 20th, 2010 started out much like any other day but word started to spread quickly that a strong category 4 hurricane that had formed earlier that week was headed straight for Newfoundland and was going to hit dead on as a tropical storm. Later that day, the warnings went up and the city got busy preparing for the worse; the storm had picked up strength and was headed straight for Newfoundland as a Category 1 hurricane. I remained unconcerned as many thought the storm would most likely head out to sea like all the rest. But the next morning when I stepped outside and was greeted with an eerie calm and a purplish tint to the sky like none I had ever seen before, I knew we were in for a wild ride. September 21st, 2010, a day I will never forget. That was the day hurricane Igor hit Newfoundland.

Until the very last minute, I admit, I didn’t take the warnings seriously. Big storms have hit Newfoundland before. The year I moved to St. John’s the city experienced a record-breaking winter that saw 21 feet of snow fall over 5 months and many other blizzards and tropical storms had hit in the years following so I was used to harsh weather. However, when the storm was upgraded from tropical storm to Category 1 hurricane, I started to worry a little. The forecast for that day and into the night was severe; 140 km winds, 200 mm of rain and meter-high storm surges. I charged my phone, found some extra batteries, flashlights and candles, made sure I had some non-perishable food items at the ready and prepared for the worse. My apartment was located on the corner of Bond and Prescott right downtown, close to the harbor and in what came to be known by residents on that corner as a wind tunnel. During winter storms, it seemed that that particular corner gathered a lot of snow and experienced very heavy winds and I assumed this storm would be no different.

I can’t remember now what time it was when the weather started to pick up but I think it was somewhere around late-morning to mid-afternoon. To me it seemed like any other miserable windy, rainy day in St. John’s. My internet remained connected and although the power did flicker a few times, it did not go out. I continued with my daily tasks around the apartment, taking a break to check on the situation outside from time to time. It didn’t seem windy where I was located but I could see some debris blowing around on the street below and the occasional person struggling to walk up the hill. Other than that, it still just seemed like any other stormy day in Newfoundland. When darkness fell, I noticed that some people had lost their power. As the evening went on, more and more lights went out until my house and the other three houses on my corner were the only ones who still had power. Still, I was not convinced that this was a bad storm. St. John’s experiences power outages all the time during storms and I was prepared for mine to go too. I spoke with my family back in Nova Scotia who were concerned about the storm that was said to be battering us in St. John’s and assured them that all was well, the storm was obviously not as bad as everyone was saying it was. At least not from my point of view. It wasn’t until I left home that evening to join a friend for a drive around the city that I saw the real destruction that had been occurring while I thought the storm had mostly gone out to sea.

Igor hit Newfoundland as a strong category 1 hurricane after many thought it would just brush the island and went down in history as one of the most powerful storms ever to hit the island. The devastation was tremendous. While I sat in my protective bubble on the corner of Bond and Prescott, many parts of the island, including the capital city were in a state of emergency. To this day, I don’t know why my particular corner remained untouched when just a few hundred meters away from my doorstep, century-old trees were toppled, streets were flooded and impassable and homes and cars were damaged. As my friend and I drove those dark, deserted streets that night, announcers on every radio station were warning people to stay home. Shops were in darkness, police and first responders were everywhere, debris was scattered across yards and roads and traffic lights were not working, making every intersection in the city dangerous to cross. Sirens could be heard non-stop. The city was in total chaos.

My power never did go out. It remained on the entire time while some of my neighbors and friends from all over the city were without power for almost a week. Some restaurants managed to open with the help of generators but with limited services and most shops remained closed for days. Many people I know sustained major damage to their homes and properties. Newfoundlanders are tough and are used to bad storms. I lived in St. John’s for ten years and had seen blizzards like none I had ever witnessed back home in Nova Scotia but the city never shut down and the army never had to be called until Igor hit.

What was ironic about the timing of this storm was it was only mere weeks from the time I planned to move from the province. I had lost my job and planned to start over again in Nova Scotia or wherever any future employment brought me. My time in Newfoundland certainly did end with a bang. The remnants of Igor stuck around right until it was time for me to leave for good. When it was all said and done, one man had lost his life when his driveway collapsed and he was swept to sea and countless others were left with homes that were in ruins. Some communities were cut off from the outside world for weeks due to washed out bridges and homeowners filed for more than 65 million dollars in damages within the first two weeks after the storm hit.

Just a little over three years later, some communities are still trying to pick up the pieces left shattered in Igor’s wake but, in true Newfoundland style, the people remained strong, communities came together and no one was left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives alone. Homes may have been broken, cars may have been swept away in floods, belongings lost in a sea of debris…but the spirit of the people remained intact like it always has and always will. While looting and chaos seems to be common when a natural disaster of this magnitude takes place in other larger cities on the mainland, I heard of no such things going on in the days following Igor. What I witnessed was people coming together to help their fellow neighbors, all the while, keeping that positive and humorous demeanor that Newfoundlanders are known for. I was not born in Newfoundland and my Newfoundland friends tease me about never being able to become a true Newfoundlander because I was born on the mainland but witnessing how the people came together after such a devastating event made me proud to have been able to call The Rock my home for 11 years.

Cave Hunting in Lingan, Nova Scotia

I am fortunate enough to have grown up in a rural area of Cape Breton that allowed me to pursue many memorable childhood adventures. I can barely recall staying indoors playing with dolls or watching television but I do remember days spent exploring the woods behind my house, scouring the beach for lost treasures, digging in the gravel pits behind the ball field looking for dinosaur bones, scaling cliffs along the shore, playing spotlight at night with no boundaries and riding my bike into town to explore the back roads and alleys and hiding in the bushes near the park to avoid the curfew whistle that went off every night at 8:30 which we were led to believe by our parents meant we had to be home or the police would round us up. One adventure in particular was a day spent looking for a cave that was said to be located in an area further down the beach that was on private property owned by Nova Scotia Power. Being the adventurous (and maybe a bit mischievous) kid that I was, I rounded up a group of neighborhood friends and we set off on Labour Day when we knew there would be no one at work that day and did what we did best; walked the length of the beach until there was nothing more to do but trudge through knee-deep water, climb a few cliffs, crawl under a metal fence and continue to crawl over some large tanks (crawling to avoid any security cameras picking us up) and over some more large boulders and down another cliff until we found what we were looking for. The only thing was, during the time it took us to get there, the tide had come up and the cave was submerged in water.

Almost 25 years to-the-day later, the idea of finding that cave returned to the forefront of my mind after hearing other people in the area talking about it. After carefully studying the tides and the long range forecast, I picked a day and set out in search of that long-forgotten about cave I tried to find so many years before.

I calculated that 2:00 pm would be the best time to leave the house and reach the cave at a time when the tide was at its lowest. I made the same journey over the beach, up and down cliffs, through knee-deep water and up onto the large tanks that had the fence we had had to crawl under. The hole was still in the fence and, although the area was still owned by Nova Scotia Power and it would technically be trespassing, it was no longer under surveillance in that particular area and there were no signs telling me to keep out. I personally believe that no one has the right to block access to any natural wonders of this planet; they should be accessible for everyone to see. Blocking access to this cave is likened to the newcomers to the area who think they can build a mansion on a beach and than deem the beach private property so no one else can enjoy it when in fact, in the province of Nova Scotia, you can build a house on a beach but it is illegal to deem it private property. Beaches are public property. The hole in the fence was much smaller than I remembered or maybe it was that I was much bigger. A few scrapes and bruises later, I made it to the other side and down the last cliff to round the bend where the cave is located.

I was right, the cave was there just as I remembered except this time, it was not flooded with water. I was able to walk right in, explore the various little nooks and crannies that were tucked away within the main part of the cave, took some pictures of the inside and the view of the surrounding area from the opening and read the writings that various cave explorers had left on the walls over the years (not that most of this writing was what you would expect from cave explorers...more like the writing of teenagers who obviously used the well-hidden cave as a hideout for their Saturday night drinking binges).

As the tide started to rise and water started to, once again, flood the cave, I made my way back up the cliffs and down to the beach just as a fierce thunder storm rolled in and a torrential downpour ensued. Just another day...and another adventure knocked off my list!

The Perfect Smoothie and the True Meaning of Pura Vida

By this point, you may be wondering many things about Costa Rica including how big is Costa Rica, where is Costa Rica and what language is spoken in Costa Rica. Well, Costa Rica is fairly small, it's located in Central America between Nicaragua and Panama and Spanish is the official language. If you are wondering where to stay in Costa Rica, by this point in my trip, I would definitely recommend Montezuma.  If it ever crossed your mind to visit Costa Rica, I'm sure you're familiar with what is Costa Rica known for...and Montezuma has it all.  Rainforest, nature, yoga, surfing, spectacular coastline, beautiful sunsets, delicious food, vibrant culture.  It's all here.  

By my fourth day in Montezuma, it felt like I had been there forever. My job and daily chores back home didn’t even cross my mind since I arrived. I forgot I even had a job to go back to. Sadly, my cat, Captain Jack, who I left behind with a friend, had probably stopped eating and was hiding underneath the covers in my bed like he usually does when I go away (he has severe separation anxiety due to an unfortunate event that occurred a few years ago when I had to leave him behind with a friend for almost a year) while I had forgotten I had a cat back home. This particular morning had me thinking about my life back in Cape Breton long enough to make a few phone calls to let everyone know I was still alive and to make sure my cat was at least responding to the occasional Temptations treat.

There wasn’t much going on at Anamaya that day and I didn’t want to just spend the day by the pool so I took an early morning walk into town and spent the day exploring the little streets and enjoying the beach. It was probably the hottest day in Montezuma since I arrived and the walk down that hill was torture. I made it half way down and a young man on a motorbike stopped to ask me if I wanted a ride. I don’t usually take rides alone with strangers but there were people everywhere and there were only two places he could take me; back to Anamaya or into the town of Montezuma. I honestly didn’t think I was going to make it any further without collapsing right there and than in the sun so I took him up on his offer and a few minutes later, I was dropped off at the beach and with a wave and a friendly “Buenos Dias”, he sped off in the original direction he was headed.

Since I was practically on the beach already, I plopped myself down in the sand in a shaded area and relaxed. A storm had passed near Montezuma the previous night and the water was very rough. I attempted to go for a swim but the waves were just too powerful and the undertow too dangerous. Some brave surfers had managed to get past the rough breakwater and were trying to catch some big waves dangerously close to some jagged rocks. I thought this was incredibly stupid but they seemed to know what they were doing and provided me with some entertainment for the afternoon.

By late-morning, the heat was really getting to me and I was starting to feel dehydrated. I wanted a refreshing fruit smoothie but didn’t want to pay 7 dollars for it. So off I went, up and down those little streets, in search of a reasonable priced smoothie. Tucked away in the shade under some trees at the end of one of the main roads heading back towards Anamaya, I noticed an interestingly decorated, outdoor smoothie bar. A free-spirited and friendly young man was eager to take on the challenge of making me up something not-too-sweet and refreshing. It seemed like it took forever for him to make it as he carefully thought out each and every ingredient he put into it and made sure it was mixed to perfection by even allowing me to taste it at various points to see if it was mixed enough. For the small price of 3 dollars, I received a delicious green-colored smoothie (I can’t remember exactly what was in it but I do remember something about Ginger) in a massive glass. I stayed at the bar, took a seat and struck up a lively and very interesting conversation with the young man behind the counter. He obviously loved his life in Montezuma and at one point, he asked if I knew what “Pura Vida” meant. Hmmm, I thought. What does pura vida mean? To me it meant The Pure Life and it was what I had witnessed over and over and over again while traveling through the country. Natural, untouched, simple and pure. “That is how most people interpret it. You see, pura vida can be a greeting, a state of mind, a way of life. You meet someone walking down the street, you say “pura vida”. You catch the perfect wave while surfing, you say “pura vida”. You have a wonderful day, instead of saying “goodnight”, you say “pura vida”. You find a great smoothie bar while walking the streets of Montezuma, you say “pura vida”. It can mean anything but always something good. Anytime something good happens, “pura vida” is the appropriate thing to say”. Made sense to me. How can you not be living the “pura vida” in a country that is considered to be one of the happiest in the world according the Happy Planet Index. Costa Ricans live longer and better lives than people living in other countries of similar economic conditions, Costa Rica is one of the greenest countries in the world and who wouldn’t be living the pure life when they wake up each morning to beautiful, sandy beaches, pristine and untouched rainforest, spectacular scenery and an abundance of things to see and do.

It was mid-afternoon by the time I finished walking the streets of Montezuma and since I wasn’t feeling overly tired, I stupidly walked up that steep hill to Anamya instead of getting a cab. It was quite the workout but I did make it to the top without collapsing in the ditch…barely. There was still enough daylight left to take a walk to Montezuma Falls again and attempt that jump. I was kicking myself for not doing it the day before and had since been contemplating going back so I could say I did it. I changed into my contact lenses and made my way to the path that led to the falls from Anamaya. It was a steep and difficult hike down and all I could think about when I got to the top of the falls was how refreshing the water below looked. It didn’t take much coaxing for me to perch myself at the edge and take that leap 15 feet to the fresheater pool below. And, yes, it was very refreshing and I felt proud of myself for coming back. If there is one thing I absolutely hate, it is missed opportunity. I take every chance that comes my way because, sometimes, you only get one chance to do something and that opportunity never arises again!

Anamaya was once again quiet with everyone out shopping and doing their own thing. I loved how peaceful it was when no one was around and it made me think about how it would be the perfect place to be a writer although I might not get much done with the beach only a short walk away. Bedtime came early again. The next morning, I was trying surfing for the first time and I wanted to be well-rested for that! 

Pura Vida Meaning - The Pure Life. And yes....that's exactly what you'll experience in Montezuma, Costa Rica.