Hurricane Season

by Ben Robicheau ~ brobicheau@cogeco.ca

The world was dramatically reminded of the devastating power of the hurricane when Katrina nearly wiped out the city of New Orleans a few years ago. Since then, any tropical storm that develops is intently tracked and breathlessly reported on by various news sources who all seem to think that they have discovered some new and unique phenomenon.

Here on the islands we are well acquainted with the storms that arrive every Fall with unfailing regularity. One of the first officially recorded hurricanes in this area was the 1869 Saxby Gale which happened to strike The Bay of Fundy region during a Saros tide; an unusually high tide that occurs once every eighteen years; causing severe flooding in New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. A few years later, in August of 1873 Eastern Canada was hit with what was probably its worst storm in recorded history. What became known as The Nova Scotia Hurricane left over 600 people dead and destroyed more than 1,200 boats and 900 buildings. It was the first storm for which an official hurricane warning was issued.

In more recent times we have experienced Hurricane Juan, which thankfully missed most of this end of the province but hit Halifax hard, causing over $300 million in damage and taking the lives of eight people. Juan is considered to be the worst storm to hit Halifax since 1893. Because of the havoc Juan wreaked, the name was officially retired from use.

Closer to home, our own worst storm of the century would have to be the Groundhog Day Storm of 1976, which, like The Saxby Gale, arrived on a Saros tide. Although classified as a winter storm, it carried sustained winds of 164km/hr, making it equal to a Category 2 hurricane. It struck an unprepared coastline almost without warning and did tens of millions of dollars in damage to roadways, utilities, buildings and fishing equipment in the south-west area of the Province. Thankfully, storms of the destructive calibre of Juan and The Groundhog Storm are not the norm.

Still, even a small hurricane is not something to be taken lightly. Even as a child I became aware of a tension in the air as we got towards the end of August. This was due to the uncertainty that the fishermen and anyone who had property on the waterfront began to feel as we got into that time of year when things started brewing in the southern oceans. It was only a matter of time before one of those storms would come knocking on our door. The big question was; how hard would it knock?

As storms were reported heading our way, fishermen would start making preparations. The expected fierceness of the storm, the direction it was coming from, and where the tide would be when it hit, were all factors to be taken into consideration. If wind speeds were not too high and the tide was expected to be low during the worst of the storm, some might take a chance on grounding their boats out at the high water mark or riding it out on the moorings. If it looked like things might get dirty, then boats might be tied up on the lee side of the breakwater or hauled right out onto dry land. If even more ferocious winds were expected, they could make for the safety of the Freeport cove or across St. Mary’s bay to Meteghan or even up the Sissaboo River at Weymouth. In Tiverton, if the tide was right and you could fit under the bridge, there was room to tie up a few boats in the pond.

Ashore, things were getting busy too. Punts were hauled up off the beach, gear on wharves was either stowed away or lashed down and extra lines and bumpers were secured on boats at the wharf. Precautions were also taken at home. Fresh batteries were laid in, oil lamps were filled and candles were counted ready for the inevitable power outage: and if your house was on the Front Road, you might want to board up your windows.

Then, after all that preparation and worry, we would usually have one of the nicest days of the summer. The air being pushed in front of the hurricane often brought a blazing sun in a cloudless sky and weather that was muggy and hot and deadly still. Although this was a nice break from the usual Island weather of fog or cold ocean wind, it had an ominous feeling about it, and it usually only lasted a few hours.

The first indication that things were about to turn nasty was when you suddenly realized that the dead calm had given way to a light breeze. This gentle wind would steadily increase in intensity until, before you knew it, you found yourself fighting to stay on your feet while being pelted by sheets of horizontal rain. O.K., now we were getting down to it, this thing that the fishermen on the wharves, the old men on the store bench and the kids at school had been talking about for the last few days, was finally here.

Being a kid and not realizing the full destructive potential of a storm like this, I enjoyed the wildness and ferocity of a hurricane and saw it as nothing more than a time of excitement and adventure. Everyone seemed on high alert, the village actually seemed busier than on a normal day, men were out on the streets and wharves in their oilskins and rubber boots, talking among themselves while constantly checking lines and keeping a sharp eye out for signs that some timber or post might be starting to weaken under the relentless pounding of the waves and wind.

Sometimes, there would be a sudden burst of action when someone’s boat would break free from its moorings and drift towards the rocks or a log would get loose in the rolling waves and start smashing the poles out from under someone’s wharf. Then you might see someone risking his life to jump onto the heaving deck of a boat beating itself to pieces against a wharf, or two men working together to lasso and tie off a piece of floating debris before it could do further damage.

At home, mothers were busy trying to keep their children away from the windows and distracted from the howling noise outside. I remember when one particularly vicious storm sent a large beach rock flying through our living-room window; my sisters and I spent the next several hours huddled around a candle in the bathroom sitting on sofa cushions listening to my mother tell stories and sing songs.

But with most of the storms, it was usually just a long night of wind and rain and the occasional dramatic spray of salt water over the road. If the eye of the storm happened to pass directly overhead, the wind would diminish at some point and the sun or stars would appear for a short time in a clear, cloudless sky; then the wind would start again, but from the opposite direction this time as the back half of the storm moved over us.

After it was all over, there would be some cleaning up to do. Even if it was a disappointingly meek hurricane, there would still be the odd section of missing breastwork, maybe a few yards of washed-out roadway, a few missing boards on a few wharves and the neat little shoal of beach gravel and sand in someone’s front yard where the waves came across the Front Road. Up at The Dike you would probably see two things, the road covered with flat stones and the Nova Scotia Power crew trying to get the power back on. The underwater cable that carries the electricity to the Island comes ashore here and it seems that the flying salt spray from every storm big or small, manages to short out the transformers and burn off the connectors.

When the power went out, I used to hope that it would take several days to restore it. As soon as the lights went off, Dad would head to his store and lock up the ice cream freezer, he would cover it with blankets and put pop cases on the lids to keep them closed and keep the cold in. This would keep things frozen for about three or four days, after that it was a lost cause and there would be nothing left to do but eat the ice cream before it all totally melted. I was always willing to do my part to see it didn’t go to waste.

Just recently, hurricane Igor blasted across Newfoundland, tearing up roads, blowing down power lines, and sweeping one unfortunate soul out to sea. The lethal combination of blasting wind, torrential rain and pounding waves that we call a hurricane has once again (as if we needed it) reminded us of the fierce power of Mother Nature.