A forecast of freezing rain still brings me dread, 25 years later
'Where could we flee next? Would this never end?'
This First Person article is the experience of Nancy Wood, a copy editor at CBC Montreal. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.
It's been 25 years since Quebec was devastated by the great ice storm but, as someone who lived through it in the province's so-called triangle of darkness, I still have a sense of dread when I hear any forecast that includes freezing rain.
I blame myself for the storm. There it is, I've said it aloud — or at least in writing — for all to hear.
A few weeks before it hit, as I was driving on Montreal's South Shore, I glanced up at the gigantic Hydro-Québec pylons that help transport energy from the north to the cities in the south.
I wondered: what would it take to make one of those crumple?
Unless I have heightened powers of visualization, it wasn't my musings that caused the collapse of a good part of the province's power grid but we were all about to find out what it would take.
At first, the forecast wasn't too worrisome. Freezing rain expected and, since the temperatures were so mild, the thought of losing power was unpleasant but not unnerving.
My in-laws, who lived about a kilometre away, were the first in my circle to lose power. We prepped the spare room and invited them over. We enjoyed a sleepover and our two-year-old daughter, their first grandchild, couldn't have been happier.
The next day, I left for work at CBC Radio, where I was a contributor to Daybreak and the host of Radio Noon. The atmosphere there was of a typical newsroom when bad weather hits: people checking for school closures, monitoring power outages, keeping an eye on the roads.
By the end of that day, my home no longer had power. And soon after, the temperatures began to drop.
The news became increasingly focused on the cascading effects of more and more ice accumulating and temperatures dropping.
At work, we pivoted almost exclusively to 24/7 ice storm coverage. In a time before smart phones, the radio was the only way to relay important information to people without power.
CBC staff took turns hosting four-hour shifts.
We provided comfort and companionship. We found community. People called in with questions and tips. Experts gave us advice on things as diverse as how to avoid carbon monoxide poisoning and how long Kraft singles can survive without refrigeration. The answer: months if the package is sealed.
WATCH | CBC Radio switches to 24/7 ice storm coverage in 1998:
While I was engrossed by my work and grateful to be helping out in some way, I was also dealing with trying to keep my family warm and safe.
My husband travelled with our daughter and his parents to a cottage in the Townships, then to a relative's apartment in Outremont and finally to a family member's three-and-a-half in Montreal's Côte-des-Neiges neighbourhood.
It wasn't easy keeping a two-year-old happy and busy, and our hosts, no matter how loving and generous, were not accustomed to having such a young child in their homes — in other words, running their lives.
I vividly recall sitting in that CDN apartment on Jan. 9, known as Black Friday, and hearing that Montreal's water system was close to the breaking point and that bridges were being shut down. We all felt close to the breaking point. Where could we flee next? Would this never end?
Just as we seemed to be on the precipice of utter disaster, the crisis appeared to slow. By Jan. 14, most people had their power restored as Hydro-Québec crews, helped by colleagues from neighbouring provinces and states, worked tirelessly. Life at CBC remained largely ice-storm focused, but other news began to take over.
For my family and me — and about 380,000 others on the South Shore — there was still no power. It would take up to 35 days to restore power to places like Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu and other areas in the Triangle of Darkness south and east of Montreal.
Hydro-Québec has since repaired the fault in its system, but in 1998, large swaths of the South Shore were reliant on too few power lines. The collapse of those towers meant it would take weeks to get us back on line. My memory is that we were without power for 23 days.
But in Montreal, most people had power and life seemed to be returning to normal. I reminded my colleagues in the newsroom that it was too early to celebrate the end of the crisis, when so many people were still in shelters or hunkered down in crowded homes with extended families.
Eventually, of course, it did end. By the end of January, almost everyone had their power back. People swore they would never get caught short again and invested in generators. We cleaned up the dead branches and made our insurance claims. We did our best to patch the frayed family ties. Life returned to normal.
Hydro-Québec fixed its triangle-of-darkness problem so efficiently that we rarely ever lose power these days.
Still, like many Quebecers, I will never read another weather warning that includes mention of significant amounts of freezing rain without feeling a chill run down my spine, as I tell myself it won't happen again.
I try to reassure myself but it is getting harder to do that, as we all witness extreme weather events happening with more regularity.
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