Snowmageddon: A once-in-a-generation storm 5 years later
The megastorm buried the most densely populated part of the island
It's been five years since one of the most powerful blizzards in Newfoundland's history barrelled into the eastern portion of the island, grounding the province's capital city and surrounding communities to a halt.
Coined as snowmageddon in the days that followed, the storm of a generation buried the most densely populated area of the province, leaving the people there waiting for days to return to their normal lives.
The record-breaking storm landed on Friday, Jan. 17, 2020, lasted almost an entire day, and brought upwards of 93 centimetres of snow — on top of the piles already on the ground.
The CBC Newfoundland and Labrador newsroom was buzzing about the looming blizzard ahead of its arrival, with the prospect of what could come.
Big weather events are as much a part of the business as a news conference with the premier. This one, though, was beyond big.
CBC meteorologist Ashley Brauweiler was at the station at 6:30 that morning, talking live on the St. John's Morning Show about what would quickly become the only news story that day.
"I knew what was coming, but it was hard to conceptualize what was about to unfold because we'd never seen this before. I didn't realize that we would be stranded at work that night and I would have to snowshoe home the next morning," Brauweiler said.
"It was a day I'll never forget, and exactly why I became a meteorologist. Mother Nature's sheer strength is incredible, which reinforces why meteorologists and advances in meteorology are so important."
Staying connected
Most people in the newsroom made it out of the CBC station ahead of the blizzard, not knowing it would be days before they could get back into the newsroom.
Everyone in the region would end up living through a state of emergency for more than a week.
Reporter Mark Quinn remembers heading into the storm with the determination to sleep in his own bed that night, instead of curling up in some corner of the news station.
"The blizzard was raging as I made my way home on foot. I remember thinking, 'This is a hurricane with snow instead of rain.' The roads were empty, with many cars completely buried."
A walk that would normally take Mark just 15 minutes instead took triple the time in the face of the blizzard.
"The storm pounded us all night long, and in the morning we geared up and fought our way back to work."
Matt McCann, the early morning producer at the time, made it out of the building around 10 a.m. that morning, before things really got bad, and weathered most of the storm at home.
"I remember the narrow streets, the lines outside grocery stores. I remember trying to get the snowblower out of the shed, and eventually getting stopped by an eight-foot wall of snow at the end of our driveway," he said.
"But my best memory of snowmageddon is waking up at 3 a.m. to the sound of the big city snowblowers and dump trucks outside, widening the road. I've never been so happy to be woken up by construction equipment."
I was working a late shift as a writer at the time — the last person on deck the night of the storm, with colleagues in Nova Scotia helping out as I added line after line of updated information from home in Mount Pearl.
But some reporters, producers and technical staff stayed behind in the building, many not being within walking distance from the station.
Those who held the line kept kept radio and television audiences informed with the latest information. Broadcast hits happened just outside of the loading-bay doors as the storm began to intensify.
Producer Jonny Hodder was on hand to help get a live emergency broadcast to radio listeners that afternoon.
"It had been snowing heavily since mid-morning and the blowing snow was so severe you couldn't see the Health Sciences [Centre] across the road," Hodder said.
"When the power went out, we expected the backup to kick in immediately. When it didn't come back, there was this moment of confusion and disbelief, like 'OK, what now?'"
There's almost always noise inside Studio A and its control room on the ground floor of the CBC St. John's building, whether it's the live radio programming flowing in from the speakers or just the humming of the computers. It's also always well-lit with studio lights.
"But in that moment, I remember noticing it was eerily silent, and we were left sitting in the dark, except for the blue-ish white light filtering in through the studio window," said Hodder.
The big dig
It didn't take long before people started trying to dig themselves out from behind the mountains of snow standing firmly in front of their doors and blocking the streets.
The day after the storm was calm with blue skies, perfect for getting out for a walkabout. Strolling along residential streets now meant you were eye-level with the rooftops of some homes.
Neighbours helped neighbours knock down the walls of white crystal, and shared food and drink to keep spirits high.
The Canadian military mobilized troops to help — the only flight in or out of St. John's International Airport for days.
Images poured in from hundreds of people as they went through the storm with their own experiences, sharing it with hundreds of thousands of others.
As stores began to reopen, you could almost hear the collective sigh of relief. Lines formed around buildings and down city blocks as the public restocked on essentials: milks, eggs, bread — and a lot of beer.
It's a storm that will be remembered for a lifetime. It was unprecedented before unprecedented became the norm through the COVID-19 pandemic.
But that storm — like most shared hardships experienced in Newfoundland and Labrador — kept the province's reputation of goodwill, a lending hand and a wink and a joke intact.
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