‘Snowmageddon’? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet

All this fuss about a bit of snow.

But on a serious note, everyone who has exclaimed amazement about the three-foot snowfall, house-high snowdrifts, buried cars and their hours and hours of shovelling should ponder this: how much more enjoyable it could have been if your power had gone out.

Spend two or three hours shovelling, then take a break in your cold, dark house, with not even a cup of hot coffee to warm your hands and snow-sodden soul.

About 1,000 residents of Portugal Cove experienced exactly that thanks to last Friday’s “Snowmageddon” or “Blizzard 2020.” I prefer to call it “Janubury.”

Whatever you name it, most people were able to face it while still enjoying 21st-century luxuries such as stoves, lights, heat, electricity for the snowblower, etc.

In contrast, the cove portion of Portugal Cove reverted in an instant to the 19th century, with residents using candles for light and firewood for heat, for those lucky enough to have a wood stove. Those who use well and septic lost water, too, sending them back to the 18th century.

The cliché about not appreciating modern conveniences until you lose them is true. We take them for granted, until you end up reading by flashlight until you’re tired enough to go to bed. No TV. No computer. Internet and Facebook usage carefully rationed, to conserve power on your cellphone.

Our power went out Friday at 7 p.m. The first thing you notice is how incredibly dark the neighbourhood is without streetlights, and not just because of the blowing snow.

Not to worry, though. We knew the Newfoundland Power b’ys would get right on it.

Sure enough, the big blue trucks arrived with Saturday’s first break in the weather.

But any hope the power outage would be short-lived was, well, short-lived.

We were shovelling the driveway in the afternoon when we heard a series of explosions. My first thought was … funny Newfoundlanders, someone is setting off fireworks to celebrate the end of the blizzard.

The missus said she saw a fireball. I looked across the cove. There was another loud blast and a big flash of silver light. Apparently, that’s what an exploding transformer looks and sounds like.

It occurred to me, I sure hope a worker wasn’t up a pole when that happened.

We knew then that a quick return of power was unlikely. Sure enough, Newfoundland Power announced the problem was salt-encrusted transformers. We saw three explode Saturday. A friend said she saw seven.

We surpassed the 24-hour mark without power. We invited neighbours into our living room to warm up beside our woodstove. We had a steady supply of coffee and tea.

Oddly, coping with a power outage isn’t as frustrating as waiting for it to end.

Power will likely be restored sometime tomorrow, they initially said. Wrong.

Another estimate is made — 5 p.m. on Sunday. It comes and goes. The estimate is revised to 8 p.m.

I was in the kitchen pouring tea by candlelight when there was a half-second flash of light, and I thought the living room lights had flickered — a hopeful sign.

As I put sugar in two cups and honey in the third, it happened again. They’re getting close, I thought.

I took a cup upstairs for Younger Boy.

“Three more transformers exploded,” he said.

It looked like we’d be stuck in the 1800s for another while.

By the time the 21st century returned, the Portugal Cove 1,000 had spent about 53 hours in the dark, including three full evenings. There were no hot showers after a day of shovelling for these hardy few.

Of course, these travails are merely among thousands — the many people who couldn’t open doors because of snowdrifts; buddy whose shovel broke; the Facebook aficionado who couldn’t create a meme as clever as their friend’s.

But here is the cautionary tale: imagine how much worse Janubury would have been if all of metro St. John’s had lost power.

And then, admit and realize that it is not beyond imagining.

At some point, perhaps during Blizzard 2024 or Snowmaggedon 2028, the 1,100 kilometres of power line from Muskrat Falls to St. John’s will fail, or fall, and the city will go cold and dark for days, if not weeks.

Ignore it or deny it, if you wish. The government sure is. The Liberals’ “rate mitigation” plan includes saving money by closing the Holyrood Thermal Generating Station, which is an obviously needed backup.

The storm of 2020? In hindsight, it was easy.