Wettest on Record

I write on Saturday morning from the dry interior of the Bigador cabin where heavy rains beat a loud tattoo on the cabin`s metal roof (a million-dollar roof on a ten-cent shack, someone once quipped).

CBC meteorologist Ryan Snoddon gives us a dispatch headlined `Summer of 2023 was the wettest on record for much of the Maritimes`. Neither Bigador resident has the least inclination to debate the headline. Jan and I leave it to others to defend Cape Breton against charges that in 2023 the Island has morphed into a sodden, mosquito-plagued swamp. And no wonder: many Maritimers have seen more than double the average rainfall in June, July, and August. Our current run of weather best loved by ducks is into day 6, with Hurricane Lee about to grace us with a further deluge that will last two or three days. We only vaguely remember blue skies and sunshine.

We express frequent gratitude for that metal roof and something else. Good books. What would I do without the services of the North Sydney and Sydney Mines libraries? How would I cope without the opportunity to binge on Dennis Lehane, Daniel Silva, Michael Connelly? Kelly’s Mountain is often draped in cloud, fog and rain-squalls but as long as I have a worthy book in hand and another waiting in the wings, I can cope. In the presence of soggy air and absence of sunshine we rely on the woodstove and the woodshed’s stock of apple, birch, and maple—stored sunshine I call it—to get us through.

We will depart on Monday—if hurricanes permit—with mixed feelings about leaving. Ordinarily I quit Boularderie Island feeling unhappy to go. This year will be somewhat different. As Boularderie Islanders have enjoyed the joy of relentless rains, residents of Victoria and south Vancouver Island have had to put up with drought conditions and watched their lawns and much of the landscape turn brown. I will not gripe should we get a spell of dry weather in Victoria before the Pineapple Express returns in November.

On a single day in July an historic dump dropped as much rain in parts of Nova Scotia as normally falls in three months. That astonishing event washed out sections of our 600-metre road, leaving it inundated by as much as a foot of water. We had the road extensively repaired, and then another deluge flooded it again. Our road restorer returned; on Monday he installed a culvert and several additional loads of gravel. As we wait to see the hurricane’s response to the latest remedies I also wait to see the invoice for road repairs to date.

There is broad consensus among people having a functioning brain that climate change is real, and what we have witnessed this summer and last is just the tip of the iceberg—or should I say flood? I have no doubt the consensus is sound. If I live long enough to return for another Boularderie Island summer in my 78th year, what will Jan and I find? Will the road be washed away for good? Will heat domes and floods be worse than ever? Will wildfire smoke make Bigador’s clean air unbreathable?

Fortuitously, by relying on something other than weather to supply good times at the margin of the Great Bras d’Or, there is some happy news. Good friends Judith (sometimes known as Sakamoto, for reasons I can share some other time) and Marc did us the honour of paying us a four-day visit. It was a note-perfect time. For many years Judith has shown her affection for the old place, and Marc, well, he fell in love with it at first sight. Judith is a fan of my pesto so—what else?—we savoured pesto pasta twice, introduced them to the abundant delights of the card game Euchre, rambled to Dalem Lake twice and shared a hike that was a ‘lifer’ for all of us, Red Island a little north of the Barrachois River.

We also shared in the celebration of a milestone birthday in the life of my bride. I won’t disclose particulars of the milestone but I can provide a hint: in Mars years my Jan is a mere 37. When I disclosed that factoid early on her birthday morning you might have thought I’d just brought news of a big lottery win. The gambit wouldn’t have worked for me but Jan is still dining out on her Martian age days after the birthday. Whatever works.

I shall endeavour to post this somewhere en route to Victoria; in the meantime share my joy over the roof metal and the cabin’s well-stocked library. There are still blessings to count.