We arrived near 5:00 pm that Friday in July, 2016. Ottawa was sweltering so we left as early as we could. No stopping for poutine on the way, just get to to the lake for a swim as quick as you can say, “last one in…” Even the cottage was hot. Hot and stinky. Not a breeze or a whisper. Unload, stow, snap a cold one and head down to the dock. The water was calm as glass, and warmer than we’d known it in 15 years. After a swim, it was perfect weather for a barbecue and dinner on the balcony.
“I got us a special table with a view,” my partner quipped, her way of saying how happy she was to be there. The make-believe maitre d’ remembered us from last year, and we were glad to be back for another week of R&R.
After dinner, looking past Sugar Plum Island – a name invented years ago by the owners for their kids – and across the the lake toward the northwest, there was lightning. It was on the horizon but too far away to hear the thunder. How far? I counted one thousand-and-one, one-thousand and two, three, four, up to 15 and no sound; it was over 15 miles. The heat, wine and the 9:30 sunset over the lake made for a relaxing evening. The mosquitoes hummed around the porch screen, desperate to get at us, the new meat on the block. The Whip-Poor-Wills called, evening was nigh, and even the Woodpeckers ceased drilling. Time to turn in.
By 1:00 am the lightning had moved closer, one-thousand and eight, and through the quiet of the woods came the rolls but still faraway booms of the thunder. There was no rain or other weather around. Sleep became fitful, and a little unnerving. Wind rattled the wind-chimes hanging from the eaves. Then the rain came, with wind stronger than a breeze but weaker than a storm. And the lightning intensified. Closer and louder. One-thousand and five, now. In the blackness of the forest and across the water the flashes were blinding, bringing near-daylight into the cottage. The next gust of wind, flash of lightning and clap of thunder directly overhead threatened to tear off the roof.
The last time I saw the alarm clock it read 2:32. After that it blacked out, along with the clock on the stove, the night-light in the bathroom, the floor lamp, and the phantom light on the CD-Radio boom box. Now it was really black. More lightning, more wind, more rain, and more damage-producing weather. And in the middle of it we realized we were in a metal frame bed.
The panic tsunami rose. We got out of bed and headed for the living room in pitch blackness except for the brilliant explosive flashes of lightning and immediate thunder cracking around us. The tall trees swayed wildly dropping branches on the roof, the deck, and the driveway. The crack of a medium sized tree sounded like a gunshot as it fell toward the water. Other trees threatened to break the back of the cottage. Huddled near the acorn fireplace in the center of the open main room, we shook almost as much as the trees. Any minute one of those big, tall, heavy evergreens would crash through the roof. We were scared, and we didn’t know what to do.
The storm raged and ravaged for hours. We stayed put, waiting it, out never sure if the next lightning flash would be our last. Then, it begrudgingly began to subside. The lightning moved away a little and took the thunder with it. The wind and rain lessened and it was quiet again with only a little light summer rain falling. Still in complete darkness we took a cursory look around the cottage, decided that there was nothing we could do until morning, and went back to a fitful bed. The air was cooler after the storm. The front had passed and taken the hot heavy humid air with it. The lightweight blankets were welcome protection and after some mutual calming down we slept.
Morning came, as always, early and bright. The power was off so the propane BBQ became our stove for morning coffee and toast. The water pump from the lake was off, and so were the hot water tank, electric lights and phone. Around the cottage there were branches, pine cones, pine needles and leaves, but we saw no immediate sign of severe damage. Down the stairs and on the path to the dock there were some smaller trees down. A smallish birch there, and a spruce over there, and lots of broken branches everywhere. The watercraft – canoe and pedal boat were unharmed and the sturdy dock was still solid. But looking across at the island it was obvious there was more severe damage. Some large trees were down in the water. We made our way around the lake in the canoe and it became evident that the storm had been a major one. Large trees were broken off and had blown down across cottages, docks and boats. Significant property damage but no obvious human damage. Something of a miracle, it seemed.
Back at Evergreen cottage we concluded that our own experience was relatively benign. It had been terrifying of course, but not harmful to us. And the cottage looked to be in good shape, not having suffered any major effects of the storm. A neighbour said he had not been so lucky.
“Last time I saw my canoe it was flying over my house”, he said. “I found it a couple of hundred meters away, in the woods.”
The official recounting of the storm from Environment Canada proclaimed it a tornado. It had cut a swath across the lake, across the cottage, and continued southward, making a wide path of destruction for several kilometers. Whether rated an F1, F2, or higher we never heard. All we knew was that we felt fortunate to be unharmed. The rest of the week was calmer. It took a couple of days to get the power back, so we made do and opened the fridge as little as possible, ate the perishables first, and were thankful for the BBQ and two full tanks of propane. The weather went back to hot, but less humid and sticky, and no more storms, even small ones. The birds came back, the mosquitoes, too, and we swam, and enjoyed the view from our favourite balcony reserved table. The tornado didn’t prevent us from planning for July 2017 at the lake.
