Smoky Rainbows on the Atlantic
Riding the unexpected heatwave
It’s a hazy, warm August day, the air smelling of salt. A rainbow halo circles the sun, formed from the combination of sunlight and wildfire smoke drifting in from—of all places—Newfoundland. I haul my blow-up paddleboard into the murky waters of the Northwest Arm. It’s cold, but manageable. This stretch of water eventually leads to the end of the Halifax peninsula and onto the Atlantic Ocean. It’s a calm day, and the current pulls the board slightly off-course. As I paddle down the arm, I alternate between sitting and standing. Friendly boaters pass by on all sides, waving, and I wave back, smiling. One man on a sailboat gestures to a small, round object floating in the water. Dark, expressive eyes framed with long eyelashes look around in interest. The harbour seal spots my board, blinks, and then quickly disappears under the surface. It resurfaces a few times as I paddle along, curious but distant. At some point, I drop a small anchor in order to rest, floating, looking up at the strange pale sky. Eventually, it is time to turn around. I sigh. Weekends are far too short.
I spend the week working remotely from a small, box-like room in one of the Dalhousie residences. I have two fans running at all times, but sweat still pours down my back. The refreshing view of the harbour from my window does nothing to cool me off, though I do enjoy watching the variety of boats float by. There are moments that break up the monotonous work days: a series of horn blasts plays in a kind of melody, inadvertently putting a meeting on hold; a tall white multi-storey building detaches itself from the harbour front and floats away—an incognito cruise ship.
I spend most of my evenings walking the boardwalk along the harbour. The docks are relatively empty after the August long weekend. One lone sailboat-style yacht remains docked, its wooden floors gleaming in the lamplight, the white sock-footed staff all dressed in matching t-shirts and pants. Half-full tourist boats float past, music blaring and multi-colored lights flashing. All along the boardwalk, I catch snippets of conversation revolving around the unexpected heatwave in the East. Lots of sighs and shaking of heads. I check the forecast on my phone; only hot, sunny days ahead.
One night, I attend a show at Neptune Theater, in the heart of the downtown district. A woman sits beside me and strikes up a conversation so easily that I cannot help but be impressed. Where was I from? Why was I visiting? What have I seen in Halifax so far? I mention my idea of attending a ‘Shakespeare by the Sea’ play, which is performed in the historic Point Pleasant Park and uses some of the historic monuments as a kind of backdrop.
“I’m not sure if it’s running,” she confesses. “All the parks are closed because of the wildfires.”
It turns out that it is the only park-based event allowed to run during this time of caution and unease. I attend it happily, though I am underdressed for the cool evening; as the last bows hit the stage, I am shivering from the damp. And thus my week in Halifax comes to an end.
Newfoundland is in an utter state of confusion when I arrive. The plane lands just fine, but driving is a whole other ballgame. Wildfires have ravaged several areas around St John’s, and entire sections of the main highway are completely closed. My kindly relatives pick me up, even though it’s an evening flight, and the highway detour is long. Throughout the week, they watch the news with intensity, volume high. When we go out for a drive, we see helicopters in the distance, raining buckets of water on flames.
All my plans have to change; there is no hiking, no visiting my cousin, who is a paramedic in St John’s. I work steady days, and walk some of the coastal roads in the evenings. The sun is a sad, dull blotch in the sky. The scent of smoke is so strong that any thought of going for a run is out of the question. The green, wild Newfoundland I know from the past is now restricted, and rightly so; the East is simply not as equipped as the West to handle this kind of heat and flame. I spend the evenings playing backgammon or re-learning how to play Forty-Fives, a local card game with mind-bending rules that only seem to make sense to proper Newfies.
“Some people here live in family homes,” one of my relatives says over a game of backgammon one night. We had spent the afternoon blueberry picking in a nearby field, and were enjoying the fruit of our effort along with a bottle of Black Horse beer. “If they lose their home, they’ll lose everything.”
Back on the mainland, the heat wave continues, scorching hot in my basic black sedan. The wind whips through the open windows as I drive homeward, humid and smelling of smoke. I cross the bridge from Halifax to mainland Nova Scotia, my arm hanging out of the window, fingers stretched long, my hand pushing against the wall of hot air. Every single overpass on the highway is filled with firetrucks, police cars, and ambulances. Uniformed figures stand next to their vehicles. From the highway, various drivers honk their horns and wave as they pass by. The first responders wave back, smiling, ready.