One of the reasons I left Northern Ireland was to escape the weather, especially the cool, rainy summers. Now, looking back, I’m not so sure that was such a good decision. “Be careful of what you wish for ...” seems to apply as hotter summers drive increasingly severe and frequent wildfires here in Canada.
I first experienced a Canadian summer during a holiday in Nova Scotia. The weather was hot, sunny and dry. I spent my days at a beach. The summer was so idyllic that I finagled a job in Ontario, harassed the Consulate into fast-tracking my visa and off I went.
In rural Ontario where I landed, summer was hotter and more humid than it had been in Nova Scotia. With Atlantic beaches and cool sea breezes 1,000km away, the only proximate body of water was a small river close to my apartment. However, on my first – and last – riverbank stroll I was almost eaten alive by tiny, voracious, black-flies.
In Montreal, I discovered the not-so-delightful summer in the city – overcrowded, stifling public transport, city streets hot as the inside of my toaster, heat islands, and so on. Some nights, at 3am, I had to get up and take a cool shower to be able to sleep.
I went to the cinema to see Small Things Like These. By the time I emerged I had concluded the film was crap
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Adapting to summer meant a lighter dress code, eating more fruit and salads, drinking more fluids and applying “heat hygiene” measures – induction cooking, an instant cooker and low heat-gain electronic devices.
When the forecast says there will be more than 30-degree temperatures, I close the windows and blinds to keep the heat out. However, this only works for about three days. After that, I fall back on my small, yet noisy, air conditioner to keep my apartment at 27 degrees.
If Montreal summer temperatures reach 40 degrees, as they have in other regions, I’ll need a bigger air conditioner. In British Columbia, in June 2021, summer temperatures reached an incredible 50 degrees; more than 600 people died from heat-related causes. Huge forest fires raged and, in the village of Lytton, 200 homes burnt to the ground.
A quick glance at the fire map, and you’d think that most of Northern Canada is burning
This year’s fire season kicked off in May with Alberta declaring a wildfire state of emergency. About 30,000 people were evacuated. Later that same month, fires broke out in Nova Scotia and again thousands were evacuated – 250 homes burnt. Not long after, the forests of Northern Quebec went on fire.
When prevailing winds blew the smoke south, air quality in metropolitan centres fell off a cliff. For a few days Ottawa’s air quality was “very high risk”; Toronto’s was “high risk” and in New York residents donned their N95 masks quicker than they had for Covid.
At the end of June, it was the turn of Montreal to have the world’s worst air quality. Sports events, and a big fireworks display were cancelled, and city recreational facilities – tennis courts and swimming pools – were closed. Because of poor air quality I cut back on my biking.
As the summer rolled out, new fires kept breaking out, especially in the western provinces. The June total of more than 400 ballooned to more than 1,000 fires in mid-August. A quick glance at the fire map, and you’d think that most of Northern Canada is burning.
A few days ago with the flames 15km away, Yellowknife, the capital of the North West Territories, evacuated its 20,000 residents. Then fires in British Columbia suddenly took a turn for the worse. Homes, stores, buildings and a historic tourist resort burned. A section of the TransCanada Highway was closed. Residents of one community had to evacuate by boat.
For these climate refugees, the coming weeks will be at best disruptive, at worst traumatic
Adding to Yellowknife’s 20,000 evacuees, about 30,000 Kelowna residents are under evacuation orders with about another 30,000 on standby. Some will stay with friends or relatives living close by, others face a 1,400km drive south to a hotel if they can find one with a vacancy; otherwise they will stay in a reception centre.
Some evacuees know that they don’t have a home to return to. Others will only know when they return to their community. For these climate refugees, the coming weeks will be at best disruptive, at worst traumatic.
Meanwhile, in Montreal, in July, air quality had returned to normal. No doubt the rain helped. In fact the summer was almost as cool and as rainy as the summers back home that I couldn’t wait to escape. However, this unusual Montreal summer was a flash in the pan. Cool, rainy summers aren’t a part of Canada’s future. The shape of summers to come is more likely, hot and hotter.
The mild Irish climate didn’t prepare me for Canada’s summers (or winters.) It took me many years to adapt to where I was more comfortable with the ups and downs of the climate than many Canadians. Now, with Canada warming faster than the rest of the planet, I’ll have to adapt even more.
Still, having weathered (no pun intended) my first climate shock, the second may be easier. I hope so. In any event, I don’t have much choice; climate change is here and we all – at home and abroad – have to deal with it.
- Patrick McKenna moved to Canada in January, 1975. He lives and works in Montreal.
- Read: That first lonely Ontario winter
- If you live overseas and would like to share your experience with Irish Times Abroad, email abroad@irishtimes.com with a little information about you and what you do
