Muskrat Falls: NO POWER TO EXPORT (Part 1)

The distinctively loud and rapid sound of the gargoyle, which serves as a knocker on my front entrance, confirmed that a visit from Uncle Gnarley was imminent. I opened the door quickly and the grey bearded eminence himself entered in a flourish.  A day old newspaper covered his favourite ‘river warrior’, but could not hide its delicious aroma.  Uncle Gnarley had caught a salmon. 

Gnarley did have a sense of timing. He had been absent for several weeks and I had begun to miss the irascible old man.  Luckily, the day held no impediments and a dangerous shortage of our favourite elixir had just been remedied.

“Nav”, Uncle Gnarley barked, as he pushed the parcel towards me, “I thought I might invite myself to dinner.  I suggest you put a lid on this one, he was a real fighter”.

As Gnarley headed for the only chair that fit his broad frame, he allowed that we had some business to discuss and quickly held out a whiskey glass for an ample serving of 15 year old Macallan’s; a perfectly suitable reward for his victory on the Gander River.

“I have had a lot of time to think”, Gnarley bellowed, now anxious to share what was clearly bothering him. “I have never felt more unsettled”, he continued”.