There was almost too much cold, rain and emotion to take.
It was a bitterly cold day when the Redcar Blast Furnace - the RBF - was felled, as two coachloads of media and those with a deep connection to the former steelworks were driven to a safe point about 250 yards away to see the end of 150 years of our history and Day One of our future.
We were basically in the middle of hundreds of acres of open space, so the tea, coffee and breakfast stations were a popular haven.
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Why were we there? For the media, we were bringing this pivotal moment to our audience, but for people like former steelworks media director John Baker who stood shivering alongside us it was a part of themselves they were losing and it was a heavy weight to bear.
I felt like I might be intruding on their grief, making a public spectacle out of a private moment, but John was one of those who spoke of the future as well as the past and that was a big part of the story we were writing.
Interviews seemed constant leading up to the explosion as Ben Houchen was invited to briefly join radio, TV, print and online reporters for a few words that balanced empathy with progress.
As the dreaded wi-fi signal arrived and left of its own accord, I missed the warning alarm and was speaking as the orange flames suddenly appeared, the great beast started to stumble as if it had been struck through the heart and then a booming blast rocked us all.
As clouds of black smoke and dust grew like a shroud around a body, for a moment it looked as if the structure might just fall to its knees and defy the final decision. But it groaned and collapsed and the chapter ended.
I'll remember the silence afterwards almost as much as the explosion. Nobody seemed to move until we all shook ourselves out of a long stare at something that wasn't there anymore and looked for people to talk to.
When the dust had settled and as the rain poured down, a few of us were driven much closer to look at what was left. Precise preparations from Thompsons meant that everything fell where it was supposed to, but it still left a tangled heap of steelwork to be picked apart.
We looked at it as if it might still stir, but there was that silence again. It was done.
Progress is sometimes a difficult route. Some - like me - can sometimes be too eager to see it and may seem to brush aside a legacy in favour of a contract.
Maybe that's why I was there - to feel a fraction of the loss my critics felt. It worked - I did.
It doesn't affect my vote for change, but it was a moment Teesside and I will never forget.
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