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During the past few days, many emails and phone calls
have arrived. To summarize: We heard that Salida got a
lot of snow, three or four feet. How are things up
there?
Things are most normal now, but Thursday night was kind of frightening.
The storm started with cold rain and drizzle Wednesday afternoon, turning to snow as the sun set. By Thursday morning, there were a few inches on the ground. The forecasts predicted more, but I didn't believe them. I figured the sun would emerge that afternoon and the snow would melt away quickly.
Salida doesn't get much precipitation -- the average annual total is only 10.73 inches. We may be at 7,033 feet, but most moisture comes from the west, and we sit just east of the Sawatch Range, the highest range in all 3,000 miles of Rocky Mountains, and it casts a big rain shadow.
So it's usually dry and sunny here, even in January. Most years, I can use a broom to clear the sidewalk after winter snowfall -- an inch or two of fluffy powder. The shovel comes out only for the wet dumps in late March, which generally occur when the schools are on spring vacation.
But on Thursday, the sun disappeared, as did the Sawatch Range, and the heavy, wet snow just kept falling. By that evening, I measured 23 inches in the alley.
Had this storm come a month earlier, it wouldn't have caused much damage. But the trees were leafed out, and that meant major snow loads on the branches, which were snapping all over town Thursday night.
Obviously, it was a good night to stay home. But it was hard to play cribbage while wondering whether an antique roof would hold a snow load that was at least triple its design capacity, assuming they even thought about such things in 1885. Driving anywhere looked worse than foolish, but walking meant passing under trees and the risk of getting squashed by a falling branch.
We took a short walk anyway. It wasn't that cold, just below freezing, and the streets were somewhat passable. The only vehicles out were from Xcel, the electric utility formerly known as Public Service.
The crews were trying to keep the power on, and by and large they succeeded even as limbs kept falling across the power lines through the night. I'm impressed and I'm grateful, and I'd like to know why athletes get to be heroes when we have line crews.
On Friday morning, I measured 29 inches. But it wasn't that cold, and there was no wind. I had faith in my kind-hearted neighbor's snowblower, but he was out there toiling with a low-tech shovel -- the machinery just choked on this dump, he said.
After an hour of digging, along with some pushing, we got the Blazer out, so we could go to the store and stock up -- the forecasts said another six inches that night, or maybe more, and by then, I was starting to believe them.
This may have been the record snowfall for Salida, although no one seems to be sure. For that matter, no one seems to be sure how much snow fell. I've heard everything from 31 inches to 44, and I'm not sure how to tabulate it -- as snow falls, it compresses what's already on the ground. So do you measure just the accumulation, or do you sum up the hourly differences, to get the snowfall?
Our phone, gas, and lights stayed on. We lost the TV while the satellite dish was covered with snow, and a couple of radio stations with antennas on Methodist Mountain were still off our air on Monday morning.
As for trees, they're sure quirky. I was sure we'd lose our two old plum trees -- but they didn't even lose their blossoms, let alone any limbs.
Our yard is also graced by an Official State Tree -- a 20-foot-high blue spruce. I figured it would emerge intact, since Picea pungens is native to snowy altitudes. But it lost some big branches.
Our lilacs are such a mess that I'll just wait until the leaves start withering to identify the dead branches. Besides, there are other things to worry about.
Maybe the mountains got five or six feet out of this, and suppose we get a hot spell and a heavy thunderstorm, for some serious flash floods. Or we get the hot spell without the thunderstorms, so that the vegetation, inspired by the early May moisture, flourishes and then turns brown in time to provide ample tinder for the summer fire season.
But that worrying can wait. Salida's back to normal, except for the downed limbs that haven't been picked up yet.
I do want to note that this Saturday, the University of Colorado at Denver will hold its commencement exercises. One young woman will be graduated summa cum laude in history. Her name is Abby Quillen, and her parents are very proud of her. They even plan to attend the ceremony, assuming the weather cooperates, and that's a bigger assumption than they ever would have imagined a week ago.
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