On the first morning after Nelson got snow-dumped, I put on my brand-new winter boots and two layers of gloves, wrapped myself luxuriously in a thick woollen scarf and a fur hat, then ventured outside with the hood of my snowboard jacket up. I’d been dreading this moment for months, west coast wuss that I am, but I was determined to rise to winter’s challenge.
It only took me three steps to end up wiggling around on the ground like a turtle stuck on its back — I’d fallen down my own front steps. A woman walking by shushed her schoolbound child, telling him it’s rude to giggle at other’s misfortunes, but I didn’t blame him.
The rest of the walk was no better. Crossing the street in front of Oso Negro I did one of those full-out, comedy-style flails, like I’d stepped on a banana peel in an ’80s cartoon. At the mouth of our alley the comically excaggerated slip was repeated once again, and by the time I tromped up into the Star’s editorial room I was misted with a fine powder and heaving, pink-nosed and humiliated.
But as winter-phobic and incompetent as I am, at least I successfully maneuvered my car out of a snowbank after two days. (But not after declining assistance from two friendly women who were obviously much better suited to the task.) My poor editor Kevin, however, has been contacted by a bylaw officer because he’s unable to move his ice-encapsulated truck.
“I’ve seen more snow in one year here in the Kootenays than I have in 30 years in Abbotsford,” he told me. “There was a bit of a weather culture shock to deal with.”
I haven’t seen it, but apparently the plow buried his truck in chocolate milk-coloured snow chunks chest-high. When it rained the subsequent night the pile was turned into an icy trap designed to ensnare neglected vehicles.
“I’ve never had a bylaw officer leave a card on my door asking me to move my vehicle before,” he said. “I find it ironic that city bylaw requires me to move the car when city-employed plows were the ones encasing it in a wall of ice that makes it impossible to get out.”
That being said, “rules are rules”, says Kevin. And he’s exploring other options. “Perhaps I can convince one of my reporters to help,” he said.
I told him I couldn’t think of anyone in particular who could help him, but I’d let him know if I thought of anyone.
When I asked my colleague Greg about the snow, of course one of his first observations involved something that happened years ago.
“This big dump was the most we’ve seen since we moved here five years ago. I remember in 2011 when the driving conditions were worse and the buses and cabs weren’t working. But that was because of the slick roads, not snow,” he said.
He said it doesn’t especially bother him. Clearly he’s acclimatized to the Kootenays much better than I have, and even shovels his driveway and walk. (Imagine that!)
“I can’t complain too much. When you get that kind of snow a few days in a row you get tired of it, though,” he said.
Meanwhile, Tamara has been having the time of her life. She’s spent a bunch of time up at Whitewater Ski Resort, and said she saw most of the community there when she ventured up on January 5.
“I’ll bet there were multiple shops with signs saying ‘closed until noon for a powder day’. It was epic. I was grinning ear to ear,” she said.
Tamara, who used to be a certified conductor and locomotive engineer with CPR and fought forest fires for years, is a pretty much the opposite of winter-phobic. She’s obsessed.
“I love it!” she yelled in the office, pumping her fists in the air.
She said she’s yet to fall en route to work, but she has practiced “some pretty funky dance moves”. And the other day she saw a pedestrian drop to the ground right in front of her vehicle at a cross walk.
When asked what the secret to surviving winter is, her answer was simple: “Merino wool long johns”. She also recommends down jackets and keeping a stash of toques by the door. But I suppose all you local people already know that.
Also: “Shovel the snow right away. Otherwise it just gets heavier and heavier.”
I may have failed to take that advice, but for the record: I’m not lazy. I’m just shovel-impaired.