The worst Utah winter that I’ve ever seen continues.
That’s the municipal building just to the south of our office building. That stuff you see – that green stuff – is called grass. You’ve probably seen it before, but you just aren’t used to seeing it in Utah in February, so it probably threw you a bit.
Yesterday’s “6-12 in the mountains” showed up as a couple of inches at our house. So far this winter, the best storms that we’ve had were in November. I’ve not yet seen a two-foot day, and I don’t think we’ve had a real foot day since the ski hill opened.
This is NOT the Utah that I left. Somebody did something to it in my absence. I would not have believed that such a winter was possible in the Wasatch Mountains; heck, the year that I moved here from Vermont, Salt Lake City itself had a four-foot dump in early May.
I’m going to assume that this is an anomaly, and that next year – or the year after – will be better.
While the rest of the country – that doesn’t want snow – is getting dump after dump after dump, the ski hills of the Deseret State are on short rations.
(Disclaimer – there’s plenty of coverage to ski on, sure. And I’ve had some fun in the trees – and the bumps are always nice. But what’s missing – and what people move here for – are the deep days. The days when you ski with a snorkel. The hero days – the ski movie days – the POWDER DAYS.)