A Turn in the Weather

Monday I stayed in bed, sick with the flu. A good citizen, I watched the O.J. Simpson trial on television. This did nothing to make me feel better, about anything, in any way. So on Tuesday I ventured into the storm-battered Sierra, prepared to wade into California’s second-most favorite conversational topic--the weather.

For those who’ve been unable to break away from The Trial, here is a bulletin: In the world outside Department 103, it rained or snowed straight through most of January. Measurable rainfall was recorded at the Los Angeles Civic Center 15 days in the month. Farther north, the storming was more severe, and more steady.

At many California locales, rain or snow fell 27 out of 31 days, equaling records that predated World War I. In fact, in the time it took Johnnie Cochran to complete his opening statement, enough rain came down to service the annual water needs of entire cities. On reconsideration, gavel-to-gavel trial followers might not find that statistic so amazing.

In any case, it rained a bunch. The month of storms produced no shortage of human drama, and also a statewide case of cabin fever. Everyone, I am sure, has a story from the Great Deluge. For my own part, sometime in the second week, water started pushing up around our suburban rancher. One small room was swamped. I dug a foot down into the ground and found water, rising. This, I thought, is how it must have felt for Noah, right before the Ark launched.

*

Happily, we survived, along with the animals, two by two. The house was high and dry when I left Tuesday at dawn. It had stopped raining late Monday, and now an eerie mist covered the ground. On the drive, the radio brought reports of coastal mudslides, more rain headed for the northern state, dense tule fog in the valleys--and balmy sunshine across Southern California. In other words, maybe the weather at last was returning to normal.

The draw here was a Department of Water Resources snow survey. These snow surveys have been conducted up and down the Sierra for decades. The procedure is simple. Teams traverse to designated sites and stick a cylinder in the snow, measuring depth. The sample captured is then weighed to determine water quantity of the snow, an important variable.

Only in the last 15 years or so have these surveys become a media event, a seasonal ritual not unlike the return of the swallow-watchers to San Juan Capistrano. This is because through much of the last decade California has experienced drought. Everyone fretted over the Sierra snowpack. The dry years reminded Californians where their water comes from; they also revealed that, when it comes to weather patterns, no one knows diddly. Today, climate scientists in California study tree rings and mud pits and argue a lot. The phrase “normal weather” is taboo.

In dry years, the snow surveys would yield television images of fretful hydrologists, stabbing at pathetic patches of snow, or even dry dirt. This year was different. This year there was snow everywhere. Frank Gehrke, chief of snow surveys for the state, and two assistants conducted the operation. Half a dozen television crews recorded their every move. The camera operators had been loaned snowshoes, and they lumbered through the deep snow like the Budweiser Clydesdales.

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What they captured was not the stuff of high drama, though viewers overdosed on Marcia Clark tantrums might have found it refreshing. The banter between the snow surveyors was reminiscent of that found on off-hour television fishing shows.

“What have you got?”

“Uh, eighty-six-oh-five.”

“OK, sounds good.”

“Oops, I just stabbed a squirrel.”

Chuckle.

After an hour of this, Gehrke stopped and assessed. “We’re looking at anywhere from 180% to 200% of normal,” he said. At some checkpoints, the January storms had delivered almost a full season’s worth of snowfall. “It’s not really a surprise,” Gehrke said, revealing a talent for anti-climax, “considering how wet the last month was.”

Absent any threat of drought, Gehrke’s inquisitors focused on the chances of premature melting and spring floods and avalanches. In California, it’s never too early to start worrying about the weather. “We’d like it to be a little colder,” Gehrke conceded, “but nature never seems to cooperate.”

And as if to make his point, the weather changed on the spot. Clouds parted. The sun beat down. Jackets and gloves came off, followed by sweaters. Heading back to the vehicles, everyone agreed it felt an awful lot like summer. What happened to spring, no one could guess. Another California mystery.