Gearing Up To Bear Down

Firewood stacked: check. Fresh water jugs stacked: check. 500-gallon propane tank filled to the brim: check. Extra batteries: check. Two AM/FM radios with WX: check. Outside hose bibs disconnected and protected: check. Deck cleared: check. Canned goods: check. Good. Ready for more Global Warming.

This happens to be the earlierst snowfall I've had in my memory. Occasionally I've had a snowy Christmas or two -- even that has been somewhat rare. The heavy snows usually begin in January.

Earlier this week I wanted to get up to my cabin in the Sierra Nevada mountains. I work in Sacratomato and my wife lives there as well. However, the three-day storm which occurred last weekend took down trees and power lines, then froze all snow and water. I'd had a wonderful spiral-cut ham in the freezer which we'd planned for Thanksgiving. Though I worked Thanksgiving that wasn't going to stop dinner. The day before, with a break in the storm, I drove up to my cabin; PG&E trucks were festooned everywhere. Obviously, this did not bode well for returned power. Like a game of Pac Man, slowly I drove around the parked and outrigged blue trucks with their accompanying booms and buckets -- again, literally everywhere.

My street had been cleared, so I crept along the ice downhill, losing traction and beginning to slide sideways until I hit a clear bit of asphalt now and then. The hill to my cabin is fairly steep -- to the point where kids going up frequently push their bicycles. I thunked my right front tire into a bank of snow like a naturally-chocked wheel. Another frozen bank of snow occluded my gate. A small bent and frozen tree fell across the steps to my door. I could see, around the left corner of my big deck, about a 6-inch wide tree had fallen over the railing. The deck itself was covered by a lump of white rock about 5 feet deep.

So far, I thought, no broken windows, no snapped power or phone lines to the house, no big downed trees. Those things, of course, have happened before. Two years ago a chunk of frozen snow came down from a redwood and put a 12" dent into the fender of my RAV-4.

Once I sussed out how, I managed (yes, even at my bulk) to climb over the fence and gain access to the side door, shutting it behind me. Flip-flip. No power. I threw open the blinds for interior light and made more checks. Nice, clean house (thanks Kathy!). Interior warm (propane heat). Water running. Toilets flushing. Ooops. Refrigerator. Dare I?

My senses are predominantly gone. I am color blind. My taste buds provide little action. I have killed various audio frequency bands after years of wearing headphones in radio in my tender and ignorant youth; going to Black Sabbath, King Crimson, Led Zeppelin and Status Quo concerts didn't help much either. My olfactory senses are, at best, almost completely absent. I could linger on old and vile homicide scenes much longer than my partners.

So when I opened the door for but a moment and could actually smell the refrigerator -- including freezer -- I somehow sensed this was not a good thing.

Losing power for a good seven days will do that, I concluded.

I chipped and dug a path back out to my SUV, unloaded some gear and crossed my fingers that power would be forthcoming. But not before I hiked around the corner to a scattered conglomerate of huge PG&E crane trucks. It was only then that I observed massive chunks of freshly-sawed tree trunks behind the trucks a property or two away. Yes, dearest readers, your humble blogger was the very last to acquire power within a 20-mile radius because a large fir had fallen and not only sliced through the power cables but smacked into a pole, causing more lines to snap. Lucky me.

The crew foreman chatted with me for a few minutes. Yes, PG&E trucks were everywhere. He himself had been called and responded from Bakersfield. Other power agencies from outside Fornicalia had responded as well. I would have power, he said, by later that afternoon. He was both correct and incorrect. I thanked him and his crew for their hard work and slided/hiked back to the cabin. Aaaah, nice heat. It was 22-degrees outside.

I waited some more. Hours passed. Nothing. I re-loaded the RAV-4 and clawed my way back up the hill to leave. The PG&E trucks hadn't moved. At the T-intersection I noted: hey, the house on the right has its porch light activated! I saw a big blue truck now behind me. Coolio, I thought, maybe I have power.

Finishing my U-turn, I again stopped in the snow berm. My own porch lights were on! (Insert chorale of angels here.) I unloaded my junk again (three trips) via the recently-chunked-out path through frozen snow, down the steps, to the door. I began to further unload some food purchases, books, and my mail. Five minutes into detailed unloading -- a distant boom from outside the house. Total darkness. Cat piss!

I crawled the RAV-4 up the hill once again and sojourned carefully down I-80 to Sacratomato, no spiral cut ham in tow. That was the Wednesday night before Thanksgiving. We had to punt.

Following work my wife and I had a Mexican Thanksgiving. She cooked chicken in mole over rice. So tender the chicken fell right off the bones. Great meal!

It's 10 am now on Sunday, and I have a couple days off in succession. Once I publish this post, I plan to head back back up I-80 to the cabin. Chain control is just past the exit to my cabin, so I should safely make the journey. I'll re-assess the house then. I expect I'll be making a large food run, cleaning out the fridge, and bagging things you wouldn't want to see.

Just another day in God's country. And I wouldn't trade it for the world.

BZ