Sunday, January 20, 2013

When Snow Reports Are Released...

Words.

Without careful reading I can easily fall into the trap ensnaring those who don't check every word. The Wall Street Journal printed a list of the snowiest cities in the United States. The list came from a reputable source. What is considered a city? According to Wiki " it takes 50,000- 100,000 people to make a city. Anything less is a town, and anything more is a metropolitan area."

New York State is the winner. Syracuse accumulates 103 inches, Buffalo 95 inches, and Albany 62 inches. Just because the total population fits into a definition doesn't really mean that a prize is merited.

The Wall Street Journal writer, who obviously has not listened to the 11:00 news, reports, "New York's fifth- largest city gets the most snow in the U.S. with 103 inches per year, according to Accuweather. "

Perhaps if he said that among cities Syracuse gets the most snow-- or even that these snow totals only apply to cities, not towns, not hamlets, not to places off the beaten path.

I do listen to the news and gape at snow piled up to the chimneys, snow covered roadways, and snow high enough to bury tractors.

NBC News released a different type of list from Jonathan Erdman a weather.com. Meteorologist. He looked at the past thirty years. ( I like looking at the past-- a historical foundation). The meteorologists expanded their definition of a city to include places that had a population of at least 1,000 people. If you unfortunately live in an unincorporated town you're out of luck. Of course I could wonder about how they define town and hamlet. But I like the expansion. This is now an honor worth attaining.

New York doesn't get left out: sixth on the list is Boonville, New York in the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains. Their annual average snowfall of 193.7 inches makes Syracuse look like a sunbelt city.

South Dakota—and I've been listening to snow reports long enough to know that they get buried in snow. Lead, S.D. located in the Black Hills checks in at 204. 4 inches. And their snowy months are March and April. I imagine by that time you're tired of making snow angels.

Truckee, California in the Sierra Nevada area often sees 202.6 inches. When Cheryl Strayer walked the Pacific Coast Trail she was unable to hike this part of the trail because of the unusually late snows.

Hancock, Michigan-- way up there in Michigan has a annual snowfall of 211.7 inches.

Crested Butte, Colorado has a population-- give or take a few for births, deaths, and those who move about from place to place of 1,487. Their yearly snow averages 215.8 inches.

First on the list: Valdez, Alaska walks away with the prize. Their average annual snowfall is 326.3 inches. Plow operators must do well. Do you get your pathways plowed or do you just get used to higher and higher elevations?


But the results of all these lists still doesn't answer the question about the snowiest places in the United States.

After scouting around I found a list of the Heaviest Yearly Snowfalls. Again I stopped—are distinctions being made between light fluffy snow and that wet dense stuff? But there comes a time when being bogged down in minutia presents more of an impediment to knowledge than simply moving on even though you know that some words still present problems.

Now I admit to sheer delight when I realized that I had visited some of the places mentioned — during the summer months.

Mt Rainier, Paradise Station. We hiked through wild flowers until we came to a large field of snow and ice.

Crater Lake Park Headquarters, Oregon. The year we traveled to Crater Lake, the road leading into the park opened the second week in July—one week before we arrived. I have a photo with snow in the background.

The snow award goes to Mount Baker downhill ski area " for receiving the world's record for receiving the most snow in a single year when 1140 inches landed between July 1, 1998 and June 30, 1999."

My own award goes to a ten foot snow mound formed by New York City plows and left in place.

We ran up and down the mound, named it Mt. Lane using the first letters of our given names—Linda, Annie, Nina and Ellen—and played King of the Mountain. Then we slid down the sides on cardboard sleds pretending we were intrepid Antarctic explorers.

The following day the plow returned and scooped up the snow and removed it from the street.

I recall Mt Lane as a grand mound that we all scaled—it will never be a small hump of melting snow covered with black exhaust from cars.





















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