In the words of Bing Crosby...

As we all know, winter storms over the past two weeks have draped large swaths of North America in a nice white Christmas blanket. High winds, subzero temps, relentless snowfall. It's been a long time coming. Only a month ago I was complaining over pints of Cold Smoke that Snowbird and Alta were receiving unfair powder conditions while Whitefish, Lost Trail and any other ski resort in my backyard couldn't even turn on snow guns. Even a week ago, the coverage at Montana Snowbowl proved pathetic, reminiscent of my first season skiing there in 04/05 (northwestern Montana received roughly 50 percent of average snowfall that season, according to the National Climate Data Center). The inch-long coreshot on the base of my left Rossignol Bandit is testament to the fact.

No more. The latest cadre of severe weather systems are hellbent on making up for the late start to winter. North Dakota has seen higher snow accumulation this December than all of last year. Friends flying through MSP International Airport, O'Hare and Denver walked into bars over the holiday with stories of delays, re-routings or full-on cancellations. Ian described watching airport personnel dole out billet pads to stranded passengers when nearby hotels reached capacity. Four days ago the National Weather Service said Bismarck was on its way to breaking a 1916 snowfall record of 21.7 inches for December. At that time, accumulation in town had hit 19 inches. We've received at least six inches since. Daytime temps have remained in the single digits, with occasional windchills around -10 to -15.

So, the personal impact: I spent Wednesday and Friday this week on National Ski Patrol duty at Huff Hills Ski Resort, south of Bismarck/Mandan. Dug out equipment, ran tobaggans, etc. I shoveled the driveway and sidewalks twice, with a reprieve this morning when my elementary school P.E. teacher Kurt came by with his snowblower. I rediscovered the dangers of digging out window wells while helping Dad roof-rake the house (always make sure you announce your presence in a window well unless you want to suffocate in a prairie avalanche). I cleared paths to the woodpile, to the driver's side door of my car, and in the backyard. The latter proved necessary for our aged border collie, Freckles, to make it to the bathroom. And I high-centered my Subaru Sport on a berm outside the coffee shop, resulting in more digging and the drafting of three hefty passersby to push. Not since 1996, when I crafted a series of tunnels through the drifts in my front yard, have we had anywhere near this much snow. More to follow, but for now some pictures.