January 30, 1998
After many days of rain and dingy overcast we finally had a break in the weather today. Shasta loomed larger and whiter than we'd remembered. After lunch we threw our nearly virgin snowshoes in the back of the Jeep and drove through town to Everitt Memorial Highway. We had a hunch that all the rain that had been soaking us at 3500 feet (twice normal for January) had been snow above 6000 feet. We were not prepared for how much. At the EMH vista point, snow along the side of the road is 4 to 5 feet deep. As you near Bunny Flat it is from 8 to 10 feet! This is not a berm pushed up by the plow, this is a cut through that depth of snow with a highway-sized snow thrower -- we saw it coming down. In some sections there were beautiful wind-sculpted cornices overhanging these walls of snow.
Since we had seen only one car coming down we wondered if there would be anyone else at Bunny Flat. There were four other vehicles. We nosed the Jeep toward the 8 foot wall of snow and parked. We laughed when we looked to our left and saw that the restroom building was completely buried. Where the road snow-removal ended there was also 8 feet of snow. Because people had scaled it and cut crude steps it was no longer a shear wall, but nevertheless difficult to negotiate. We struggled to the top and strapped on our snow shoes.
I realized today that in the past I've used the term winter wonderland too loosely. The scene today at Bunny Flat and most of the way up there must henceforth be matched before I will use such a superlative again. Every last branch of every last tree in sight was laden with absolutely as much snow as it could possibly hold. Many of the smaller trees were simply voluptuous white cones. Three or four pairs of cross-country ski tracks were the only marks on the wide undulating vista. And of course back-dropping all of this was the pure white summit of Mount Shasta. Looking back the other way was cloud-wreathed Castle Crags and further distant the white cone of Mount Lassen.
Our new snowshoes worked well. As we trudged up the gentle slope, they pressed into the light, dry snow about 4 inches; without them you would sink to your knees. Passing among the snow-laden trees we could see that icicles hung from the underside of many branches. The icicles must have formed at some time when the sun was brighter and temperatures higher because there was no melting taking place today. Nevertheless it was a comfortable working temperature and it was dead calm. Since the others up there were only distant specs of color, when we stopped walking there was a silence that is only experienced on a broad expanse of deep snow. We wandered through the trees; took photos; and paused frequently to make sure we savoured this very special experience. I wished all of you could have been there to share this with us. I hope some day you can.
