The Winter That Almost Wasn't
Winter 2022-23 was phenomenal. It was my first winter in Eugene, and the snow was plentiful in the West Cascades. Each day I spent skiing was filled with deep snow and free refills. It was the best season that anyone had seen at Willamette Pass Ski Area in a very long time, and I just so happened to be there to enjoy it. The snow was good, the lift lines were short, and the bar at the lodge mixed up delicious drinks at the end of each day. I did not buy a pass that year, and decided not to make that same mistake again. I grabbed my pass for the 2023-24 as soon as they went on sale.
When November rolled around this year, things were looking up. Temperatures were dropping and all the local hills received a big snowfall about halfway through the month. This early season excitement was quickly overshadowed, however, by the arrival of one of the skier’s most dreaded enemies - El Niño.
El Niño, also known as the El Niño–Southern Oscillation (ENSO), is a weather pattern associated with warm sea surface temperatures, a southerly air pattern, and low snow levels. El Niño’s big sister, La Niña, is a weather pattern typically associated with the opposite effect, and is our saving grace during this new era of winter recreation. Unfortunately for us, after three La Niña years in a row, our favorite weather system finally dissipated. This year, our little ski hill was staring down the barrel of an incredibly powerful El Niño. It’s not unusual for these two patterns to oscillate. But combined with the effects of climate change, the thought of a low snow year caused my head to hurt. I could already smell the smoke from early season fires.
By late December the scene was bleak. Temps hovered in the mid-sixties. The ski areas weren’t open, and the mountains were dry. It wasn’t until January that the temperatures began to drop and the weather radars started to pick up a large storm system heading south towards Oregon. The snow estimates got bigger, and bigger, and bigger. Then, it happened.
A powerful winter storm swept through Oregon. By January 8, three feet of snow had fallen and the ski areas finally opened up. I spent that Friday making my first tracks of the season at Willamette Pass Ski Area in sweet, sweet cascade concrete. It was dense, but it was heaven for a snow-starved ski bum. I took that Monday off fully expecting to be on-mountain for three more days, but that dream was short-lived thanks to what happened next.
As temperatures continued to fluctuate around freezing point, an inversion happened that would trap a layer of cold air inside the Willamette Valley for days. Warm rain from above fell through the low lying clouds where temperatures dipped below freezing. The rain seemed to half-freeze in the air then solidify only once it had made contact with the ground. The result was a layer of ice that seemed to have welded itself to everything in sight. Trees collapsed under the weight. Power lines sagged to the ground. Some areas outside of Eugene lost power almost immediately, and went on without it for over a week after the storm subsided. Ski areas also lost power to their lifts, leaving all of us in a lurch that weekend while we waited to see when the power would come back on. In total, over ten feet of snow fell in the Cascade Mountains.
The following Monday, Willamette Pass managed to knock the ice off of one of their chairs and reopen. I hopped in my car that morning and began making my way up the pass in hopes that I could find some solitude and deep turns off a few of the runs. Initially, the drive was miserable. Cars, trees, and broken power poles littered the side of the road, covered in the same thick ice that had taken hold of everything in the valley. As I continued my drive, however, things began to change. The elevation I was gaining propelled me though the inversion, and by the time I reached Oak Ridge I saw blue sky for the first time since the week before. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the rest of the drive went by without incident.
When I arrived at Willamette Pass, I saw that the snowcats had groomed small paths down several runs, and it’s a good thing they did. The rest of the mountain snow was covered in an almost impenetrable layer of ice, creating a texture not unlike a piece of paper that had been wadded up and flattened back out. I hopped into my skis and on to Twilight, the chairlift I typically use for my warm up runs before heading to the backside. I rode off the lift tentatively, nursing a knee that ached from overuse a few days before. I’m at the age now where unfortunately my body is beginning to creak. “I’ll make it to the doctor after ski season this year, I swear,” I told myself for the seventh year in a row. I pointed my skis downhill and made several turns before trying to ride off the groomers and into the untouched goods, locked away by a deep layer of crust that had formed the night before. I began my descent into the crust, and discovered immediately that I couldn’t turn. My tips took a nosedive and I flipped onto the ice, which fell apart like sugar-glass. The snow underneath was so deep I couldn’t pick myself up. I was forced to flip over and walk myself up backwards while people on the chair lift watched and chuckled, knowing damn well they were going to be trying the same thing when they got off.
I spent the rest of the morning tearing down fresh corduroy via the Twilight lift. I hoped that the backside would open, but the ice and snow were just too much. The Peak 2 lift wouldn’t be operable for several more days. After a few more runs in the afternoon I grabbed some chili cheese fries from the dining area then made my way back to my car, mentally preparing for the mess I would have to drive through to return home. I descended back into the clouds past Oakridge, drove through the decimation in Pleasant Hill, and followed a very brave Prius on to I-5 heading North before I arrived home.
Eventually, the valley thawed out. The storm itself dealt significant damage to Eugene, Springfield, and the rest of the communities up and down the I-5. At the same time, it had increased the snowpack around Oregon to its seasonal average, an amazing feat considering there was practically zero snow on the ground a few days prior. The January blizzard is a storm I won’t soon forget, and one that makes me wonder about the future. Are wild weather patterns like this the new normal? Will long periods of drought be followed by extreme storms loaded with precipitation? Is this the new winter? Only time will tell. Fortunately for me, I’m lucky to be alive at a time when I can still experience deep days on the mountain. The future of skiing in the Pacific Northwest is uncertain, but I do know one thing for sure. As long as there’s snow I’ll be puttering up the mountain passes to our local hills, searching for the goods whenever I get the chance for as long as I can.
That ice storm was something!