The outdoor diary of a writer, photographer, and wilderness wanderer
April Seventeenth – A Tale of Two Snowstorms
THE SPRING MONTHS of March and April are typically the two snowiest months of the year in Colorado’s Front Range. It’s the time of year when strong cold fronts are prone to slip south around the great barrier of the Rockies then push moist air up against the foothills. These powerful ‘upslope’ storms can deposit large volumes of heavy wet snow onto the land exactly when it’s most needed, to boost upcoming spring plant growth.
A notable example of such a storm was the one that occurred in mid-March 2003. Lasting two days it dumped over three feet of snow upon my home and seven-plus feet higher in the foothills. Another big storm on April 17, 2016 delivered two feet. But this year, upslope storms have been notably absent. Instead, spring has provided extremes of another kind: temperatures soaring to ninety Fahrenheit, thirty-two Celsius. Unseasonably-warm, dry, and sunny conditions have continued through March and into April.
But then, only a few days ago on April 17, a brief slot of upslope snowfall looked likely. It was too precious to waste! Casting aside other plans I threw camping gear into my pack and, as heavy wet snow began cascading from the heavens, set out on foot into the storm. I was soon damp from moisture and sweat, soon reminded of the discomforts of traveling on foot in ‘weather’. But none of that mattered. I’ve been a resident in Colorado now for twenty-three years. I’ve come to look at dampness and all forms of precipitation differently than I once did. I now see moisture as the precious resource it is. I welcome it. I celebrate it. I tend not to stay indoors to shelter but instead far prefer to get outside and actively engage. And so, as the weather wafted downwards and settled upon my shoulders, I wandered through it with immense glee.
Alas, this upslope storm petered out after a mere two hours. It only delivered four inches of snow, not multiple feet. But four inches of wetness was still better than no inches. And it was enough snow to turn the drought-parched foothills white and return them to a season they’ve barely seen all winter. So, I wasn’t complaining! My quiet journey through the snow and then my gentle camp was a greatly-appreciated and most-emphatically not-taken-for-granted treat.
To mark this brief (and soon-thawed) round of spring snow I’m sharing a quick post: a photo essay of two April seventeenths: April 17, 2016 and April 17, 2026. They were two very different experiences: one a run, one an overnight walk; one a heavy snowstorm, one a fleeting burst of snow. But both share two central themes: great pleasure in the moment itself and also immense lasting appreciation afterwards. My life is richer for fully engaging with each storm. Storms always pass. It would be a shame to miss what they can offer!
April 16, 2017. The snowstorm begins late at night, soon coating my home town.By the morning of April 17, snow lay wonderfully deep, a mass of moisture ready to sink into the grateful earth.Statues down by the creek in the center of town were somewhat buried.Two seasons in one shot!A mass of flakes wafting down upon Clear Creek.Old buildings in the history park had a real pioneer era feel to them in the storm.A great dollop of snow on a park bench clearly demonstrated the depth of snow.I ‘ran’ from town up the Chimney Gulch Trail, although often it was wading not running. Although I only wore running shoes on my feet, not boots and gaiters, vigorous movement kept me warm. Then again, stopping to document the scene and add myself into the photos for scale pushed me close to the edge of ‘chilly’!In places the trail was blocked by snow-laden branches. Mid-April had never looked like this back in London where I grew up!A pause at a favorite bridge to inspect the mountain creek.The creek could still be seen. Just. (Some scenes work better in black and white!)In the forest above, trees were bowed beneath the weight of the snow.The trail ahead, known from countless visits, was challenging but truly magical.Running uphill… well, sort of!With the wind blowing hard and snow swirling and drifts building the summit (only five and a half miles from home) felt far wilder than it truly is. And the April 17 date did NOT feel like spring!Fast forward ten years to April 17, 2026, and I was out on foot again as another upslope event began.After weeks of unseasonable warmth, creek-side plants had already greened up. The snow and hard overnight frost would freeze many leaves to a crisp, damaging them at a cellular level. Life in the foothills isn’t straightforward.A hint of green leaves on a broken old cottonwood surrounded by snowy pines.To my disappointment (but also, a little, to my relief) the storm faded away after only two hours. Clouds broke. Blue sky appeared.A plump dusky grouse patiently and generously posed while I snapped a few (zoom lens) portraits.Sunlight soon dappled the forest floor. The trail ahead beckoned. As it always does!Cones on a healthy Douglas-fir.The sweet peace of the forest, pine-scented, chill and damp, alive with bird song.A resilient ponderosa pine. A pine beetle infestation is predicted for Colorado’s Front Range over the next few years. The ongoing drought and lack of cold winter temperatures won’t help. We shall see how resilient the area’s ponderosa’s really are.Clearing clouds near ‘Turkey Central’, the off-trail valley where I’d spend the night.Looking west into the High Country. Contrast with the same scene a month and a half earlier HERE.A moment of brief afternoon warmth… before a chill twenty-Fahrenheit (minus seven-Celsius) night coated my tent in frost. But it was all a pleasure. The world sparkled.A rising wind grabbed snow off the trees and set it swirling in the air once again.Evening light in the forest.Warmth was a long time coming to my hidden camp the following morning; I stretched out breakfast and coffee until the sun struck. But soon I was underway, trekking home, savoring the sights of the day such as this ball cactus, soon to flower.Elk kept a careful eye on me as I passed by.There were turkey prints everywhere, although for once I didn’t see actually see the turkeys themselves.My size ten boot print, added for scale.The trail home. Beckoning. As always!As the morning warmed, snow was soon stripped from the foothills. But it was wonderful to see the Divide looking white again, the color it should be at this time of year.A final photo, a comparison shot: back down in the valley the scene looked very different from only twenty-four hours earlier! This year’s April 17 snowstorm didn’t quite match the two-foot snowfall from ten years ago, but it WAS most definitely appreciated. And hope remains. Even May isn’t too late for heavy upslope snow…
