Monumental Snow in the Sierras
Until the morning of February 17, 2026, not a single snowflake had fallen in the Sierra foothills all winter. Nevada City had indeed been springlike with peonies pushing up and daffodils in bloom. But then this happened. One exquisite and unique snowflake floated silently down from a cold gray sky and stuck fast to the forest floor. For the next three days it was followed by millions of others, blanketing the woods and deck outside my windows.
The storm system was massive and widespread across Nevada County. Accumulations depended on the elevation. High in the Sierra Nevada over 70 feet of fresh snow blanket Castle Peak near Truckee over in a 5-day period. On the same Tuesday that snow began to fall here in the Sierra foothills, an unstable football-field-sized slab broke loose from Castle Peak and crashed down the mountain side. In a matter of seconds, the deadliest avalanche in recent U.S. history buried 15 experienced skiers who were returning from a three-day cross-country adventure. Six survived, nine did not, and a tight-knit mountain community that loves experiencing the backcountry firsthand was left devastated.
At 3,750 feet in Nevada County where Peekay and I live, our world rapidly disappeared that week under our own mountain of snow. Where there had been electricity, heat and internet service on Monday, suddenly there was next to none. Locally this monumental snow event came fast and was widespread. Downed branches and trees left some roads impassable. PG&E was overwhelmed, projecting it would be February 24th before road crews could get power and internet service back on. Given the forecast of more heavy snow, it was time to roll my small-but-mighty Generic portable gas-powered generator out of the garage and set up a plan of action for the uncertain days ahead.
In such emergencies, my gas furnace fuels the gas fireplace in our living room 24-7, and in the kitchen my gas stovetop ignites with a match. It’s like camping. By candlelight and lantern, I make my early morning coffee in a stovetop percolator and toast bread in a frying pan while assembling my breakfast omelet. Much to Peekay’s delight, I’ve been thawing a filet of salmon, cod, pollack or halibut every day from the last shipment I ordered from the Wild Alaskan Company. He’s their biggest feline fan, bar none.
After it snowed all day Tuesday and through the night into Wednesday, I suited up, put my YakTraxs on my snow boots, and headed out of the garage with a square-nosed shovel to survey the situation on our road. That required me to navigate our daunting driveway one slow step at a time. I made it halfway down the steep incline before falling backwards in slow motion like a drifting snowflake, landing softly on my bum atop a cushion of knee-deep snow. With my feet firmly sunk in the snow, my shovel off to the side, and my cell phone tucked somewhere inside my layers of snow gear, I sat for a while taking in the beauty of the white wonderland all around me.
As I sat, I thought of Kate Winslet and Idris Elba in the movie “The Mountain Between Us.” They were stranded after the small plane they’d hired crashed into the side of a mountain. With the pilot dead, no cell service and almost no food, they set off in deep snow with the pilot’s dog, determined to get off of the mountain alive. Luckily I did have a functioning cell phone and texted my neighbors to come help me get up. But before anyone checked their phone, I did what one does when the calvary doesn’t arrive. I rolled over on my stomach, willed my knees to support me as I hoisted the shovel upright, reversed direction, and one exhausting step at a time finally made it back to the house.
The next day, my neighbor Carol arrived wearing snowshoes and helped me dig out the generator that had been covered in snow overnight. Not knowing how long the neighborhood would be without power, I conserved my gas supply by running the generator only two hours in the evening—for light, to keep the refrigerator and freezer items cold, and to recharge my backup battery pack, iPhone, iPad and Apple watch. After turning the generator off for the night, the house was lit by battery-powered candles, flashlights, and a miner’s headlamp.
Through it all, my immediate circle of amazing neighbors, along with family and numerous close friends across the country and world helped keep me going. They texted and called often, cheered me on, and updated me on events taking place at the 2026 Milan Cortina Winter Olympics. My sweet next-door neighbors—Katie, Pete, Anders and Adiza—trekked over with homemade chili, bought gas for my generator, and shared news of the road conditions beyond my driveway.
Friday, February 20th brought the first sunshine we’d seen in days, and with it hope. Once the sun warmed the snow-laden branches of our tall pines, firs, and cedars, thundering snow bombs began crashing to the ground below. Inside, Peekay spent that glorious day looking out the dining room window as squirrels and birds searched for birdseed while dodging snow bombs all the while.
On Saturday, the cavalry arrived to dig out my driveway. Local legend Chris Swanson led the operation in a powerful plow, followed by Bill maneuvering an agile swiveling Bob Cat. The skilled team worked in tandem for two hours in a synchronized performance of pushing and dumping a ton of snow until a pathway from the garage to the road had been cleared.
Throughout this recent February snow event—one that felt Olympic in scale—I captured snowy scenes and recorded daily updates with my ever-present iPhone. There will be no more heroics in deep snow for me. For the rest of the winter, I plan to keep busy and visit Kit when weather permits. And when night falls, you’ll find me at home reading a good book by our gas fireplace with Peekay the cat curled up on a cozy blanket nearby.