The new Trout Underground World Headquarters is higher up the mountain than the old homestead, and while we knew — on an intellectual basis — that we’d see more snow, we hadn’t entirely confronted the issue in the truly visceral sense.

snowtrees

Well, I can scratch that item off the list (“Confront increased snowfall on a visceral level: check).

Friday the snow was wet and heavy; lifting a shovel of the stuff was an act of elbow abuse, and yet the new Trout Underground World Headquarters had a 200′ driveway jammed with a foot of the stuff — and that after I’d completely cleared it of eight inches of snow on Thursday.

This — unfortunately – set the stage for the Great Snowblower Disaster of 2008:

Sadly, my ailing snowblower wasn’t up to throwing wet snow, which lead to a lot of shoveling, which lead to my cough/cold coming back, which lead to a call to Chris Raine, which happened just before the power went out, which lead to a cold house, which I left just as Chris showed up with his snowblower, which wouldn’t start, which happened just before his truck got stuck in my driveway, which was just before I dug out my Bronco, which we used to unstick Chris’s truck, which was just before I broke his snowblower (which finally started) throwing the wet snow.

Simple, eh?

Snow Business

Over the last four days, we’ve seen more than a couple feet of snow, and the Trout Underground/Man Cave World Headquarters backyard features belly-deep drifts that swallow Wally the Wonderdog whole when he hurls his sausage-shaped body at them in pursuit of dog treat.

It’s what passes for entertainment when the satellite dish is too clogged with snow to function, and besides, the whole house is suffering a bit of cabin fever.

In fact, I’m taking a little snowshoe trip up the road to where the county road ends and a forest service road begins, and the Wonderdog and I will spend a couple hours trying to navigate through several-foot drifts of what will become next year’s trout stream water.

Then I’ll come home and finish up my 2007 wrap-up post, which shouldn’t be too hard, what with the week ahead promising little but more snow.

There’s nothing like a captive writer when there are words to be written, though Wayne Eng told me the river’s actually fallen into fishable shape, and since it’s going to stay cold, it’s possible you’ll see a fishing report.

See you somewhere, Tom Chandler.

Posted in Underground Entertainment.