Winter Without Winter
Its the first day of 2026, and I keep looking up into the sky hoping to see some snowflakes. Sometime this afternoon its supposed to snow or rain a bit, depending on the temperature. There are thick dark clouds above, but so far they've yielded nothing. Unless you've just emerged from a coma, you're undoubtedly aware that this has been a very warm and dry winter in the Rockies. For most of it, a large high pressure system has been sitting over Colorado driving all of the moisture and colder weather north. For a Winter Guy like me who spends his summers dreaming of ice skating on the Colorado River, or carving through deep powder snow through aspen glades, its been a disappointing start to the season.
The numbers from across the state are sobering. The snowpack is about 50% of average depending on what watershed you look at, though it feels like even less. Most of the ski areas in the central mountains only have 20% of their possible terrain open. Without man-made snow it would be worse than that. Hovering over those realities are the thought of what next summer's water supply will look like. Here along the "Lower Upper" Colorado River, we should be in better shape than most, given the number of reservoirs we have upstream. Of course that will only be helpful if there's water in the reservoirs to release. Lake Powell might need to get propped up with water from the big federal reservoirs on the San Juan, Gunnison and Green rivers, which will not be great for people who recreate on them. After last year's underwhelming runoff, this is exactly what we didn't need this winter.
Most years, the river in my backyard begins to freeze just after Thanksgiving, and by Christmas the ice is thick enough to skate on. That scenario began right on time this year, for it was cold on the Sunday night after Thanksgiving and I had to break river ice to get my boat out the day after. Over the next few nights the ice slowly built up, but then the following week it got warm and it all melted away. I ended up putting my boat back into the river, something that I'd never done before. On Christmas Day, I did a short float in my dory from my backyard down to Horse Creek. It was a warm, beautiful day but my boat kissed a lot of rocks along the way. It felt more like November or April than it did Christmas.
Last night it was New Year's Eve, and for many years we've had the neighbors over for a bonfire, ice skating, and to shoot off industrial grade fireworks. This was the first time we didn't do that in many years. The ice is too thin for skating, and the ground too dry for fireworks. Maybe we'll do it in a week or two conditions permitting, but it was the most boring New Year's we've had in awhile.
Last week I did a propane delivery to Sylvan Lake State Park, and noticed that the lake was not only frozen over but safe enough so that there were a couple of ice fisherman on it. I walked out onto it a little ways, and was surprised to see that the ice was pretty nice. The day before I had been up near Sweetwater Lake, and there was still open water there. I got to thinking that maybe I'd have to come back with my skates.
On Saturday night there was finally some snow in the forecast, with Steamboat predicted to get the most. I began watching the live snow cam on top of the mountain, and was happy to see it coming down pretty heavily. Finally! I decided to go there on Sunday, and maybe get into some real snow. But then the next morning it occurred to me that it was still the Christmas holiday week, and that Sunday might be blacked out on my Ikon base pass. I looked into it and saw that it was. We finally had some snow and I couldn't get out into it. So instead, I grabbed my favorite dog and headed to Sylvan Lake. When I stopped in at the visitor's center, I asked how much snow they'd gotten up at the lake and they said a few inches. You should have been here yesterday, I was told. The ice was in great shape before it snowed. I was disappointed, but drove up there anyway. When I got there, the lake was shining under a brilliant white blanket of fresh snow. There were two ice fishermen, and a handful of people playing around in the snow near the lake's edge. It seemed like more than two inches on the ground, but I walked down to the lake anyway with my dog Ronnie, an undersized black lab with an oversized heart.
Out onto the lake's surface, I rubbed away the fine powder snow with my toe and found the ice underneath to be perfect. It didn't seem all that deep either, so I went back to my truck and got my skates. Once they were on, I found that I could move easily across the lake, the boots of my skates were just high enough to clear the powder, so it didn't slow me down at all. And it was just deep enough that it gave Ronnie decent traction, as long as she didn't try to change direction or stop too quickly. I started making big strides to the far end of the lake, with Ronnie running happily alongside. It was a beautiful day, with a cobalt blue sky and no wind other than what I was creating with my own forward motion. After going out and back, I started doing laps around the lake just going round and round with my happy dog running at my snowy heels. It might not have been quite the same thing as skiing a fine powder run, but the chemicals flooding my brain were the same.
Ronnie started falling behind a bit, and I realized that she was getting a bit tired. So we went back to the truck for a little break, and I began to wish that I'd brought a snow shovel to clear off a spot. Since I go up there regularly to deliver propane the rangers know me, and I was able to borrow a snow shovel from one of them. I parked back down near the lake and let Ronnie have a nap, and set to work moving some snow. I laid out an area about a hundred feet long by fifty wide, and got after it. It took me about two hours of labor to complete, and by the time I was done I was in just a long sleeve T shirt. A little kid came over when I was about halfway through and helped, but I'm not sure how much snow he actually pushed. He was with his family ice fishing, and it it was nice to get a little moral support at least. By the time I was done, my feet were cold and I was too tired to actually break out my stick and puck and use the clean ice surface I had created. Hopefully others have this week. I let Ronnie out and we did some more laps around the lake, and when she began lagging behind again I knew it was time to go home. It wasn't the day I was expecting to have when I woke up that morning, but it wasn't a bad way to spend it.
That evening we had the coldest night of the year, and when I woke up on Monday the river ice had formed again, locking my boat back in. After work that night I went out to check on it, and though the ice had melted a little during the afternoon, I knew if I didn't get it out then the boat would be stuck where it was until March. So I tugged on my neoprene waders, and set to work. It was a very bright evening under two-thirds of a full moon, and I started by stomping my way along the bank breaking the ice with my feet to sever its anchor to the riverbank. Then I used a pickaxe to free the boat, and got in. Initially I was only going to clear enough of a path to back my trailer in, but all of the broken ice just hung there, and I knew that if those chunks refroze it would make for a rough surface for skating. The more ice I chopped away, the more random pieces lingered around, and I realized that it was going to have to be all or nothing. So for the next two hours, I turned that Hog Island dory into an icebreaker, repeatedly ramming the ice, then using the oars to push the loosened ice chunks out in the current. It was actually pretty hard work, and by the time it was done it felt like I'd be rowing my big cataraft all day in a windstorm. But all of the ice was gone, and it could start to refreeze that night with a clean slate. And what a beautiful night to be out on the river! Even with the moonlight for competition the stars and planets shown brightly, and though the temperature was in the teens the physical effort I was expending kept me warm. I was tempted to float the mile downriver to my shop takeout, but then I remembered that it was locked in by ice, too. My arms and shoulders also reminded me that they'd supported me through sixty-four years of doing crazy stuff like shoveling snow off ponds and clearing ice from frozen rivers, and wouldn't the hot tub also be a nice place to watch the moon from? So that's how I enjoyed the rest of the evening instead.
By the next morning, a new sheet of ice had reformed on the river, this time without my boat stuck in it. Three days later, and I'm still waiting for it to thicken up enough for me to get out on. The last couple of nights its gotten below freezing but not by much. The weather for next week looks like more of the same, unseasonably warm for January. In this winter without winter, I'm beginning to wonder if it ever will freeze again.
If it doesn't, I'm glad to know that I got to spend my life playing in water in both its frozen and unfrozen state. It does make me wonder if the little kids I see ripping down ski runs, or playing hockey outside will still get to experience that by the time they're my age. I really hope so for their sake, and if reincarnation is an actual thing, for my own as well.
Jack Bombardier
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