A Donner Party Christmas

When my husband, Jeff, told me and our daughter, Val, he had five days off for Christmas, we were overjoyed. For many years, he had commuted between Truckee, CA and the Bay Area for work, so every day with him was precious. A major winter storm hit the day he set out for home, however, and hovered over the Donner Pass for days.

Every time a big storm hits California, CNN pulls up the archive footage of snowplows clearing I-80 over Donner Summit for beleaguered tourists and semis.This always reminds me that Truckee's deep snows had trapped the Donner Party here in 1846.

Getting off a few hours early, Jeff started the five-hour drive home. The storm had already soaked the Central Valley to flood stage. Just above Auburn, the CHP stopped traffic, forcing him to sleep that night parked between two semis on the Applegate off-ramp.

At home, Val and I waited, wondering if he'd slid off the highway, only to be found in Spring. The Donner Pass was always difficult to cross in winter, but this storm created blinding conditions and hurricane winds over Donner Summit. The power blinked off and on several times until we turned everything off and huddled in oil lamp light. I couldn't help thinking of the Donner's hunkering inside their makeshift shelters.

At last, Jeff called from a cafe where he met a trucker who complained bitterly about the cheap chains his company had furnished. Cable chains on semis just don't cut it over Donner Pass.

Lucky to Have Spiders

As usual for holiday weekends, thousands of skiers and snowboarders crammed I-80. They all log-jammed near the top of Donner Summit to put on chains and pass through the inspection station. While hundreds of drivers stopped helter-skelter in the road, Jeff clipped the spiders onto the Saturn's drive wheels. Then he weaved between cars until he reached the inspection station. Jeff had to wait for the inspector to check out the spiders, and tried to convince him that these "new-fangled" things actually worked as well as chains.

Muttering in frustration, Jeff finally drove on, thankful that he didn't have to lay in the wet snow to install chains or risk his life in case some driver lost control and ran over him.

Five MPH

Once through chain control chaos, stop-and-go traffic inched over Donner Pass at five miles per hour. Even at that speed, dozens of cars spun out of control, jamming up at the bottom of the hill. Jeff wove around these cars, their divers clutching the steering wheels with white-knuckled hands.

Plan B

When Jeff reached the Truckee off-ramp, he wove around more spun outs up Northwoods Blvd. Midway up the hill, a sheriff's deputy stopped traffic to inspect, yet again, for chains. The Saturn's momentum was broken, and Jeff slid backwards to try the ascent again. Once up the hill, the Saturn swam through the snow until it came within a block of home.

Snow lay several feet deep and the local snowplows were overwhelmed. He couldn't make it up that last hill and had to return to town. All the hotels were filled with stranded motorists. This storm had buried a lot of plans, and was working hard to bury ours.

A Buried House

So far, it had taken Jeff over a day just to reach Truckee. During that time, I had worked up quite an anxiety attack wondering about his progress. It had been hours since he'd called from the cafe. I needed to clear the driveway, but when I opened the garage door, only a thin strip of daylight showed at the top.

I gasped as I wondered how I would even start. Knowing that this snow was only a berm blown by the vortex of wind over the house, I took a shovel and started pushing the snow outward from the door. Sometimes I had to feed snow to the blower and aim it out the narrow opening I'd broken through the berm. At last, I shoveled enough snow to start on the driveway itself.

Snow piled three to seven feet, depending on how the snow drifted around our house. For hours, I wrestled the snowblower, first clearing a spot then shoveling snow into the blower to toss over the tall drifts. Soon Val joined me. We took turns blowing and shoveling until we were exhausted. As daylight faded, we'd only clear a narrow path halfway down to the road.

Back inside, we watched the snow blowing horizontally past our windows. Drifts grew like fungus up the walls. A berm had buried the eastside windows, casting Val's room into darkness. Another berm threatened to close off the view to the south. We'd soon be as encased as the Donner's; but at least we had a holiday's supply of food. Not all would be as in the past.

Val and I huddled next to a meager fire in the woodstove. I soon realized I'd have to snowshoe onto the flat rooftop and dig out the chimney. But how could I find something buried in snow?

Jeff's HAM radio antenna at the edge of the house marked a spot which aligned with the stovepipe. I paced off the space and started digging. Then the crusted snow from the previous storm collapsed under me. I lay in a four-foot-deep cup of snow, but there was the stovepipe. I tapped the soot built up on the cap, climbed out and snowshoed off the roof. The fire flared up in the stove, bright and warm. Now, all I needed was to know where Jeff was. At last, the phone rang. Jeff's voice settled my nerves until he told me he planned to drive to Reno.

Trucker Double-Take

Plowing his way through the snow-clogged streets, he got back on I-80 to Reno. The absence of traffic helped him relax until he realized that he and a Cal-Trans sand truck driver were the only ones on the road. He looked up at the truck driver, who stared at him as if he were crazy. The man's eyes were wide with terror. When Jeff reached Reno, he learned that east-bound I-80 had been closed.

Circus Circus

At last, he arrived at Reno's gambling district. Even at this low elevation, snow collected in the streets. The desk clerk at Circus Circus told him hundreds of reservations had been cancelled and Jeff had wide open pick of the rooms. He called again to report he practically had the casino to himself.

Home At Last

His call from the hotel didn't improve our Christmas moods. Val and I kept hacking at the driveway, reaching the end just as a snowplow scooped away the last ten feet. We went inside, threw another log on the fire, and made the best of our lonely Christmas Eve. By late morning, Jeff made it home. He had to park the Saturn at the nordic ski center and walk the rest of the way. It had taken him thirty-two hours to get home.

With only about twenty-four hours before he had to drive back, we had just enough time to open presents and do laundry. As he packed the Saturn, the sun burned through the clouds. The storm was over, as was our holiday. At least he would have a safer journey back to work.