Dateline: High Mountain Camp, Sunday, 6:30 p.m., 34 degrees — Day 224 of full-time tiny travel
My dinner is heating up and the dog just finished her hers. I sit typing in the heated Clam shelter adjacent to my tiny trailer and try to figure out if this will be my last post ever. Just kidding (I hope).
It is literally the calm before the storm. Within a few hours, rain will begin to fall on my camp, and soon the rain will turn to snow. It’s called a “wintry mix.” Before it’s all over tomorrow at 9 a.m., according to weather reports, 3 to 5 inches may have fallen. And harsh winds are predicted for the rest of tomorrow.
And I’m pretty much terrified. I have snow phobia.
I’m not alone. There is a word for fear of snow: Chionophobia. It’s one of many weather-related phobias, including Lilapsophobia, an abnormal fear of tornadoes or hurricanes, and Astraphobia, a fear of thunder and lightning. And don’t forget Nephophobia, a fear of clouds.
According to weather phobia experts, those with Chinophobia “will over generalize and catastrophize if they see a few snowflakes falling.” Check. “They will jump to the thoughts of the dangers of snow.” Check. “They’ll think about hypothermia, being wet and cold, feeling trapped, white out blizzard conditions.” Check, check, and check.
Why do I have snow phobia? It is a mystery to me. The psychologists say it’s got to do with childhood trauma around snow. My sister recalls us playing in the snow as kids without gloves, and ending up with painfully cold hands. I have no memory of this. Or do I?
Part of my phobia is simple ignorance, and isn’t ignorance the cause of so many fears? Living most of my life in the lowlands of Southern and Central California, and then in New Orleans for nearly a decade, I’ve never lived where it snows. How does it work? How does one survive? When does frostbite kick in? Do you lose your fingers all at once? Or one by one?
The problem could be all those Little House on the Prairie books I read, where Pa had to work himself nearly to death to keep the family warm and alive in the cabin. For the Ingalls family, winter was a life and death event.
I was obsessed with the 1995 Peter Hoeg novel titled “Smilla’s Sense of Snow,” about a part-Eskimo Danish woman who solves a mystery with evidence found in the many, many forms of snow that those in the know know about.
It could be those Mount Everest movies and books and documentaries I’ve been consuming for many years. Climbers die up there and some of their bodies remain on the mountain. Apparently freezing to death is quite pleasant.
My fear of snow and cold weather could be related to my obesity early in adulthood (275 lbs. at my top) and my normal weight now (145 to 150). It could be that my body wants to be covered in fat, and what I do to prevent that with a special food plan is perverting my natural state. For one 12-year period in my life, I lived in the marine layer a mile from the Pacific Ocean, and I was cold most of the time. When I got to New Orleans and felt that warm, humid embrace, I said ahhhhh.
Being afraid of snow has cost me some experiences. One weekend I took some teenagers to my meditation center near Yosemite for a children’s course. On the morning of the last day, it started snowing and I freaked out. I thought; “We’re gonna die! We’ve got to get out of here!” I imagined a snowbound nightmare. The young people were having a blast in the fluffy snow, but we packed up and left. Barely a minute out of of the center, we dropped down below the snow line to brown hills and a dry road. Overreact much?
So setting up The Tiny and the Clam shelter in this high camp nearly 7,000-ft. elevation was risky for me. One problem is that I do not have snow chains as I never anticipated being anywhere they would be required. Another problem is that I like to camp in the tent section of the campground, which is technically closed for the season, and where the narrow bumpy road into my camp will not be plowed if snow does fall.
But I so wanted to be here in my favorite campground that fills me up spiritually, and I was just hoping there would be no snow. I had been watching weather reports and there had been no snow thus far this winter, now deep into February. The ranger told me when I arrived that it was the driest year in decades.
But as fate would have it, snow did transpire.
Last week, I survived 1 inch of snow. I didn’t really realize snow was falling overnight because snowfall is so quiet, very unlike the racket of the tropical rainstorms in New Orleans. Who knew? So I awoke to a winter wonderland. I was enchanted. But I also knew there would be abundant sun the following day, and the temperature would be in the 40s. By 2 p.m. that day I was able to drive out of the campground and down into town. It was a gentle way to experience my first snow while on the road.
But now fate has said: “I’ll see you that 1 inch and raise you 3 to 5 inches. And furthermore there will be 25 mph to 45 mph winds the next day and the temperatures will barely raise above freezing.” EEK! I’m gonna die!
I wanted to live this lifestyle in order to challenge myself, to see what I’m made of, to see if I could travel and camp and work and visit with loved ones. Can I do it? Am I all that? Maybe, but . . . no one said anything about snow!
As the day of the predicted snowfall neared, I considered my options. I could certainly cut and run. I could tear down and stow the clam, roll up my tarps and rugs, stow the ARB refrigerator in the Durango, stow the camp kitchen inside The Tiny, hitch up and mosey on down the mountain and onto my sister’s house. Or, I could rent a cabin for the night here at the campground and spend $120 just to not be so nervous.
In the end, decided to stay and face my phobia. My biggest fears are getting stuck here in camp for a week and running out of food, and that the Clam shelter will collapse from the weight of the snow. So, I thought, let’s see what I’m made of. Let’s see what my gear is made of. I already survived 1 inch of snow, which I didn’t know I could survive until I did. Maybe I’ll come out of this alive?
To prepare myself for this massive and monumental event, I took many steps to increase my chances of survival. They included:
- I sat in the brilliant sun this morning while I did my journaling. I figured I might have to endure a day without sun, so I soaked it in.
- I took long morning and evening hikes with the dog, to make sure we generated all those endorphins to help our moods. She with her husky bloodlines was extra animated as the afternoon chill came on.
- I saw the ranger Aaron warning some campers about the high winds tomorrow that could make leaving difficult. I joined in the conversation. A young woman with an older Class A motorhome who was taking care of 2 severely handicapped young adults mentioned that she was hauling a trailer with their sophisticated wheelchairs that couldn’t get wet, so she would be leaving. A young father in a travel trailer with a toddler and a baby wanted his older son to experience snow, so he decided to stay. I asked Aaron, who lives in a tent cabin just up the mountain from me, what he thought I should do. He said “Why not stay? It could be kinda fun.” And he said if it got too much for me, I could walk to the campground lodge and enjoy the wood fire that burns there every evening. Talking it over with other campers and the ranger helped.
- I reinforced the stakes holding my Clam shelter to the ground, and tightened the guy lines.
- I refilled my gallon water bottles and stowed them in the heated Clam shelter so they don’t freeze.
- The dog and I drove into town and stocked up on food for both of us. We have enough for a few days. The Tiny has limited storage capacity. I probably need to look into a collapsible plastic bin where I could store more food if needed. Coffee is the number one food group for me.
- In town, we took an extra long walk through the neighborhoods and along the main avenue with its funky shops and abundance of tourists. I wanted my girl to get as many pets and loving as she could in case we are snowed in for a day or so.
- I filled up the Durango’s gas tank. A friend from Chicago mentioned that if the power goes out, and thus the electric heaters, one can survive by sitting in the car and running the heater. A full tank of gas is best for that. Of course I would be sure the exhaust pipe was unobstructed before taking this survival measure.
- Back at the campground, the dog and I walked up and down the hilly camping sections to see how many other campers chose to stay. There are at least 40 of us here in all types of RVs, from quarter million dollar Class A’s to massive 5th wheel trailers and even a small tent trailer. Seeing others with apparent lack of snow phobia was reassuring.
- At the campground bath block, I took a 20-minute hot shower.
- Back at camp, I raised my wipers up and off the windshield, as I had seen others do in town and in the campground.
- I prepared and served myself and my dog our delicious meals.
- After I finish typing out this missive, I will watch a Netflix movie on my 27-inch iMac and 42-inch Vizio sound bar. I won’t choose a movie with snow in it. Why do that to myself?
I’ve just checked the weather report again, and it seems like the predicted snowfall is now 1 to 3 inches, rather than 3 to 5 inches originally forecast. But can I really trust these people? I have my doubts.
Logic suggests there is a pretty good chance that I’ll survive this snow event, but the phobia lurks. The dog and I are currently warm and fed and cozy in The Tiny. I have every reason to expect this safety and comfort to continue, except that as I am overcoming my snow phobia, I will believe my survival when I see it. If I don’t survive, I’m assured a relaxing passing. Just kidding (I hope).
Wish me luck. Facing down phobias is not for sissies.