2003 brings catalog of Alaskan weather

MAT-SU -- The famous epigrammist and society wit Dorothy Parker once proclaimed: "They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm." More apt words could scarcely be brought to bear upon residents of the Valley, who in 2003 experienced tempestuous extremes of climate, from record-breaking winds to record-breaking snows to blazing fires and unexpected heat in the middle of winter.

The year proved nothing if not that the Valley's weather is a strange, fickle thing, quick to change itself in unexpected ways.

The year began with an unusually warm, slushy winter, forcing cancellation of the Tesoro Iron Dog and Fur Rendezvous winter races, as well as the relocation of the Iditarod restart to colder, cleaner pastures outside the Valley. Inexplicable pussywillows and buds sprung up everywhere in February, prompting many Valley residents to squint knowledgeably at the sky and fervently decry the effects of global warming. With an average temperature of 28 degrees Fahrenheit, February weighed in as one of the warmest winter months in Alaska history, more than 10 degrees warmer than normal. This balminess was complemented by a winter snowfall of only 28.5 inches, barely enough to lay a fine powder over the Valley's unused skis, skates and snowmachines. This fact, more even than the warmth, proved a thorn in the side of many Valley residents.

"I don't care what the temperature is; it's the no snow that's killing me," grumbled Gorman Dell. Longtime residents ransacked their memories for comparable winter heat waves. "I've lived here a long time, and I can't tell you the last time I've seen it like this," said George Thomas of Palmer. Residents pining away for the clearer skies and greener vistas of spring and summer, however, warmed to the prospect of more mild weather ahead.

These hopes were dashed -- or rather, blown -- away at the beginning of March, which seemed to take the proverbial "in like a lion, out like a lamb," with a bit too much zeal.

"Sometimes," mused Elliot Frazier of the National Weather Service, "the fickle fates of the gods throw a zephyr around your wind instruments." Winds of up to 99 miles an hour broke records around Mat-Su, amounting to what was dubbed a "winter hurricane" by meteorologists. The cold, dense air screaming around the Valley caused as much damage as one of its southern cousins, downing lines that deprived more than 5,000 MEA customers of power and closing hospitals, thus preventing the diagnosis of multiple frostbite and hypothermia cases.

"In general terms, the damage is extensive," said Mike Pauley for MEA. "It's going to take us many, many days of work to repair all the lines." The harm inflicted upon public and private structures was just as great. The Cottonwood Public Safety Building, Colony Middle School, and the Wasilla Police Department were all heavily damaged by the winds, as were multiple private homes and government utilities such as the Alaska Railroad.

The true damage caused by the storm was not, however, tallied until an official state of disaster was declared by the federal government nearly two months later, whereupon the damage to the Valley was estimated at more than $4.5 million.

The total damage to Southcentral Alaska, including Anchorage and the Kenai Peninsula, totaled over $9 million. The federal government paid for an estimated 75 percent of these costs, but the damage, all the same, was done.

The winds fanned the flames not only of residents' frustration and anxiety, but also of very literal fires that plagued the entire Valley area. Palmer firefighters battled an immense wind-blown grass fire at the Kerttula farm, their struggle impeded by discarded oil drums and frozen water pipes. The Windbreak restaurant and hotel blazed, suffering the complete loss of almost all of its hotel rooms and severe damage to its bar and social area. An arson fire at the Matanuska Valley Farmer's Cooperating Association building in Palmer was also fanned by high winds, making controlling the fire a difficult task for firefighters.

These incidents served as a fitting prelude to fire season in the Valley, with more than 100 separate blazes in several weeks in May. Dry conditions and continuing wind claimed many residences and dozens of acres of land. Domestic and wilderness fires mingled, and firefighters and Forestry officials worked side by side to keep a lid on the aggregated inferno.

"The wind and cold has taken its toll," said Lynn Wilcock, fire management officer with the Division of Forestry, attributing the blazes to the unusually dry weather. Thanks in no small part to the efforts of the Division as well as local firefighters, none of the fires burned seriously out of control, and when the spring rains finally came, they watered ground that had suffered less damage than anyone might have hoped.

The fickle weather, seemingly satisfied with the chaos and confusion it had caused in February and March, slowly crept back to a semblance of normalcy with the summer months, which brought long-anticipated sun and greenery to Mat-Su. But summer slowly faded into fall, and with the fall came a blast of cold air that spoke of harder times to come.

In November, the skies opened and poured two feet of snow on the Valley in a matter of days. Valley residents were paralyzed. The Mat-Su School District declared its first snow day in almost a decade. And there was more to come. In December, the Valley accrued three feet of snow in one week, nearly breaking the monthly record when the month was only half over. Accidents on Valley roads multiplied, and snow removal services had their hands full as well.

As the new year begins, we cannot know what to expect. Snow lies on the ground, but will it soon be banished by a sudden warm spell? Or blown away by more fierce wind? Or perhaps merely doubled by another blizzard? The lesson of 2003's strange weather is, perhaps, that no lesson can encompass the complexities of the skies.