Marcia Woloshun knew a blizzard was forecast – so the 48-year-old bought some extra food last week. But she figured it was unlikely she would miss one of her weekend nursing shifts.
After all, it often snowed in Running Springs. Her little town clings to the spine of the San Bernardino Mountains, a place they call the Rim of the World, 90 miles east and 6,000 feet above the palm trees of Los Angeles. But it rarely snowed enough to sock anyone in.
That was more than a week ago – and she hasn’t been able to escape since.
Instead of going to work at her hospital, Woloshun spent the week on backbreaking efforts to shovel out her car, only to see it buried anew by snow and icy drifts. At one point, she lost power and crawled into a tent she’d erected inside her own living room, sharing warmth with her two cats.
By Friday, the 48-year-old was still among those largely trapped by the back-to-back storms that dumped, in some spots, as much as 10 feet of snow.
She said it came in three big waves, from late last week to earlier this week. Power went out. Roofs collapsed. And even in mountain communities that were used to a little isolation, people started to run out of the things that were a simple matter of life and death: food. Medicine.
The snow has stopped, and after California Gov. Gavin Newsom declared an emergency in 13 counties, the National Guard deployed to aid recovery. But so far, residents say the state is still struggling to clear roads and bring aid. Backbreak turned to frustration as neighbors realized they had only one another to lean on.
For Woloshun, the rare blizzard continues to eat up her paid leave and fuel high anxiety as she weathers it alone.
Her power is on. Her cell phone works. But she can’t get out.
“This morning I woke up and I realized they hadn’t plowed,” Woloshun told USA TODAY on Friday afternoon. “I feel like I’m never going to get out here.”
About seven miles away, near the longtime resort of Lake Arrowhead, Paola Fowler, 37, her husband and three kids, along with friends, rented a home for a little getaway. The mountain forest is just two hours and a world away from their suburban home in Santa Clarita.
But on Friday, a week after arriving, they too remain stranded, unable to get their car out of the driveway.
After running out of the meager food supplies they brought, her husband hiked for several hours through deep snow to get food. Being away from work means losing money for the families, she said. And her 5-year-old daughter can’t get the antibiotics she needs, she said.
“My daughter has had an ear infection for like four days now and won’t stop crying,” she said. “It’s been hell.”
San Bernardino County Sheriff Shannon Dicus and other officials said progress has been made but that it could take another week to dig out amid the severe conditions. The storm overwhelmed snowplowing equipment geared toward ordinary storms.
In recent days, firefighters have been evacuating residents who are medically vulnerable and have no heat or damaged homes to a Red Cross shelter set up at a local high school. They’ve also been responding to reports of gas leaks and storm-related fires with hydrants buried in deep snow, Mike McClintock, San Bernardino County Fire Battalion Chief, told the Associated Press.
About 80,000 people live in the communities of the San Bernardino Mountains either part- or full-time, spread across nearly 30 miles from east of Big Bear Lake to west of Lake Arrowhead. There’s no estimate of how many are there now.
Over the last week, the county has fielded hundreds of emergency calls, many from people seeking plow assistance, baby formula and medicine, said Dawn Rowe, chair of the county board of supervisors.
On the Facebook group Rim Guardian Angels, residents have pleaded for help and found ways to help one another or share information, including where to get food after heavy snow damaged roofs and closed two of three area grocery stores. Neighbors online offered to help check on older neighbors or shovel people out.
Earlier in the week, one resident wrote on the group asking for a plow or a ride to make an appointment with a transplant doctor. On Thursday, a disabled veteran with cancer posted that he needed help: “I wanted to know if someone could dig us out …. I missed chemo and am running out of meds. I couldn’t get out my front door.”
The storm caught many off-guard, said Andrew Braggins, a 43-year-old wedding planner and one of the administrators of the group. His own ceiling in his Crestline home bowed under the weight of five feet of snow, he said.
“We’re at the 4,500-foot level. We get maybe 10 days of snow a year total, and it’s usually maybe a foot at the most,” he said. “No one in this town was prepared for this.”
County fire officials said they were going house-to-house, helping dig out cars. And officials were bringing in snowcats and other equipment.
At the same time, frustration and anger at the pace of the response has been growing as the days tick by, said Braggins.
“People are angry,” he said. “I have a lot of friends, and a lot of people in that group, they can’t go anywhere, the road is still 10 feet deep. I’ve got one friend on the other side of the lake, she’s been without power for four days. The snow is six feet high, so they can’t even hike out. And they’re running out of food.”
Liam Bare, 24, who lives in the area, said he understands the challenges crews face but thus far hasn’t seen much of a presence.
“It feels kind of apocalyptic, people wandering down the street because they can’t get their vehicles out, hiking two or three miles to a store,” he said. “On my street, at least, I have yet to see any officials at all, whether it be fire, National Guard or police.”
Realtor Michelle Calkins, 41, who lives in Lake Arrowhead, made a pleading video that was posted on Twitter Wednesday, begging for help for mothers running out of baby formula and residents running low on insulin.
By Friday, she told USA TODAY that she was thankful the snow had stopped but the fallout remained severe. Her friend’s home caught fire because of a gas leak, she said, with firefighters facing the challenges of snowy streets and buried hydrants.
She and her husband donned snowshoes to check on neighbors, including some who were trapped, to see if they had food. In several cases, they dug through 10 feet of snow to reach some gas meters – including one neighbor who is a mother.
“She’s got two kids, an infant and a toddler. She was so terrified. She’s like, ‘I have to get off this mountain’” for fear of gas fire or explosion, she said. “But we’re like, how you leave? The road isn’t plowed. You can’t physically leave.”
Despite the strains, she said the storm has brought communities out to help in profound ways. Some spoke of meeting people who live nearby but were largely strangers before the storm.
“One incredible thing about a small community is that when people are in need, everybody is in this together and helps each other out. It really is incredible to see,” she said.
As the area digs out, some were questioning whether the storm presages a future of increasing bouts of severe winter storms in this area of pine trees and lakes.
Woloshun, who moved to the area years ago because it was quiet and peaceful, said she isn’t sure if this particular storm was a function of climate change or not.
But she wondered if “we’re going to start getting these weird, cold winters that we never got before” and what they will mean for her, fearing getting stranded again by herself under mountains of snow.
She and her boyfriend had talked about moving in together, she said. His home in Redondo Beach seems a safer bet after the recent storm.
“It’s almost like cemented it for me, that I just don’t want to be here anymore,” she said. “Because it’s a lot.”
The Associated Press contributed to this story.
Chris Kenning is a national correspondent. Reach him at ckenning@usatoday.com and on Twitter @chris_kenning.
