The Shovel That Beat the Snowpocalypse and Saved My Back

I am the last person who should need a snow shovel.

Sure, I grew up in New England, clearing my share of front walks and pond ice, but now I live in San Francisco. The closest I get to a blizzard are the drifts of camellia blossoms from the tree in our backyard.

Then my partner bought a ski condo in Mammoth Lakes, in California’s Eastern Sierra. The condo’s maintenance crew usually shovels the balconies, but in 2022–23, the snowpocalypse hit. Storms dropping six to eight feet of snow arrived one after the other. The crews were working full-time clearing the complex’s roofs, to keep them from collapsing.

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