Remembering when a lamb suddenly turns into a lion

There is an old saying – “In like a lamb and out like a lion” and vice versa,
relating to how a winter will most likely be. Some of those old sayings often bear
fruit, because they have been created by years of keen observance. Around my
parts, this winter came in like a lamb, somewhat anyway, which makes me
wonder what spring will be like. Some of the worst snowstorms I’ve ever
witnessed in my Thumb area have occurred in the spring.
It doesn’t seem like 50 years have passed by so quickly, but I will never
forget the blizzard which suddenly hit the Thumb area on April 3, 1975, directly
after a warm 70 degrees and very sunny weekend. When the temperature
dramatically dropped the next day, and the “lion” suddenly began roaring shortly
before daybreak, I knew things could get a bit interesting.
I was a State Meat Inspector at the time and scheduled to be at the
Maurer’s Slaughterhouse near Ubly, which was typically about a half hour drive.
My vehicle was a ’74 Ford Bronco, and I had the confidence we could make it
through just about anything, and yep, folks, I was in for an abrupt attitude
adjustment. When I left home near Cass City in the predawn darkness, the wind
began blowing even harder, with just a bit of snow skimming across the road. By
the time I got to M-53 and turned north, the intensity of the snowstorm was
noticeably picking up.

Example of author’s Ford Bronco

It was when I turned east on a side road that the blizzard really pounced,
and what I thought was lightning in one spot turned out to be high-power
electrical lines slapping around in the wind. Then the snow-filled whiteout hit with
a vengeance, causing a totally blinding experience, and my main concern was the
possibility of meeting another

(also disorientated) vehicle head-on. I could slightly on occasion make out a tree line on the roadside to my right which I used for a bearing as I proceeded very slowly on while hoping to encounter a driveway to get off the road.

Complete whiteouts create amazing disorientation in your surroundings.
Somewhere along the line I had banked too far to my right, and when the Bronco
bottomed out in small gully filled with deep snow, I would discover the tree line I
ended up following was a fencerow in a field, and my 4×4 vehicle was hopelessly
stuck. I had a shovel but what I dug away from my tires was abruptly blown right
back in by the howling wind. The rule of thumb often recommended in a stranded
situation such as this, is to remain with the vehicle until help arrives, but I was
pretty sure being stuck off the road and out of sight in a field, that help wouldn’t
be coming and I also felt I needed to let folks who were expecting me to show up
that morning, know I wouldn’t be.
I had exchanged my loafers for my rubber, knee-high kill-floor boots and I
was wearing a wool pea-coat over my white uniform featuring short-sleeves, as
well as I had gloves and a wool watch-cap I pulled down as far as possible while I
leaned into the wind which had a sandblasting effect on any exposed skin, and
began my long trudge out. Although the storm was coming predominately out of
the northwest, it had a suddenly switching nature which was causing drifting
snow to quickly plug roads in all directions.
When I finally walked back out to M-53, an approaching semi busting
through the steadily growing drifts fortunately stopped and picked me up. The
truck driver had high hopes of making it to Marlette and offered to take me there,
but I had him drop me off at the M-81 intersection, wished him luck on reaching
Marlette and began my walk to Cass City. Being young and fit, I felt I could do the
4 miles to town, and there was absolutely no traffic, as the road was completely
plugged. After wading through waist-high drifts and with snow blowing up into
the bottom of my coat and exiting out the cuffs of my sleeves, I was in for another
attitude adjustment. I was pondering knocking on the door of a nearby house
when a snowmobile suddenly materialized, almost like a mirage appearing out of
the swirling snow and fortunately stopped when I waved my arms.
I can still remember seeing my snow-caked moustache and raw and ruddy
cheeked face in the reflection on the dark face shield of the rider’s helmet, when I
asked for a lift. He wasn’t sure his little “Sno-Jet” could carry both of us through

Example of vintage Sno Jet

the accumulating rough stuff, especially with the snowdrifts steadily gaining altitude, but thankfully, he was willing to try. Let me tell you, folks, it was sure a challenging and zigzagging wild ride to clear or bust through the nearly impossible! I was relieved when I was dropped off at the corner drugstore, which was the only place open in Cass City. Towns all over the Thumb area were shut down by the blizzard that day, and it would be three days before matters began to look up, and I was finally able to reach and recover my Bronco. I made the necessary phone calls, including to my friend, Dave Reed, who lived only a couple of miles south of town, and he agreed to come and pick me up on his motorcycle, because I knew he always loves a two-wheeled challenge. Seeing Dave landing and then sliding sideways to a stop after being airborne through a snowdrift when he arrived was a bit interesting, if not inspirational! It
was indeed a wild ride out of town with the roaring motorcycle zigzagging and
slicing through large snowdrifts like a hot knife through butter. Best of all, we
made it back to Dave’s parents’ place where I could weather out the storm. As I
recovered from my “highly diversified” journey by thawing out in front of a
crackling fireplace with steam visibly whisking up from my damp clothes, I firmly
decided I was none too fond of springtime “lions”.

As I write this, the predicted weather report stated that we were in for
some warmer than usual weather all through the week. Well, folks, that is all fine
and dandy, and I plan on enjoying it. However, folks, I’m not about to throw
caution out the window, because Michigan is Michigan and can be a tad fickle
about matters when spring finally arrives.

Author
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Tom Lounsbury

Tom Lounsbury has been an outdoor writer and photographer for more
than 40 years and has had his weekly radio show, “Tom Lounsbury
Outdoors” for more than 20 years. Tom grew up on a farm in
Michigan’s Thumb, and it is where his first outdoor adventures began
as a kid accompanying visiting pheasant hunters into the field during
the “pheasant hunting heyday” of the 1950’s and 1960’s. It is a passion
he still has to this day and being the 4 th generation to own the family
farm, he has put most of it into conservation programs with a focus on
wild pheasants, which in turn helps all wildlife.
Being an outdoor communicator, Tom appreciates all the outdoor
adventures he experiences in different places, and especially the
people he meets in which to share them.