Jan 11, 2024 - At or around 3:15PM this afternoon, the UBC Point Grey campus suddenly finds itself beneath a verifiable torrent of snowfall. Luckily, a news reporter on the scene (me) notices through the window of his lecture hall and races outside to investigate the situation firsthand. Soft, fluffy flakes of snow can already be seen accumulating on tree branches, umbrellas, and particularly long eyelashes.
The acoustic qualities of the campus shift almost immediately; the usual ambient bustle of footsteps, bikes, skateboards, and cars is gently muted by the snow as it slowly forms a thin patina over the exposed landscape. Passing voices and conversations drift across the walkways, softened yet somehow crystal clear.
Without access to a sound team or camera crew, formal interviews with students are not possible. Instead, this reporter takes careful notes and anonymous remarks overheard from bystanders on the scene.
You’ve gotta be kidding me right now. Bro. This’s some bullshit.
- student to their classmate, upon exiting the Forestry building and seeing the snow
As the clock approaches the half hour and masses of students begin exiting their lectures, a variety of reactions can be appreciated as each individual makes first contact with the incoming avalanche. Jackets are zipped, umbrellas unsheathed, hands clasp and huddles form as congregations spew forth from every doorway. Some slow to a halt as the intensity of the weather becomes apparent - they are shortly pushed past by those who are more enthusiastic about the prospect.
Regardless of attitude, the same tautological refrain rings clear:
It’s snowing!
- various sources
Even my own phone jumps to life with notifications of friends and family proclaiming the same. It is a universal awareness that is worthy of exclamation despite its self-evidence and indisputability. Indeed:
It’s snowing! Here, can you hold this?
- blind student, passing a glove to a friend, hand outstretched to catch snowflakes
In spite of its universality, the snowfall plays on the unique quirks of each locality. My investigation takes me past the transit loop: buses can be seen crowded together, the exhaust of each bus melting the snow-mustache of the bus behind it. Inside, passengers are packed together even more closely, and the windows fog upwards as their breathing warms and the melting snow dribbles down off their jackets.
See- see! It’s like, you can like, think of the flow of the snow, like, falling, like as it falls to the ground, as kind of like a differential equation, right? Does that make sense?
- exasperated student to their classmate who is licking snowflakes off their nose
While this reporter is not well-studied enough to appreciate the finer details of mathematical weather models, it’s still easy to enjoy the unique aesthetics presented by the snowfall. The rough and varied textures worn on the bark of the trees is accented by harsh white contrast. Every ebb and flow of the breeze is made observable by the falling snowflakes. Approaching the edge of campus, the wind grows harsher and the horizon fades into a soft, foggy grey.
Combined with the softened sounds of the surroundings, the low visibility draws the world close. As the temperature drops and the conditions grow harsher, my perception contracts. Before long, it’s difficult to consider anything further than my own breath as it drifts away and joins the encroaching haze. Within my own body, sensations align themselves along a continuous gradient from the warmth in my belly, to the chill raising the hairs along my arms, to the cold pain blossoming along my exposed palms, and right where the pain becomes uncomfortable along my knuckles comes the relief of numbness.
There’s literally no way I’m going to my next two lectures, like, there’s just literally no way. Yeah. Can you pick me up? Uh… by the Tim’s?
- shivering, underdressed student clutching their phone with both hands
Accurately reporting on large and complicated events can at times be difficult. Sometimes, it’s tempting to detach from the situation, retreating inwards or outwards until everything can be neatly and objectively described. Apathy, like the numbness now blooming in the tips of this reporter’s toes, is a mechanism we use to protect ourselves. And yet prolonged numbness of the extremities ultimately leads to the death of the exposed body parts.
So, while a lesser reporter may sum up this situation in a few measly words such as “The Point Grey area experienced a snowfall this afternoon of 4-6 inches, leading to major bus delays”, I muster my journalistic bravery, zip my jacket up a little tighter, and can happily report:
A student skips along University Boulevard, occasionally taking a running slide along the now-compacted snow and slush.
A squirrel silently clambers down a tree trunk, hopping across snow-tracks and leaving its own tiny paw prints in its wake:
A child pulls their hood drawstrings so tight that their entire face is obscured - holding on to their parent’s arm for guidance, they stick their tongue through the small gap that remains in the hood to catch snowflakes.
A professor remarks (in a thick Quebecois accent) that this weather is nothing compared to the storms of his youth in Montreal.
A student walking in a huddle slowly drifts to the back of the group, lets them walk a little further on, then quickly scoops a snowball from the ground and stuffs it down the back of their friend’s jacket. The whole group erupts into a sort of snowball-fight/snow-wrestle-brawl.
Two friends notice each other at the same time as they wait in the ever-growing bus line - the friend further up the line joins the friend towards the back; they embrace and begin chatting with infectious excitement.
Finally, on the far northern edge of campus where the wind and snow cut most violently, tucked just beyond the sight of any casual passerby, a single yellow bud still blooms in the Rose Garden:
I hope that this report has given the audience at home a glimpse into some of the important events that transpired today at UBC. As always, our publication strives to bring you nothing but the highest quality journalism. Thank you for supporting us, and be sure to tune in next time.
- Matthew Lee, guy pretending to be a news reporter
UPDATE FROM THE EDITOR: It stopped snowing!