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Pavel, an 8-year-old Amur Tiger, watches a sudden snow storm from his enclosure Saturday, April 2, 2016 at the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago.
Anthony Souffle / Chicago Tribune
Pavel, an 8-year-old Amur Tiger, watches a sudden snow storm from his enclosure Saturday, April 2, 2016 at the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago.
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Pavel, an 8-year-old Amur Tiger, watches a sudden snow storm from his enclosure Saturday, April 2, 2016 at the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago.
Pavel, an 8-year-old Amur Tiger, watches a sudden snow storm from his enclosure Saturday, April 2, 2016 at the Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago.

Spring is here. Well, perhaps in name only.

Every morning we photographers at the Chicago Tribune call in an hour before our shift starts to check in with the photo editors and get our assignments for the day. When I checked in with photo editor Maggie Walker on Saturday there wasn’t much happening. “Can you shoot a snow photo to go with Rose’s story?” she asked. “Snow?” I thought, looking out the window and seeing only a few faint flurries in the air.

On my way to the expressway I saw traffic was backed up, so I decided to take surface streets instead hoping I might see something interesting along the way. I drove down Fullerton, but as I approached Lake Shore Drive there was still no snow. Fairly certain I had missed it, I pulled into the Lincoln Park Zoo curious if any animals were out. As I got out of the car I could see heavy clouds to the west, but still no snow. I walked a few laps around the grounds looking for anything unusual, but came up empty handed.

I was walking back to the car when, all of a sudden, the skies opened up. Massive snowflakes began to fill the air and swirl all around. I was standing in a practical blizzard. With cameras in hand I bolted back into the zoo and literally ran to first exhibit past the parking lot gates, the Amur tiger.

When I got there Pavel, the zoo’s 8-year-old male, was pacing in his enclosure. His orange stripes stood out against the dark wall as the flakes fell. I tracked him though the lens as he did so. At first it was almost difficult to see him because of all the snow falling. After a few minutes of pacing he stopped, right in the center of the frame, and turned to face the camera. I fired off a burst of frames of the striking orange figure in the sea of white. Then, in the blink of an eye, he vanished back inside to the Kovler Lion House.

As I walked back to the car the snow suddenly stopped and the sun began to shine. I looked up at the sky with disbelief. From bright sun, to raging blizzard, and back to sun again, all in a matter of moments.

Thanks photo gods.