Winterlust. Bernd Brunner

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СКАЧАТЬ between his special form of romanticism and the science of his time. Headstrong, groundbreaking, he has yet to be surpassed as a topographer of nature’s sights, sounds, smells, and other subtler signals.

      The crystals in snow are intrinsically pellucid. To us, they appear white because they absorb and then emit all colors of sunlight to approximately the same degree—a mechanism that also applies to the guard hairs of polar bears. Freshly fallen snow seems whitest in sunlight because the reflective surface is especially large, strewn as it is with myriad small crystals. And when the sun is shining brightly, it is advisable to wear sunglasses to prevent snow blindness. Indigenous Arctic peoples devised a way to shield the surface of the cornea from intense shortwave ultraviolet radiation: a narrow oval of bone or wood strapped onto the head and skillfully furnished with an eye slit and ornamentation to protect the wearer from potentially irreparable visual impairment. The earliest known examples, found in the western coastal region of Alaska, are two thousand years old—the world’s first sunglasses, if you will.

      Although freshly fallen snow appears white, a hole deep in the snow shimmers a beautiful blue, because the snow crystals below are compressed and absorb the red and yellow portions of sunlight more strongly than they do the blue. In 1953, anthropologist Gilbert Durand described snow as a substance that “cannot simply be classified as and reduced to frozen ice.” Snow, he wrote, defies complete categorization because every experience with it is slightly different. He thought of November as snow’s spring and January as its summer, and he was of the opinion that night never really falls on snow-covered ground because of snow’s phosphorescent qualities.

      These phosphorescent qualities have astounded people through the ages. In 1836, in “Extracts from the Journals of an Alpine Traveller,” William Brockedon wrote: “The evening was very beautiful, and we were struck by the appearance of one of the most splendid objects I ever saw in nature: it seemed to be a mountain-peak shining like fire—not sunlit, for that luminary had long been below the horizon, but bright as the moon . . . We inquired of several persons about this phenomenon; the answer was, ‘It is the Brevet de Tignes: it always shines thus in the early part of the night in fine weather.’ In my friend’s notes he mentions it as shining like a phosphorescent light. Next morning we looked for it; but to our astonishment, neither in the direction in which we had seen it, nor from the spot whence we saw it, and where I sketched it, was there any appearance of a mountain or any other object bearing the least resemblance to the beautiful form of the light presented to us the preceding night. I have no conjecture on the subject: the whole is a mystery.”

      The two-volume Arctic Manual, published by the United States Army Air Corps in 1940, is a treasure trove of observations on the interplay of snow and light. It states, for example, that a crescent moon lights up a snowy landscape more clearly than a full moon does a summer one, and that some pilots reckoned they could land their planes in the Arctic under such a moon just as safely as they could by daylight.

      Snow fascinates not only when you look at it, but also when you touch and try to shape it. The process of building a human form from snow represents a small triumph over nature: you not only sculpt the snow, but you also force it to look like an unshapely person. And what happens on the purely physical level? When we build a snowman or a snow woman (or a snowball), we take advantage of the fact that snow sinters, which means the crystals become denser and hold together more tightly as they warm. Cold snow is difficult to shape. Pressing the crystals together creates many new points of contact, making it more malleable. It’s best to work it with your bare hands for as long as you can bear it, because the heat from your body facilitates sintering. Some people use water to help bind the crystals together.

      The American Boy’s Handy Book from 1882 offers instructions not only for making a standard snowman, but also for assembling a snow owl and a snow pig, although the latter requires a few strong branches for the legs. According to some estimates, no fewer than 100 billion snowflakes go into the construction of an average snowman (or snow woman).

      Snow figures that imitate the human form can be traced back to the fifteenth century. The snowman fashioned by Michelangelo in 1494 in the courtyard of Piero de’ Medici in Florence was certainly not the first snow figure, even if it is the first one for which we have a historical record. Soon thereafter, while Hadrian VI was pope, snow lions were to be found in the streets of Rome. During the lethally cold winter of 1511, there were approximately one hundred snow sculptures in Brussels (the capital of the Netherlands at the time), which owed their respective shapes to mythological and satirical inspiration and were celebrated in a “snow doll festival.” The list of sneeuwpoppen, as they were called, has survived across the centuries: among them were Pluto, Death, a unicorn, a merman, and a wildcat.

      The most concentrated collection of snowmen and all other conceivable snow and ice sculptures in the world today—thousands of them—is found in Harbin in northeast China, where the annual International Ice and Snow Sculpture Festival has been hosted for over half a century. Despite the monsoons that influence the climate in this part of the country, Harbin is the coldest city in China, with temperatures below freezing for five months of the year.

      When the snowman festival is celebrated in February, the number of visitors to the Japanese village of Shiramine increases by a few thousand. Snow figures called yukidaruma are built in front of people’s homes, each with a cavity in its body to house a lit candle. Fire plays a more incendiary role in Sechseläuten, a traditional Swiss spring festival, when an innocent snowman figure is ignited with a firework and blown up. In this case, the Böögg, the odd name for this symbolic snowman, is an artificial construct filled with wood shavings. In our modern world, there is a brisk trade in artificial snowmen made from every conceivable material, and some of them are even inflatable.

      The magic of snow. What exactly is it about this substance that entices us to play with it? Why do we rush outside while it is still falling to start building figures or forts? Why do we open our mouths wide and let snowflakes melt on our tongues? Or fall back into its cushiony depths, arms and legs outstretched, to make snow angels as we gaze up into the sky? Do you still remember your first snowball fight, with its thrilling sensations of cold? All this outdoor fun existed long before people could quickly withdraw into well-heated rooms. Paintings dating back five hundred years depict people enjoying themselves outside. Engaging with snow clearly allows for an escape from routine as the shimmering white flakes give us permission to deviate from our otherwise strict observance of social mores. A carnival of sorts.

       Music helps pass the time on long winter evenings, late nineteenth century.

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       Combating Cold

      IN TIMES WHEN sheltering from winter was an annual struggle, knowledge about how to dig in and mount a defense against freezing temperatures was passed down from generation to generation. For thousands of years, protection from the cold was something people had to fight for every year. Nothing could be taken for granted. The icy embrace of long periods of frost presented countless generations with an incredible challenge, and the development of a variety of techniques to survive the cold season was a major achievement in human history.

      In those days, everything was dominated by the rhythm of the agricultural year. Flour had to be stored carefully because mill ponds frequently froze, immobilizing the mill. Late fall provided the last opportunity to replenish supplies of firewood or peat. Animals were slaughtered and their meat was salted or smoked—to the Anglo-Saxons November was known as the “blood month.” Pigs were often butchered СКАЧАТЬ