Dance of the Dendrite
Tiny bits of crystal art float down from a cold winter sky. You can see them on your pants, or your glove. Shaped like stars, they do something incredibly special when piled up on top of each other. It’s been a long run of stellar dendrites in the Kootenay’s this season. Something about toe-freezing temps and calm winds lets these microscopically nuanced flakes of perfection stack into great blankets of white air.
I see them plastered in the seams of my kid’s helmet and goggles, all up in his neckie and into the hood of his jacket. Oh to be barely five feet tall on a powder day. “How many faceshots so far buddy?” I ask, the snow stacking up on our jackets as we ascend to another run. “Thousands,” he replies. “No, more like millions.”
The millions gets my mind swirling into a storm of examination. I can’t help but try to explain what’s happening to him. To us. That these little crystal branches of millions (perhaps billions) of somewhat uniform (I say this knowing that we all know that no two snowflakes are the same) crystalized water particles (dendrite actually means “tree-like”) are actually performing the most delicate of architectural endeavours. Each one ever so slightly stacking onto those who have just previously landed, perhaps only two or three points touching, like the most precarious deck of cards ever assembled. A giant duvet of mostly air, just waiting.
Of course, it won’t be there for long. These are quick, infrequent glimpses. Beautifully formed stellar dendrites need cold temps. Big winds or violent storms tend to bastardize their purity, causing other, less perfect snow crystals like columns, needles and graupel to pile up much less gracefully.
I’m glad my kid is getting after it. And while he might not care why it’s so particularly blower this day, I can only hope my scientific Summit chair speech sticks with him. Even just a few fragments at least. Perhaps he already knows that one of the main reasons we live here is because of these rare days. That perfect confluence of weather, whereby one of nature’s most magnificent creations falls en masse, and we, on our boards—our mouths closed and goggles mandatory—dance through the dendrites.
Mad photo cred goes to Drew Cushway of his brother Dale crushing the pow this past December 2016.