Memories of ice fog

This scene from the streets of Fairbanks, Alaska reveals a common problem in the frozen north--ice fog.

Oh, no! Not again!

Yesterday morning, I awoke to see an old friend, peeking in my bedroom window.

No, it wasn't a perverted stalker from down the street... It was my old nemesis from Alaska--ice fog!

Nighttime temperatures in this region of southeast Missouri have dipped into the single digits, so, when the moisture reached a certain point on the morning of Feb. 5, 2014, ice fog was formed.

According to Wikipedia:

Ice fog is a type of fog consisting of fine ice crystals suspended in the air. It can happen only in cold areas of the world since water can remain liquid down to 0 °C (32 degrees F.). It should be distinguished from diamond dust, a precipitation of sparse ice crystals falling from a clear sky.

The word pogonip is derived from the Shoshone word payinappih, which means "cloud". Supposedly, early settlers called it "white death" because they believed the crystals got into their lungs and caused death.

I have never heard the term "pogonip" before, so I learned something new this morning.

True to form, the frozen moisture clung to the trees, giving a flocked appearance to the landscape. The neighbor's pine trees across the street were particularly beautiful in the early morning fog.

Though the frigid phenomenon is beautiful, it brings back dark memories for me. One morning of it is a novelty, but if one has to live in it for an entire month or more, it begins to be somewhat less appealing.

In Fairbanks, the ice fog settled in at -25 or -30 degrees and stayed in place throughout December and January. It got pretty tedious.

I drove to school early in order to snag an electrical outlet in the teacher parking lot each morning. There were 90 of us on the faculty, so there weren't enough plug-ins to go around.

One morning, I arrived too late to get a plug-in, so my only choice was to have a student go start my car every hour. This took some time, because the kid had to go get his coat from his locker (no such thing as running outside w/o coat and gloves!)

Of course, I got involved in teaching and forgot, so when 4 o'clock rolled around, I wasn't going anywhere! I had to call a wrecker and have my car towed to a nearby service station, where they kept the vehicle inside overnight to thaw it out.

Just one of the unique inconveniences that a cheechako (newcomer) has to adapt to in this alien region of the earth.

The ice fog in Fairbanks is particularly insidious. As a combination of fog and exhaust fumes, it's particularly problematic for people with respiratory problems.

The location and geography of this interior Alaskan city, located in the Tanana Valley, provides a sort of collection basin for the fog.

If you drive up out of the valley into the surrounding hills, you can escape the ice fog. On the campus of the University of Alaska, you can stand in the brilliant winter sunshine and look down on the thick fog-covered valley where the city lies, shrouded in a heavy white blanket.

It takes all the courage you can muster to direct your vehicle back down into the foggy oblivion of the city...

It reminds me a little of that chilling film "The Matrix," where inhabitants lived their sordid lives without ever realizing that they were in a dream world, manufactured by their alien overlords.

The ice fog was made all the more dangerous in winters of heavy snowfall. One winter, we had 10 feet of snow. The streets became tunnels, as the snow plows cleared them and pushed the snow to the side.

This was the only time school was ever called off, after a small child was killed when she slid under the wheels of a school bus from her perch atop a snow pile.

With the visibility almost nil, and the snow piled so high, we felt like rats in a giant maze.

In Fairbanks, the wind rarely blows, so, at -30, the ice fog becomes a permanent fixture.

No wonder so many Alaskans go "out" to the Lower 48 in the months of December, January and February...

Spring starts in April, with everyone betting on the exact minute of "break up," when the ice tripod on the Chena River breaks loose.

Then starts the thaw, as the winter accumulation of trash, dead bodies, and other frozen detritus is uncovered.

In May, the ground is almost immediately dry as a desert, and those who care about such things as "lawns" have to water their yards continuously. You should have your studded snow tires removed.

June is absolutely idyllic; July is delightful; August is nice but beginning to get cool, when the sun goes behind a cloud.

In September, you'd better have your studded snow tires put back on, because there is usually snow by the 15th.

From there, it's downhill to the Winter Solstice on December 21, the shortest day of the year, when "daylight" is s dimly-remembered dream.

I remind myself of these long-ago days, when Missouri winters get me down...

From the white frozen reaches of my undisclosed urban location in the nearby hills of Missouri, this is your rural reporter Madeline, waiting impatiently for spring.