Copper River Record  October 2014
By Janelle Eklund
​It was October 4 along the Kenai River near Cooper Landing. A bright crisp autumn winterish kind of day. Birch, Aspen, and cottonwood golden leaves still hung like ornaments on the trees. As we approached the summit of the narrow trail large fluffy white flakes of snow drifted down from a grey sky. They accented the last days of autumn colors and nearly morphed into water after touching down. Our hearts leaped at the beauty that surrounded us. Others, bundled up against the cool air, were out to enjoy the last vestiges of fall and welcome in the debut of winter.
 
A different kind of snow swirled around the car as we drove out of the Copper Basin on October 3. The flakes were smaller and dryer. And unlike Cooper Landing, when we got home 6 days later, about eight inches of the millions of flakes had accumulated and stayed on the ground.
 
Snowflakes are actually snow crystals and they are not made from raindrops. They actually are born from water vapor in clouds which changes into solid ice. Once the process begins and water vapor keeps clinging to the developing crystal and freezes, it forms beautiful patterns and shapes. Some of these snow crystals bump into each other as they are falling, creating more elaborate patterns. I think this is what was happening with the large flakes we saw at Cooper Landing. Although I wasn't able to capture one and look at it closely in a microscope.
 
It intrigues me that, out of all the millions of snowflakes that fall at any given time, no two are alike. They are as different as we are. And each one has its own theme. It could be a plate or a column. It could be branched, sectored or hollowed. And it could have six sides or twelve sides. Nature does not make eight, four, five or seven sided snow crystals. Mostly you will see six sided ones with some side branches. Sometimes the side branching is symmetrical but mostly not.
 
Some crystals could appear to have their structure decorated with beads. These are water droplets falling through the cloud and as it came in contact with the crystal it froze, creating little tiny beads throughout the crystal.
 
For all that goes into the intricacies in the birth of a snowflake, it's original shape is very short lived. Once it hits the ground it may melt if the ground has not frozen yet, as in September/October. But if the ground is frozen and it's cold enough, the crystals lay on top of each other where they bind and change form. It's now not just one flake but many flakes working together. Like a weaving, it makes a beautiful white blanket across the land to protect it and its inhabitants from the sub zero temperatures of winters breath. Weather influences what kind of form it takes too. The wind can play a part in the metamorphosis of the snowflake. Wind will pulverize it and get it moving like the mother hen scooting her brood along, packing it into hard snow drifts. Temperature also plays a role in the metamorphous of the snowflake. Snowflakes working together create a snowpack that is very insulating. The snow at the bottom of the layer can be 30° to 40° warmer than the top of the snow. Many people, including myself, have taken advantage of the snow pack to give the base of my house an extra layer of insulation.
 
There are whole books written on snow (see references). The mysteries of snow crystal formation still intrigue those that seek to learn its secrets.
 
 
"No weary journeys need be taken, no expensive machinery employed.... A winter's storm, an open window, a bit of fur or velvet, and a common magnifier, will bring any curious inquirer upon his field of observation with all the necessary apparatus, and he has only to open his eyes to find the grand and beautiful laboratory of nature open to his inspection." -Frances Chickering, Cloud Crystals: A Snow-Flake Album, 1864.
 
From my light to yours-
 
References: The Snowflake, Winter's Secret Beauty, by Kenneth Libbrecht; Apun The Arctic Snow by Matthew Sturm.                                                                                                      

By Janelle Eklund
It was a sunny summer day. Dryas covered the landscape in front of me. Dark evergreen leaves laid a carpet around the rocky shoulder of the riverbank. Tooth like edges of the leaves crimp downward, more so during a drought. Stems emerge from the woody base (caudex) of the glossy carpet standing four to ten inches tall and bending at the top. The end of the stem houses an outer green envelope (calyx) covered with dark glandular hairs. Out of this envelope emerges a shy flower that never really opens its eight to ten yellow petals.
 
I have also seen yellow Dryas at the foot of glaciers near McCarthy. They are the pioneers to receding glaciers uncovering their rocky innards.  This hearty plant is an adapter. It has to be in order to survive the harsh conditions that it grows in.  Its roots are tough and grow deep to anchor it against prevailing winds. Nodules on the roots have nitrogen fixing bacteria. The backs of its waxy leaves have a wooly coat that in some ways reminds me of sheep's wool. It sheds ice in the winter and conserves moisture in the summer. The flowers face the sun basking in its warmth in order to heat up the female parts (pistil) so insects will be attracted to it and spread its pollen. The insects also like spending a little time in the flower, enjoying its warmth, greatly increasing its body temperature from the ambient air temperature.
 
These solitary flowers dot the landscape until about mid-July. The flowers drop their petals forming its head into fluffy swirls, eventually opening its tight curl to release seeds to the winds of time.
 
I enjoy capturing the light of the sun as it plays through the fluffy swirls, giving off golden yellow tones.
 
From my light to yours-
 
References: http://www.flora.dempstercountry.org/; Wildflowers of the Yukon Alaska and Northwestern Canada by John G. Trelawny; Flora of Alaska and Neighboring Territories by Eric Hultén
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