Pogo Nip
Pogo nip flocks trees, grass, sagebrush, and wild horse ears with a rime of Death...
Pogo nip flocks trees grass, sagebrush, and wild horse ears with a rime of Death.
Pogo nip, a Shoshone word meaning white death, is a dense fog that occurs in the western United States. Slightly different from hoar frost, which ices the trees under clear skies, pogo nip forms when frozen surfaces touch the moisture in dense fog. Hovering over the landscape, it produces an eerie beauty that can also have devastating effects on mental and physical health. It stings the throat and can damage lungs.
When Jeff was interested in photography, we ventured into the farmlands near Fallon, NV for a day trip. He found lots of fascinating subjects. I had the opportunity to look more closely at this unique weather phenomenon, seeing how rime builds up lacy crystals on everything. It was a remarkable outing. It was also depressing. After a couple of hours, I was more than ready to head home where the sun shone brightly.
Around that same time, I attended a lecture by poet Carolyn Duferrena. She lives on a ranch in a northern Nevada valley she claims has no name. One winter, the pogo nip lasted six weeks instead of the usual one or two. After ranch chores were done, she told us most people hunkered down by the fire with books and hot beverages to wait out the fog. It closed in, creating a claustrophobic atmosphere that caused irritation in those who had no engaging activity to occupy their minds. Dufferena bolstered her sanity by writing a book of poetry.
I was working on my novel, Paradise Ridge, at that time. Learning how people endure this wearisome weather, I incorporated her information and my experience with pogo nip into the plot. It created quite a conflict that pushed the story deeper into the characters' conflicts. Here's an excerpt:
"A few rainstorms recharged the streams and transformed the roads into quagmires. Holiday events became sparse flashes of gaiety sprinkled through the winter’s hard, lonely work. The storms only served to increase everyone’s isolation.
After the rains stopped, the air chilled, freezing whatever moisture floated in the air. The seasonal pogo nip had arrived.
Usually, this dense fog lasted a week or two at the most, covering the barren trees and willows, fence posts and barbed wire, even blades of grass, with a coat of rime. Everything glistened with an eerie beauty.
Gloomy as the fog could be, Lucy was fascinated at first with how the crystals piled upon each other, forming sculptures of ice that grew like fur upon every surface it touched. Weeds became ornate lace. Leafless trees etched against the dreary sky with stark black limbs. Lucy loved the pogo nip for a day or two. After a week, though, it buried her in despair. This year, the pogo nip lasted six weeks.
Everything acquired a ghostly aspect. People stoked up fires and nursed themselves with hot drinks and whatever music they could coax from fractious radio waves. Books from ranch libraries transported the more literate to sunnier places and adventures far from this pall.
As the pogo nip closed in around her house, Lucy’s stock of songs and stories thinned until she had little to sustain her. All she could do was watch from her rocking chair as Jeremiah kicked and crawled about the rug. Despite his joyful babblings, she felt imprisoned whenever she glanced out the windows.
She didn’t want to go for a walk for fear of getting lost in the deep mist. The frigid air stung like an invisible claw scraping her throat. Unable to spend any time outside, where her wild spirit could express its liberty, she fell into a sullen inertia.
Usually a shelter in foul weather, the little straw bale house became a tomb. No sunshine broke through at all; darkness siphoned whatever sense of wellbeing she could muster. Flat grey hues blurred the line between heaven and earth. She wanted to dive under her wedding quilt and hide until spring.
Even Leandro’s voice, his calm forbearance failed to enliven her. He too was drained of energy as, each morning he headed outside, pecking her with a weary kiss goodbye. Lucy would pull his neckerchief up over his nose and mouth to shield his lungs from the killing frost that her kaku called white death. With one more hug and glance into Leandro’s listless eyes, she sent him off and watched him and his horse dissolve into the fog. Later, what time they spent together hung in muted suspense, as if they waited for a spark to quicken them."
All photos by Sue Cauhape.
You can read more from Sue Cauhape on her page, “Ring Around the Basin”:
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"It was a remarkable outing. It was also depressing." Nice pivot! It told me me to balance what was to come next. I grew up knowing it as hoar frost, and understood there were sharp edges to it.
I have never heard of pogo nip! maybe never experienced it, or if I did I thought it was hoar frost, which I do love and can be beautiful. lovely writing, Sue.