Human Thermometer

When the temperature drops below -20F in Yellowstone, all non-essential NPS employees are ordered not to report to work until the mercury rises. Unfortunately, I don’t have a thermometer outside my house, so every morning I step outside and gauge the air temperature using the following remarkably accurate guide:

You know it’s 30 degrees outside when…

You step outside and think, “Ah, what a pleasant day,” and then look down and realize you’re   wearing just the T-shirt you slept in the night before.

It’s about 20 degrees outside when…

The sky is cloudy and grey, so you pile on an extra fleece, and then five steps outside the door you start clawing frantically at your zippers trying to escape from the extra clothing before your flesh starts to melt inside.

You know it’s 10 degrees when…

You see it’s sunny and lovely outside, so you leave that extra fleece at home, and for the entire forty-minute snowmobile ride to Fishing Bridge you grit your teeth against the wisps of cold air which creep in through your zipper and settle into the space beneath your coat where that fleece should have been. (To fight the chill, you are desperate enough to turn on the seat warmer, which you don’t think is working until you take off your snowmobile bibs at the warming hut and realize you were sweating so much that your fleece pants need to be wrung out.)

You know the thermometer’s sitting around zero when…

You return from a ski to find that the ends of your hair which were poking out from under your beanie are frosted white with the frozen droplets of your own breath.

You know it’s -10 degrees outside when…

You step out in the morning and inhale deeply of that fresh Yellowstone air, and your nostrils pinch together, and then freeze that way. As the cold air rushes through your nose, it freezes each little nose-hair and binds them together, causing your flesh to twinge as a million little nerve endings are tweaked by the icy tug of frozen follicles. Ahhh… breathe deeply.

And, finally, you know it’s 20 below when you drive three miles on a snowmobile and when you stop to wipe away the ice which has completely frozen over your visor, but when you remove your helmet you realize that your mask isn’t frosted so much as your eyeballs have iced over. Miniature icicles dangle from your eye lashes, and when you go to wipe them away, you cause your eyes to water and freeze shut. You’d dab your eyes with your balaclava, only the condensation of your breath has soaked the fabric and then frozen solid, right over your mouth and nose. What can you do, but bat your frosted eyelashes until the icicles tingle, turn the seat-warmer to high… and then boogie home to bed to wait for the temperature to rise.