Did You Know Snow Isn’t Always White?

Snow is not always white

Short answer: nope. Snow wears more colors than your sock drawer. White is its default sweater. But under the right light, with the right mix of ice crystals, dust, algae, or pollution, snow turns blue, pink, green, orange, gray—even near-black. Let’s dig in without getting frostbite.


❄️ What makes snow look white?

Each flake is a tiny, clear ice crystal. Clear, not white. The “white” you see is light bouncing around inside billions of crystals. All those angles scatter every color roughly equally, so your eyes blend them into white. New snow with sharp edges scatters light like crazy, so it pops bright. As flakes age, edges round off, grains clump, and the surface looks duller or darker. A skim of meltwater can even make it look gray because it reflects the sky like a mirror.

Want a simple proof? Scoop up a handful and pack it tight. It darkens. Less air. Less scatter. Same ice.

For a quick primer, the National Snow and Ice Data Center explains the “white but actually translucent” bit nicely: https://nsidc.org/learn/parts-cryosphere/snow/quick-facts-about-snow


🔵 Why snow and ice turn blue

Thick, compact ice swallows red light a bit more than blue. Blue survives the trip through the ice and back to your eyes. That’s why crevasses glow like neon soda and old glacier chunks look like sapphire candy. Deep holes you dig in a snowbank can show a faint blue, too. It’s the same physics, just less dramatic.

Curious about the wavelength nerdiness (in plain English)? The USGS has a solid explainer: https://www.usgs.gov/faqs/why-glacier-ice-blue


🍉 Pink or red “watermelon snow” (yes, it’s real)

Hikers see it above treeline and wonder who spilled the cherry slushie. The culprit is snow algae—tiny organisms that wake up in spring, move between ice grains, and paint the surface pink or crimson. They carry a red carotenoid pigment (think sunscreen for algae). The color warms the snow and speeds melting, which gives the algae more liquid water to live in. Smart little sunbathers.

No, it doesn’t taste like watermelon. And no, don’t eat it. Snow algae live in an entire micro-ecosystem. You’re not invited to that buffet.

Good reads:


🟢 Green snow near penguins

Antarctica gets green snow blooms—often near penguin colonies where nutrients are plentiful. A 2020 Nature Communications study mapped thousands of these blooms; you can see the research summary from Cambridge here: https://www.cam.ac.uk/stories/antarctica-turning-green and the paper here: https://www.nature.com/articles/s41467-020-16018-w

Green blooms matter. They change how much sunlight the surface reflects and how fast it melts. They also mark pockets of life in a place that looks empty from far away.


🟡 Yellow and 🟠 orange snow (pollen and dust do wild things)

Spring can dump yellow streaks across the snowpack. That’s pollen, not sulfur from a volcano. Pollen grains ride the wind, land on the snow, and tint it like turmeric in rice.

Then there’s orange snow. Saharan dust sometimes sails into Europe and Russia, mixes into passing storms, and falls as tangerine-colored flurries. In 2018, skiers in Eastern Europe snapped photos of slopes that looked like Mars. National Geographic has a quick explainer: https://www.nationalgeographic.com/science/article/orange-snow-russia-sand-spd

One more thing: industrial pollution can color snow yellow, orange, or brown and make it smell off. If it looks wrong and smells worse, don’t touch it.


⚫ Gray or black snow (soot is a sneaky painter)

Soot—“black carbon”—sticks to snow and turns it dingy. That tiny color shift matters. Darker snow absorbs more sunlight, melts faster, and exposes even darker ground or ice below. It’s a feedback loop with a bad attitude.

NASA’s visuals and explainers show how a few parts per billion of soot can drop snow’s reflectivity a lot:

This is why “clean” snow in the backcountry looks brighter than city snowbanks at a street corner in March.


🌈 “Wait, my snow looked purple at sunset.”

Light at sunrise and sunset leans red and orange. Snow is a giant screen. It reflects the sky color. Add long shadows from trees (bluish), a warm horizon (orange), and camera white balance doing its best impression of guesswork, and you’ll get lavender drifts and peach ridgelines. Pretty, temporary, normal.


🧪 Is colored snow safe to touch or eat?

Short version:

  • Yellow snow from animals: that’s a hard no.

  • Red/pink algae snow: don’t eat it. It’s a whole microbial community.

  • Orange/brown from dust: don’t consume it. You don’t know what hitched a ride.

  • Black/gray urban snow: full of grit and soot. Avoid.

Use gloves. Wash up. Save your taste buds for hot cocoa.


📸 How to photograph weirdly colored snow

  • Meter off mid-tones, not the snow. Your camera wants to make snow gray.

  • Nudge exposure up +0.7 to +1.3 EV to keep whites white.

  • Shoot in RAW so you can fix color balance later.

  • A circular polarizer cuts glare and deepens color, but watch for uneven sky with wide lenses.

  • Step carefully. Footprints can ruin those delicate pink streaks.


🌍 Why the color of snow actually matters

Color isn’t just cosmetic. It’s physics and climate at work. White, reflective snow keeps the planet cooler by bouncing sunlight back to space. Dark snow and dark ice trap heat. That speeds melt and exposes even darker surfaces, which trap more heat. It’s a small push that leads to a bigger slide.

If you want the quick “albedo” rundown, here’s NASA’s student-friendly page: https://mynasadata.larc.nasa.gov/basic-page/albedo-values


🧠 Quick answers to questions people ask

1. Does blue ice mean the glacier is “pure”?
Not exactly. It means the ice is dense, old, and bubble-poor, which lets it filter light so blue wins. Purity isn’t the point; structure is.

2. Is watermelon snow harmful to skin?
Touching it isn’t usually an issue. Eating or melting it for water isn’t smart. Microbes and who-knows-what else live there.

3. Can colored snow happen in my backyard?
Yellow from pollen? Sure. Gray from car exhaust? Sadly, yes. Pink algae? Only if you live near alpine snowfields or polar regions.

4. Why is late-season snow so dingy?
Sun melts and refreezes grains, pollution settles in, and wind drops dust on top. The clean top layer disappears first, leaving a patchwork quilt of everything that landed all winter.

5. Do sunglasses change how I see the color?
Polarized lenses cut glare and boost contrast. Blue snow looks bluer. Dirty snow looks dirtier. Prepare for honesty.

6. Can fresh snowfall “reset” the color?
Often. A new storm covers pollen, dust, and algae with a bright white layer. Until wind, wildlife, humans, and the next warm spell start painting again.


🧭 Field notes from a snow nerd

If you want to hunt colors:

  • Blue: stare into crevasses from a safe distance, or check the base of blue icebergs.

  • Pink/red: late spring on high alpine snowfields after sunny days.

  • Green: coastal Antarctica near penguin colonies (for the rest of us, stick to articles and documentaries).

  • Orange: after a dust event from far-off deserts—watch regional news in late winter and early spring.

Bring curiosity, caution, and a thermos.


Sources & further reading (no tracking junk, clean links):


Bottom line

Snow isn’t a blank page. It’s a light show, a lab bench, and a mood ring for the planet. White is common. Blue is old and dense. Pink and green mean living cells are throwing a party. Yellow, orange, gray, and black tell you what fell from the sky or rolled out of a tailpipe. Keep your eyes open on your next winter walk. The colors are there. You just need the right day—and maybe a little luck—to catch them.

Author

  • Sandy Bright

    Sandy spins big ideas into bites you can finish on a coffee break. Her research radar never rests, a habit formed while helping archive community-history projects after class. Fueling the grind is a goal to study Humanities at the University of Oxford. Readers count on her clean sources and tight prose; editors lean on her streak of zero retractions. Offline, she leads neighborhood book swaps and sketches city life—because stories live in margins as much as headlines.