As I trudged along the escarpment of Great Ayton Moor, my eyes were drawn southwestward, where a rather theatrical display of clouds was being jostled along by an brisk southwesterly wind. My morning walk had started with a few ominous spots of rain, but which was grudgingly giving way to clear skies.
One cannot help but marvel at how often you gaze up at the sky only to be confronted with a fog of amnesia concerning the names of clouds. Is that a Cumulocirrus or a Strato-something? We all had this information inflicted upon us in school, yet, as with many things, we promptly discarded it. Even with the occasional perusal of some article or the relentless aid of Google, I for one remain hopelessly lost.
Now, if I must hazard a guess, the clouds over the Cleveland Hills appear to be of the cumulus variety—the sort that obligingly looks like cotton balls. These clouds are the everyday, workhorse variety. So, if you wish to bluff—or at least avoid embarrassment—simply mutter “cumulus” and the odds are in your favour.
Hovering much higher, of course, are those aloof cirrus clouds, thin and wispy. Composed of ice crystals and floating as high as fifteen thousand feet, these clouds deign to appear only in fair weather. They are also whimsically known as ‘mare’s tails,’ presumably by someone with an overactive imagination.
Then there’s the stratus cloud, the killjoy of the trio, hanging low like a drab grey curtain. Thankfully, it does not appear to be gracing today’s spectacle.
All clouds, in their endless combinations, are derived from these three fundamental forms. But the real entertainment comes from the additional terms, like ‘Nimbus,’ which is nothing more than a pompous way to say “rain cloud,” or ‘Alto,’ which supposedly means “high” but merely adds to the confusion as they are not as high as Cirrus. The ominous Cumulonimbus, for example, is a fluffy cloud with a dark side, threatening to unleash a downpour at any moment. It usually heralds a storm’s arrival with all the subtlety of a English football supporter. Nimbostratus, on the other hand, blankets the sky in brooding darkness, poised to drown anyone foolish enough to venture out.
Of course, one could go even further into the labyrinth of cloud classifications, like the Cumulonimbus Incus—an anvil-shaped monstrosity that forebodes thunderstorms. But honestly, remembering even the basic types is an achievement worthy of praise. I, for one, shall rest content with that.
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