Unlike most sciences, where there are numerous pseudo-Greek or pseudo-Latin coinages, geology offers all sorts picturesque and lovely words that have been in the language for years – and are novel to me. So "graywacke" –a muddy sandstone containing particles of quartz"; "fumarole" — a small vent emitting jets of steam; "sinter" – a crust of calcium carbonate; "molfette" — a vent emitting gases such as carbon dioxide; "coquina" — a cemented mass of debris of shells; "clint" — a sharp ridge; "grike" — a fissure or crack opened by dissolving limestone; "knickpoint" — a sharp step, up or down, in a river; "gour" — a calcite ridge formed when water rich in carbonate flows over an irregular surface; "drumlin" — an isolated mountain; "nunatak" — a projecting peak in land otherwise covered by ice; "firn"– a mass of ice pellets compacted by the weight of snow above; "cwm" — a steep rock basin; "col" — a narrow pass; "esker" — a winding ridge formed by retreating glaciers; "pingo" — a cone, dome or hump caused when freezing water expands beneath the permafrost and pushes up the earth; "yardang" — parallel ridges of hard rock.
I'm not convinced that I could recognize any of these phenomena of my own accord. I'd probably need a professional geologist or guide. But the words themselves sure are magnificent. And this is just a small sample of the wordhoard.
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