Buzz
There are three ways to answer this question: A surprising number, not many, and an overwhelming number. If you're looking for precision: 5, 2, and at least 99.
This is because there isn’t one singular 'Eskimo' language. The term 'Eskimo' is broad—and frequently seen as offensive—for the Inuit and Yupik peoples in the Arctic regions of Alaska, Canada, Greenland, and Siberia. They speak a range of languages, with the most common being Central Alaskan Yup'ik, West Greenlandic (Kalaallisut), and Inuktitut. Each of these languages has various dialects, and some have more words for snow than others.
The inquiry into how many 'Eskimo' words exist for snow has long been a complex issue, but let's attempt to break it down.
A Huge Number of 'Eskimo' Words for Snow
The 'Eskimos have so many words for snow' cliché is everywhere today, from advertisements to cartoons to articles about hairstyles. As Laura Martin pointed out in her 1986 study 'Eskimo Words for Snow' [PDF], anthropologists and psychologists began using this story in the late 1950s as a standard example in discussions of language, culture, and perception. If Arctic peoples had four or five distinct categories for snow where English speakers have only one, did that mean their view of snow was different from that of Westerners? The idea spread into popular culture and became a lasting fixture. Originally, the sources mentioned only four or five snow terms, but over time, the public transformed this into 25, 50, 100, or even 400—it didn’t matter. The point of the trope wasn’t to provide insight into Arctic languages but to suggest that 'hey, other people sure do see the world in a different way!'
However, the idea of using language to prove that others perceive the world differently has some troubling origins. Early ethnographers used linguistic differences to question the character or intellectual abilities of other cultures. In a 1827 treatise on global geography, it was claimed that the language of Lapland contained 'five words for snow' and 'seven or eight for mountain,' yet terms like 'honesty,' 'virtue,' and 'conscience' had to be expressed with elaborate phrases. While the 1950s academics who revived the snow words tale didn’t hold such simplistic views on language and culture, the implication that having many words for something means you perceive it better or care about it more has led some to wrongly assume that fewer words for something equates to an inability to perceive it or find it important.
Not as Many 'Eskimo' Words for Snow
Scholars have refuted the misleading suggestion that a large snow vocabulary reflects a superior perception. Both Martin’s paper and Geoffrey Pullum’s well-known essay 'The Great Eskimo Vocabulary Hoax' [PDF] highlight that the linguistic evidence doesn’t support the claim that 'Eskimos' possess an extraordinarily extensive snow vocabulary.
Inuit and Yupik Languages Are Polysynthetic: One Root, Countless Words for Snow
Laura Martin proposes that we shift the question to how many 'roots' 'Eskimos' have for snow. For West Greenlandic, the answer is two: qanik ('snow in the air') and aput ('snow on the ground'). From these roots, we can form words like qanipalaat ('feathery clumps of falling snow') and apusiniq ('snowdrift'). There are also words using different roots for things snow does (such as covering or floating). However, Pullum’s essay raises a key issue: Do we count words like the Inuktitut term for 'snow for igloo making' as a snow word if it also means general building materials? Similarly, in English, do we consider 'pack' a snow word, or just a term for tightly compressing things together? Ultimately, the number of snow-related terms in English (sleet, slush, flurry, avalanche, etc.) could be just as extensive as in 'Eskimo' languages.
A Tremendous Number of 'Eskimo' Words for Snow
Linguist K. David Harrison, known for his work studying endangered languages around the world, discusses in his book *The Last Speakers* that it’s a mistake to assume that the exaggerated claims about 'Eskimo' snow words in the past imply that the actual number is dull and insignificant.
From his observations, Harrison notes that 'the number of snow/ice/wind/weather terms in some Arctic languages is impressively vast, rich, and complex.' The Yupik, for instance, have at least 99 distinct terms for sea ice formations. One such term, 'nuyileq,' as described in *Watching Ice and Weather Our Way*, refers to 'crushed ice beginning to spread out; dangerous to walk on. The ice is dissolving but hasn’t fully dispersed in water, though it’s fragile and one could fall through. Sometimes seals can even surface on this ice because water is beginning to appear.'
This definition encompasses much more than what you'd find in a standard dictionary, revealing how a specialized set of terminology reflects deep expertise. Just as geologists possess a vast vocabulary for rocks, Arctic peoples have a wealth of terms for the environment and survival techniques specific to their region. Whether the number of Yup'ik ice words is large or not, they encapsulate crucial information in a meaningful way. As Harrison writes, we ignore the importance of this 'packaging' at our own risk.
