In the annals of bizarre weather phenomena, few events rival the claim that a snowflake the size of a frisbee once plummeted from the sky in Montana. According to historical accounts, on a frosty January day in 1887, a rancher near Fort Keogh—a remote outpost in what is now Miles City—witnessed what might be the most audacious snowflake ever recorded. Measuring a staggering 15 inches wide and 8 inches thick, this icy marvel reportedly fluttered down during a severe snowstorm, defying everything we think we know about snowflake physics.
The story originates from a firsthand account published in the Monthly Weather Review, a scientific journal, where a rancher named Matt Coleman described the snowflake as “larger than milk pans” and compared it to a “feathered plate.” While skeptics might dismiss this as frontier tall-tale syndrome, meteorologists have long debated whether such a gargantuan snowflake is even possible. After all, the average snowflake is roughly the size of a nickel, and even the most complex dendrites rarely exceed half an inch. But Montana’s 1887 whopper, if accurate, would hold the undisputed title of “world’s largest snowflake”—a record later enshrined by Guinness World Records, albeit with a cautious asterisk acknowledging the limitations of 19th-century measurement tools.
So, how does a snowflake grow to frisbee proportions? The secret lies in atmospheric conditions. Snowflakes form when water vapor crystallizes around a dust particle, branching into intricate patterns as they fall. For a snowflake to reach such monstrous dimensions, it needs near-perfect harmony: temperatures hovering just below freezing, high humidity to encourage rapid crystal growth, and exceptionally calm air to prevent the fragile structure from shattering. Montana’s storm that day allegedly provided all three. Scientists speculate that the flake might have been an aggregation of countless smaller crystals clumping together mid-descent, like a frozen tumbleweed collecting ice buddies on its way to Earth.
Of course, not everyone is convinced. Modern critics argue that Coleman’s “snowflake” was likely a cluster of smaller flakes stuck together—a common occurrence in heavy, wet snow. But the rancher insisted it was a single, cohesive unit, “perfectly symmetrical” and “delicate as lace,” which raises the question: Did Montana briefly become a wonderland for snowflake superheroes? Or did Coleman, isolated on the prairie, simply mistake a clump of snow for a singular marvel?
Either way, the legend endures. The 1887 mega-flake has become a quirky footnote in meteorological history, a reminder that nature occasionally enjoys trolling human expectations. And while no photographic evidence exists (the first snowflake photo wouldn’t be taken until 1885, and even then, it was microscopic), the story has inspired generations of snow enthusiasts to gaze skyward during storms, secretly hoping for their own frisbee-from-the-heavens moment. Just remember: If you ever spot a snowflake big enough to play catch with, bring a mitt. And maybe a camera.
