Monday, January 15, 2018

A Look Back at Ten Years of Geotripping: I toured a marble quarry on Vancouver Island; It's almost as if they didn't want us to see the rocks.

I've been digging through the archives of Geotripper on the occasion of my tenth anniversary of geoblogging, looking for some of my favorites. In 2015 I spent a lot of time in the Pacific Northwest, resulting in several blog series, but a favorite moment was my tour of this "quarry" which some of you may recognize as something else. This blog appeared on July 13, 2015...

So, I'm out on Vancouver Island, British Columbia, enjoying my vacation with Mrs. Geotripper, and we're casting about trying to figure out what to do on this 300-mile long island. I'm doing some reading and find out that there is this place called the Saanich Peninsula Marble Quarry that offers tours. That sounds great to the geologist in me, so I talk Mrs. Geotripper into checking it out. It turns out that when you are touring an island that is mainly rainforest, rock exposures are in short supply.
I figure that a rock quarry isn't going to have a whole lot of visitors on a given day, so imagine my surprise when we reach the end of the road, and find out that the place has a parking lot, and charges admission! It was pretty steep, too, about $30 Canadian for each of us. But hey, it's rocks, and I haven't seen a lot of rocks on this trip. We pay and go on in. I'm astounded by how many people are here for the tour of the quarry.

I did some research on the rocks. The marble of the Saanich Peninsula is part of the Wrangellia terrane, rocks that formed far out in the Pacific Ocean during the Triassic Period. Around 100 million years ago during the Cretaceous Period the rocks plowed into the west coast of North America and became part of the continent. The rocks were originally limestone that formed in coral reefs and along tropical island beaches. The heat and pressure of the collision with North America caused the rock to recrystallize into marble. Today it is called the Quatsino formation.
So I follow the map, my anticipation rising as we reach the edge of the quarry, and I looked in. I was kind of shocked. There was vegetation everywhere! There was barely any rock to be seen at all! I did notice the smokestack from the smelter almost hidden in the forest beyond the quarry. How could they let this happen? Didn't they care enough to keep the rock exposed for us geologists? 
The hundreds of people around me didn't seem to mind all the vegetation. As far as I could tell, they were actually paying more attention to the flowers and stuff and pretty much ignoring the rock. I was a little confused. But at least the people that run the place have a sense of history. They put up some interpretive signs that showed the raw beauty of the rock before all the vegetation was allowed to grow over it.
The quarry was active from the late 1800s to around 1905 or so. I guess in this temperate rainforest environment the plants can take over pretty quickly. I was kind of surprised by how colorful the flowers and other plants were. I thought that at this latitude, the species diversity was on the low side. I guess not.
I finally found some rock exposures at the lower end of the quarry. The flowers hadn't yet covered everything. Water had filled the lowest part of the quarry, and I guess they were using a fountain to aerate the water or something.
It's almost as if they were ashamed of the rocks. Look at the picture above to see how the plants covered almost every part of the marble. I just didn't get it. In any case, we finished up our tour and found some gelato being sold at a stand in what looked like an old mansion of some sort, so we had a bit of dessert before heading back to Victoria.
So what did I think about the marble quarry tour? I was surprised by how popular and expensive it was, and how easily the visitors were distracted by the vegetation covering all the rocks. The pathways were well done, and there were lots of interpretive signs showing the glory of years past when plants didn't cover every rock, so one got a sense of history, and of loss. On the whole, it wasn't too bad, especially if you like plants and stuff like that. I don't recommend bringing a rock hammer. They got pretty upset when I starting taking rock samples.

If you want to check it out, don't go by the old name of Saanich Peninsula Quarry. They changed it, I guess when it got all overgrown. Nowadays the place is called Butchart Gardens.
The glories of the old days before plants covered everything.

A Look Back at Ten Years of Geoblogging: The Toughest Fish in the World

I've spent the last two weeks going through the archives of ten years of Geotripper. I've been enjoying picking out a few bits here and there that I really enjoyed writing. One of these was the story of the toughest fish in the world, and the very surprising place where it is found. This was posted on February 19, 2015...

What kinds of fish are tough? Some Marlin that you spent a couple of hours trying to reel in one time in Mexico? A nice two pound Rainbow Trout that fought hard against your fishing skills in a mountain lake in the Sierra? Some Small-mouth Bass in a reservoir somewhere? I doubt any of them can stack up to this little fish. They were out and about last week during our field trip in numbers I haven't seen in some time.
It's little, hardly exceeding two inches in length. It's certainly not big enough to take a hook. It doesn't have a mouthful of teeth, and it's not a predator (unless you are a diatom or a clump of algae). So how is this a tough fish?
Consider this: it lives in water that can sometimes exceed the saltiness of seawater. By three times. I don't think there is another fish in the world that can do that. can survive in water where the temperature exceeds 100 degrees. Again, I don't think there is another fish in the world that can do that. And one more: the environment in which these fish live can reaching freezing on occasion. No fish that I am aware of can survive such extremes.
But these little fish can.

On top of everything else about this species is the place where it lives, the last place one would even think of looking for fish: Death Valley in eastern California. The hottest place in the world, and the driest place in North America.

Meet the Death Valley Pupfish (Cyprinodon salinus salinus), sometimes known as the Salt Creek Pupfish. It is just one of nine or so species and subspecies of fish that survive in the Death Valley region.
Once you realize that fish are living in Death Valley, certain questions are bound to arise. How can there be water enough for them to survive? How did they get there? And how did there come to be so many species and subspecies ?
The first question is perhaps the easiest to answer. It is true that rain almost never falls in Death Valley, with an average year seeing no more than 1.5-2 inches of precipitation. But Death Valley is the lowest ground in North America, and groundwater flows towards the valley, in some cases from a hundred miles away. Springs and pools form when faults or rock barriers force the water to the surface. These water sources don't depend on the rare rainstorm. It's thought that the water flowing from springs at Furnace Creek or Scotty's Castle has been underground for more than 10,000 years. These stable springs and pools have provided a secure source of water since the end of the last ice age around 12,000 years ago.
But how did the fish get there in the first place? We can say that the fish did not arrive under current climate conditions. River connections between fault basins could only occur during the ice ages when glaciers covered about 30% of the Sierra Nevada. Glacial meltwater drained into the Owens Valley and spilled over into other desert valleys, filling them, and ultimately filling even Death Valley with a hundred mile long freshwater lake. At some point, a connection was made with the Colorado River, and numerous species of fish invaded the ecosystem. But then the ice ages ended.
The vast lakes began to dry up, and the fish were forced to adapt or die out. A number of trout species survived in the cool waters of the Carson, Walker and Truckee River drainages, but in Death Valley, it was only the Cyprinodon species. The one species was forced to survive in different environments, water that might be fresh, salty, hotter, or cooler. The single species diverged into many, much as the finches of the Galapagos Islands did.
During the spring, the Salt Creek Pupfish expand rapidly into the growing flow downstream. Hundreds of fish become thousands, then a million or more. Most of them are doomed when the extreme summer heat sets in and Salt Creek mostly dries up. A few find refuge in the pools and springs at the head of the shallow canyon (a canyon that exists on the floor of Death Valley because of faulting).

Other species of pupfish are more severely limited. The Devil's Hole Pupfish is restricted to a single cavern opening only a few tens of feet across. It is said to be the most endangered vertebrate species in America and maybe the world. There have rarely been more than 300, and at times the population has dipped to barely two dozen. Their continued survival is obviously in doubt.
Toughness doesn't have to be measured by strength or stature. The pupfish of Death Valley show their toughness by surviving in one of the most extreme environments on Earth. They deserve our respect and protection, something we have not always provided. The Tecopa Pupfish (Cyprinodon nevadensis calidae) once lived in two hot springs east of Death Valley. Modifications of the springs in the 1960s to build bath houses destroyed their habitat, and they were gone by 1970. It was the first species to be taken off the endangered species list, not because it was doing better, but because it was extinct. Let's do better with the others.

Postscript: Since I originally posted this story on the pupfish, I've become aware of another species of pupfish in the region that was thought to be extinct, but which now is thriving on private property in Shoshone, east of Death Valley. Here is the very interesting story of their discovery. Biological and environmental details can be found here.

Sunday, January 14, 2018

A Look Back at Ten Years of Geotripping: You can tell the world is an incredible place when these are the runners up...

This month I've been searching the archives for my favorite posts after ten years of geoblogging. The last two posts involved the ten most incredible places I've ever stood. What's striking is that as wonderful as these places are, I was quickly able to come up with ten (eleven, actually) more sites that weren't any less spectacular. So I posted this on May 19, 2014 as a follow-up to the list of the "best 10 places"...

I've noticed that nearly every movie reviewer puts a list of the runners up at the end of their list of the top ten movies of the year. In that spirit, I'm putting up a set of pictures from the places that almost made my top ten list of the most incredible places I've ever stood. As before, there is no particular order to these personal choices. It's a bit like asking which of your children you love the most...
 Number 20: Horseshoe Bend, Arizona
A few miles downstream of Glen Canyon Dam is a huge entrenched meander along the Colorado River. The deep blue color of the river isn't right; the silt has settled in Lake Powell, but it makes for a memorable color contrast. Learn more about Horseshoe Bend here.
Number 19: Antelope Canyon, Arizona
There are hundreds of spectacular slot canyons scattered across Utah and Arizona, and you don't have to pay to get into them, and the noontime tours can be extremely crowded, as in shoulder to shoulder, but there can be no denying that the long beams of sunlight reaching into the darkness of the labyrinth is a spectacular and unique sight. For more views, check out this link.
Number 18: Observation Point, Zion National Park, Utah
The Angel's Landing Trail in Zion is one of the most spectacular hikes in North America, but I can never forget my adventure of climbing to Observation Point on the other side of the valley and looking hundreds of feet down onto Angel's Landing (the Landing is the peak on the lower right). For more information about Zion, check out this link.
Number 17: Inspiration Point, Bryce Canyon National Park, Utah
Bryce Canyon is one of the most intricately eroded landscapes in the world, and the spires, called hoodoos, look otherworldly. Almost as incredible is to walk among the hoodoos below the rim, so here is a shot of the fir trees growing in the impossible environment of Wall Street Canyon at Bryce.
For more information about Bryce Canyon National Park, click here.

Number 16: Captain Jack's Stronghold, Lava Beds National Monument, California
The northern flanks of Medicine Lake Highland are coated in barren flows of basalt from the gigantic shield volcano. Within the flows are miles and miles of lava tubes, long caves left behind as the lava drained out. This was the setting for the Modoc Indian War of 1872-73, yet another tragic story of destroying the culture and lives of a people, in this case so settlers could have more land to graze cows and grow potatoes. It's a haunting place to stand. For more information, click here.
Number 15: The Big Sur Coast, California
A mountain range rises directly from the sea. That's about the only way to describe the incredible Big Sur Coast of Central California. This is a view of McWay Falls at Julia Pfeiffer-Burns State Park. For more details, check out this post.
Number 14: Muir Woods National Monument, California
I read somewhere that Muir Woods is the most heavily visited national monument in the United States, and I understand why. It's one of the few old growth Redwood Forests left anywhere close to the Bay Area, and it is a wondrous place to wander about. The Redwoods are ancient trees, both in individual age (thousands of years), and in ancestry (back to the age of the dinosaurs). More information about this incredible place can be found here.
Number 13: Pinnacles National Park, California
Around 23 million years ago, a volcanic center of five rhyolitic cones erupted on top of the San Andreas fault. The fault split the volcano, and the two halves are separated by 195 miles. At Pinnacles National Monument, the jointed blocks of lava and lahars have been eroded into towers and spires. The High Peaks Trail is one of my favorite hikes in North America. For more information, check out this link.
Number 12: Owens Valley and the Eastern Sierra Nevada
The most incredible wall of rock that I know is the eastern escarpment of the Sierra Nevada, a two-mile high barrier to storms and human travel. No highways cross a stretch of something close to 200 miles of mountain peaks. The Owens Valley is a deep fault trough that once was going to be one of the most important agricultural regions of California, but because of water diversions by Los Angeles, is now a sagebrush desert. Each canyon hides treasures, and I spent much of my youth exploring as many of them as possible.
Number 11: The Great Western Divide, Sequoia National Park, California
My own personal terra incognita, the Great Western Divide is a high sub-range in the middle of Sequoia National Park across the Kern River from the main Sierra Crest. It's one of the last major parts of California that I haven't set foot on, but I've looked in from the summit of Moro Rock. There are lots of places left to explore in my life...
And another Number 11 (because it's my blog and I make the rules): Mono Lake, California
Mono Lake probably belongs on another planet. It's one of the strangest sights in a state filled with strange sights, a lake that is three times as salty as seawater, with a simple ecosystem of basically algae, brine shrimp and brine flies, but the simple combination is a food source for millions upon millions of migratory birds. The edge of the lake is lined with strange tufa towers that formed along freshwater springs.

And that's my highly personal list of the second ten most incredible places I've stood, and it was just as hard to pick out as the first ten! I'd love to hear about more of your favorite places. Put them in the comments, or send me a story that I can post as a guest entry in Geotripper!

Saturday, January 13, 2018

A Look Back at Ten Years of Geotripping: What are the Most Incredible Places You've Ever Stood (the Final Five)?

Yesterday we looked at five of the most incredible places I've ever stood. The post had become very long, so I decided to cut it in half. What follows are the final five of the most incredible spots. We've been working our way through my favorite posts in ten years of blogging...

Number 5: Walking in the Footsteps of James Hutton, Scotland (From May 6, 2014)

This entry into my series on the "Ten Most Incredible Places I've Ever Stood" is sort of a two-for-one deal. It was my journey into a different kind of geological past, the history of the science rather than the history of the world, although that was part of the story too. This was a visit to the birthplace of geology as a science, at two locations in Scotland.
"What clearer evidence could we have had of the different formation of these rocks, and of the long interval which separated their formation, had we actually seen them emerging from the bosom the deep? We felt ourselves necessarily carried back to the time when the schistus on which we stood was yet at the bottom of the sea, and when the sandstone before us was only beginning to be deposited in the shape of sand or mud, from the waters of a superincumbent ocean. An epocha still more remote presented itself, when even the most ancient of these rocks instead of standing upright in vertical beds, lay in horizontal planes at the bottom of the sea, and was not yet disturbed by that immeasurable force which has burst asunder the solid pavement of the globe. Revolutions still more remote appeared in the distance of this extraordinary perspective. The mind seemed to grow giddy by looking so far into the abyss of time...."

These are the words written by John Playfair as he described an extraordinary boat journey he made with James Hutton in 1788 to Siccar Point, a spot where Hutton found confirmation of his model of the Earth's development. At the point, Silurian graywacke sandstone layers (425 million years old) stand nearly vertical, and are overlain by bright orange and brown layers of the Devonian Old Red Sandstone (345 million years). Such features are called unconformities. During the interval of time before the deposition of the Old Red Sandstone, the sea floor had been compressed and thrust upwards into a mountain range that was subsequently eroded completely away. Such events required the passage of vast amounts of time, something quite incompatible with the mere 6,000 years of Earth's existence assumed by medieval religious scholars. Hutton's explorations of Scotland ignited the revolution that led to the development of the science of geology.

In 2001 I had the chance to visit some of Hutton's most famous rock exposures. We had put together our very first international field studies journey to England and Scotland, and being unfamiliar with the territory, we had contracted with a tour company to take care of the logistics. We got a canned tour of the famous tourist localities like Stonehenge, Big Ben, and Edinburgh Castle, but we made special arrangements with the tour company (for a price) to deviate from their usual itinerary (we missed the golf courses of St. Andrews) so we could instead head into the southern uplands of Scotland to Siccar Point. We committed to the trip 1 1/2 years in advance, having no idea that hoof-and-mouth disease was about to be detected in the British Isles, including the farms around Siccar Point. To my almost unspeakable frustration, access was impossible. Not wanting to just give up, I pulled out the topo maps and we made our way to a campground on the coast about a mile north of Siccar Point. I read the passage from John Playfair to the students, and than I ran as far as I could along the beach cliffs to where I could see the point, but not the relationships (although we could pick up the associated rocks along the coast).
The idea of unconformities and the concept of geological time would have been enough to secure Hutton's reputation as a geological pioneer, but he made another profound observation in the middle of the city of Edinburgh. That was the second spot I was seeking on this geological pilgrimage.

For years I've been showing a video to my students on the development of the theory of plate tectonics. It was done in the early 1990s but has held up well aside from the ancient computers in some of the scenes. It begins in Edinburgh with a look at the Salisbury Crags and Arthur's Seat, where James Hutton discovered an ancient volcano that once sat on the sea floor. Other observers in these early days of geology thought that basalt accumulated on the sea floor by precipitating out of the water, much like salt deposits in a drying bay. Hutton found a contact zone in a small quarry at the base of the Salisbury Crags where the intruding basaltic rock had pried up the previously existing sedimentary layers forming a vast sill. In other parts of Scotland he found intrusions of granitic rock that had done the same thing. In short, he had discovered intrusive (or plutonic) igneous rocks, and opened our eyes to an entirely different way of considering our planet, an active planet with an internal heat source, and cyclical processes that had been operating for millions, not thousands, of years.
I didn't have much of a clue about how to find the quarry, but sunset came late in our northern latitude, so after dinner I set out from our hotel and walked to the crags. It didn't actually take very long before I found a concrete monument and the very exposure that had been illustrated in Hutton's early books. It was a marvelous moment in my geological life (and a great sense of relief because I was going to be showing it to my students the next morning and had to pretend I knew where it was all along).
The big adventure of the next day would be the climb up to the summit of Arthur's Seat, the eroded and glacially scoured volcano that had once been in an ocean. The peak is surrounded by the city of Edinburgh, and was originally preserved as a deer hunting park for the king, but more recently because of a number of rare plant and animal species, as well as being a bit of greenery in an urban setting.
The peak is an archaeological treasure with the remains of ancient fort at the summit, and the ruins of a chapel, St. Anthony's, built in 1425 on the flanks. It was such a strange sight for the middle of a city.
Although it was a bit hazy, the whole city was visible from our 822 foot summit. We could sit on our "throne" and consider the volcanic eruptions that built up the volcano, the continental collision that deformed and tilted the rocks, and the glaciers that scoured the flanks during the ice ages of the last two million years.
Do these pictures look a little fuzzy, a bit low of resolution? There's a story there. I had heard of digital cameras, but they were expensive and I couldn't fit them in my budget (my, how times have changed...). Because the Scotland trip was a major event for our department, I convinced the administration to spring for a modest camera (an entire 3 megapixels!), and it arrived in Shipping and Receiving late in the afternoon before our departure the next morning. When I got on the plane, I had taken and downloaded all of three images. I barely knew how to use the camera, and didn't really trust the technology, so I ended up mostly taking lower resolution pictures. I would never make that mistake again, but such is the learning curve. At least I didn't accidentally delete them all like I've done on a few other occasions. If you would like to see some very excellent and more recent pictures of Arthur's Seat, check out this recent post at Magma Cum Laude:
Not many people in Edinburgh know of James Hutton, and his role in the development of the science of geology. Mostly I got blank stares when I asked directions to the monument. James Hutton is buried in Edinburgh and we paid a visit to the cemetery, but they had to pull out a catalog to find out where he lies buried. The section of the cemetery where he is interred was locked and chained, apparently because of continuing abuse by leaders of the popular ghost walks of Edinburgh (yeah, I took one too, but aside from atmospheric fog in the streets I was unimpressed).
Hutton's resting place is on the left side of this yard.
How much does the average person know about Scotland and England? That there is a queen, and the men wear kilts. We of course realized that we weren't going to be seeing any queens, and it was silly to think that all the men in Edinburgh would be going around in kilts. Except that both of those things happened!

As we made our way down the road towards Arthur's Seat, we noticed that nearly every man on the street was wearing a formal kilt, and we wondered why. As we approached Holyrood Palace, we realized that everyone was gathering for a "garden party" hosted by Queen Elizabeth. There were just a few people in attendance, about 8,000 of them. From our vantage point on the flank of Arthur's Seat, we could pick her out, wearing a blue outfit in a receiving line next to the side of the building just slightly left of center in the picture below. Yes, it was a crazy, unique day.
Just to accent the weirdness, we passed the street sign below. It wasn't actually a prophecy, but instead was an alleyway (a 'close') on the edge of the old city, which was the edge of the world to the medieval inhabitants.

Number 4: What it's like to be the first person to see a cavern? Kartchner Caverns, near Benson Arizona (from May 8, 2104)
Can you imagine flashing a light in a dark corner of a cavern, knowing that you are the first human being ever to lay eyes on the formations? I haven't had that privilege in my life, but I have found two or three places where I can imagine what the experience was like. Most of the caverns that are accessible to amateur spelunkers like myself have been long known and rather completely explored. Unfortunately, most of them have been severely vandalized, and the early use of torches for light left soot deposits on the formations. It is a rare treasure to see a cave where damage has not yet happened. Such caves in my experience include California Caverns near San Andreas, California,  Black Chasm Cavern near Jackson, California, and the subject of today's post, Kartchner Caverns near Benson, Arizona.
Many of the speleothems are still active; there are water droplets on many of the soda straws

The "Ten Most Incredible Places I've Ever Stood" series has been a series of hard choices. This one made the list because of the shock and the awe, the way the cavern made my jaw drop as I stepped in. It is an experience unlike any other that I've had while underground. There is a difference between even a well-protected cave, and one in which whole areas have never been touched by a human being. The floor of one of the large rooms was covered with mud, and it was clear from the trackway above that only one trail through it was ever made, in order to put in a light source. The rest of the room remains as it was discovered.
How incredible is it that some of the soda straws that fell are still standing in the mud?

The discovery and visitation of any cave causes irreversible changes. Kartchner Caverns were discovered on private lands in 1974 and the people who found them were concerned about preserving the original cave environment. The cave was at nearly 100% humidity, and opening it to the desert environment would have dried it out. Such changes in humidity can adversely affect life in the cave and stunt the growth and development of speleothems (cave decorations like stalactites and stalagmites). And yet the caves were spectacular. Was there some way of preserving the caves while making them accessible to the public?
The discoverers hit on an audacious solution. Through a series of delicate and secret negotiations, the owners of the land agreed to sell the lands containing the cave to the state of Arizona to be developed as a show cave, but to be developed in such a way as to preserve both the features and the climate inside the cave (many of the legislators didn't know what or where the park was when they voted for it). They preserved the humidity of the cave using a series of unique airlocks. Pathways were constructed with a minimum of disruptions to the original configuration of the cave. It took 25 years from the time of discovery to the opening of the park to the public in 1999.

There was one catch. Nothing goes into the cave with the visitors. No food, no water, no backpacks...and no cameras. As you might expect, I live for photography and this for me was a hard restriction. In 2005, though, I got the opportunity of a lifetime: as part of a fund-raiser for the park's foundation, they had a photography day, and the National Association of Geoscience Teachers made arrangements for us to take part. I was going to be given access to the cavern to photograph to my heart's content. To be sure, I had to sign a waiver of commercial rights, and the images that you see in this post today are protected and cannot be sold or used in any way.
Perhaps the most incredible stalagmite/column I've ever seen
What a wonder it was to step into a cave that appeared the same as it was on the day of discovery! The airlock closed behind me and although the temperature was only 78 degrees, it felt much hotter because of the intense humidity. The passageways were dimly lit and it took some time to develop my night vision. But moment by moment the cavern came into focus. It was simply stunning.

I wandered from passage to passage lost in the moment. It was nice not having a guide (staff were stationed throughout the cave to answer questions and keep an eye on things), but it was also nice to be exploring a pristine cave knowing I wasn't doing major damage just by being there. Exploring a newly discovered cave means leaving muddy footprints and accidentally destroying delicate formations underfoot, or leaving trails in the mud. I remember thinking that the experience was something like being in a museum, but I thought that in a good way: the resource was being protected, and yet hundreds of thousands of people could see and enjoy it. 
Some marvelous "helictites", otherwise known as stalactites on LSD.
Although I can't be mistaken for a professional photographer, I learned long ago that photography in a cave is always tricky. There is no "natural" look to a cave except total darkness, but a camera flash steals perspective and washes out delicate differences in color and shading. I used the ambient lighting to maintain some depth to the photos. That meant standing very still for longer than usual exposure times (tripods weren't allowed at the time). 

Flowstone refers to speleothems that result from water seeping out of cracks in the walls of a cavern. Over time gigantic mounds build up that resemble ice cream sundaes. Kartchner is full of spectacular examples.

I'm not sure what to make of the features below. There are some nice soda straws, which are so delicate that they are the first to be broken off in unprotected caves. The spiky things are the beginnings of helictites, which tend to ignore gravity, growing instead under the influence of water pressure from the interior of the "confused" stalagmites.

Below, one can see a spectacular column in the foreground, and some marvelous draperies in the upper left background. None of the features were broken off, and none were vandalized. I can barely describe what it is like being in such a place. Every minute in the cave was precious. I know there is an argument about worrying over technology in situations like this, and that one needs to live in the moment, reveling in the experience of being, but I actually find caves disorienting. Despite all my orienteering skills on the Earth's surface (and people tell me they are formidable) I get lost in caves. I can't remember one room or one decoration from another. Photographs keep me centered, and keep the memories of the moment alive. And I can share them!

I passed a stunning wall of draperies. Time was beginning to run short and I would be needing to leave this fantastical world for the surface before long. I was sweating, dehydrated, hungry and tired. It wasn't difficult getting around, but the humidity gets to you eventually, draining your energy. I started to head for the exit chamber and the airlock to the outer world.

There was one last close-up of a moist, almost glowing surface of some flowstone, and then I was out the door to the world of light and fresh air. The contrast was shocking. Caverns are incredible places, but they aren't really a human environment. I can understand how the first explorations of caverns could awaken our ancestors to the ideas of shadow-worlds with their demons and nightmares. Hell was presented as an underworld of fiery pits and eternal torment. But in a different context, caverns have been a place where dreams come alive. I think of the spiritual awakening of an initiate in a deep cave thousands of years ago encountering the drawn images of animals and people on a cavern wall seeming to run and play in the flickering light of a burning torch. Wandering through a pristine cave in the present day brings us face to face with a fascinating world that is not completely apart from us. The deep hidden parts of caves may not be a human environment, but much of our early spiritual and cultural development derived from living and exploring the outer edges of the underground environment. Caves are places where magic seems possible.

Number 3: Standing over Dante's Inferno in the Broken Lands, Death Valley, CA (from May 10, 2014)

The Panamint Mountains and Telescope Peak, the highest part of Death Valley National Park, as seen from Dante's View..
Death Valley is the hottest place on planet Earth.  Furnace Creek recorded a temperature of 134 °F (57 °C) in 1913. With the dethroning of the improperly recorded temperature in Libya from 1922, this is the hottest officially recorded temperature in world history. Badwater, a dozen miles south of Furnace Creek at the deepest point in the valley, is often a few degrees hotter. The hottest overnight temperature ever recorded, 107 °F (42 °C), was measured here on July 12, 2012. That day, the average temperature was 117.5 °F (47.5 °C), the world's hottest 24-hours on record.

Hot temperatures are an interesting feature of Death Valley National Park, but the park is much more significant for other reasons. It contains a wider range and variety of rocks than any other park that I know of. I have been chronicling our February journey to Death Valley over the last few months in a series called "Out of the Valley of Death", and today's post is a confluence of the two series that I've been working on. Dante's View was our next stop after exploring the interior of an upside-down mountain at Titus Canyon, and it makes number three on my list of the Ten Most Incredible Places I've Ever Stood.

The Black Mountains of Death Valley are one of the most rugged mountain ranges in existence. They rise 6,000 feet almost straight up from the lowest part of the Death Valley graben and are practically devoid of trails or roads. The thought of climbing the mountain front near Badwater is as daunting a challenge as I can imagine. The Proterozoic metamorphic rocks are highly deformed and internally sheared by intense faulting, making for a highly unstable climbing surface. But there is a way to the top of the range. A paved highway winds up the other more gentle eastern side of the mountain range, reaching Dante's View at an elevation of 5,476 ft (1,669 m). The overlook is directly above Badwater, more than a mile below at -282 feet ( -86 m). It has one of the most incredible views to be found in any national park.
Frank DeCourten called the Basin and Range province where Death Valley is located the "Broken Land", and the description is apt. From Dante's View, thousands of square miles of land are visible as range after range marches off into the distance. In the last few million years crust in this region was stretched beyond the breaking point, and it broke into countless grabens (fault valleys) and horsts (fault-block mountain ranges).  River drainages that once reached the sea do so no longer, and water leaves the region only by evaporation. The region is sometimes called the "Great Basin" despite the multitude of mountain ranges. Death Valley is the lowest of the low, the ending point of numerous desert washes and the Amargosa "River" that sometimes in wet years has water.

At Dante's View, one's attention is most often drawn towards the salt pan of Death Valley, the lowest land in North America (in the picture above). It is quite a sight, and so alien-looking that it stood in as the location of Mos Eisely in the original Star Wars. Obi-Wan Kenobi and Luke Skywalker stood here, looking at the spaceport and mentioning that "You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy". The salt that covers the valley floor to a depth of hundreds of feet was washed out of the marine sediments that make up many of the mountains in the region, and from the rain itself. Water flows into the salt pan and evaporates, leaving behind the salt and other minerals, including gypsum and calcite.
The view from Dante's encompasses, well, the entire compass. To the south (above) the Black Mountains continue for several miles, including two of the gigantic "turtleback faults". The rocks are some of the oldest in the western United States at 1.7 billion years. The dark metamorphic rocks gave the mountains their name. Although the slopes are not as hot and dry as the valley floor, it is still a tough environment for most plants. The mountains are as barren as any I've ever seen.
To the north (above), the Black Mountains include younger volcanic rocks dating from the middle and late Cenozoic era. They include the Artist Drive Formation, and the ancient lake and valley sediments of the Furnace Creek and Funeral formations. The Grapevine Mountains rise in the far distance. They are composed of thick sequences of marine sediments dating from the Paleozoic era. The farthest ranges are more than 60 miles away.
To the east (above), range after range culminates in the snow-covered Spring Mountains above Las Vegas (did you know you can ski near Las Vegas?). The highest peaks exceed 12,000 feet. Some of the water that accumulates on the slopes of the Spring Mountains travels underground through the intervening mountains to emerge as springs in Death Valley.
One of the most amazing things about the view from Dante's is how different it would have appeared 20,000 years ago during the last of the ice ages. Meltwater from the glaciers of the Sierra Nevada drained into the Great Basin, filling one valley after another until it spilled over into the Death Valley graben, forming a 600 foot deep lake more than 100 miles long.The lake left behind shorelines and terraces in what is currently the driest place in North America, and at least four species of native fish which still live in isolated springs around the park.

Water still accumulates in the Death Valley graben on occasion. Lakes were there in 2005 and 2010, but the same wet weather that filled the salt pan with water also wreaked havoc with the road to Dante's View and it was closed, so I have no pictures of the lake from above. This one from the valley floor will have to do.

Some of my choices for the "ten most incredible places" involved lava, or fossils, or significant historical and geological events. I chose Dante's View for sheer grandeur. From the high vantage point of Dante's, one gets a sense of being on top of the world, a world that is sometimes an inferno, and certainly broken up. There are few places on Earth like it.

Number 2 (but really a tie for number 1): The Grandest Canyon of All, Arizona (from May 14, 2014)

A clearing storm in Carbon Canyon, a tributary to the Grand Canyon
Of course, the Grand Canyon was going to appear on a list like this. It is one of the great spectacles of geology on planet Earth, and it has been entwined with my life many times over. I can trace the first inklings of my curiosity about geology to a vacation at the North Rim when I was a child of nine or ten. Picking up fossils in a meadow along the highway north of the park, I wondered how they could have ended up at 8,000 feet above sea level. A decade later I was a gawky thin teenager in his first year of college looking for direction in his life. A week below the rim on the New Hance and Grandview trails with an inspirational professor provided the impetus for following a career in geology. And then there has been the nearly three decades of leading students to this stunning place, introducing them to this most incredible gorge and the geological history it reveals. Yes, the Grand Canyon is one of the ten most incredible places I've ever stood.
The Desert View Watchtower on the eastern edge of the South Rim of Grand Canyon.
But there is a problem with picking the Grand Canyon as one of my "spots". It's a really big place! There are 200-plus river miles, the canyon is a mile deep and ten or fifteen miles wide, and has countless side canyons and tributaries (so many that a lot are named after their mileage along the river, i.e. Two-hundred Mile Canyon). Many of the side canyons would be national parks of their own in any other setting; Havasu Canyon and National Canyon are tens of miles long, and just as deep as the main gorge.
Mather Point, possibly. I didn't label this one!
So do you pick the rim? This is where most people see the canyon for the first time. There are two rims of course, the North and the South. Probably 90% of the park's visitors come to the South Rim, and that is where most of the facilities are located. It has some grand viewpoints, including, um, Grandview Point. I love visiting there, but it isn't the most incredible part I've stood on.

The North Rim is distinctly different. A thousand feet higher than the South Rim, it is covered with an extensive cool forest of fir and ponderosa. It's lonelier, with a single resort, a small camper store and a campground (check out the excellent Geogypsy Traveler blog for the perspectives of a North Rim ranger). No matter where I am on the North Rim, it feels more wild. It's one of my most cherished places in the world. But I can't pick out a single spot that I've stood on that set it apart from other areas of the canyon.

There are the archaeological sites. People have lived on and in the Grand Canyon for more than 4,000 years, and have left behind intriguing clues about their lives and beliefs, including the split-twig figurines and multitudes of petroglyphs and pictographs. Had I not ended up a geologist, I would most certainly have followed archaeology as a career. The Grand Canyon has some great archaeology, but I couldn't pick a single spot that represents all the canyon means to me.
It took a lot of consideration, but in the end, I knew the "spot" would have to be Hance Rapids at Mile 77 on the Colorado River. So many things in my life converged at this spot. The New Hance Trail reaches the river at this point. I walked the trail in 1976 on my first geology field studies trip and stood on the shore of the Colorado River for the first time. I had walked through 1.7 billion years of earth history to reach this spot, seeing the rocks I had been studying in class for the previous two months. The history of the canyon came alive to me as I walked in wonderment, seeing the crossbedding in sandstone caused by wind blowing over dunes 300 million years ago, the footprints of pre-dinosaurian reptiles and amphibians, the ripplemarks of long-gone rivers and beaches, and fossils from times before multicelled life existed on the planet.

It is at this point that river-runners first encounter the Granite Gorge, the Inner Canyon of the Grand Canyon. The rocks are schist and gneiss 1.7 billion years old  that formed in the roots of a long-gone mountain range that until recently was hidden in the deep crust of the lithosphere. Only in the last five or six million years has the Colorado River exposed these rocks to view. It was near this spot that John Wesley Powell wrote his immortal words about the Grand Canyon: "We are now ready to start on our way down the Great Unknown...We are three quarters of a mile in the depths of the earth...We have an unknown distance yet to run, an unknown river yet to explore. What falls there are, we know not; what rocks beset the channel, we know not; what walls rise over the river, we know not."

The Great Unconformity separates these ancient rocks from the only somewhat younger rocks of the Grand Canyon Supergroup (the reddish sediments on the right in the picture below).  The Supergroup is a group of late Proterozoic sediments that are three times as thick as the main sequence of Paleozoic rocks that make the upper 4,000 feet of the Grand Canyon cliffs. They were faulted, tilted, eroded, and ultimately buried by the advancing Cambrian sea of 515 million years ago. It may be the most famous unconformity on the planet.

This was the spot where I became a geologist.
I returned to Hance Rapids last summer for the first time in thirty years, only this time I came by raft rather than by foot. I am still processing that journey in my mind, but I already know that it was one of the most significant events in my life. I became aware of the fragile nature of life, first among the plants and animals in this challenging environment, but also of my own. Aside from the profound risk of driving a car every day, I came the closest I've ever been to realizing the possibility of death when I was dumped into the near freezing water and rode the toughest rapid for more than a quarter of a mile. We went over more than 150 rapids in seventeen days, and Hance was the first of the monster rapids, rated 8 or 9 on a scale of 10.
Some pictures surfaced a couple of years ago on my Facebook page of that first profound adventure that I had in 1976. It's remarkable how little the river and the rocks have changed, but I realized how much has changed in our understanding of how the rocks of the canyon accumulated, and how the canyon itself came into being. Plate tectonics had been accepted only a few years prior to my arrival in the canyon, and the tectonic history was only just then getting worked out. Parts of the story are still mysterious.

I also realize the massive changes in my own life since then. Back then, there was a dedicated geology professor discussing the history of the canyon, and a young man making life-changing decisions in the professor's class. The young man had not yet married, there were no children in his life, he had not earned a living on his own. He was just starting out.
Today, my kids are grown, I get awards for longevity at my job, and I'm closer to the end of my career than I am to its beginning. I am a teacher now, but I continue to be a student as well, seeking out new places, and revisiting the old ones from the past for continuing enlightenment. The canyon will continue to exist, changed only in a few ways during my tenure on the planet. It knows or cares little of the latest life form that scrabbles about its surface, and it will shrug off the gigantic reservoirs we've constructed to try and control the river.

The canyon is an incredible place. It gives us perspective in so many ways, and that's why it ended up as number two on the list of the most incredible places I've ever stood.
Just who is that thin person in the yellow jacket??


Number 1: Road's End at the Edge of the World...Cedar Mesa, Utah (from May 15, 2014)

There's an empty quarter within the bounds of the lower 48 states. It's a vast area, a swath of land across southern Utah and northern Arizona where towns are few, and the vistas are wide. It's bounded by Blanding on the east, Mexican Hat and Kayenta to the south, and Lake Powell off to the west. Outside of these few villages there are some reservation lands and ranches. There is a national monument (Natural Bridges), and a national park off to the north (Canyonlands), but mostly it's uninhabited Bureau of Land Management land. In other words, lands held in trust for all the people of the United States.

I've been going through a list of the ten most incredible places I've ever stood. Some of these I chose because of their geological significance, and some because of their incredible scenery. A few were chosen from sheer emotion and personal spiritual reasons, and that is also the motivation for my number one choice. Not many people know of the place. It's not a national park or monument, and the geology, while interesting, is not exceptional. It's in the center of the empty quarter of Utah on the edge of Cedar Mesa. It's called Muley Point.

Standing on the edge of the world at Muley Point, one looks down several thousand feet into the mysterious gorge of the San Juan River, one of the major tributaries of the Colorado River. The canyon is an intricate twisting maze of curving gorges called entrenched meanders. The river once flowed as a meandering stream channel over a flat plain relatively close to sea level. When the land rose, the gradient of the river increased, but the water was trapped in the meandering channel, so the curve was preserved as the river cut ever deeper (below).

The rocks making up the cliffs are part of the Cedar Mesa Sandstone, a Permian-aged unit that preserves some coastal sand dunes, and the occasional bone or track of some pre-dinosaurian reptile like Dimetrodon.
Entrenched meanders of the San Juan River below Muley Point

In the distance beyond the canyon of the San Juan stand the buttes and mesas of Monument Valley, the scene of so many iconic western movies (below). The valley is administered as a tribal park of the Navajo people. The farthest horizon reveals the margin of Black Mesa, the heart of the Navajo Reservation and the home of the Hopi Nation as well. The spiky monument in the far distance just left of center is Agathla's Needle, the core of a deeply eroded volcano. This volcanic neck, or diatreme, is similar in age and composition to the better known Shiprock a few miles away in New Mexico.

The view to the east extends across the Raplee Anticline to the Chuska Mountains of New Mexico, and the Rocky Mountains of southeastern Colorado. The scene below is taken from the top of the Moki Dugway on Utah Highway 261, the precarious road that provides access to Cedar Mesa and Muley Point.
The view east from the top of the Moki Dugway, the spectular road that provides access to Muley Point

North from the Moki Dugway one can see the deeply incised edges of Cedar Mesa. Looking at this barren desert landscape, it is hard to accept that Cedar Mesa was once part of the "fertile crescent" of the American Southwest. An arc of land extending from Mesa Verde to Cedar Mesa was in the "sweet spot" elevation of being not too hot and not too cold and having just enough precipitation to produce high yields of maize, squash and beans. It was a thriving agricultural region for the Ancestral Puebloan people for hundreds of years. Most of the surface of Cedar Mesa was under cultivation, and thousands of archaeological sites dot the region (unfortunately making it a target for illegal pothunters). The Puebloans moved on eight hundred years ago, and the mesa has been more or less deserted since then. The juniper and pinyon trees sprouted and covered the ancient corn fields.
Years ago I learned the craft of leading field studies with the staff and crew of Santa Barbara City College, days I remember fondly. We used to take a one-day raft trip down the San Juan River from Bluff to Mexican Hat, and the night before we would spend the night at Sand Island on the river. We would spend a few moments at Muley Point before descending to the hot, humid, and buggy campsite. One year someone pointed out that we were fully equipped to camp anywhere, so why not stay on the rim of Cedar Mesa where the view was indescribable, and the air was fresh and clean, and gloriously free of biting deerflies and mosquitoes? From that time on we camped on the edge of the world. What had been just another spot with a nice view became for me a yearly pilgrimage.

What makes this place so different? It's magic, I think. It is the top of the world, and the edge of the world. One can stand and see a vast region occupied by a mere handful of people, a land that shows little of the damage (at distance anyway) that people can do to a landscape. It's colorful and ever-changing, especially in the light of dusk or twilight. There aren't many places where one can experience the full drama of the Earth through sunset, night and sunrise, and have a completely unobstructed view of the sky from horizon to horizon to horizon.
Usually when we pull into a campsite on our field trips, the students and crew jump out, unpack, and set up their tents and the cooking area. I learned long ago that Cedar Mesa and Muley Point are different. The people emerging from their vehicles disappear. I wander along the edge of the mesa and I find them, sitting alone or in small groups, just contemplating and staring at the scene before them. I often take on the task of preparing the evening's meal just to give them more time to be out there.
I've spent a total of two weeks on the mesa over the last three decades and every night is different. We've seen warm clear days and nights, we've had windstorms (equipments blows over the edge never to be seen again), thunderstorms, and rain.
Have you ever spent an entire night taking in a special place? Have you ever watched the progression of the cosmos over hours and hours of time? We constantly insulate ourselves from the darkness, but there are certain times and places where we can revel in it. There is nothing quite like watching moonlight reach deeper and deeper into canyons below the rim. What had been featureless darkness below becomes an intricate pattern of complex beauty. I've awakened in the early hours of the morning to watch the moon setting or watching the long drama of sunrise. Some nights there are thunderstorms over the Sleeping Ute or Chuska Mountains. The fire in the sky is an incredible sight.

Sometimes there are eerie things as well. Rational people can still feel the echoes of the lives that were played out on this mesa. I've been keenly aware of the spirits that exist in and around the canyons, whether real, or constructs of the imagination. We sat on the edge of the mesa one night nearly thirty years ago and saw mysterious lights. I still to this day don't know what to make of them (and you can be sure that I've watched for their return ever since!). Yet, I've never felt scared or nervous in this place. Just curious.
The morning inevitably comes, and once the sun rises high in the sky, the mesa becomes less mysterious. We are ready for a day of seeking the Ancestral Pueblo ruins that are hidden in literally every side canyon on the mesa. Spending a night exposed to the environment that they called home enlightens our explorations.
It was hard to pick the top ten of my most incredible places, and I couldn't begin to rank them, but I do know that I might not see the Burgess Shale or the Gubbio clay layer or Siccar Point again in my life. They were memorable, and I will always cherish that fact that I got to see them. But I didn't experience them, not in the way that I've experienced the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, and Cedar Mesa.

That's the thing I guess. Any place in this wide world can become the most incredible place you will ever stand. It won't be that tourist destination that is famous worldwide, because those are the places that you visit once or twice and never get to know. The special places are those which you experience in the fullest sense in all kinds of situations and conditions. That's what Cedar Mesa is to me.
So, what has me worried? I was digging through the tons of old topographic maps in the old department as we prepared for the move to the new Science Community Center. And I found a topo map of the Glen Canyon National Recreational Area, and noticed that a small corner of Cedar Mesa extends over the boundary of the GCNRA. Muley Point is "protected"! But in small print were the following words: "Slated for future development". Chilling words, but thus far unrealized. A paved road, interpretive signs, restrooms, and parking lots would ruin this incredible place. I hesitated about even making its presence known, but in the end I did, because unknown places are the easiest to destroy (just ask Glen Canyon). Such places will need friends in the future.

In the meantime, revel in the discovery of your own most incredible places, and if you are ever near the town of Mexican Hat, seek out Muley Point. It's not too hard to find, the road is okay for most cars even if a bit bumpy at times. And don't just look and drive away after a few minutes. Lay out a sleeping bag, find the appropriate rock (you'll know the right one), and let this place fill you. You won't regret it.

Addendum and Update:
There are disturbing developments at Cedar Mesa in recent days. In 2016 Barack Obama established Bear's Ears National Monument after years of consultation with local tribes and stakeholders. The boundaries included Cedar Mesa, providing new protections for the rich archaeological resources of the region. It was the right thing to do, but the new administration is interested only in resource extraction, mainly oil, gas and uranium. The president is trying to decrease the size of the monument by 90% (illegally).