The San Timoteo Badlands: Where'd All That Mud Come From?

A small postscript to our journey these holidays that took us across the southwest. We seemed to be chasing the intense, even if not totally unusual storms that left a mess of mud everywhere. As we drove along State Highway 60 between Banning and Moreno Valley, I noticed one of the reasons that mud appeared in at least some places. It doesn't always involve areas that have been burned in wildfires. Sometimes the slopes are unstable to start with, especially in badlands topography.

The San Timoteo Badlands are an underappreciated bit of Southern California scenery. Most people see the hills at 65 mph (as we did; these shots from Mrs. Geotripper are from a fast moving car, and she deserves credit just for getting a couple of clear ones!). The hills are composed of Pliocene and early Pleistocene terrestrial sediments. The loosely consolidated sedimentary rocks preserve a rich record of life from about 3.5 million to 700,000 years, including a cache of more than 1,000 bones from the excavations for a power station earlier this year, including camels, horses, giant ground sloths, and sabertooth cats.

The rocks were stressed and deformed by movements of the nearby San Jacinto fault, one of the most active in California, and were uplifted into the rugged hills between Redlands and Moreno Valley. The rapid uplift and steep hillsides lead to slope failure, lots of it. Though surrounded by intense urban development, the badlands remain wild because there is no good way to build a stable foundation on such weak rocks. Around 8,000 landslides are mapped within a half-mile of the freeway. Many formed during intense storms in 1969 and 1998, and more formed this week. We passed dozens of new debris flows as we drove through the other day.

For more info:

Manson, M.W., C.W. Davenport, K.D. Brown, C.J. Wills, and C.J. Domrose, 2002, Landslides in the Highway 60 Corridor, San Timoteo Badlands, Riverside, California: Special Report 186, California Department of Transportation, New Technology and Research Program, Office of Infrastructure Research, Project F99TL34

The Christmas Gift: Storm Passes in Grand Canyon

Christmas gifts come in many different forms. The storm that engulfed the Grand Canyon the previous evening gave way to a new morning, and hints emerged that this day would be different. The rain and cold wind had stopped, and on the far rim there were signs that the clouds might be clearing a little.

We walked to the rim of the abyss and looked into what had been darkness, and saw instead that walls and ridges were emerging from the mist. And just like that, the veil was lifted and the canyon filled with light and color.

Christmas has many meanings to many people; it is the solstice, the cycling of the seasons, it is the birth of a saviour, it is a time of family, it is the high season of the economic cycle when profits are made. To me it is also a reminder that our existence is a gift to be cherished and that there is much that is beautiful in the world. The rocks exposed in the Grand Canyon tell a long and ancient story, a story in which humans are but the smallest blip, yet in 2 billion years of time, there is this short and unique moment when the entire story has been laid bare by erosion in the most spectacular fashion possible. But rock by falling rock, the canyon is being removed and in a few more million years, the story will be lost in the mists of time. We are here together to share this brief moment, and these moments of life are the most precious gift I can imagine.

Stay safe in your travels and have a most joyous Christmas and New Year!

The Christmas Gift: A Storm in the Grand Canyon

We journeyed across three states for the opportunity to see the precious treasure that is the Grand Canyon. Our trip happened to coincide with the arrival of an intense series of storms that have wreaked havoc across California and the southwest, and we reached the rim just in time to see the storm reach the Grand Canyon area. It was cold and windy, and darkness was spreading across the North Rim, about 14 miles away as the raven flies, but ravens weren't out and about on a day like this one. We were, though.

In a matter of minutes, all that was beautiful about the canyon was obscured by the growing darkness. The colorful formations that record some 2 billion years of Earth history disappeared under the shadow of the present moment in time.

At numerous points, rain and clouds started pouring over the rim, and nothing could be seen through the impenetrable fog. The sign at the canyon overlook became an ironic commentary (which reminded me of another sign that I saw at the entrance station: "Bad weather predicted; visibility impaired; no refunds).

The rain came hard, cold and fast, and we had to retreat from the edge, seeking comfort in warmer and drier places. The storm was in control, and we had no way of knowing what was coming next. The future was obscured...

There are gifts of many kinds; even in the darkest moments, there is sometimes beauty and optimism. Next...the hope of morning.