The Age of a Mountain versus the Age of (the rocks of) a Mountain: Arriving in Death Valley National Park

Death Valley is the largest national park in the lower 48 states, and in fact is bigger than several states. It preserves some of the most spectacular corners of the Basin and Range province, a region that extends from eastern California, all of Nevada, and half of Utah. The park includes the lowest place in North America, the hottest place in the world, some of the greatest relief in North America (the difference between the highest and lowest points, over 11,000 feet), and some of the rarest and most endangered animals (the pupfish and others). And awe-inspiring scenery!

We entered Death Valley from the west, driving over the Darwin Plateau at the south end of the Inyo Mountains. Just beyond the summit we stopped briefly at the Father Crowley Vista Point, which overlooks a deep desert valley that isn't Death Valley. It's Panamint Valley, another faulted basin only a bit less deep than Death Valley itself. The setting sun highlighted the rocks exposed across the valley in the Panamint Mountains. Thousands of feet of limestone and sandstone were visible, exposing evidence of more than 100 million years of quiet deposition of mud and sand on the western margin of the North American continent during the Paleozoic Era

It was a good moment to draw a contrast between the age of a mountain range and the age of the rocks exposed within the mountain range. These are two different things. The rocks of the Panamint Mountains formed over a  period of many hundreds of millions of years, but the mountains themselves are very young (geologically). Lava flows on top of the now separated mountain ranges show that they were once connected, and that the valleys could only have formed in the last few million years. The Panamint Mountains are one of the youngest mountain ranges on the planet! By comparison, the Rocky Mountains are around 50 million years old (with some recent rejuvenation), and the Appalachians are 300 million years old (with a complex story that played out over tens of millions of years). India began slamming into Asia 40 million years ago, forming the Himalayas. The earliest Hominids, had they cared to, could have seen Death Valley before it became an actual valley.

As the shadows lengthened, we crossed Towne Pass at 4,956 feet (1,511 meters), and descended the long grade to our our sea level camp at Stovepipe Wells. We had reached the actual Death Valley. Would there be geology? Would there be flowers? Stay tuned!

The Harrowing Journey to the Valley of Death (21st Century Style)

When is the next bathroom? Will there be flush toilets at the campground? What about showers?

Geology field tripping in Death Valley National Park in the modern era is a far cry from the adventures of centuries past, specifically the 19th and 20th (the earth scientists living among the Native Americans in past centuries left no record, but they no doubt knew which rocks and minerals were valuable for tool making). In the 19th century the "earth scientists" were the few itinerant miners and prospectors looking for other kinds of valuable minerals, especially gold and silver (though the most valuable finds were probably the borates and talc). Just getting to the gigantic blank spot on the map was a challenge, and surviving in the harsh climate was a gamble.

At the beginning of the 20th century, access was improving, and rough dirt roads coursed up many of the valleys and crossed the less rugged passes of the mountain ranges. These roads were utilized by the first of the university-trained geologists who undertook the daunting task of mapping the Death Valley region. It wasn't that the rocks weren't exposed well. They offer some of the best exposures to be found anywhere. But the Basin and Range Province is so vast the few individuals who first worked in the region were limited simply by time and mortality. There was hardly enough time in one life to see it all!

By the 1930s, mining roads made for much better access, and the designation of Death Valley as a national monument by Herbert Hoover in 1933 led to increased tourist traffic. The mines began converting their hospitality facilities to tourist destinations, particularly at Furnace Creek. Paved highways allowed for quick trips out of Las Vegas or the Los Angeles region, and Death Valley began to feel just a little bit "urbanized". But not really. It can be easy to forget that this land is still the same harsh climate that it's been for the last few thousand years since the end of the ice ages. The heat and dryness can still lead to heat stroke and dehydration, and all it takes to bring one to the edge of mortality is a blown radiator hose or flat tire.

And so it was that we were making our way into the "Valley of Death" for our geology field studies class a couple of weeks ago. We had already searched for fossils at Sharktooth Hill, learned the basics of stratigraphy at Red Rock Canyon, and explored a dry ice age waterfall at Fossil Falls, but it was time to head east out of the Owens Valley and into one of the most isolated regions of the lower forty-eight states. We first crossed the relatively muted topography of the Darwin Plateau at the south end of the Inyo Range (top picture), and then took the Mr. Toad's Wild Ride down the steep highway to Panamint Springs and Panamint Valley. We made a short stop at the Father Crowley Vista Point (above). This site used to be a wide dirt lot on the side of the highway, but has been developed into a formal vista point with a simple toilet facility and protective fencing (gotta keep them tourists from falling over the cliffs...). The view is stupendous, with an excellent vista of the Panamint and Cottonwood Mountains across the way. There are complex relationships between the rocks of the Panamints, which are hinted at in the picture below, where dark flows of basaltic lava cover intensely folded Paleozoic carbonate rocks. The hill beyond exposes a granitic pluton.

The bottom of Panamint Valley holds more recent geologic phenomena, including the Panamint dune field and a fault scarp along the mountain base (the sunlit terrace)....

 ...and Panamint Dry Lake (below). Telescope Peak, the highest point in the park at 11,049 feet, is often graced by snow during the winter months. On the other side of the Panamint Range is Death Valley itself, which in large part lies at a depth of several hundred feet below sea level. Not many places around the world have such great relief.

From the Panamint Valley at about 1,000 feet we began climbing to cross the Panamint Mountains over Towne Pass at 4,956 feet, and in the setting sun we followed the long grade down the alluvial fan system to Stovepipe Wells at sea level. We pulled into the campground at dusk under a beautiful fiery sky.

 As the western sky faded, the light grew in the east as the full moon rose above the Funeral Range.

We had reached the Valley of Death, and it was a beautiful place. And there were flush toilets and showers!

Death Valley Days: The Fourth Day - The Long Road Home

Day dawns on the Cottonwood Mountains west of Stovepipe Wells. We've got about 400 miles to reach home, but we weren't going to let that stop us from doing a few last minute stops at Death Valley National Park. We've spent three days exploring the region (here, here and here), successfully avoiding the worst of California's storms this last weekend, and seeing some wonderful geology.

Tucki Mountain is an immense edifice rising 8,000 above our camp at Stovepipe Wells at sea level. The shape of the mountain is reminiscent of a turtleback fault, and it may in fact be an incompletely exposed metamorphic core complex (I would love to hear from the structural geologists about it). Mosaic Canyon is a deep gorge on the north flank that narrows down to a twisting labyrinth in its lower reaches. It is a main tourist stop, but most visitors never notice the spectacularly exposed structural features.

Just a short distance up the canyon from the parking lot is one of the best exposed examples of a normal fault I can imagine. Laura is resting her back on the headwall and sitting, more or less, on the footwall. The different colored layers show that the headwall dropped relative to the footwall, indicating extensional stress.

A little further up the canyon, the so-called 'mosaics' appear, chunks and pieces of canyon alluvium that were lithified, glued to the canyon walls, and exposed by continued downward erosion of the canyon. The photo above would serve as a perfect example of the appearance of an angular unconformity (a buried erosion surface with tilted rocks beneath and horizontal layers above), although the specific relationships here stretch the definition a little bit.

Paul was describing a large recumbent fold in the upper part of the narrows. These rocks have undergone an astounding amount of deformation, having been twisted into tight folds multiple times.

We made our way down the canyon for one last restroom break and chance for curios and t-shirts, and starting winding our way up into the Panamint Mountains for a last look at the valley. The road down the Mosaic Canyon fan provided a marvelous view of the Death Valley Dunes (Mesquite Dunes). Contrary to many people's stereotypes about deserts, dunes are a relatively rare part of the landscape in a place like Death Valley. Powerful winds blow the sands off the alluvial fans and down the long valleys until some flank of a mountain range interrupts the flow of the wind. The sand is deposited and shifts back and forth in the wind eddies. The highest of the dunes reach 150 feet or so. They are especially fascinating at night and in the twilight hours. In the morning the surfaces are covered by trackways of insects and animals. Most people don't realize they have seen the dunes; they were a stand-in for the Star Wars planet of Tantooine (the Dante's View panorama of Death Valley was used for the setting of Mos Eisley).
The interruption of the fan in the far distance is the trace of the Furnace Creek fault, a strike-slip fault that follows the base of the Funeral Mountains on the skyline. Death Valley hasn't been historically active as far as earthquakes go, but there are many signs that the faults are quite active.
We drove up the gravel road to Aguereberry Point. The gentle rolling landscape gave little indication of the jagged cliffs just over the ridgetop. These hills give some indication of the topography of the region prior to the formation of the deep fault grabens of Death Valley and Panamint Valley. They were preserved as the mountains rose and valley collapsed, but in the fullness of geologic time, the hills will be breached by headward erosion and will disappear.

We topped the ridge at 6,000 feet and arrived at Aguereberry Point. Being at the end of a gravel road, it receives far fewer visitors than Dante's View, but it is no less spectacular. One stands beneath the flank of 11,049 foot Telescope Peak, and has a sweeping 270 degree view of Death Valley, the Panamint Mountains, the Inyo Mountains, and the Sierra Nevada in the far distance. At our feet was the massive alluvial fan of Furnace Creek, the location of many of the park's tourist facilities.

The salt flats of Badwater and the Black Mountains fill the view to the southeast. In the foreground are tilted Paleozoic sediments, carbonates and sandstones that were deposited in shallow seas, but ultimately accumulated to depths of many thousands of feet. We were standing on quartzite that was once a beach in Cambrian time 500 million years ago. We could see the burrows made by countless worms in the tropical climate.

Finally the last geology stop was complete, and we hit the long road home, via Trona, Ridgecrest, Bakersfield and Fresno. It was a good trip! I hope you've enjoyed the virtual tour.