We'll Pretend I Saw the Superbloom the Same Way I Hiked the Pacific Crest Trail Today

I showed up late and at the wrong address for the party. There have been so many reports of the "superbloom" of wildflowers around Southern California this winter and spring that I was anxious to do some traveling and see the sights. I finally had an excellent excuse to head down south this last weekend (giving a community lecture in Hemet), and we started watching for flowers while we drove Highways 99, 58, and 395 as well as Interstate 215 through the Mojave Desert and Cajon Pass. There were scattered patches of flowers here and there, but not in any sense a superbloom.

There is a real dichotomy between northern and southern California right now. We are still getting storms and precipitation in the north, but the storm door closed in the south a month or more ago. We left home in a cool green landscape, but somewhere south of Fresno, the grass turned brown. It got hotter, and on Saturday in and around Hemet, the mercury hit the century mark (at least according to my car's thermometer). We didn't have enough time to check out Anza Borrego or the Antelope Valley Poppy Reserve because of time constraints (and it was probably too late anyway).

Selective editing is a wonderful thing at times, however. On the way back home yesterday, we opted to follow Cameron Road through the wind farms near Tehachapi Pass instead of staying on the freeway. We came across patches of flowers in several protected coves, and hence these carefully aimed photos that suggest a wildflower wonderland!

The flowers thrive on these barren slopes in part because a lot of larger plants cannot. It's arid, as the hills here lie in the rain shadow of the Sierra Nevada, and the winds are nearly constant and fierce (hence the wind farm, one of the largest in California). The winds are generated by the pressure differential between the Great Valley near Bakersfield and the Mojave Desert near the town of Mojave. Tehachapi Pass is the lowest point between the two, so the winds funnel through the opening. It was certainly windy on Sunday.

We stopped at the intersection of Cameron Road and Tehachapi-Willow Springs Road. This is the spot where the Pacific Crest Trail crosses the road in the midst of hundreds of wind turbines. There are some nicely designed interpretive signs near the intersection, and if you look carefully you'll see that Mrs. Geotripper took one of the photos that they used!

And about that bit about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail today. It's like selective editing in pictures: I didn't say I hiked the whole PCT. But I did hike on about fifty yards of it at the Cameron Road crossing, so I technically didn't lie. It is perhaps not the single most scenic part of the trail, but it has some charm, especially at the right time of year. Solitude is sometimes a nicer virtue than scenery.

A Day on the Stanislaus: There's Still Some Water in California

It's not nearly enough, and the runoff from the snows of winter will be the worst ever, but there is still a little bit of water in California. The rivers aren't dry yet.

It's been a strange year, because by the rain gauge in my backyard, we have received near-normal precipitation. The total so far, 10.5 inches, is just short of the normal 12 inches we get in an average year (as if average years ever happen). The problem is that about seven of those inches came during an extraordinary sequence of Pineapple Express storms in December that dropped lots of rain in the Great Valley and Coast Ranges. But the storms almost entirely missed the Sierra Nevada, and because the storms were warm, very little snow fell at all. So the effect of the storm was to add several feet of water to the reservoirs, mainly in the northern Sierra Nevada, and with not a drop of rain in January, and only a few weak storms in February and March, we as a state are in dire straits. The last snow report was just 6% of normal. The worst drought in recorded history. And it is now the fourth year.

The governor has for the first time ever called for mandatory cutbacks in domestic water use, which will help, but since 80% of the water used in the state goes to agriculture, more will be needed. And what happens if the drought continues? There is evidence of two megadroughts lasting as long as a century during the last 2,000 years. Are we in the beginning of another epic drought? Who can say?

In the meantime, the rivers are still flowing. Not enough, not nearly as much as should be flowing at this time of year, but the few storms we had were spaced just well enough to promote some wildflower growth, and for the time being, most of the Sierra Nevada foothill slopes are green or nearly so. And another storm is predicted for Tuesday, with hopes of maybe another half inch of rain.

I was out for a short walk this afternoon at Horseshoe Bend Park on the Stanislaus River. The Stanislaus is the first major Sierra Nevada river north of Yosemite National Park. The headwaters are located near Sonora Pass. There are several reservoirs upstream, including the massive New Melones Dam, built in the 1970s. To make up for the sections of beautiful river that were destroyed, the Army Corps of Engineers constructed a series of parks on the downstream stretches of the river between the dam and the confluence of the Stanislaus and the San Joaquin. At Horseshoe Bend there is an old gravel pit that has filled with groundwater forming an attractive pond, and a small campground for river rafters. It was a pleasant place to walk this afternoon.

The flowers were mostly bush Lupine and Golden Poppies. There were quite a few water birds about, mostly Canada Geese, American Coots, and an American Wigeon. There were a dozen or more Turkey Vultures and several hawks as well.

The sound of flowing water is a precious thing in a year like this. I tried to make the most of it!

We'll be back to our blog series on the Most Dangerous Plate Boundary quite soon.

The Yosemite No One Sees in Summer...the Merced River Canyon

The drought in California is horrific. It is quite probably the worst drought in centuries, but we received a slight respite in the form of showers and snow during the last part of March and early April. It was a drop in the bucket towards relieving the huge water deficit that has built up in the last few years, but it gave a shot of energy to the seedlings of grasses and wildflowers. They perhaps should have sprouted and grown months ago, and they will be dried out in a few short weeks, but this week, the Sierra Nevada foothills were alive with color.

We were on our way to Yosemite Valley for our geology field studies course last Saturday, and I joked (only in half-jest) that the students had to "earn" the right to learn the geology of Yosemite Valley by first exploring the canyon of the Merced River. We had to prepare ourselves by undertaking a journey through the rocks that predate the granitic rocks that form the walls of the iconic valley. Our route took us through the foothill towns of Snelling and Hornitos, and then we drove up Highway 140 through Mariposa, over Midpines Summit and down into the deep gorge of the Merced River (originally the "Rio de Nuestra Señora de la Merced (River of Our Lady of Mercy)".

Highway 140 winds back and forth through a series of metamorphic terranes, bands of deformed and twisted rocks that traveled across the Pacific Ocean to be mashed into the western edge of the North American Continent. The rocks include slate, schist, marble, phyllite, quartzite and greenstone. These were the ancient rocks (between 600 and 200 million years old) that were intruded by the granitic rocks that eventually were exposed and eroded to form the dramatic cliffs of Yosemite Valley.

The Sierra Nevada is a huge westward tilted block. The slope has allowed the rivers draining the mountain range to carve deep gorges, some deeper than the Grand Canyon (Kings Canyon to the south is about 8,000 feet deep!). The depth of the Merced is more like 2,000 to 3,000 feet deep downstream of Yosemite, and in any other setting in most any other state, this would be enough for the establishment of national parks and the like. Instead, it is "just" the preliminary canyon one must pass through before arriving at Yosemite.

The carving of such deep canyons can have serious geologic consequences for society. The slopes of such canyons are inherently unstable, and mass wasting (landsliding) is a constant hazard. The building of roads and railways adds to the instability by undercutting the already steep slopes. Such is the case with Highway 140. CalTrans has struggled for years to prevent the collapse of a slope near the village of El Portal. In 2006, the slope flicked away the mitigation efforts and collapsed onto 600 feet of highway. The Ferguson Slide, as it is called, closed the highway for months and caused economic hardship for the surrounding communities. Two temporary bridges were constructed to cross the river and circumvent the huge slump. Decisions have yet to be reached regarding the permanent disposition of the highway.

The Ferguson Slide. 600 feet of Highway 140 is buried under the rocks.

As we drove deeper into the Merced River Canyon, the slopes seemed to come alive in orange and gold. The California Poppies have reached the zenith of their blooming cycle. In contrast to my previous gloom and doom post regarding fires, rejuvenation does indeed occur, as many of these slopes have been cleared of brush and chaparral by repeated wildfires, allowing for dense concentrations of wildflowers.

We passed El Portal, and then the Yosemite View Lodge. The name is not totally dishonest; the boundary of the national park does indeed lie a few yards east of the hotel complex, so the view of the granite slope beyond is indeed a view of Yosemite. But it is not yet the iconic valley with Half Dome and El Capitan and Yosemite Falls. It is pretty, though, and the Merced River makes a dramatic dash through the maze of gigantic fallen boulders.

 We arrived at the park entrance station, drove a few more miles, and made our last stop before Yosemite Valley. It was another site of mass wasting, but this time it was a rockfall, and it included granitic rock instead of metamorphic material. The so-called Cookie Slide took place in 1982, and involved around 100,000 cubic yards of material that bounced and fell down the slope onto Highway 140. Once again, the road was blocked for weeks.

 The size of some of the fallen blocks is astonishing. It's hard to see how a block like the one in the picture below held together during the downhill descent.

The rocks are part of an intrusive series called the El Capitan granite, which was intruded about 103 million years ago. A contemporaneous intrusion of dioritic rock lead to some co-mingling of magmas, including the enclave of darker rock in the granite (below).

I've always thought of granite as a particularly beautiful rock. The sparkling mass of quartz (glassy gray color), orthoclase feldspar (white grains), and biotite mica is pleasing to the eye, and tells an odd story: Yellowstone National Park, off in Wyoming, sits on top of a huge magma chamber that may one day explode again (but not tomorrow). In Yosemite, we are sitting within a former magma chamber, under the volcano. As such we are exploring the inner depths of an extensive magma system, brought to light by long periods of uplift and erosion.

In a coming post, we'll see how Yosemite looked on Saturday.

Spring arrives in the Sierra Nevada Foothills (and a gratuitous mammal photo)

A long work week, and then another family gathering, this time in Porterville in the southern part of California's Great Valley. We couldn't resist the desire to see what was happening in the Sierra Nevada foothills, so we headed up a new road for us, Yokohl Valley Road.

The road goes nowhere in particular, joining the valley with roads leading to Success Reservoir and Balch Park in the Sierra high country south of Sequoia National Park. Mostly it provides access to a number of ranches.

Descending some steep switchbacks below the pass, we began encountering wildflowers at about the 2,000 foot level. I've seen more fiddlenecks than I recall seeing in the past. Many yellow slopes so far this year have been fiddlenecks instead of poppies. That's not to say we didn't see poppies; they were abundant in a few places, along with some beautiful bush lupines.

 There were the usual unidentified small flowers that I the geologist can never remember a name for...

And more bush lupine providing a foreground for Yokohl Valley Road in the distance. There was some interesting geology along our route, which will likely be the basis of another "Other California" post in the near future.

The spring flower season comes and goes quickly in the Sierra foothills and Great Valley. It's building to a climax, and I hope I can think of enough excuses to hit the road again soon.

Oh, and as promised, a gratuitous mammal photo. This little guy was looking pretty well fed, but someone should warn him about the coyote that was lurking around the next bend in the road....

California's Great Valley Turns Technicolor

Springtime is arriving in the Sierra Nevada foothills and the Great Valley (most people know it as the Central Valley, but we have our pride). This is the time when the rare rains have awakened the long dormant seeds of wildflowers, and for a few short weeks, the flowers will grow, bloom, and go to seed before the summer heat kills them off. Because agricultural development has preempted most of the valley floor, the wildflowers are best seen by traveling into the Sierra foothills to the east or the Coast Ranges to the west.

These pictures were taken near the Caliente turnoff of Highway 58 about 20 miles east of Bakersfield, and on Highway 223 above the small town of Arvin. The earliest bloomers seem to be the fiddlenecks. They are considered weeds by some, but they make for a colorful start to the spring bloom.

Some of the trees were emerging from their winter slumber. I'm not sure what kind of trees these were, but the red leaves provided an interesting contrast to the yellow fields of fiddlenecks.

 As we were hunched over taking photos of the fiddlenecks, some folks stopped their car and suggested we should head down Highway 223 to catch the poppies. It was good advice!

 Some of the hillsides were covered by carpets of purple and orange which to my eyes is one of the most beautiful of color combinations. In some places they were segregated, but in others they were totally mixed in an explosion of color. I caught a hawk soaring over the hillside.

Then we turned a corner, and I had a brief vision how the Great Valley looked before the land was co-opted by orchards and vineyards. We have to eat, and the Great Valley is one of the most productive agricultural regions on our planet, but I do sometimes wistfully wonder just what it was like to wander this landscape for those few weeks in spring when the whole valley was awash in bright colors. It must have been astounding, just as these few acres of grasslands were astounding last Sunday.

If you have any excuses to visit the Great Valley, this is the time to do it!

Fighting For California's State Rock: What's Right With Serpentine?

California's state flower, the Golden Poppy, grows on serpentine soils at Hells Hollow on Highway 49 in California's Mother Lode. Few plants can tolerate the chemical conditions in these soils, so many endemic plants grow there and nowhere else (the poppy is an obvious exception; it is classed as serpentine-tolerant plant, but grows in many environments). This brings us to the other side of the coin. In seeking to remove serpentine as the state rock of California, supporters of the move condemn the rock as somehow evil because it contains a form of chrysotile asbestos at times. In my last post, I outlined the factual errors and inaccuracies that the bill would codify into law. If you have followed Geotripper for any length of time, you know that I prefer to talk about the wonders of geology, and I wish to do so now. There are many good reasons for keeping serpentine (or more properly serpentinite) as the state rock of California. I've gathered these items into a single fact sheet that could help legislators better understand the concerns of not only geologists, but also teachers, biologists, botanists, environmental scientists, mineral enthusiasts, and others who feel that Senate Bill 624 is a bad idea. Pop me a note if you want the word.doc.

Let the California State Assembly know this week if you want to keep our state rock. They may vote as soon as August 2. Calls are great. Letters on paper carry more weight than e-mails. Be cordial, we want to educate people who may not know a great deal about geology and biology!

• Serpentine, or more properly serpentinite, is a rock made up of as many as 20 different minerals. It is found in at least 42 of California’s 58 counties, and makes up a significant part of the Sierra Nevada Mother Lode, the Klamath Mountains, and the California Coast Ranges. It is a relatively common rock in California and rare in most other parts of the country.

• The rock is variable in color, ranging from deep jade-green to black or blue. It often displays polished surfaces due to its mode of emplacement along fault zones. The minerals making up serpentine are complex magnesium iron silicates with varying amounts of heavy metals such as chromium, mercury, nickel, and cobalt.

• Serpentinite is derived from the metamorphism (alteration by addition of heat and water) of peridotite and other ultramafic rocks from the Earth’s mantle. As such, serpentinite provides researchers a window into the deep crustal and mantle processes of the planet.

• Serpentinite is often brought to the Earth’s surface by forces related to subduction zones. Subduction occurs when oceanic crust containing ultramafic rock is driven beneath oceanic or continental crust where it is partially melted to form volcanic rock, like that seen in the Cascades volcanoes like Mt. Shasta; or plutonic rock like the granite seen in the Sierra Nevada, the Peninsular Ranges, or the Mojave Desert.

• Serpentinite and related ultramafic rocks have served as an ore for numerous valuable minerals, including chromite, mercury, magnesite, platinum, nickel, and cobalt. Many of these minerals are exceedingly rare, and most must be imported from foreign sources.

• Serpentine is used as a colorful ornamental stone, in sculpture, in carved jewelry, and in buildings. Jade is sometimes found in association with serpentine, and the world’s only source of California’s state gemstone benitoite is a serpentine deposit in the California Coast Ranges.

• Soils developed on serpentine are rich in heavy metals like chromium, nickel, and cobalt, and depleted in essential nutrients such as nitrogen, potassium, and phosphorus. As a result, plants growing in these soils are highly adapted, and about 10% of California’s endemic species are found in serpentine areas, even though the rock covers only about 1% of the land area of the state.

• Serpentines and related rocks are increasingly viewed as a possible repository for sequestering carbon dioxide (CO2), because these rocks can chemically combine to fix the CO2 in the solid mineral magnesite (magnesium carbonate). Serpentine may thus play an important role in global efforts to control greenhouse emissions and climate change.

• Serpentine was chosen as the state rock of in part to promote a growing asbestos mining industry and to promote serpentine’s use as ornamental stone, but the law itself does not mention these things, and asbestos has not been mined in the state since 2002. The original promoters of serpentine had little knowledge of the educational value of the rock they chose as a state symbol.

For more information about California’s state rock, check out:
http://www.consrv.ca.gov/CGS/information/publications/cgs_notes/note_14/note_14.pdf

http://www.conservation.ca.gov/cgs/information/publications/cgs_notes/note_14/Pages/Index.aspx

Contact Garry Hayes (Geotripper) at hayesg (at) mjc.edu

The Other California: Already off on a Tangent

It occurred to me while looking over my postcard post on the "usual" places of California that a discussion of places in California that are overlooked could also include a discussion of overlooked state symbols, especially in the context of geological significance. A lot of people know that the state flower is the California Golden Poppy (Eschsholtzia californica), and that the state bird is the California Quail (Lophortyx californica). Calling upon my students as a cross-section of our state's population (which they aren't, really), somewhat fewer know that our state mammal is not just a bear, but the California Grizzly Bear (Ursus californicus) which is probably the only state mammal in the United States that was actually extinct when it was designated (the last one was shot in 1922; it became the state mammal in 1953). Along with the California Condor (now why isn't the condor our state bird?), it was one of the last of the megafauna survivors in our state (more coming on that subject).

It takes people a little longer to recall our state mineral: it's gold of course, given the beginnings of our state in the 1850's in a massive Gold Rush that brought hundreds of thousands of migrants to the region. But what about our state rock? Our state gemstone? Our state fish, or fossil, our state Gold Rush Ghost Town, or our Silver Rush Ghost Town? Or our state soil? And what about our state tree (trees, actually)? I suspect the trees are pretty well known.

And what about our state song? I pretty seriously thought it was "California, Here I Come", but it isn't! A sampling from "I Love You California", by F.B. Silverwood:

Where the snow crowned Golden Sierras
Keep their watch o'er the valleys bloom,
It is there I would be in our land by the sea,
Every breeze bearing rich perfume.
It is here nature gives of her rarest. It is Home Sweet Home to me,
And I know when I die I shall breathe my last sigh
For my sunny California.

I love you, Catalina, you are very dear to me.
I love you, Tamalpais, and I love Yosemite.
I love you, Land of Sunshine, Half your beauties are untold.
I loved you in my childhood, and I'll love you when I'm old.

Really, how many songwriters could squeeze Tamalpais into a lyric?

More on these less familiar state symbols in another post. If you want to cheat and look ahead, the complete listing can be found here.

A Gift for the Spring Equinox

Greetings from California! We've reached the vernal equinox, when the earth is situated in such a way that the day and night are of equal length. The sun is higher in the sky and the days are getting warmer and longer, and plants are reawakening and sprouting in the Sierra Nevada foothills. We were hit with wildfire tragedy last fall in the Yosemite region, with tens of thousands of acres along the Merced River being incinerated. It was ugly then, but with a wet February, the Golden Poppies are taking over the slopes like they haven't in many years.

We had a geology class in the Mother Lode last weekend, following historic Highway 49 from Mariposa to Jamestown. We did, in fact, look for and talk about the rocks and minerals that are the source of the gold that fed the massive rush in 1848 and 1849, but aside from a spectacular gold specimen in the museum at Mariposa, we didn't find any. Except for the gold that mantled the slopes along the river!

Check the Yosemite blog for some occasional updates on the wildflowers in the Sierra Nevada.