Showing posts with label Mojave National Preserve. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mojave National Preserve. Show all posts

Sunday, June 22, 2025

Journeys in the Back of Beyond: Starting Off With a Bang

 

The Granite Mountains adjacent to the Mojave National Preserve

Actually it was a great many bangs. I shall explain...

Let's start with some basic statements. It's the Mojave Desert. It's almost summer. It doesn't rain in deserts, sort of by definition. I plan these excursions to avoid the monsoons of the Desert Southwest. And as the host at our first camp told us, "average June rainfall is 0.01 inches". We'll get back to this interesting meteorological situation shortly...

The first day of our trip was a traveling day, somewhere around 400 miles to get us out of the Central Valley and well into the Mojave Desert so we could reach the Grand Canyon the following day. My marvelous and courageous crew consisted of 17 students and several valued and faithful volunteers who have been making these trips possible for many years. We had a wonderfully diverse group, with some in their late teens, and others in their 60s, 70s, and one incredible traveler well into her 80s. 

All adventures devolve quickly into several basic questions: where is the nearest restroom? Where is the next mini-mart/gas station? How far do we have to camp? Sometimes, to my delight, there is a question about some geological feature visible in the distance: Is that a volcano out there? What's that weird white rock? Our expensive walkie-talkies ($9 each on Amazon) kept us in touch.

We made good time, and even had time to stop and have a look at the vast open pit mine at Boron (source of around half of the world's production of borax minerals). We pulled up to camp about 5 pm and started setting up.

The setting was dramatic. We were tucked in a small draw at the base of the Granite Mountains, which by incredible coincidence are composed almost entirely of granite. This granitic rock has the same origin as the famous granite batholiths of the Sierra Nevada, having been intruded into the continental crust as a result of subduction along the coast of western North America. The sinking slab of oceanic crust heated up and portions of it melted to form the granite magma that forced its way upwards through the crust where it eventually cooled. The subsequent history of the rock was different, however. Where the Sierra Nevada rose as a single massive block of crust sloping to the west, the Mojave twisted and deformed into a series of individual mountain ranges of more moderate elevation.
I guess I should have known what was coming. In my trained scientific experience, if there is a storm anywhere in sight, it will find a way to hit us. Despite the summer temperatures, skies were overcast, and there was a lot of energy in the clouds around us and rain was falling on the distant horizon. Camp was set up and we were preparing our dinner for the night when our phones simultaneously chirped, giving us a flash-flood warning. It was no spurious warning, either. Moments later, the sky opened up with the most intense hailstorm/rainstorm we've ever experienced in 40 years of field studies.



In mere moments the ground was covered with more than an inch of hail, some hailstones as large as quarters (the hood of my Subaru has dozens of small dings on it now). Every small gully and watercourse was filled with flowing water, including our entrance road. And the lightning was constant and terrifying (I didn't grow up in the Midwest, so these intense kinds of thunderstorms are new to me).

What had been dry sere desert moments previous was now coated in a covering of ice. There was enough hail left on the ground the next morning to use in my ice chest. It was a stunning storm.



The next morning as we left for Arizona, we realized we were lucky to be able to leave at all. Our access road had transformed into a river overnight, complete with braided stream channels, and some mud puddles remained that we carefully forced our way through.

Rivers had flowed over Kelbaker Road, but thankfully had not washed out the pavement.

Some nearby roads had been washed out and were closed to traffic, but we were able to reach the main highway and continue our journey east.

How did my students fare in such an incredible storm? 

I should backtrack a bit and explain what happened a few weeks earlier. In past trips we've always stayed at Black Canyon Campground in the Mojave National Preserve. It's a nice spot, and even has a shade structure that could have served as shelter from the downpour when it came. But I was poring over the maps and noticed the Sweeney Granite Mountains Desert Research Center. I remembered touring the place several decades ago, so I looked it up and discovered they had a cabin for use by students and researchers on the north slope of the Granite Mountains. On a whim I asked if they could accommodate our crew, and they were able to do so. 

During the worst of the storm, we were lounging in a nice dining/study area in a cabin!


The Granite Mountains Preserve is administered by the UC System, and covers around 9,000 acres of granite mountain slopes covered by pinon-juniper forests (and an uncomfortable amount of jumping cholla). They do research on all aspects of the desert/mountain ecosystems. There are several different kinds of accommodations for researchers, including the Norris Cabin where we stayed (below). It is a wonderful setting for field work in the desert!
And thus the first 24 hours of our two-week trip was done. The crew had been tested against the single worst storm our program had ever experienced and came out ready for more. Our next destination was the bottom of the Grand Canyon!

Wednesday, February 26, 2020

The Islands of Interior California: The Pygmy Mammoths and the Doomed Sky Islands

An 80,000-year-old pygmy mammoth tusk discovered on Santa Rosa Island. (Image credit: Daniel Muhs, USGS.)

The waves crash against the cliff, tearing at the rock on Santa Rosa Island off of Southern California. The face of the cliff is in constant retreat, changing yearly, and sometimes daily as more of the rock disappears into the surf. In one brief moment, a visitor notices a strange object exposed in the cliff. Is it a tree trunk? No, that white stuff is ivory...it's a tusk! There were elephants on the island! How in the world did that happen?

The presence of fossils of elephantine species on the island has been known since the late 1800s, and a survey in the late 1990s discovered at least 150 sites with remains of the creatures, now called the Pygmy Mammoth (Mammuthus exilis). There is little doubt that these creatures were descended from the mainland's Columbian Mammoth, but as their name suggests, they were small. A full-sized Columbian Mammoth stood 14 feet high, but the Pygmy Mammoth was only half as high at most, and perhaps a quarter the weight. A nearly complete skeleton discovered and excavated in 1994, and the adult was only 5.5 feet tall (below).
Pygmy mammoth skeleton found on Santa Rosa Island in 1994. It was 5.5 feet tall (Image: © Bill Faulkner, NPS)
It seems impossible that mammoths could have made it out to the islands, and under current conditions it probably would be. The nearest island is more than 20 miles away from the mainland. But things were much different 150,000 years ago. A phase of the ice ages was ongoing, and when a vast ice sheet covered Canada and 30% of the United States, sea level was around 300-400 feet lower than today. The four main Channel Islands (San Miguel, Santa Rosa, Santa Cruz, and Anacapa) would have been a single large island, which has been given the name Santarosae. The open water gap between the island and the mainland was only about 4.5 miles.

Elephants actually are excellent swimmers, what with having a natural snorkel and all. Present-day elephants have been documented as have swam more than 20 miles. So it is not hard to imagine mammoths on the mainland, perhaps suffering food shortages because of drought or wildfires, catching the scent of fresh vegetation on the islands and swimming out to investigate. A population was established, but then things began to change. The ice age was ending and the globe was warming up. The ice melted and sea rose to near today's level. The single large island was inundated, forming the four islands of today, and the total area was reduced by 76%. For the mammoths, this was a crisis. The islands were no longer big enough to support the mammoth population.
Outline of Santarosae and the present-day Channel Islands (Image credit: U. S. Geological Survey)
The outcome might come as a surprise because the cliché about evolution is sometimes misstated as "survival of the strongest". It is actually the survival of the best adapted. Although the biggest mammoths may have been able to consume much of the decreasing food supply, their dietary needs were also much higher. The evolutionary lottery favors those individuals who have the best adaptations for the specific environment, and it was the runts of the litter who could survive on less food. Over time the size of the adults decreased until they constituted a new species, the Mammuthus exilis. They survived on the islands for tens of thousands of years (from at least 80,000 years before present).

In the end, the Pygmy Mammoths also succumbed to extinction sometime around 12,000 years ago. Their disappearance coincided with the extinction of numerous other large mammals in North America, the "megafauna". Many reasons have been offered as hypotheses, but the cause (or causes) remain elusive. It needs to be noted that humans arrived on the islands around 11,000 years ago, and the small mammoths would have had few defenses against armed human beings.

As we can see, islands are places of refuge, but they can also be a prison of no escape. Which brings us to the doomed sky islands of the Mojave Desert.
The New York Mountains in the Mojave National Preserve (image credit: Garry Hayes)
People may envision a number of stereotypes of what constitutes a desert. Many people see vast seas of sand dunes, while others may see mesas and spires inspired by childhood memories of Roadrunner and Coyote cartoons. Others might see a landscape of huge saguaro cacti. These kinds of deserts exist of course, but except for several dune fields here and there, they don't exist in California. The deserts of eastern California (along with parts of Arizona and Utah, and all of Nevada) are within the Basin and Range Province, a region of the Earth's crust that has been stretched and broken into hundreds of high mountain ranges and deep faulted basins.
The Clark Mountains as seen from Kokoweef (image credit Garry Hayes)

Because the relief (the difference between the highest and lowest points) can range up to two miles, these mountain ranges encompass numerous life zones or ecosystems, from the hottest barren salt flat to alpine peaks. These mountains constitute rich biologic islands that are analogous to the Channel Islands off the coast of California. And like the Channel Islands, some of the inhabitants are ultimately doomed.

Because the mountain peaks are so isolated, one might not expect much diversity, but these environments are not static nor were they always isolated. They were influenced by the ice ages, even though the ice fields never reached the arid region. The climate was cooler and wetter so trees more characteristic of the Rocky Mountains or the Sierra Nevada were able to migrate into the region, including the Rocky Mountain White Fir. But as the ice age waned, the rising temperatures and growing aridity caused the trees to retreat higher and higher into the mountains. If the mountains weren't high enough, the trees were extinguished. In the present day, only three islands remain that possess the Rocky Mountain White Fir: the New York Mountains, Clark Mountain, and Kingston Peak.
Scene from the Kingston Peak area (Image credit: Bureau of Land Management)
None of these relict forests are easy to get to, and I have never had the privilege. And unfortunately I may never have the chance because these trees are ultimately doomed. They are at the very edge of survival, clinging to the cooler north-facing slopes in a micro-climate that is just wet enough to allow the trees to cling to life. As the world continues to warm up, the dry desert will continue creep up the mountain slopes, ultimately "flooding" the last trees in hot dry air.
Image credit: https://www.amargosaconservancy.org/native-plants-wildlife/
We will never fully comprehend the full effects the changes on our planet brought about by global warming and climate change. In the mountains of the Mojave Desert, the "islands" are not occupied just by fir trees. There are dozens of species that shelter within these small forests and they will disappear too. It's a small corner of the world rarely visited by humans, but climate change is global, and there are literally millions of micro-environments like these that will disappear without ever being studied or appreciated. It's a crying shame and all the more tragic considering we've lost three decades of time that we could have acted on behalf of our planet.
Image credit: https://www.amargosaconservancy.org/native-plants-wildlife/

Friday, February 21, 2020

The Islands of Interior California: A New Geotripper Series


I've always been fascinated by islands. I visit the Hawaiian Islands every chance I get, and I am literally haunted by the vast expanses of open ocean that separate the islands from any other landmasses. It's an odd combination of loneliness and wonder. It's not something you ever feel when you are staying in Waikiki hotels and sunning yourself on a crowded beach. The sense of isolation comes when you spend time in the rainforests, the alpine deserts, and the barren volcano slopes. When you read about and experience the incredible biological isolation, it becomes an incredible story of survival and adaptation that has produced hundreds of unique endemic species found nowhere else in the world.

Which leads to a question: what does that have to do with a bunch of pictures of localities in the California desert?

I was in Death Valley National Park for much of the past week, and while I was teaching a field course, I also had a few moments of observation and reflection about life in the desert. I was watching for bird species in particular, and I was struck by an odd contradiction: Death Valley (Furnace Creek specifically) has more bird species (339) than my county in California's Great Valley (315). It doesn't seem possible, since conditions are far more benign at home, and in fact the Great Valley can support vastly greater numbers of birds. But Death Valley has a way of forcing more species together in one place where they can be seen and recorded...it is a system of biological islands. The islands are made of water, and the intervening space is largely barren land.
The concept of biologic islands in a landscape is not a new concept at all, so I am not introducing any kind of new idea here. It's just that I sensed the concept more than usual during the recent trip. So in the next few posts I want to describe some of the unique and different "islands" that exist in the California desert, and the geological conditions that caused them. Some of these we explored last week, but as I considered the idea of a series, I thought of a few unique spots I've visited in earlier journeys, so I will include a few of them as well.
Coming up in the next post: the spot that made me think of islands in the first place...


Part 1: The Littlest Islands of All
Part 2: The Pygmy Mammoths and the Doomed Sky Islands
Part 3: There's a Reason Why I Don't Hug Ducks

Friday, April 6, 2018

An Incredible Spot in the Mojave Desert, the Hole in the Wall. You could see it for yourself this summer

Summer is coming soon. If you are casting about wondering what to do, how about the adventure of a lifetime? Our department is offering a dyad class, Geology 191/Anthropology 191, the Geology and Anthropology of the Colorado Plateau, and it is an incredible chance to check out some marvelous geology along our southwestern tier of states: California, Arizona, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada. I want to give you a bit of a preview of the kinds of places we will be visiting...
The Mojave National Preserve is one of our nation's newest parks (established in 1994). It was carved out from Bureau of Land Management lands in the eastern Mojave Desert, preserving one of the most awesome sand dune complexes in the country, the Kelso Dunes, a barren landscape of geologically recent volcanic cinder cones, one of the largest Joshua Tree forests in existence, and some of the highest mountain ranges in the Mojave Desert, with rocks as old as 1.7 billion years old, as ancient as those in the bottom of the Grand Canyon. The preserve also encompasses a California State Recreation Area, the Providence Mountains, and Mitchell Caverns, a unique limestone cave system. The caverns were closed during the recession, and then severely vandalized, but they have finally been reopened for visitation (see this Facebook page for updates).
One of the most interesting corners of the park is called Hole in the Wall, along with Banshee Canyon. We will be staying at the nearby campground our first night on the road on June 2. It is a wonderfully isolated spot, 25 miles off the main highway, and even farther from developments of any kind. It has some of the darkest night skies I've ever seen, and it is serenely quiet (except for crickets and coyote yowls).
The region is quite unlike other parts of the Mojave. Instead of deeply eroded mountain ranges and wide flat valleys, the area around Hole in the Wall is composed of mesas and plateaus that seem to share more in common with the Colorado Plateau province just to the east. But these mesas aren't like Arizona's either. They are composed not of sedimentary layers, but of volcanic tuff, rock derived from unimaginably huge volcanic explosions the likes of which modern humans have never experienced.
Twenty million years ago, the region was one of low relief, the result of tens of millions of years of erosion and relative stability. But conditions were changing as the crust was stretched and broken up into a series of tilted fault blocks. The release of pressure on the underlying mantle allowed partial melting to take place, and volcanic activity exploded across the region.
The first eruptions took place about 18.5 million years ago when the Peach Springs tuff coated the entire region from an eruption center near Oatman, Arizona. The eruption involved as much as 150 cubic miles (640 km3) of powdery white ash that was so hot that in many places it welded into solid rock as it landed.
Shortly afterward (in geologic terms anyway, as it was 700,000 years later), a second caldera developed. It was located even closer, in the adjacent Woods Mountains. The eruptive "crater", actually a collapse pit, was about 5-6 miles across, roughly similar in size to Crater Lake. Once again, all life was obliterated for hundreds of square miles as hot ash blanketed the landscape. The Wild Horse Mesa Tuff makes up most of the rock found at Hole in the Wall.
The strange holes that gave Hole in the Wall its name are called tafoni. Small differences in the degree of solidification or cementation cause depressions to form which end up staying wet longer, and the minerals decay into small fragments that can easily wash or blow away.
A short trail (1.5 miles) loops around Banshee Mountain and explores the best of the eroded tuff. Starting at the small visitor center, the trail drops through a rugged narrow canyon. There are some drop-offs, but rings have been attached to the canyon wall, making it a lot easier to climb up or down. Once past the narrows, the trail has a gentle gradient, and provides interesting views in all directions. There is a nice collection of petroglyphs on some of the boulders around the south end of the mountain.
If you want to visit this fascinating corner of the desert with us this June, please check out the previous post for details. We will be on the road for two weeks, and this will be only the first of many wonders that we will explore.

Monday, December 28, 2015

Dreams of Summer and Southwest Travels: Hole in the Wall, Mojave National Preserve

Christmas is over and suddenly the snow and blizzards aren't so fun any more. I find myself dreaming of warmer places and times, including a great journey we took last summer across the southwest with my students. Since my current travels are over until February, I'm going to travel through the archives to check out some marvelous geology along our southwestern tier of states: Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada. But really, no place is more southwestern than California, where we will start this journey.
The Mojave National Preserve is one of our nation's newest parks (established in 1994). It was carved out from Bureau of Land Management lands in the eastern Mojave Desert, preserving one of the most awesome sand dune complexes in the country, the Kelso Dunes, a barren landscape of geologically recent volcanic cinder cones, one of the largest Joshua Tree forests in existence, and some of the highest mountain ranges in the Mojave Desert, with rocks as old as 1.7 billion years old, as ancient as those in the bottom of the Grand Canyon. The preserve also encompasses a California State Recreation Area, the Providence Mountains, and Mitchell Caverns, a unique limestone cave system. The caverns were closed during the recession, and then severely vandalized, but there are hopes that they will reopen in 2016 (see this Facebook page for updates).
One of the most interesting corners of the park is called Hole in the Wall, along with Banshee Canyon. We stayed at the nearby campground our first night on the road. It is a wonderfully isolated spot, 25 miles off the main highway, and even farther from developments of any kind. It has some of the darkest night skies I've ever seen, and it is serenely quiet (except for crickets and coyote yowls).
The region is quite unlike other parts of the Mojave. Instead of deeply eroded mountain ranges and wide flat valleys, the area around Hole in the Wall is composed of mesas and plateaus that seem to share more in common with the Colorado Plateau province just to the east. But these mesas aren't like Arizona's either. They are composed not of sedimentary layers, but of volcanic tuff, rock derived from unimaginably huge volcanic explosions the likes of which modern humans have never experienced.
Twenty million years ago, the region was one of low relief, the result of tens of millions of years of erosion and relative stability. But conditions were changing as the crust was stretched and broken up into a series of tilted fault blocks. The release of pressure on the underlying mantle allowed partial melting to take place, and volcanic activity exploded across the region.
The first eruptions took place about 18.5 million years ago when the Peach Springs tuff coated the entire region from an eruption center near Oatman, Arizona. The eruption involved as much as 150 cubic miles (640 km3) of powdery white ash that was so hot that in many places it welded into solid rock as it landed.
Shortly afterward (in geologic terms, anyway, as it was 700,000 years later), a second caldera developed. It was located even closer, in the adjacent Woods Mountains. The eruptive "crater", actually a collapse pit, was about 5-6 miles across, roughly similar in size to Crater Lake. Once again, all life was obliterated for hundreds of square miles as hot ash blanketed the landscape. The Wild Horse Mesa Tuff makes up most of the rock found at Hole in the Wall.
The strange holes that gave Hole in the Wall its name are called tafoni. Small differences in the degree of solidification or cementation cause depressions to form which end up staying wet longer, and the minerals decay into small fragments that can easily wash or blow away.
A short trail (1.5 miles) loops around Banshee Mountain and explores the best of the eroded tuff. Starting at the small visitor center, the trail drops through a rugged narrow canyon. There are some drop-offs, but rings have been attached to the canyon wall, making it a lot easier to climb up or down. Once past the narrows, the trail has a gentle gradient, and provides interesting views in all directions. There is a nice collection of petroglyphs on some of the boulders around the south end of the mountain.
If you want to visit this fascinating corner of the desert, you'll have to search it out. It's not a quick roadside stop, but is instead a place to take a bit of time to explore. The time is well worth it!

Thursday, July 4, 2013

Out in America's Never Never: The Mojave, a Vast Unknown Treasure

My students are reading this and saying "We didn't stop here". That's true. But I love the picture and any excuse to show it.

The first morning on the road into America's Never Never found us at Hole in the Wall in the middle of the Mojave National Preserve. The Mojave is a vast region in eastern California that is both well-known, and completely unknown to the residents and visitors to the state. It's "known" because millions of people travel Interstates 15 and 40 every year through the region on their way to Las Vegas or Phoenix. It's "unknown" because the vast majority of travelers never set foot outside their cars except for the bathrooms in Baker or Needles. The landscape between the two interstates is a vast terra incognita to them. It's no wasteland...it is an exceedingly fascinating region, geologically and biologically.
We did wake up to this sight, though. The Providence Mountains, west of Hole in the Wall.

We passed through the heart of the park, traveling from the Essex turnoff on Interstate 40 for 20 miles to the Hole in the Wall campground, and then through the Mid Hills and Mojave Road to Kelso-Cima Road and the Morning Star Mine Road to Interstate 15. Although our time was short, we saw some vast vistas of the third largest unit in the national park system outside of Alaska (I think only Yellowstone National Park and Death Valley National Park are larger; Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument is also larger, but is administered by the Bureau of Land Management).

The park has a series of unique ranges, including the Providence, Granite, Clark, and New York Mountains, reacing elevations of just short of 8,000 feet. The great range of elevation allows a huge variety of plants to thrive. Of greatest interest (to me anyway) are the Joshua Trees and the White Firs.

Wait, Christmas trees in the desert? Yes! There are relict forests that cling to life at the tops of the highest peaks of the New York and Clark Mountains. During the ice ages when the climate was wetter, they thrived over a much larger area, but with the ending of the glacial advances and the drying, they retreated to the small groves that exist today. It's a part of the park I have not yet had the privilege to visit, and I can't find pictures on the Internet, so that may be part of a future trip.
Photo by Mrs. Geotripper

The Joshua Trees, on the other hand, are right there. The largest grove in existence, more than a million individual trees, can be seen on Cima Dome. We stopped to have a look. The Joshua Trees are members of the lily family and are widespread throughout the Mojave Desert. Joshua Tree National Park preserves many of the trees, but Mojave National Preserve may actually have more of them. Some of the trees on Cima Dome have trunks 3 feet across, and may be centuries old.
Cima Dome

Cima Dome is one of the more unusual geological structures found in the Mojave Desert. The smooth gravel covered convex surface was thought at one time to be the end result of desert erosion of a faulted mountain block and pediment, but the origin may be more complicated. The Cima Volcanic Field on the west side of the dome may be related. Lava flows range in age from 7 million years to as recently as 10,000 years ago. The top picture of today's post was taken in a lava tube that is part of one of the recent flows.
Photo by Mrs. Geotripper

From our perch high on Cedar Canyon Road, we could look south and see the Kelso Dune Field, one of the highest and largest sand dune systems in the country. The highest dune rises 650 above the surrounding desert. Numerous endemic species of plants grow in the dune environment, but the dunes are best known for "singing". Under the right conditions, the dunes "boom", but the reasons aren't clear.
Kelso Dunes
I have saved my outrage for the last aspect of the park region. Providence Mountains State Recreational Area is an island of state land within the National Preserve. It "preserves" a group of caves, including the Mitchell Caverns and the Cave of the Winding Stair. Originally in private ownership, the state promised to care for the caves and for years conducted tours and kept up the small but charming campground.
Cave shields are a rare cave feature found in Mitchell Caverns (source: National Park Service)
But the recession destroyed the state budget, and the SRA was slated to be shut down. Even when money was found to keep the other parks open, Mitchell Caverns were shut down because the two rangers working there elected to retire. The park was gated and abandoned. The administrators of the park system must have assumed that distance and isolation would protect the facility. Administrators think that way. They were, of course, very wrong.
(source: National Park Service)
Vandals broke into the park visitor center, destroying exhibits, stealing equipment, and removing thousands of feet of copper wire that was used to light the cave. If the park is ever to be reopened, it will cost a great deal more to fix what has been damaged than it would have been to keep a caretaker on site.
(source: National Park Service)
There are hints that the state might be thinking about fixing things now that the state budget is in better shape. I hope they consider bringing back one of the gems of the state park system.

We made our way north out of the Preserve and made our way to the bathrooms and mini-marts over the border in Nevada.