Stuck Between a Volcano and a Hard Place (part 2): Politics and Geology Square Off in a Small Town with a Big Problem

I've been more and more concerned about the public damage being done to the scientific community and larger society as politics has swirled like a tornado around global warming, climate change, and pandemics. Trust is eroding in some quarters, and I only see this leading to worse disasters in the years to come (and really, nearly a million Americans dead is a huge disaster, even though it unfolded slowly over two years; just imagine the impact if those people had died all on one day). This damaged social compact between those who do science and the society at large reminded me that it isn't the first time this kind of issue has affected the public, and a few years ago I wrote about it in a two-part series. Here, with some modifications and updates, is part two.

Twin Lakes, above the town of Mammoth Lakes on the edge of the Long Valley Caldera

So what happened in Mammoth Lakes?

In the last post we talked about the titanic explosion at the Long Valley Caldera 760,000 years and tried to comprehend the scale of an event where 150 cubic miles of ash was blown into the atmosphere, covering much of the country. We then fast-forwarded to the near-present day of Mammoth Lakes in the 1980s. When we left the story, geologists were trying to decide what to do at the ski resort town in the face of astounding earthquake swarms, ground level changes, and increased geothermal activity.

It could probably be called a (tragi)comedy of errors. The USGS volcanologists carefully prepared a report to accompany a NOTICE OF POTENTIAL VOLCANIC HAZARD, the lowest level warning in their guidelines. A reporter from the Los Angeles Times figured out what was going on and published a story about the potential volcanic activity the day before the USGS released their report. The geologists got scooped, in other words, and the story became a runaway train in the national media. The government and emergency services personnel who were supposed to get the report and develop a response plan were blindsided by reporters asking them how it felt to be living in a doomed town.

The carefully worded statement from the USGS noted that "available evidence is insufficient to suggest that a hazardous event is imminent", but it was their description of the hazards that caught the attention of reporters and news hosts: rocks falling out of the sky miles from the eruptive vents, hot ash flows melting thick snowpacks and producing dangerous mudflows, and dangerous gases suffocating people. The very manna of the most desired headline: if it bleeds, it leads.

Hot Creek, a geothermal site in the Long Valley Caldera

By some accounts, the damage to the economy of Mammoth Lakes from the media circus may have been worse than an actual volcanic eruption (though no one died). Tourists stayed away in droves, businesses went belly up, and condo projects were abandoned. The business leaders of the town were livid at the geologists for stirring things up and scaring people (although by my reading, their notices were very conservative and carefully worded). They demanded that the geologists stop their campaign of terror/error, accusing them of bad science or something darker. There were even bomb threats (I had forgotten that detail; see the reference at the end of this post).

Warning sign at Horseshoe Lake, one of the carbon dioxide tree-kill sites on Mammoth Mountain.

The geologists could only respond in disbelief. I feel like I would have said something along the lines of "You are sitting on top of an active body of magma that is a few thousand feet from the surface! It would be irresponsible to keep such a thing secret". The geologists stuck to their guns, and the threat level remained at level one, the lowest level of concern, but concern nonetheless.

The business owners and local politicians went up the chain of command. They appealed to the head of the USGS, and his boss, the Secretary of the Interior, a man named James Watt. They may have communicated with then-president Reagan. As far as I can tell, there was intense political pressure from above, and eventually the director of the USGS unilaterally scrapped the warning system. Poof! It was gone. No discussion. It its place would be an informal warning system of quiet communications between geologists and civic leaders.

If this were a Hollywood movie, what happens next would be preordained. Everyone would come back. The skiers would be happily sliding down the slopes, businesses would be taking in money hand over fist, and suddenly out of nowhere there would be a resounding explosion and all hell would break loose as the caldera gives way to a catastrophic eruption that kills the "evil" business leaders because they had been greedy, and a gritty, yet handsome geologist would lead a beautiful woman and her plucky children to safety. Heck, I could see casting someone like, oh, say, Pierce Brosnan as the geologist and Linda Hamilton as the lady. Maybe call it "Dante's Peak" and move the setting to Idaho for some reason.

Yeah, I'd say that casting choice for the geologist was about right. Either one of them....

But that isn't what happened, of course. The molten magma was almost certainly there, but it cooled and solidified instead of continuing to the surface. The earthquake swarms ebbed, but other swarms have taken place over the years, though most have been tectonic in origin (related to faulting rather than magma). Gases from the magma chamber, especially carbon dioxide, have continued to seep from the ground, killing trees and other vegetation in several areas, including Horseshoe Lake (below). The gases actually killed three people a few years ago.  After some years, the USGS established a volcano observatory that monitors Long Valley, and came up with a new warning system, one with four stages, and specific actions to be taken with each. It's based on colors, just like our former Bush-era terrorism warning system. The town's economy slowly recovered. They started building condos again.

Tree kill area at Horseshoe Lake. Carbon dioxide in the soil suffocates the roots and microorganisms necessary for the tree's survival

Some of the political leaders took a bit of action. One of the main concerns was that an eruption would have destroyed the only paved road out of town. No evacuation would have been possible if the highway was blocked off. A few years after the brouhaha, a road appeared at the upper end of town called the Mammoth Lakes Scenic Route. I have to say that as a geologist that I didn't see a whole lot of scenery as I drove this nice paved highway, but I couldn't help but notice that it was exactly where I would have chosen to put an evacuation route (according to Dick Thompson in Volcano Cowboys, the county supervisors responsible were recalled from office for arranging this bit of road-building; it was like an admission that volcanism was actually possible).

Hot Creek, one of the centers of geothermal activity within the Long Valley Caldera.

In the end, one can only say mistakes were made. Some of those mistakes involved a sort of public relations tone deafness, like releasing a volcano warning on the eve of a holiday weekend, but other mistakes were more nefarious.

There were people willing to deny the possibility of a natural catastrophe in order to protect their profit margins. I see too many parallels in today's political (but not scientific) debates over global warming and climate change, and in the willful denial of the Covid pandemic. The geologists had clear evidence of a volcanic threat and the civic response was to deny the evidence and to attack the reputation of the geologists who were trying to do the right thing. There was a threat to the economy of Mammoth Lakes, but the threat was from a geologic process, not those who discovered and analyzed the volcanic hazard. And threatening the lives of the geologists was criminal. And apparently unpunished.

And the media. What to do about the media? Isn't it amazing how media outlets were willing to blow a story way out of proportion in order to gain ratings? Isn't it nice to know that they don't do that sort of thing anymore? And that the internet (which didn't exist as such in 1983) has turned out to be the very model of accurate and measured analysis of stories like this one, despite the possible instant dissemination of incorrect and potentially dangerous information? I'm so glad we live in an age of logic and reason and respect of scientific research.

Oh, I'm sorry. I briefly stepped into "Opposite-world". I'm back now. Science education and science literacy have never been more important in a world where the internet and media are so irresponsible with their analysis of geological hazards. Every time there is another major earthquake or volcanic eruption, I feel like throwing a shoe through the television screen or computer monitor as the talking heads begin babbling. Instead, I do what I can by throwing words out into the internet trying to offer up a more measured explanation of things. But the mostly ignorant talking heads always seem to win people's attention.

Just imagine the outcome if the geologists at Mammoth Lakes were effectively squelched, no warnings were ever given, and a volcanic eruption had actually occurred. Beyond the devastation, just imagine the scapegoating that would have happened in the aftermath. In Italy such a situation led to prison terms for half a dozen geologists who failed to predict a deadly earthquake (they have since been released).

We can do better than this. Especially those in the news business who are responsible in times of emergency for providing us with reasoned assessments, not sensationalist drabble. When the crisis is over, they can go back to their manic headlines about the personal lives of the stars.

You can read the original post from 2015 here: https://geotripper.blogspot.com/2015/02/the-sierra-beyond-yosemite-politics-and.html

----------------------------
Although aspects of this story of the events at Mammoth Lakes and the Long Valley Caldera are drawn from my memory, I reviewed and confirmed many of the details in the excellent book called "The Volcano Cowboys: the Rocky Evolution of a Dangerous Science" by Dick Thompson (St. Martin's Press, 2002). Check it out, it's a fascinating account of the lives and activities of volcanologists.

The Sierra Beyond Yosemite: Politics and Geology Square Off in a Town with a Big Problem

Twin Lakes, above the town of Mammoth Lakes on the edge of the Long Valley Caldera

So what happened in Mammoth Lakes?

In the last post we talked about the titanic explosion at the Long Valley Caldera 760,000 years and tried to comprehend the scale of an event where 150 cubic miles of ash was blown into the atmosphere, covering much of the country. We then fast-forwarded to the near-present day of Mammoth Lakes in the 1980s. When we left the story, geologists were trying to decide what to do at the ski resort town in the face of astounding earthquake swarms, ground level changes, and increased geothermal activity.

It could probably be called a (tragi)comedy of errors. The USGS volcanologists carefully prepared a report to accompany a NOTICE OF POTENTIAL VOLCANIC HAZARD, the lowest level warning in their guidelines. A reporter from the Los Angeles Times figured out what was going on, and published a story about the potential volcanic activity the day before the USGS released their report. The geologists got scooped, in other words, and the story became a runaway train in the national media.. The government and emergency services personnel who were supposed to get the report and develop a response plan were blindsided by reporters asking them how it felt to be living in a doomed town.

The carefully worded statement from the USGS noted that "available evidence is insufficient to suggest that a hazardous event is imminent", but it was their description of the hazards that caught the attention of reporters and news hosts: rocks falling out of the sky miles from the eruptive vents, hot ash flows melting thick snowpacks and producing dangerous mudflows, and dangerous gases suffocating people. The very manna of the most desired headline: if it bleeds, it leads.

Hot Creek, a geothermal site in the Long Valley Caldera

By some accounts, the damage to the economy of Mammoth Lakes from the media circus may have been worse than an actual volcanic eruption (though no one died). Tourists stayed away in droves, businesses went belly up, and condo projects were abandoned. The business leaders of the town were livid at the geologists for stirring things up and scaring people (although by my reading, their notices were very conservative and carefully worded). They demanded that the geologists stop their campaign of terror/error, accusing them of bad science or something darker. There were even bomb threats (I had forgotten that detail; see the reference at the end of this post).

Warning sign at Horseshoe Lake, one of the carbon dioxide tree-kill sites on Mammoth Mountain.

The geologists could only respond in disbelief. I feel like I would have said  something along the lines of "You are sitting on top of an active body of magma that is a few thousand feet from the surface! It would be irresponsible to keep such a thing secret". The geologists stuck to their guns, and the threat level remained at level one, the lowest level of concern, but concern nonetheless.

The business owners and local politicians went up the chain of command. They appealed to the head of the USGS, and his boss, the Secretary of the Interior, a man named James Watt. They may have communicated with then-president Reagan. As far as I can tell, there was intense political pressure from above, and eventually the director of the USGS unilaterally scrapped the warning system. Poof! It was gone. No discussion. It its place would be an informal warning system of quiet communications between geologists and civic leaders.

If this were a Hollywood movie, what happens next would be preordained. Everyone would come back. The skiers would be happily sliding down the slopes, businesses would be taking in money hand over fist, and suddenly out of nowhere there would be a resounding explosion and all hell would break loose as the caldera gives way to a catastrophic eruption that kills the "evil" business leaders because they had been greedy, and a gritty, yet handsome geologist would lead a beautiful woman and her plucky children to safety. Heck, I could see casting someone like, oh, say, Pierce Brosnan as the geologist and Linda Hamilton as the lady. Maybe call it "Dante's Peak" and move the setting to Idaho for some reason.

Yeah, I'd say that casting choice for the geologist was about right. Either one of them....

But that isn't what happened, of course. The molten magma was almost certainly there, but it cooled and solidified instead of continuing to the surface. The earthquake swarms ebbed, but other swarms have taken place over the years, though most have been tectonic in origin (related to faulting rather than magma). Gases from the magma chamber, especially carbon dioxide, have continued to seep from the ground, killing trees and other vegetation in several areas, including Horseshoe Lake (below). The gases actually killed three people a few years ago.  After some years, the USGS established a volcano observatory that monitors Long Valley, and came up with a new warning system, one with four stages, and specific actions to be taken with each. It's based on colors, just like the terrorism warning system! The town's economy slowly recovered. They started building condos again.

Tree kill area at Horseshoe Lake. Carbon dioxide in the soil suffocates the roots and microorganisms necessary for the tree's survival

Some of the political leaders took a bit of action. One of the main concerns was that an eruption would have destroyed the only paved road out of town. No evacuation would have been possible if the highway was blocked off. A few years after the brouhaha, a road appeared at the upper end of town called the Mammoth Lakes Scenic Route. I have to say that as a geologist that I didn't see a whole lot of scenery as I drove this nice paved highway, but I couldn't help but notice that it was exactly where I would have chosen to put an evacuation route (according to Dick Thompson in Volcano Cowboys, the county supervisors responsible were recalled from office for arranging this bit of road-building; it was like an admission that volcanism was actually possible).

Hot Creek, one of the centers of geothermal activity within the Long Valley Caldera.

In the end, one can only say mistakes were made. Some of those mistakes involved a sort of public relations tone deafness, like releasing a volcano warning on the eve of a holiday weekend, but other mistakes were more nefarious.

There were people willing to deny the possibility of a natural catastrophe in order to protect their profit margins. I see parallels in today's political (but not scientific) debates over global warming and climate change. The geologists had clear evidence of a volcanic threat and the civic response was to deny the evidence and to attack the reputation of the geologists who were trying to do the right thing. There was a threat to the economy of Mammoth Lakes, but the threat was from a geologic process, not those who discovered and analyzed the volcanic hazard. And threatening the lives of the geologists was criminal.

And the media. What to do about the media? Isn't it amazing how media outlets were willing to blow a story way out of proportion in order to gain ratings? Isn't it nice to know that they don't do that sort of thing anymore? And that the internet (which didn't exist as such in 1983) has turned out to be the very model of accurate and measured analysis of stories like this one, despite the possible instant dissemination of incorrect and potentially dangerous information? I'm so glad we live in an age of logic and reason and respect of scientific research.

Oh, I'm sorry. I briefly stepped into "Opposite-world". I'm back now. Science education and science literacy have never been more important in a world where the internet and media are so irresponsible with their analysis of geological hazards. Every time there is another major earthquake or volcanic eruption, I feel like throwing a shoe through the television screen or computer monitor as the talking heads begin babbling. Instead, I do what I can by throwing words out into the internet trying to offer up a more measured explanation of things. But the mostly ignorant talking heads always seem to win people's attention.

Just imagine the outcome if the geologists at Mammoth Lakes were effectively squelched, no warnings were ever given, and a volcanic eruption had actually occurred. Beyond the devastation, just imagine the scapegoating that would have happened in the aftermath. In Italy such a situation led to prison terms for half a dozen geologists who failed to predict a deadly earthquake (they have since been released).

We can do better than this. Especially those in the news business who are responsible in times of emergency for providing us with reasoned assessments, not sensationalist dribble. When the crisis is over they can go back to their manic headlines about the personal lives of the stars.

----------------------------
Although aspects of this story of the events at Mammoth Lakes and the Long Valley Caldera are drawn from my memory, I reviewed and confirmed many of the details in the excellent book called "The Volcano Cowboys: the Rocky Evolution of a Dangerous Science" by Dick Thompson (St. Martin's Press, 2002). Check it out, it's a fascinating account of the lives and activities of volcanologists.

The Sierra Beyond Yosemite: Exploring One of the World's Largest Volcanic Eruptions...Ever. And a Problem

There is a story I tell on the first day of almost every class I teach. It's about a place filled with the evidence of one of the great explosions in Earth history, near Mammoth Lakes in the eastern Sierra Nevada. The students in the picture above are standing on the edge of a gorge that exposes some aspects of the explosion, but no one place reveals the full magnitude of what happened here. We made a number of stops many miles apart, but it's hard to comprehend the full scale of the blast. It's just too big.

About 760,000 years ago, a magma chamber composed of silica-rich rhyolite magma exploded in a titanic eruption that sent about 150 cubic miles (600 cubic kilometers) of ash across the western United States. Ash layers are still recognizable in places like Kansas and Nebraska, and in the immediate area around the blast, volcanic ash and tuff occur in deposits hundreds of feet thick spread over dozens of square miles. So much material was lofted into the atmosphere that the crust collapsed into a gigantic hole 10 miles (16 km) wide and 20 miles (32 km) long, and thousands of feet deep; it's called the Long Valley Caldera

For me, it took an overflight at 30,000 feet to even begin to see the full scale of the blast. Just about all the landscape in the picture above is covered with volcanic tuff. A freeway climbs the slope on the left side of the picture, but is barely visible. I've added labels in the picture below to highlight the location of the caldera, which was obscured by clouds

In this mini-blog series, we've been exploring the Sierra Nevada beyond the very limiting confines of Yosemite Valley and Yosemite National Park. Our fall field studies trip took us down the Owens Valley and some of the lands east of the Sierra Nevada crest, including this gigantic hole that actually breached the mountain wall. The lower section of the crest allows Pacific storms to blow through, dropping prodigious amounts of snow, especially on Mammoth Mountain, a volcano that developed on the edge of the caldera thousands of years after the climactic blast. Many thousands of years later, it was decided that this was a perfect place to put a ski resort.

The Owens River Gorge on the margin of the Long Valley Caldera.

The caldera filled with water, and for thousands of years there was a lake. Eventually it breached the south edge of the caldera and drained. The resulting Owens River carved a 400 foot deep gorge in a short period of time (above), and the canyon walls provide a marvelous cross-section of the strange volcanic rock.

The edge of the Long Valley Caldera along the Sierra Nevada crest.

The caldera is a stunning place to visit and contemplate, but that's not actually the story I tell my students on the first day of most of my classes. The story concerns an incident at Mammoth Lakes dating from the early 1980s which still has huge implications in the present day. It's about civic responsibility and public safety in the face of deadly geologic hazards, and how geologists found themselves stuck between a volcano and a hard place. The purpose of telling the story to my classes is to highlight the danger of willful geological ignorance.

On May 18, 1980, Mt. St. Helens exploded with unexpected ferocity, killing nearly four dozen people. The U.S. Geological Survey was caught off guard in terms of predicting the moment of the eruption, as they did not yet understand the dynamics of Cascades volcanoes. Only a week or so later, a series of four magnitude 6 earthquakes struck the Mammoth Lakes region, injuring a number of people and causing several million dollars of damage. Many more earthquakes followed, and with the location of the epicenters being within the caldera, the geologists became concerned. They deployed more instruments in the region, and discovered that the floor of the caldera had been rising, some 10 inches between 1979 and 1980. Even more disturbing was the discovery that the earthquakes were migrating, and becoming more shallow, ultimately reaching a mere 7,000 feet or so beneath the surface. New steam vents were opening up (although geothermal activity has always been present). As I say to my students on their first day of class, "You've been geologists for 45 minutes now, what do YOU think was going on?"

The floor of the Long Valley Caldera with Crowley Lake, and Glass Mountain on the far rim of the caldera.

The people of Mammoth Lakes apparently only knew that they were getting a lot of earthquakes. There wasn't a lot of communication between the geologists who were researching the increasing activity and the government and emergency personnel responsible for the safety of the community. I imagine that this occurred (and still occurs today) because of the vast amount of uncertainty involved in predicting geologic events. Who would want to go out on a very long limb and suggest that a town could be on the cusp of a very dangerous, even catastrophic event? You may remember the recent case of geologists in Italy who were jailed because they didn't predict a deadly earthquake.

At the time, the USGS had a warning system in place, with three tiers:

NOTICE OF POTENTIAL HAZARD-Information on the location and possible magnitude of a potentially hazardous geologic condition. However, available evidence is insufficient to suggest that a hazardous event is imminent or evidence has not been developed to determine the time of occurrence.

HAZARD WATCH-Information, as it develops from a monitoring program or from observed precursors, that a potentially catastrophic event of a generally predictable magnitude may occur within an indefinite time (possibly months to years).

HAZARD WARNING-Information (prediction) as to the time, location, and magnitude of a potentially disastrous geologic event.

Give it some thought...given the intense geologic activity, what would you do? Would you notify the civic authorities? Would you go to the media? Is it possible that the media might report the facts as they are known, or would there be a tendency to go overboard on their coverage? Keep in mind the difference between 1983 and the present day when numerous cable news networks have to keep talking 24 hours a day. Or, would you keep things quiet, and hope that the geologic activity would die down without any catastrophes occurring? What happens if you quash your findings, and an eruption takes place? What is your liability in the deaths and injuries that result? Is there an easy answer here?

What would you do?

And what finally happened?

Find out in part 2!

The Sierra Beyond Yosemite: Wait! Is that...a Glacier?

People who visit Yosemite Valley often think about glaciers. Even those with no geologic background quickly become aware of the role of glaciers in forming the valley, but the thoughts are often of the past. It's been 11,000 or 12,000 years since any glaciers have been in the bottom of the valley, and it's been around 800,000 years since glaciers filled Yosemite Valley. The glaciers seem a part of the distant past.

When we reached the crest of the White Mountains on our fall field trip, we could see across the Owens Valley to the highest ridges of the Sierra Nevada. It was late September in one of the driest years ever recorded in California. And yet...there was still ice in the high country. How could any snow still be left after one of the hottest summers on record?

A closer look through the zoom lens told the story. The isolated patches weren't snow at all, they were ice, and the cracks and fractures tell us that the ice has been moving. In other words, these are glaciers!

Glaciers would not seem to be a California phenomenon. Too much sunshine, too many droughts, it just doesn't seem to be the kind of place where snow could accumulate and compress year after year, decade after decade, until the frozen mass starts to slip under the weight of 100-200 feet of ice. Indeed, the permanent snowline would be in excess of 15,000 feet or more, and no peaks in California are that high. But given certain areas with cold "microclimates", glaciers have persisted in the ranges, in the shaded hollows of the highest mountains where the sun almost never shines.

According to the U.S. Geological Survey, there are nearly 500 glaciers in the Sierra Nevada, but none of them is very large, the biggest being only a mile (1.6 km) wide and half a mile (0.8 km) long. The total area covered by glacial ice in the Sierra is only about 19 square miles (50 square km). We were looking at some of the largest remaining glaciers, those that persist beneath the peaks of the Palisades Crest, a group of 14,000 foot mountains on the east boundary of Kings Canyon National Park.

It is known that there was a much warmer period several thousand years ago following the last major ice age, so these are not remnants of those Tioga stage glaciers. Small glaciers like these would have melted completely away. There was a general worldwide cooling event in the 1700s, the so-called Little Ice Age, and it was in those decades that these glaciers accumulated.

If you want to see the remaining glaciers of the Sierra Nevada, make your plans now. Since the early 1900s, the glaciers have been shrinking, and they have already lost 50-80% of the volume that existed at the time of their discovery. Glaciers are one of the most sensitive indicators of global temperature, and most of them are shrinking worldwide (a precious few are expanding, but because of increased precipitation in some areas; their climate is still warming). Many or most of the Sierra glaciers will be gone in a matter of decades. That will lead to some serious changes to the alpine climates of the Sierra, especially as they will no longer be there to provide streamflow during the driest times of the year.

It's been a long time since I was able to visit a glacier in the Sierra (it was back in 1982. It was the biggest of the Palisades glaciers, the one in the picture above, and as I stood at the base of the ice, I was able to see the Sierra's youngest natural lake, a tarn produced as the glacier receded. The lake didn't exist in 1950. It's sad that these small reminders of the awesome power of ice will soon be gone. I hope I have at least one more chance to see them up close.

The Sierra Beyond Yosemite: A Stunning Impenetrable Wall of Solid Rock

Mount Whitney from the Alabama Hills in the Owens Valley

Impenetrable. The imaginary mountain barrier surrounding Mordor in the Lord of the Rings has nothing on this real-life wall of solid granite. For more than one hundred miles, from Mono Lake south to Owens Lake and beyond, there is a 10,000+ foot high crest that divides California from the rest of the country, which stops almost all precipitation from Pacific storms, and which denied immigrants an easy path to the gold-fields of the Mother Lode.

The Wheeler Crest from Bishop in the Owens Valley

The Sierra Nevada is a barrier to travel of all kinds: paths, wagon trails, roads, and railways cross the mountains in only a few places, and those few places present serious engineering challenges. No paved roads cross the mountains for well over 150 miles between Tioga Pass in Yosemite National Park, and Walker Pass south of Sequoia National Park (The only minor exceptions: Sherman Pass, a paved former logging road is inappropriate for heavy traffic, and a dead-end road that travels to Devils Postpile). The only freeways exist at Donner Summit and Tehachapi Pass.

The Sierra beyond Yosemite provides some of the most stunning scenery on the planet. On the previous day of our fall trip we had crossed the Sierra Nevada at Sonora Pass, and explored the ghost town of Bodie, but the sun was disappearing in the west by the time we arrived at our campsite in the little town of Bishop in the Owens Valley. For those on our trip who were seeing these lands for the first time, it was a revelation to wake up to the high remote ridges of granite and metamorphic rock that towered over the flat valley floor.

Mt. Humphreys (13,996 feet) above Bishop, California in the Owens Valley

Many would say that Death Valley is the ultimate expression of basin and range style geography, and in many ways it is extraordinary, but few valleys in the world can match Owens for pure grandeur. One one flank, the Sierra Nevada rise to elevations exceeding 14,000 feet. On the other, the White Mountains average 11,000 feet, culminating in White Mountain Peak at 14,252 feet. Given the roughly 4,000 foot elevation of the floor of Owens Valley, the declivity is twice as deep as the Grand Canyon. Comparisons are unfair, of course, since the Grand Canyon is water-carved, and the Owens is of fault origin, but the scale of the landscape is grand in any case.

The origin of the wonderful scenery is a two-edged sword, of course. The faults that formed the Owens Valley are still very active. In 1872, the Owens Valley fault was responsible for one of the biggest earthquakes in the state's recorded history. The magnitude 7.8 event killed 27 people (out of a total population of around 300), and shifted the ground dozens of feet along a scarp more than eighty miles long.

The Palisades Group of peaks on the Sierra Crest from Sierra View in the White Mountains

One of the most spectacular ways to see the mountain wall is to climb into the White Mountains and see most of the Sierra escarpment from one view point. It's called (by incredible coincidence) Sierra View, which is a pullout on the equally spectacular road to the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest. From the one view, one can see the Sierra Crest from the Tioga Pass area to south of Mt. Whitney, a distance of over 100 miles. We were blessed with a clear morning despite the fires raging throughout the region.

Later in the day we drove south to Lone Pine, which lies on the floor of the Owens Valley beneath Mt. Whitney, which at 14,505 feet is the highest point in the lower 48 states. After a number of stops, we ended up at an old mine, the Reward, and watched the sun sink over the high ridges.

Sunsets for the people of the Owens Valley are different. There is no horizon over which the sun emerges or sets. There are only high ridges. When the conditions are right, the light show is wonderful.

The Sierra Beyond Yosemite: Where the Sierra Ends (maybe), and Gold

In some places it is pretty clear where the Sierra Nevada ends. For a hundred miles or more there is a solid rock wall that reaches a height of two miles in the Owens Valley. There is no mistaking that the mountains end at the cliffs above Lone Pine. Likewise, it's an unmistakeable demarcation between the flat Great Valley and the Sierra Nevada foothills. But in the central and northern Sierra Nevada, the division between "Sierra" and "not Sierra" is a line not so easily drawn.

From Mono Lake to the north, there are fault lines that mark the edge of the Sierra Nevada structural block, but they diverge from the watershed crest of the range, forming a series of north-trending ranges and valleys. These ranges, the Bodie Hills, the Sweetwater Mountains, the Pine Nut Mountains, and the Carson Range, are connected directly to the Sierra Nevada, are composed of rocks related to the Sierra Nevada, but are often considered "not" the Sierra Nevada. Geologically, the Sierra Nevada block is moving northwest from the adjacent Basin and Range province, making it a so-called "microplate", a much smaller version of the North American or Pacific tectonic plates. The mountains mentioned above are the jagged edge of the incipient plate boundary that has not yet completely separated from the rest of North America. If you are patient enough, buy up some desert scrublands  in the Great Basin of Nevada. In a few million years they may be oceanfront property!

Our journeys last fall through the "Sierra Beyond Yosemite" took us over Sonora Pass and into the lands east of the Sierra Nevada crest, a land that is both "Sierra" and "not Sierra". Our first destination was the ghost town of Bodie, between Mono Lake and Bridgeport Valley in the Bodie Hills.

"Hills" in this instance is a deceiving term. In any other setting, the Bodie Hills would be considered mountains, reaching elevations of more than 9,000 feet, and rising steeply above the Mono Basin. Still, the hills around the ghost town are more gently rolling, having not been glaciated, or deeply eroded by rivers. They lie in the rain shadow of the main Sierra crest, receiving only 12 inches of precipitation a year, making the region technically a desert (in climate terms, a dry-summer subarctic environment). Bodie competes with Barrow, Alaska as the place in America with the most freezing days per year: 308 of them on average. I just can't help thinking that this was a miserable place to live. Why would anyone...oh yeah, gold.

As I've described before, Bodie was a gold mining town. In the decades following the fabled Gold Rush, hungry miners started to explore the region east of the Mother Lode, and over the crest of the Sierra, and a lucky few found the elusive metal. W. S. Bodey was one of these; his exploration party found gold in 1859 in what later came to be known as the Bodie Hills (apparently the spelling was changed to help with the pronunciation). He may have found the gold, but he wasn't lucky. He froze to death the following year while making a supply run near Mono Lake.

The mines took some time to take off. The discovery of a rich lode in 1876 led to the development of the Standard Mine, and thousands of people came to the town of Bodie. The population peaked at 10,000 in 1880. The town developed a fearsome reputation for lawlessness, and one legend declared that a young girl, finding that Bodie would be her new home, said "Goodbye God, I'm going to Bodie". The town had its pride, too: an editor of the town newspaper insisted the punctuation was wrong; she had really said "Good, by God, I'm going to Bodie".

The mines were active for years, producing $34 million in gold (at a mixture of prices, $20/ounce in the 1800's and early 1900's, and $36/ounce in the 1930's). The gold is worth a great deal more at today's prices, perhaps $1 or 2 billion. As time went on, gold production waned, and the town began to die away. The Standard Mine shut down in 1913, although sporadic efforts at mining continued through 1942. A disastrous fire in 1932 destroyed most of the buildings in the town (only 110 of the original 2,000 buildings remain).

The gold at Bodie resulted from hydrothermal activity in the heart of a volcanic center that was active between about 14.7 and 8.0 million years ago. The field included at least 20 vents, including four trachyandesite stratovolcanoes. The town lies along the boundary between the deeply eroded Silver Hill and the Potato Peak cones, while the access road to Highway 395 meanders between the Willow Spring and Mt. Biedeman complexes. The sage covered hills reveal little of the volcanic violence that formed this landscape, but they do provide an analog for the appearance of the pre-glacial Sierra Nevada crest. The alpine topography of the present-day Sierra Nevada crest is a very recent geologic event. Without the glaciers, the Sierra Nevada would have been a different place entirely.

Today the town is a popular state park, and it has been declared California's official Gold Rush Ghost Town (as opposed to California's official Silver Rush Ghost Town in Southern California). I have a hard time envisioning a life here. I imagine that it was a relief on the coldest winter days to get out of the house or tent and get underground in the mines where it was warmer. Today, during a visit in the warm summer months, it is a photographer's playground, and an interesting place to learn about ancient Sierra Nevada geography.