While we’re completely surrounded by and dependant upon the land on which we reside, it’s probably not very often we give it more than a cursory thought. For the most part it’s stable, not very spectacular and maybe, if you’re not in the business, even boring.
Sometimes though, the land and the forces that shape it can become quite exciting indeed. I’m curious about those stories, things you’ve experienced where the Earth presented you with a scenario that was either awe inspiring or maybe necessitated some sense of urgency on your part. Has a dynamic Earth ever affected you personally and, if so, how? Have you felt the ground shake underneath you during an earthquake? Have you witnessed the eruption of a volcano or been dumped on by its ash? A tsunami perhaps from an undersea slide? Even if it’s something smaller but memorable, please share!
To start, an unusual but eminently memorable experience confronted us one day as we were collecting samples by helicopter along a transect line in the arctic tundra of the North Slope. We’d spend thirty minutes at each landing in near silence other than the wind and buzzing of mosquitoes as the chopper leapfrogged to another crew. But when we got within a couple of miles of the Colville River we began to hear loud “explosions” echoing across the plain, each several minutes apart. Curiously, as we got closer to the river they became louder and more forceful. This was puzzling because we were quite literally in the middle of nowhere, probably a hundred miles from Prudhoe, and much further still from any permanent settlement.
Finally, as we came with a mile or so of the river, we could see the cliff face of the far side rising a couple of hundred feet high and, every once in awhile, a large splash below followed by a resounding “boom.” What was happening was that being a warm day, a layer of permafrost was beginning to melt and as it did the support for tons of overlying rock would disappear and huge chunks of cliff edge would plummet to the river below with a resounding crash. To us geologists used to normally viewing erosional events of a more sedate fashion, this was fascinating and dynamic indeed.
Fortunately, I haven’t had to many earth shaking experiences, but I do have a couple bouldering stories.
Surveying in the middle of nowhere, Nevada, we came across a huge boulder that was just waiting for the merest wisp of wind to send it crashing down a very steep and long hill. We waited a few minutes but since it didn’t happen, we decided to give it some assistance.
Oooh, it was glorious! Watching and listening to that thing crashing it’s way down the hill was the high point of our week.
Unfortunately, we didn’t give much thought to where it might take up residence after it’s long journey. Didn’t have too long to wait as we encountered it blocking our exit on the way home that night.
We spent the better part of the night digging out the cut slope of the road enough to get around the boulder with a tiny shovel and jack handle.
When I was 12, I lived in Dublin, California. There was a hill called “Devil’s Hill” which we could see from our house. Every now and then my rascally friends across the streets would go hiking around that area of rural space (Hah! That was 35 years ago). Behind devils hill was a classic serpentine creek. One day we found an outcropping of soil about 1 cubic meter in diameter ready to go. It took about 15 minutes, but when it fell 15 feet, you could feel the ground vibrate as hit the ground an broke apart. Very satisfying for a 12 year olds.
A number of years ago our whole family went to Hawaii for Christmas. My brother-in-law, who was getting his doctorate in some ecological field, had a research site on the Big Island adjacent to the lava flow. We all got to walk out onto the cooling lava flow and it was an absolutely stunning experience.
The whole area was covered in gray-black hardened lava, the sulfur smell was very strong, and you could hear the slow crackle of trees on the edge of the flow burning and occasionally one would fall crashing to the ground. The ground was warm through my tennis shoes, feeling about the same as if I was walking on warm sand in my bare feet. There were a couple of “windows” or openings in the rock where you could see the flowing lava as it fed the front of the flow miles away. If you threw a branch into the window it would burst into flames before it hit the molten lava and stay in flames as it was carried away by the flow.
The experience was absolutely primal. You don’t get much more basic on earth than freshly laid lava. We did not have the time to get to the top and see the crater, or to the bottom to see it steaming in the sea, but the mid-section was amazing enough that the memory will last me a lifetime.
My visit to Yellowstone this past summer was one of the most amazing experiences ever. To be walking inside a caldera and witnessing the processes of the earth being heated from below was amazing.
Seeing areas just becoming active, and bleaching the ground and seeing the process in its various stages of development amazed me. Having a geyser go off unexpectedly as I walked by it was delightful and awe inspiring.
The sinkhole in the road by the Sulfur Caldron really brought home to me at how active Yellowstone really is. It is the one of the areas that smells the strongest of sulfur and it just appeared in the road. They blocked it off but you can see that it will probably spread. There are areas near the mud volcano that have started to dissolve the metal grates in the parking lot and they have that blocked off as well.
I’m tres jealous, Mycroft. While I too took the family to Hawaii this past Christmas, our volcanic adventures were limited to what I could procure through the ship’s directory and our caldera excursions weren’t nearly as “heated” as yours. Getting to see, hear, feel and smell the lava as you did would give you a real taste indeed.
Your described perceptions reminded me of trecking along the trails of St. Helens, carved through the debris flows and flattened forest several years after the '80 blast, looking upon a reconfigured Spirit Lake and a summit unrecognizable from its past appearance. You’re presented with a scale previously unimaginable and, without question, unforgettable.
Lilacs, I got the sense while visiting Yellowstone that even for the permanent employees every day would be different in some magical, unanticipated fashion. It was created, simplistically speaking, in the same general fashion as the aforementioned Hawaiian Islands as a plate travelled over a stationary hot spot. I’d really like to travel west from Yellowstone examining the path the hot spot burned across the continent to get a sense of what it too will one day become. Of course with the park’s present ominous swell rate, who knows what changes the park will experience in just the next few years and decades to come.
I attended UC Berkeley, and used to live in the Berkeley Hills. The Hayward Fault, which runs through the hills of Berkeley and Oakland, has not only provided me with some thrills (like me and my dog waking up in a panic in the middle of the night), it also passes under California Memorial Stadium, producing a highly visible reminder of “dynamic geology,” as well as a significant threat to life and limb.
Way-ull… I actually got out of bed for the Northridge quake and stood in a doorway. In all of the earthquakes I’ve felt, that’s the only time I’ve done that. And the freeway fell down a couple of exits east of my apartment. It was cool riding my motorcycle in total blackness that morning.
Until the Garlock/San Andreas goes again, the best I have is an incident in Yosemite*, wherein I was awakened by a very loud noise in the wee hours of the night, which I attributed to a trash truck. Turns out it was a bunch of rock falling off of Glacier Point, as my husband’s cousin explained (he works there). Scary! Almost as scary as the bear snuffling 'round my tent the year previous, but that’s another thread.
*I didn’t live here for Northridge, which affected my area somewhat. I feel sorry for the poor woman who was here for Northridge - then moved back in Japan in time for Kobe a year later.
I tried to sleep through the Sylmar earthquake of 1971. By the time our mother could rouse my sister and I out of bed to stand in the doorway, it was all over.
I was still in the Navy, deployed to Sigonella, Sicily, in the summer of '83. Etna was erupting. I was awakened one night thinking someone was kicking the foot of my bed, but I figured I was just dreaming. In the morning, I noticed some items from the top shelf of my closet had fallen to the floor. I found out we’d had a little tremor the night before.
What was really cool was standing on the deck outside my room, seeing the red of the lava flowing down the mountain. We were miles away and not in any danger, but it was still impressive. As was the ash on the railings most mornings.
I’m glad to oblige. Consider it my revenge for the awe and friendly envy you generated in me with your description of your North Slope experience. The description of just being so remote in Alaska gave me chills of wonderment; to be so remote from civilization with the majesty of Nature surrounding you. Amazing.
To hijack a bit from dynamic geology to majestic nature, I enjoy opportunities to safely experience raw nature as well. Another one that was memorable was in the Alberta Rockies. There is a spot between Banff and Jasper where you can take an excursion onto a glacier. While it is not very remote (you could still see the highway), it was definitely wondrous when the driver shut off the vehicle and all we could hear was the rushing wind and trickling water on the glacier.
Your mention of hiking along St. Helens was thought provoking as well.
My experience in Hawaii was a trip of a lifetime. (Luckily I’ve had many trips of a lifetime and plan many more. Why stop at just one?) We were fortunate to have my brother-in-law as a guide. The only thing keeping his research site* from being wiped out by the Kilauea flow was a dike from an 1800s flow. As a result, he knew the back trails to get us there without too much abuse of the rented cars.
Evaluating how quickly stripped land would regenerate growth and what order plants came back.
My personal favorite earthquake was one I wouldn’t even have noticed in a different context.
I was sitting quietly by the bank of the San Joaquin River in a meadow east of Florence Lake in the high Sierra. I heard a low rumble off in the distance to the west; the rumble grew closer, then I felt the ground shake under me for a few seconds; after which the rumble continued on up the valley …
It was the clearest sense I’ve ever gotten of how an earthquake wave is something that moves through the earth, rather than just shakes the spot you happen to be.
I too was in the Northridge quake. It was scary, but in retrospect it was also rather cool (the sheer magnitude of the earth moving like that!), though it’s a decidely odd thing to suddenly not be able to trust the ground under your feet to stay still. For the next few months, it was really common to be on the phone with somebody and they’d say, “Aftershock!” and a few seconds later it’d arrive where I was.
My other major I-am-at-the-mercy-of-the-earth experience was last summer, though it was a major wildland fire and not something where the earth was moving. It was started by lightning, though, and if it wasn’t for some expert firefighting the whole town would probably have burned. See this site for details.
The description of just being so remote in Alaska gave me chills of wonderment; to be so remote from civilization with the majesty of Nature surrounding you. Amazing.