Figured Stones or Lithified Body Parts?

The curious stones at the bottom of the illustration look very much like shark’s teeth ... strange coincidence?  From Canis carchariæ dissectum caput by N. Steno (1667).

Nicolas Steno (Niels Stensen) was born in Denmark in 1638 during the Thirty Years War, lived through a major plague epidemic, pursued studies in medicine and anatomy, and by the time he was in his late 20s was recognized as one of the greatest anatomists of the day.  In 1666 he went to Italy, converted to Catholicism, settled in Tuscany, was accepted into the Accademia del Cimento (Academy of Experiment), and gave up anatomy.  His interests had turned to what we today call geology or earth science, piqued by curious forms in the Tuscan rocks that resembled sharks’ teeth and seashells. Steno's studies soon expanded far beyond these odd rocks, tackling basic problems of stratigraphy.  He came up with three of the basic tenets of geology taught today: the law of superposition, the principle of original horizontality, and the principle of cross-cutting relationships.

Then Steno abandoned earth science.  By 1678 he had devoted his life to Catholicism, though he grew disillusioned with the religious establishment, not surprising given his genius.  He spent more and more time in contemplation, living as an emaciated ascetic until he died in 1686.

A young Nicolas Steno.  Source.

This amazing man is the subject of Alan Cutler’s The Seashell on the Mountaintop, a book about Nicholas Steno’s contributions to earth science, especially his studies of the puzzling forms in rock that looked so much like living organisms but couldn’t possibly be.  After all, how could seashells have gotten inside hard rock thousands of feet above sea level?

Perhaps they were transported by the Great Flood, but wouldn’t that require God to have created the  mountains after the flood?  There was the additional problem that some of the forms didn’t resemble any living organisms.  Of course they could be creatures that had gone extinct, but that would be counter to the widespread “knowledge” that God didn’t create things to have them go extinct.  Most likely these figured stones were created in the beginning as part of the rocks, or generated from the rocks.  After all, different forms were found in different rock types.

Steno, though a devout man, disagreed.  He maintained that the tongue stones had once been sharks' teeth and the figured stones seashells.  A great debate ensued.

Martin Lister pointed out that many figured stones bore no resemblance to living creatures, for example this one, an ammonite.  From Historiae animalium angliae (1678).  Source.

Like Steno, Agostino Scilla concluded that figured stones looked like seashells because ... they had been seashells.  Collecting lithified shells far from the sea, from Vain Speculation Undeceived by Sense (1670).

In the end Steno convincingly argued that these oddities, which we now call fossils, must have been living creatures in the past.  The implications were huge.  It meant that landscapes undergo immense change, and that the Earth has a history on a scale much greater than our own.  Thus was the science of geology born.  Steno remained a religious man through it all, considering geologic processes  to be part of the wondrous work of God.

The Seashell on the Mountaintop is great reading.  Steno the man and the birth of geology are interesting stories in and of themselves of course, but Cutler’s talent as a writer makes them even more fascinating.  I highly recommend this book (and thanks to Lockwood of Outside the Interzone for suggesting it).

Blog like an Artist

Maybe you’re like me.  Maybe you can’t quite make a living pursuing your dreams and you get a day job, thereby throwing away valuable hours that could be devoted to things you love.  Take heart ... a day job doesn’t have to be all bad.  “It puts you in the path of other human beings.  Learn from them, steal from them.”  That’s exactly what happened yesterday.  I crossed paths with Austin Kleon while while processing inter-library loans at the public library where I work part-time for health insurance. His book Steal like an Artist caught my eye.  I took it home, read it in one sitting (it's short) and now I’m stealing from it ... artistically of course.

Do you ever need a bit of inspiration to keep blogging, or motivation for the next post, or some validation?  I rarely lack ideas but there are times when I need moral support for pursuing my dreams, and I’m always grateful when I find it.  Thanks, Austin.

“Keep all your passions in your life.”  Austin Kleon.  Photo by RC Koeppel

I blog about science, but for me blogging is equally about creativity, and I’m happiest when I’m going back and forth between the quotidian and the fantastic as poet Seamus Heaney explained so well.  Austin’s book effectively encouraged me to keep trying, so I ordered two copies -- one for myself and one to circulate among like-minded friends.

But why steal?  This stealing isn’t plagiarism but rather influence.  When we create, we launch ourselves from the works and ideas of those we admire.  Study, write in their style, get into their heads, copy their work to see what all is there.

“Art is theft.”  Pablo Picasso

“Start copying what you love.  Copy copy copy copy.  At the end of the copy you will find yourself.”  Yohji Yamamoto (Kleon liberally “steals” advice from others, in the form of quotes).

So steal ideas ... lots of ideas.  “Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination” (Jim Jarmusch).  And be ready -- stash stuff in that sketch book or scrapbook or swipe file that you carry with you as much as possible.

Stealing is a prominent theme but hardly the only one.  Nourishing creativity is another. Kleon's discussion of analog and digital tools was perhaps the most helpful thing I found in the book, at least for now:

“The computer is really good for editing your ideas ... but it’s not really good for generating ideas.  There are too many opportunities to hit the delete key.  The computer brings out the uptight perfectionist in us -- we start editing ideas before we have them.”

Ah -- so true!  He suggests having two work spaces -- an analog one where “work is born” and a digital one where work is executed.

And there’s the requisite advice for writer’s block, in Creativity is Subtraction.  It’s perhaps counter-intuitive that we can free ourselves by limiting our options, but I think this is sound advice.  “Nothing is more paralyzing than the idea of limitless possibilities” so choose a few constraints.  Guideposts and guardrails help us move forward more confidently.

Geography is no longer our master is especially relevant to blogging.  Like Austin, “I’m so glad I’m alive right now” (from PDF version).  The blogosphere provides a huge pool of potential readers for our masterpieces -- an audience for sharing the things that excite us.  But there are rules to follow and pitfalls to be avoided.  We especially need to Be Nice.

Austin's advice for plant bloggers.

The book ends with pragmatic advice, such as the day-job recommendation above and guidance on time-management and consistency.  I found some of this useful (have a schedule; write every day), while other things might work better for other personality types (calendars, logs).

I'm recommending this book because I found it so helpful, especially since motivation has been a bit scarce recently.  Now I’m ready to get back to that blanket of loess that covered eastern Washington before it was ravaged by Ice Age Mega-floods.  More soon.

Driving across the remains of the Palouse Prairie.

Kleon, Austin.  2012.  Steal like an artist:  10 things nobody told you about being creative.  $8.56 + postage at Amazon, $9.99 as an iBook.

Austin discusses creativity at TEDxKC:  Steal like an Artist (11:15).

Of Mosses and Mountains II and AW #60

The Apennines -- home to momentous discoveries in geology.

As mentioned earlier, my summer reading included two outstanding books about natural history.  The first, Gathering Moss by Robin Kimmerer (reviewed here), is about the miniature fairy-tale world of mosses.  The second concerns the other extreme -- a world at an almost-incomprehensible scale where landscapes are as ephemeral as patches of moss.  This is The Mountains of Saint Francis, by Walter Alvarez (W.W. Norton, 2008; also recommended by Rapid Uplift and About.com Geology).

As hinted at in the subtitle -- Discovering the geologic events that shaped our earth -- Alvarez uses the Apennines of Italy as a venue for describing great discoveries in geology.  He tells of the brilliance of the discoverers, the far-reaching effects of their discoveries, and the generally reluctant acceptance by colleagues.

How nice that the topic for this month’s Accretionary Wedge happens to be Momentous Discoveries in Geology!  Thanks to Matt at Geosphere for his timely choice :-)

“The discovery you choose does not have to be universally recognized as momentous but should be in your opinion. It could be something that we take for granted every day, but is in actuality part of the underpinnings of our science.”

After reading The Mountains of Saint Francis, my choice is the very basic realization that the Earth changes at a scale well beyond that of our lifetimes.  We might see a volcano pour out massive amounts of ash, or suffer through a destructive earthquake, but these are just minor events.  Consider that mountain ranges are uplifted and then worn away, and that continents move around, collide, split and even sink, coming apart in the process. Humans can only experience these kinds of changes with their imaginations, and even that wasn't always possible.

Who was it that “discovered” that the Earth has a history well beyond what is witnessed by humans?  Alvarez credits Nicolas Steno (1638-1686), often considered the founder of geology.  So the Earth changes ... I certainly take this for granted, it seems so obvious! But in Steno’s day it wasn’t easy to convince people that seemingly abiding landscapes are ephemeral.

Source.

Fossils were the key to Steno’s “discovery”, allowing him to argue convincingly that the hills around Tuscany once were sediments on the ocean floor, even though no human had seen nor recorded such a spectacular change.  At the time, fossils were considered growths within rocks in spite of obvious similarities to living organisms.  Steno was not the first to propose that fossils were once alive, but his careful studies and convincing arguments led to general acceptance.  He saw the problem as one of explaining “a solid body naturally contained within a solid” (De solido intra solidum naturaliter contento), and noted that:

If a fossil had grown within a rock it would distort or crack the rock, which was never the case.

Many fossils appeared to be falling apart rather than growing; in fact discrete fossils sometimes fit together perfectly.

Fossils were never distorted in shape, contrary to what would happen if growing in hard rock (like tree roots).

Fossil shells were sometimes found in clusters, arranged just as they are in the ocean.

Steno reasoned that rocks containing fossils and other solids had once been fluid, and had hardened around those solid objects.  Thus seashells fossilized in the mountains had once lived in the ocean, i.e. the mountains had not always been there.  The Earth has undergone huge changes; it has a history, which geologists have been working to unravel ever since.

"One sins against the majesty of God by being unwilling to look into nature's own works and contenting oneself with reading others" said Bishop Steno.

Steno’s mind in action must have been awesome to behold.  From his study of fossils, he went on to explain layered rocks (principle of original horizontality) and how they can provide powerful insight into the history of the Earth (law of superposition).  No wonder Steno is considered the Father of Stratigraphy.

Obviously Steno was an open-minded and visionary thinker.  And I suspect he wasn't afraid of the unknown ... that he did not feel obligated to fit everything into existing stories, which of course would have limited his amazing thinking.

“Fair is what we see, Fairer what we have perceived, Fairest what is still in veil.”

Modified from source.

Of Mosses and Mountains, I (recommended reading)

Moss with sporophytes growing on brick.

“Mysterious and little-known organisms live within reach of where you sit.  Splendor awaits in minute proportions.”  E.O. Wilson, by way of Robin Kimmerer.

I’m a summer reading underachiever.  I finished only five books before our public library’s program ended.  But quality made up for quantity.  Among the five were two excellent natural history books including Gathering Moss by Robin Kimmerer, about the diminutive fairy-tale-like world of mosses.

Mosses are small, as Kimmerer emphasizes right away, and the reasons and implications are fascinating.  First, most of us bigger folk ignore them ... including myself, a botanist. The plants of my world are vascular and generally grow at a scale that’s easy for me to experience.  Mosses are not; without vascular tissue they can’t transport water and nutrients very far at all, nor can they make the support structures that would enable them to grow tall.  So they live as tiny little plants in an enchanting world, which Kimmerer ably and entertainingly describes.

The enchanting world of mosses.  Kunstformen der Natur, plate 72: Muscinae by Ernst Haeckel, 1904.

Being small has advantages.  Mosses can inhabit the narrow boundary layer just above a surface, where any irregularities, including the moss plants themselves, slow the air and trap heat and moisture.  Those moss mats on downed logs have created their own greenhouse of sorts.  Even better, in the stillness of that thin layer the waste products of decomposers accumulate and benefit the mosses:

“the boundary layer can provide not only a favorable microclimate for moss growth, but also an enhanced supply of carbon dioxide, the raw material of photosynthesis.  Why live anywhere else?”

Pattern of air flow over a moss carpet.  From Gathering Moss.

Reduced water stress in the boundary layer is especially important because moss “leaves” are only one cell thick, with no protective cuticle.  That’s why we often find them where it’s shady, cool and moist, for example on the north sides of trees, or on rock outcrops along a mountain stream (below).

  Moss “branches” less than 1 cm long, moistened by spray from creek.

At the same time, mosses are tough pioneers.  Think about it.  Where do we see them? -- on downed logs, bare rock, brick walls, gravestones and other open or disturbed habitat.  Once established, they can trap dispersing seeds and provide suitable habitat for germination.  Eventually an entire community of plants may develop where once there was just a patch of moss:

“Aimee and I would rest on hot afternoons in a little grove of aspens that had somehow gotten started in this desolate place [mine tailings] that everyone wanted to cover in garbage.  We know now that these aspens originated from seeds caught on a patch of moss, and the whole island of shade began to grow from there.  The trees brought birds and the birds brought berries ... which now blossom around us ... sheltered from the harsh conditions of the mine, a few maple seedlings were holding their own.  Brushing aside the leaf litter, we uncovered the remnants of Polytrichum [moss], the first plants to begin healing the land, making it possible for others to follow.”

And there are creatures in the "moss forests" -- huge numbers of them.  The diversity and abundance of invertebrates in tropical forest mosses is astounding:

“One gram of moss from the forest floor, a piece the size of a muffin, would harbor 150,000 protozoa, 132,000 tardigrades, 3000 springtails, 800 rotifers, 500 nematodes, 400 mites, and 200 fly larvae.”

Why so rich?  Those apparently simple little mosses that we see actually are quite complex from the perspective of invertebrates, with a great diversity of habitats.  And those habitats are moist.  Could it be that the early stages of insect evolution, from aquatic to terrestrial, took place among mosses?

Not surprisingly, Kimmerer is a staunch advocate for mosses, and as it turns out, they need advocates.  Over-harvest increasingly threatens to wipe out mosses over large areas. Oregon Green Moss and other such products may sound wonderful and even eco-friendly, but the material that lines flower baskets, airport concourses and “wherever Mother Nature’s touch is wanted” comes at a cost.  Huge amounts of epiphytic mosses are harvested illegally in the Pacific Northwest.  While the legal quota is 230,000 kilograms per year, the actual take is estimated to be thirty times that.  Might moss awareness help?

Being a natural history geek, I find moss stories enchanting in themselves, but I also was taken by Kimmerer's writing.  She's a bryologist; moss research is her thing and her stories are largely science-based.  They are clear -- easy to follow and understand.  But equally appealing is her way of writing with wonder and awe and mystery, and of inspiring those feelings in the (this) reader.  I've always found mosses, with their miniature worlds and magical names, to be suggestive of fairy tales and perhaps even the abode of fairies, elves and goblins.  Kimmerer's explanations of moss biology and ecology don't detract from these feelings at all.  Of course I don’t really believe in fairy-tale worlds, but I’d sure like to!  Perhaps one day I will find one, if I pay closer attention to mosses.

The luminous Goblin’s Gold (Schistostega pennata), growing down a rabbit-hole!

 By jerebarker, at iSpot.

What about those mountains in the post title?  They are the The Mountains of Saint Francis, by Walter Alvarez.  This is the other highly-recommended book I read this summer, and the subject of a post coming soon.

Recommended reading -- Weeds

“Beware the triffids ... they grow ... know ... walk ... talk ...stalk ... and KILL!”
Movie poster for The Day of the Triffids, 1963.

Weeds have a bad reputation.  They invade gardens, croplands and wildlands, and we dig, pull and spray in response, often at great expense.  They can inspire a fear almost as great as the terror of the triffids -- those genetically-modified plants (in 1963!) that stalked, stung and killed people, and then ate them.  Last week I found the dreaded field bindweed in my garden.  I dug deep in pursuit of its insidious root system, and burned the whole lot in the wood stove.

Field bindweed aka creeping jenny, Convolvulus arvensis.  Photo by Bouba.

Is this level of anxiety justified?  Not always.  Weeds are wrapped up in a tangle of definitions, values and judgements that change with time and human taste.  Richard Mabey provides an interesting and entertaining account of it all in Weeds: in Defense of Nature’s Most Unloved Plants (2010).

Weeds often are defined simply as undesirable plants, but “undesirable” is a matter of context.  Furthermore, in some contexts the marvelous adaptations of weeds can benefit humans -- their prolific offspring, able to travel far and wide, means that something will be growing almost everywhere.

Left: ivy-leaved toadflax, Cymbalaria muralis, has colonized a wall. Its nicknames speak to the ability of weeds to spread far and wide -- traveling-sailor, mother-of-thousands.  By SP-KP.

Below:  vervain (Verbena bracteata, left) and knotweed (Polygonum sp.) take advantage of open habitat in asphalt.  The vervain's leaves are about 5mm across.

Knotweed, tumbleweed and kochia weed, bane of my garden, grow in profusion just upwind of our neighborhood where the State recently “improved” the grounds around the Territorial Prison.  We would miss them if they weren't there.  Like many weeds, they colonize disturbed sites, hold the soil in place, and keep it from turning to dust in the wind.  For this I am grateful though I regularly chase tumbleweeds from my yard.

As Mabey repeatedly points out, a weed to one person or in one place or at one time can be a treasure in a different setting.  His examples are fascinating.  Most memorable are the trench gardens of World War I.  Soldiers used scraps of battle debris to fence small plots where they transplanted weeds from nearby fields.  And of course there were the poppies:

“Red poppies, and a blue flower, great masses of them, stretched for miles and miles.  The sky was a pure dark blue, and the whole air, up to a height of about forty feet, thick with white butterflies.  It was like an enchanted land; but in the place of faeries, there were thousands of little white crosses ...” William Orpen, An Onlooker in France 1917-1919

“We are the dead.  Short days ago we lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow ...”
From In Flanders Fields by John McCrae.  Photo source unknown.

Archeological evidence and paleoenvironmental reconstruction show that plants always have moved around in response to change, and Mabey includes detailed accounts of specific comings and goings of weedy plants.  Might these traveling plants play a helpful role in the face of climate change?  Today’s newcomers, though unwanted at present, may be the first arrivals of vegetation that will support us in a warmer world.

Weeds are not a simple issue, as the author makes clear. While some are obvious threats, others should be addressed with reason rather than reaction.  Is it reasonable to douse them with broadcast herbicides year after year, especially when we're making little or no progress in the battle?

This book focuses on Britain and Europe, with less coverage of weeds elsewhere.  Mabey acknowledges the wide variation in weed danger across the world.  It is much worse on isolated land masses such as Australia and Hawaii, whereas other ecosystems, such as his own, appear to be more resilient or resistant to invasion.

Also reflective of the author's background is the abundant British English, which made me scratch my head at times but never enough to detract from the wonderful reading.  And my vocabulary has expanded ... now I know a verge when I see one!

verge |vərj| noun

Brit. a grass edging such as that by the side of a road or path.

(Oxford American Dictionaries)

Dandelion, sow thistle, evening primrose, yellow sweet clover and kochia weed
spread out from the verge, intent on taking back the streets.

The Many Mysteries of Rock

A rock climber marvels at the undulating thin cracks on Devils Tower ... how convenient!

Climbers know the rock they climb on intimately.  They know the basic types -- sandstone, limestone, granite.  They are experts on the nature of the rock surface, whether it is smooth or has features -- tiny crimper edges, big buckets, knobs, pockets, slopers, jugs.  They are acutely aware of the angle of the rock face and its height.  They know the nature of the fractures -- narrow vs. wide, undulating vs. parallel -- critical for hand and foot holds and gear placement.  They worry about the competence of the rock; might those hand holds or even an anchor bolt pull out?  Climbers clearly are a ready audience for stories about the geology of their playgrounds.

“Why are there so many offwidths at Vedauwoo?” Jason
Haas wonders, as he makes his way up Main Street (5.10a).

Many climbing guidebooks include something about the geology of the area, but these explanations typically are brief, sometimes just the rock type and its age.  Fortunately there is an alternative.  Flakes, Jugs, and Splitters: A Rock Climber's Guide to Geology, by geologist/climber Sarah Garlick, covers 50 climbing areas in North America as well as some in Africa, Asia, Australia, Antarctica, South America and Europe.  This is an ambitious project!  Climbing areas vary widely in rock type and geologic history, and most include at least one geologic mystery.  A lengthy paper could be written on each I’m sure.

The book begins with “Geology 101” -- introductory material including geologic time, rock classification and formation (even the tricky classification of granites), plate tectonics, uplift, and weathering/erosion.  The main part of the book is organized by climbing area within geographic regions.  It would be impossible to provide comprehensive explanations for each, and so Garlick focuses instead on specific geologic features, for example the steepness of New River Gorge in West Virginia, the high elevations of the Rockies in Colorado, the parallel-sided splitter cracks of Indian Creek in Utah, and the cavernous hollowed-out huecos of Hueco Tanks in Texas.  Each section starts with a question:  “Why are there big walls in Zion?”, “What are all those chicken heads at Cochise Stronghold?”, “Why isn’t there rock climbing in Florida?”

How old are the Grand Tetons? ... depends on what you mean.  They are composed of some of the oldest rock in North America (the granite is 2.5 billion years old, the gneiss 2.7!) but are among the youngest mountains, uplifted less than 2 million years ago.

Though organized by area and focused on specific features, the book includes more than just local geology.  Garlick does a good job of describing the bigger picture.  For me, the explanations of plate movements, collisions, rifts, jostling and passive margins and how they relate to climbing areas are the most interesting parts of the book.  For example, we can’t explain the Gunks in New York without invoking 1) mountain-building 450 million years ago when a chain of islands collided with the eastern margin of North America, resulting in erosion and deposition of sediments that would become the hard conglomerate we climb on; and 2) tectonic compression 300 to 250 million years ago during the formation of Pangaea that tilted the strata and produced those bomber holds, making some of the big Gunks roofs surprisingly easy to climb.  Thank you plate tectonics.

Bigggg roof but only 5.8.  Photo by Mike Freeman, from Dick DuMais'
Shawangunk Rock Climbing, 1985.  Posted at SuperTopo.

A well-illustrated brief overview of the history of the Appalachian Mountains is presented in a three-page “sidebar”, providing the context for many of the climbing areas in the eastern US.  A similar approach is used for the Rockies (“A Short History of Colorado”).  Other shorter sidebars explain diverse topics such as the multitude of granite plutons in California, the Ancestral Rockies and the mysterious Gunks quartz.  There are ample illustrations of geologic phenomena and processes throughout:  plate tectonics, uplifts and basins, stratigraphic columns, salt anticlines, metamorphic core complexes, ancient landscapes and many more.  And of course there are spectacular photographs of crags and climbers.  This is a book worth perusing from cover to cover, in addition to studying one’s favorite crags -- perhaps a good diversion for rainy days.

Excerpt from "A Short History of Colorado"; click to view.

Given the number and diversity of rock climbing areas, this kind of book can provide only a quick look at a selection of crags.  For example, discussion of Devils Tower includes just one of the theories behind this puzzling rock, but that’s understandable -- it has proven to have a history mysterious enough to support multiple possible explanations.  Less than a page is devoted to Yosemite Valley, in spite of its important place in the history of climbing (but see also the granite of the Sierra Nevada).  The Adirondacks are omitted entirely.  Even so, I think Garlick has made good choices about what to include; the result is a collection of interesting wide-ranging stories about the diverse materials and histories of the mountains and rocks we climb.

If you are a geologically-challenged climber, this book will make a bit of a geologist out of you and I bet you will enjoy it, even though sections may prove to be somewhat technical (a glossary would have helped).  If you are a geologist that climbs, the book provides introductory material as well as references for further research.  I am an amateur geologist and casual climber -- for me, it was a great read and will be a good reference in the future.

Flakes, Jugs, and Splitters: A Rock Climber's Guide to Geology by Sarah Garlick.  2009.  FalconGuides.  Paperback, 224 pages, ISBN 0762748370.  $13.59 from Amazon

F, J, & S won Best Book in the Mountain Exposition category at the 2009 Banff Mountain Film Festival.

Other reviews can be found at:

About.com on climbing

The climber website summitpost.org

Rock and Ice magazine

Recommended Reading: Geology of Northern New Mexico’s Parks, Monuments, and Public Lands

Rio Grande Gorge in northern New Mexico, USA.  Courtesy BLM.

In 2009 I took my first road trip through northern New Mexico and discovered that it is a wonderful place for geo-tripping.  The geology is visible and scenic, the stories are fascinating, and it is easy to find information online.  The New Mexico Bureau of Geology and Mineral Resources (NMBGMR) has put together a great Virtual Geologic Tour website, which was the basis for much of my planning.  The Bureau of Land Management’s Outdoor Recreation website for the area also was helpful.

The state of New Mexico advertises itself as the Land of Enchantment, but it is also called The Volcanic State and that definitely was my impression.  I toured a series of late Cenozoic volcanic fields (15 million years ago to present), all located near the Jemez Lineament, a zone of crustal weakness trending northeast - southwest across northern New Mexico, possibly an old (Precambrian) continental suture.

Generalized tectonic and volcanic map of northern New Mexico.  VF = volcanic field.

Courtesy USGS.

My first stop was in the Taos Volcanic Field, at the Wild Rivers Recreation Area (BLM) in the Rio Grande Rift.  The Rift runs north-south from southern Colorado through New Mexico and into Texas and Mexico.  This is a zone of east-west extension and continental thinning between the Colorado Plateau to the west and the High Plains to the east.

Courtesy BLM.

The Rio Grande follows this broad valley created by rifting, and has cut spectacular gorges in basalt, including those at the Wild Rivers Recreation Area.  I had planned to stay two nights but spent a week instead.  There is great hiking and geology touring in the Recreation Area and in many places nearby.

From the Rio Grande Rift I headed west to the Colorado Plateau and stopped at El Malpais (“the bad country”) in the Zuni-Bandera Volcanic Field near Grants.  The youngest lava flows of El Malpais are only 3000-5000 years old, and still show flow features such as pahoehoe lava, a-a lava and lava tubes.  I explored the rugged flows, and did some neat hikes to cinder cones.  Photo above and map below from NMBGMR Virtual Tours.

To the north of El Malpais is the Mount Taylor Volcanic Field.  Mount Taylor itself is a classic composite volcano (alternating layers of ash and lava) and a great hike.  From the summit one can look east to see Cabezon Peak and the Rio Puerco Volcanic Necks, another good field trip.  Photo and cross-section from NMBGMR Virtual Tours. 

My first geo-trip to northern New Mexico ended before I could get to even half of what I had planned.  I’ve been back twice and still have things I want to see.  And now the NMBGMR’s great online information has been expanded and compiled into a book:  Geology of Northern New Mexico’s Parks, Monuments, and Public Lands.

The book includes 44 localities in the area from Interstate 40 north, all on public land, including National Parks and Monuments, State Parks, National Forest and Bureau of Land Management lands.  It starts with an overview of the geology of New Mexico from Precambrian time to the present, followed by sites grouped by region -- Colorado Plateau, Southern Rocky Mountains, Great Plains, Rio Grande Rift and Valles Caldera.  Each section has a discussion of the geology of that region and then detailed treatments of the sites of interest.  Most include a generalized geological map overlain on a shaded relief base, often a cross-section, and other diagrams and photographs -- very well illustrated especially considering the modest price.

The goal of the book was to compile the wealth of information “buried” in the scientific literature in a format accessible to laypeople interested in geology:

“... we wanted to provide a compilation for the layperson of the basic geologic framework of each of these areas, paying particular attention to the rock that is exposed at the surface and the geologic features that are most conspicuous ... to present visitors with a summary of what we currently know about these places, in a format that is inviting and easy to understand.”

Based on my experience the authors have done a terrific job in achieving their goal.

For those interested in more detail, an excellent complement is the New Mexico Geological Society’s The Geology of New Mexico:  a geologic history (2004).  This is a collection of technical papers “organized chronologically according to the major depositional and tectonic events in the history of the state.”   The Table of Contents can be viewed here.

These books and others can be ordered at the NMBGMR website or by phone (575-835-5490).

The Geology of Northern New Mexico’s Parks, Monuments, and Public Lands.  L. Greer Price, ed.  2010.  New Mexico Bureau of Geology and Mineral Resources.  $24.95 (paperback)

The Geology of New Mexico - A Geologic History.  Greg H. Mack and Katheine A.Giles, eds. 2004.  New Mexico Geological Society  Special Volume - 11.  $45.00 (hardcover)

Recommended Reading: Sand by Michael Welland

November was extremely sandy this year.  In the middle of the month events conspired to produce Sand Dune Week, celebrated by bloggers in a spontaneous carnival of sorts.   And a steady stream of interesting posts by Sandatlas, with glittering photos of jewel-like sand grains from around the world, has become a regular part of my blog reading.  Finally, I read Sand:  The never-ending story by Michael Welland, which I enthusiastically recommend (see About the Reviewer below).

Welland blogs at Through the Sandglass, where one learns that he is a professional geologist of some kind and that his knees “appropriately make the sound of crunching sand grains”.  The reasons for his extensive knowledge about sand are otherwise a mystery.  But knowledgeable he clearly is, and he takes the reader on a wide-ranging tour of sand and sand-related topics.  Rather than trying to summarize this diverse material, I present here a stratified random sampling of pages and topics (well ... stratified anyway).

1 -- How land was created from sand grains by a raven, seal and frog.

26 -- The role of sand in archeological dating.

51 -- Granular materials: wet sand and sculpture. 

76 -- Sand as a metaphor for uncountability, immeasurability.

91 -- Meanders and point bars, a very interesting section omitted by my sampling strategy.

101 -- The sand grain we have been following from its source in central New York state has reached the Valley and Ridge Province, and counterintuitively passes through water gaps in the resistant Mauch Chunk sandstone.

126 -- Beach ripples.

151 -- Thanks to wind, or the god Aeolus, desert sand moves -- and people spend a lot of time trying to keep it at bay.

176 -- Mummification.

201 -- The breakup of Pangea and the New Red Sandstone that resulted.

226 -- Famous artists added sand to paint for texture.

251 -- Artificial islands have been created from sand, including a mind-boggling project to create coastline (i.e. expensive real estate) in Dubai.

276 -- Sand dunes on Titan (largest of Saturn’s moons).

301 -- The author’s “addiction” to the desert, his journey in the footsteps of Ralph Bagnold, and his “desert things”, including 28-million-year-old Libyan desert glass (from which the scarab in Tutankhamun’s necklace was made).

My “synopsis” probably suggests a disjointed approach, but that is not the case.  This is an coherent, enjoyable and thought-provoking exploration of sand.

[This book has also been published as Sand:  A journey through science and the imagination.]

About the Reviewer  It's probably helpful to know something about a book reviewer’s reading preferences.  My reading is almost entirely non-fiction and heavily biased toward natural history.  I especially like to learn and think about things.  I am easily distracted when reading and won’t stick with a book unless it is engaging.

Tibetan Buddhist monks create a sand mandala, Auburn University.

Recommended reading: Oaxaca Journal by Oliver Sacks

In pursuit of ferns, Sacks and friends travel to Oaxaca, Mexico -- a hot spot for pteridophytes, with at least 690 species.  His journal is entertaining and thought-provoking.  Sacks describes the ferns and the fern-seekers themselves, an interesting bunch as one would expect.  He speculates about the societies of the Zapotecs and Aztecs, and the important plants:  corn and beans, tobacco, cacao, and plant-derived hallucinogens that may explain some rock art (Sacks the neurologist hints at the possibility of escaping the confines of our mental constructs).  Fern-lovers, pre-Colombian Indians and Sacks himself are the the subjects of his continuing exploration of life -- looking for "the relationships and activities, the practices and skills, the beliefs and goals, the ideas and dreams, that make for a full human life."