Drunk on rocks

Every now and then I come upon sights in the field that transfix me, that make me stop and stare, that suspend time. This is not uncommon with landscapes, of course — that’s why our phones are full of vacation pictures and why I have so many photos to share in these posts. It probably happens a lot less often with rocks, except among geologists and maybe not all of them either.

A few examples. It happened to me this spring at this sandstone roadcut on Bitterwater Valley Road west of Blackwells Corner.

Granite stoned me in the fall of 2006 just east of Donner Pass.

It happened to me in June 2012 a little west of Copperopolis. (I was bringing back a piece of this slate I’d taken two years earlier.)

One day in 2008 I found myself lost in the landscape of this ancient Nevada limestone.

And Oakland rocks can affect me that way too, like this serpentinite in Joaquin Miller Park’s native plant nursery did in 2010.

It can be a little embarrassing when you’re supposed to have your geologist’s eye engaged, and all you can do is stand there stunned. Being drunk on rocks is a subset of an experience I call field intoxication. Professionals need to get over the tendency, and teachers probably see their students fall prey to it, but I can let the high happen even in the presence of experts. That’s a writer’s privilege.

The last time it occurred, and gave me the topic for this post, was in Oakland this summer when John Wakabayashi, a leading figure in California geology and an Oakland native, accepted my invitation to visit some choice localities in his old home town. The finale of the tour was the pod of high-grade blueschist on the grounds of Mills College. I’ve featured it here before.

I knew he’d like it, and in fact he was delighted. He got animated. He climbed around, waved his hands and pointed out telltale features. He didn’t seem drunk at all. But while I noted what he was saying, I sat down dazzled into stillness. You see, this time the outcrop was clean after the spring rains and fully illuminated by the high July sun. I’d never seen it that way before. The rock shone blue as brilliant as the sky itself, and at all points it glittered with minute crystals and mineral flakes. All I could do was let this light wash over and into me, a sauna of stars. Knowing the camera was helpless to capture the moment, I didn’t attempt a photo. (Sorry.)

That’s getting drunk on rocks. Keep your eyes open and it might happen to you.

2 Responses to “Drunk on rocks”

  1. Chuck Karish Says:

    I felt this way on a rainy day in 1980 while I walked across a wave-cut bench at Point Sal that exposed sheeted dikes of the Coast Range Ophiolite. The rocks were so fresh and so perfectly exposed that I was hypnotized while I tried to understand all the intrusive relationships.

  2. deb3901 Says:

    So poetically written – “a sauna of stars!” I have no special knowledge of geology, but have always loved the look (and smell!) of rocks on a rainy day.

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