August 3, 2013 Point Lobos State Natural Reserve, part 3
This post is part of a series. To read the first post, click here. To see more Point Lobos photos, click here.
We left the cypress trees and traded one breathtaking landscape for another. On the Sand Hill Trail, we found ourselves in a wide-open world of coastal scrub and views whose loveliness strained our abilities to articulate. We decided to save Sea Lion Point for last, when the sun was setting; it would be the scenic version of dessert for us that day. We walked south along the ocean's edge, far above Sea Lion Cove and Sand Hill Cove. When we turned around to look at where we'd been, we saw Headland Cove glowing in the setting sun, its cargo of cypress luminous above the red and yellow rock walls.
To our left was a coastal plain hosting a wide variety of fragrant plants like sage and mock heather. Below us we saw Sea Lion Point, flecked with the tiny figures of other hikers. Directly before us, the southern shoreline of Point Lobos lay stretched out in front of darkening clouds, its forested hills rising above the rocky shore. The seawater showed a marvelous range of blues, different from the shades I'd seen earlier on the northern side of the point. These blues were less green, more purple, with a liquid mercury sheen. I always enjoy that moment near sunset when the ocean takes on a gunmetal tint, and I especially loved it at Point Lobos that day, where the earth tones of the bedrock complemented it perfectly.
From our trail on the bluff I did some more lens switching, torn between the wide-angle lens, with its ability to encompass the peninsula, and the 85mm lens, which picked out the bright clothing and lengthening shadows of the people who explored below. The more I shot the scrub-covered promontory with its foamy waterline, the more I wanted to go down there and scoop up the gravel on the beach with my hands. Eventually we all acknowledged that shared urge and started down Sea Lion Point Trail together. This route begins as a sandy path, then becomes a climb down rocks and steep stairs to the lowest point by the water. We scrambled around on the pebbly cape, each person drawn to his or her own favorite rock shapes and lookout spots, just like earlier in the day on the north shore. Only this time, the colors around us were brown and red, yellow and black, a pleasing contrast to the white rocks and emerald green ice plants of Granite Point.
At the bottom of the hill, we peered out at the sea lions, the famed lobos marinos of Point Lobos. They occupied their own set of tiny islands, separated from us by crashing waves. My 85mm lens was not long enough to get me close to these creatures, but we could hear them barking out there, enjoying what surely must be one of the most picturesque sea lion homes in a whole coastline of scenic habitats.
I took endless pictures of these rocks and wondered how they got to be the way they were. What accounts for the contrast between the landscapes of Granite Point and Sea Lion Point? Later I did some research and found out how it happened. I don't have any training in geology except for one course in college, so my research involves a lot of reading and re-reading various sources and straining my brain to put it all together in a way that makes sense. I find this kind of information very difficult to grasp, but I feel an irresistible compulsion to understand what went down all those millions of years ago. When I finally get it, I feel vastly comforted.
Someday I will take another geology course or two, and all kinds of lightbulbs will probably illuminate themselves over my head, and I won't have to struggle so much to interpret my pictures of rocks. In the meantime, I will carry on with my amateurish attempts to figure out what's going on in photos like the ones below. Geologically, I mean.
You might remember that I mentioned the Santa Lucia Granodiorite when describing Granite Point in the first post. This granodiorite was originally magma deep inside a chain of volcanoes that cooled 100 million years ago and rose to the surface over the next 40 million years. Much like the Pinnacles, this formation did not begin its life in the same place where it now sits. 70 million years ago, it was located about 1200 miles to the south near Baja California, Mexico. Then plate tectonics got involved in the situation. Once again, as with the Pinnacles, the transform boundary between the Pacific and North American Plates was at fault. (Pun not consciously intended, I promise.) This transform boundary caught up a piece of continental crust, now called the Salinian Block, and moved it northward to where it is today. The Santa Lucia Granodiorite was part of this block.
As it moved north, the Salinian Block was brought to the top and eroded. Raised above sea level, it was carved by rivers and streams to form a system of valleys and canyons on its surface. 60 million years ago, the block was submerged again, and the canyons finally filled with water, to remain filled for the next 58 million years or so. With the subsiding of the Salinian Block, the Carmelo Formation began to take shape within those underwater valleys.
Down here on Sea Lion Point, and in much of the rest of Point Lobos, the crumbly-looking Carmelo Formation covers the Santa Lucia Granodiorite. Like the granodiorite, it started its life somewhere else, but not quite as far away as the whitish rock underneath it. As I mentioned in the first post, the pebbles in the Carmelo Foundation are volcanic in origin, probably from Jurassic volcanic rock in the Mojave Desert area. Rivers washing down lava from volcanic mountains brought these pebbles into the ocean, polishing them smooth on the way. The Carmelo Formation was created about 1500-4500 feet below current sea level, when underwater avalanches swept gravel, sand, and mud into the previously mentioned submarine canyons of granodiorite. This deposit of material settled into the valleys and then, under pressure, solidified into pebbly conglomerate layered with sandstone.
20 million years ago, tectonic forces moved this plate to the north by 250 miles, to where it sits today. Then, when sea levels fell at the beginning of the ice ages of 2 million years ago, erosion from wind and water chewed away at the coastline. Sea levels continued to rise and and fall as the ice ages began and ended. Finally, six thousand years ago, sea levels stabilized to roughly where they are now, and the whole gorgeous thing was exposed for everyone's viewing pleasure. Further erosion made the coastline even more jagged and beautiful.
Geologists get very excited about the chance to see examples of submarine canyon deposits, as these are quite rare. Those crazy rock scientists come from all over the world to study the Carmelo Formation at Point Lobos. It's easy to understand their enthusiasm for this stuff when you get close to it. The mixture of rounded pebbles of all colors with creamy sandstone is intriguing even to the non-scientist. Many visitors say this is their favorite part of the park.
If we had gone further south on the shores of Point Lobos, we would have seen even more variations of the Carmelo Formation, as well as more areas where the granodiorite is exposed. On the south shore, the granodiorite has dissolved into white sand beaches, and wide swaths of sandstone display fascinating holes known as concretions. We didn't have time to walk South Shore Trail, or to see the famous China Cove, a white sand beach with turquoise water. We'd spent all day at a reserve one mile long and one mile wide, and we had only seen a portion of what it has to offer. It's scary to think that a place like this could be turned into a subdivision. I'm glad some forward-thinking nature lovers put a stop to that nonsense.
Once the sun had set, it was time to leave. I found it hard to quit taking pictures; I walked backward as long as I could, getting shots of the golden light on the water, the cypress trees, the cliffs. Heaving huge sunset end-of-a-wonderful-day sighs.
To get back to our car, we walked through woods again, now on the Lace Lichen Trail. This trail, a soft bed of fallen needles in a pine grove, passed captivating arrangements of lace lichen that swayed in the breeze. I'd switched to the 85mm lens again and was impressed with how well it could handle the twilight ambience of the forest. Once our vehicle was in motion, we decided to try to catch the last bit of sunset at the beach I'd spotted from Granite Point, the Carmel River State Beach. The sun had already dipped below the horizon when we got there, but the view was spectacular at that moment. In the first photo below, I love how the fire in the clouds above Point Lobos and the dusky shimmer of the ocean are separated by the shadowy trees and footprinted sand.
Greedy for more beach scenes, we drove to Carmel-by-the-Sea, down to the end of Ocean Avenue, to where a small crowd had gathered to check out the sunset. The event itself was now long past, but still they lingered, watching the sky. As I photographed them, I imagined a spaceship landing on the water in front of them, or maybe a silver-robed, lizardlike figure bursting through the distant clouds, rays of light shooting in all directions from its horrible compound eyes. I imagined the crowd screaming and running away, trying to hide in the quaint buildings of historic Carmel, stunned by this terrifying end to what had seemed like such a pleasant autumn day. My companions and I entertained each other with these fantasies as we pointed the car towards home.
Great pictures! I'd really love to experience this place; though, your photograpy has given me a taste of that experience.
-Dad
Wow. Amazing descriptive writing ! Together with the photos it's a lulling and dreamlike tour that ends awesomely! ( lizard in robes? YES!)