Quaternary Geology on Mt. Rainier
Figure 1. View of Mt Rainier from the west. At 14410 feet, it is the most prominent peak in the contiguous United States. It has 28 glaciers, with the largest total surface area in the lower states–35 square miles. Mt Rainier is a stratovolcano, composed of andesitic lava (rather than basalt), material ejected from the summit, and ash layers. This type of volcano is commonly found in subduction zones; they tend to have explosive eruptions (e.g. Mt Saint Helens). The oldest rocks on Mt Rainier are about 500,000 years old. It is active and listed as a decadal volcano–one of the most dangerous volcanoes in the world. Its last major eruption, accompanied by caldera collapse, was 5000 years ago, but minor activity was noted during the nineteenth century.
Figure 2. From my home in Tacoma (star) it’s a two-hour drive to Mt Rainier National Park. It is part of the Cascades Range, which comprises many well-known volcanoes like Mt Baker, Mt St. Helens, and Mt Hood.
Figure 3. This photo was taken on the south flank at an elevation of about 5400 feet, near the visitor’s center. It was a beautiful day and there were a lot of people preparing for some cross-country skiing on a couple of feet of snow. From this elevation it takes 2-3 days to reach the summit, almost 9000 feet higher. It’s hard to imagine it being so high and taking so long to reach.
Figure 4. These southern volcanic mountains are part of the Tatoosh Range, with peaks of about 6600 feet. Most of the volcanic rocks comprising these mountains are andesite, intermediate in composition between basalt and rhyolite. It is also very viscous, behaving like peanut butter and thus not flowing well. Andesite is commonly found at convergent plate boundaries where it is thought to result from mixing of basalt (from the oceanic crust), continental crust, and sediments accumulated in the accretionary prism.
Figure 5. Map of the 28 glaciers on Mt. Rainier. The glaciers fill canyons and valleys that were partly cut by ice. Figure 3 shows a smooth mountain, but in reality most of the smooth areas are the surfaces of glaciers. We’ll look at one below. The ellipse indicates the area discussed in this post.
Figure 6. (A) Narada Falls interrupts the descent of Paradise River, fed by Paradise Glacier (see Fig. 5 for location), making it drop a couple hundred feet over a thick layer of andesite. Andesite tends to form blocky flows, as shown in the right side of the photo, where the water seems to be climbing down steps. (B) Possible contact between younger volcanic and older intrusive rocks. Igneous activity within the area has been continuous for at least 50 my, during which time erosion has exposed older intrusive rocks like this granodiorite, which is part of a pluton intruded between 23 and 5 Ma. It is important to keep in mind that the volcanic rocks originated in plutons (magma chambers) emplaced miles beneath the surface. As they are exposed, new volcanoes form as more magma is injected into the shallow crust in a continuous process. (C) Differential weathering has accentuated layering in this volcanic rock, which was probably created by a series of ash layers deposited in quick succession–geologically speaking.
Figure 7. (A) View looking north towards the source of Nisqually Glacier (see Fig. 5 for location), which originates near the peak of Mt Rainier. The area delineated by the blue rectangle is the face of the glacier. (B) Closeup of the face of Nisqually Glacier. The characteristic U-shaped valley carved by glaciers is highlighted in white. Note the dark material within the glacier, probably wind-blown fine sediment. It looks like the face is a couple hundred feet high. I’ve never seen a retreating glacier before, so this is pretty spectacular to me. The Nisqually River originates right here…
Figure 8. View looking upstream along Nisqually River a mile downstream from Fig. 7. This is one of the most stunning photos I’ve ever taken because it reveals geological continuity, from the origin of a glacier 10000 feet higher, to the outwash being transported by a river. Amazing! Note the perfect U-shape where the shadow ends upriver. This area would have been covered by the glacier as recently as 10000 years ago.
Figure 9. Another mile downstream from Fig. 8 the walls of the valley have lowered, and are now rimmed by volcanic flows half-buried by detritus. Evidence of a glacier filling the valley has been erased by collapse of the valley walls. Rounded boulders fill the riverbed. The Nisqually River is overwhelmed by the huge sediment load and opens up new channels to continue flowing.
Figure 10. View looking upstream at the confluence of Nisqually River and Van Trump Creek. There are a couple of interesting features visible in this braided stream bed, less than two miles from the glaciers feeding each branch. The valley is very wide and flat-bottomed because it was carved by glaciers more than 10000 years ago. The large boulders (as large as three feet) covering the entire valley floor were transported by a glacier and became relict after its retreat because the stream flow, even during floods, is too weak to transport and erode them. The Nisqually River is cutting a channel through these relict sediments; the scarp is about eight feet in height. The white line delineates large, surface boulders from subjacent sand and silt with few boulders. Note that the surface boulders stop upstream where the white line curves sharply upward.
Figure 11. Image from 200 feet downstream of Fig. 10, showing a break eroded in the boulder-bar that crosses the stream bed at an angle. During recent heavy rain Nisqually River broke out of its current channel and created a myriad of flow structures such as the longitudinal bars seen in the lower-right of the photo. I think this bedform is actually a terminal moraine marking the maximum advance of a previous glacier–not necessarily the maximum glacial extent during the last two-million years.
Figure 12. (A) Andesite boulder (2 feet across) wet by recent rain shows fine-scale structure. The irregularity of the laminae, and phenocryst distribution, suggest to me that this sample represents ash fall rather than a flow. Magma with the viscosity of peanut butter tends to form smooth lines because it is difficult to penetrate, which would be necessary to create the mixed-up appearance between the lighter and darker shades in the center of the image. (B) Large block (~10 feet long) of intrusive rock similar to that seen at Narada Falls (Fig. 6B), but this is two-miles downstream. This relic was pushed/dragged by a glacier to this location. The white circle indicates where a close-up photo was taken. (C) Close-up (5x) image of the heavy block. It contains quartz (Q), plagioclase/albite feldspar (no orthoclase) (F), and amphibole (Am). My estimate of the composition is: 50% feldspar; 30% quartz; and 20% amphibole. Based on my estimated mineral composition, this would be granodiorite; however, I didn’t differentiate plagioclase and albite feldspar. (The former is darker than the latter.)
Figure 13. Map of potential volcanic risks associated with Mt Rainier–besides an explosion (e.g. Mt St Helens) and the eruption of ash which would cover a large area, depending on wind direction. Lahars (mud flows fed by all those glaciers) pose the greatest risk because andesite is too viscous to flow more than a few miles from its source.
Summary. I have seen evidence of continental glaciers in the Great Plains, the German Plain, and Ireland, but I never had the opportunity to observe glaciers up close. Alpine glaciers were nothing more than an abstract idea to me, something viewed from a distance.
I’ve looked out over the clouds from the summit of Haleakala crater on Maui, gazed into the cauldron of Kilauea, witnessed the boiling water rising from beneath Yellowstone’s seething caldera. I’ve seen videos of volcanic eruptions in Iceland, but I never imagined putting the glaciers and volcanoes together–right next door!
Usually, geology is observed as a series of images frozen in time, but at Mt Rainier it can be glimpsed as a real-time process that reshapes the earth’s surface–from top to bottom.
What a wild geological ride!
Deception Pass: Ophiolite or Volcaniclastic Sediments?
Now that I have a general idea of the geologic history of Northwest Washington (NWA) it’s time to start filling in the blanks. I immediately found a discrepancy in the rocks found on the northern end of Whidbey Island and the adjacent peninsula (Fig. 1): some authors identified these rocks as ophiolite–pieces of ocean crust that contain evidence of extrusion at mid-ocean ridges. Let’s see what I found.
Figure 1. Whidbey Island is a large island that is almost completely covered by glacial sediments. Its elevation varies from less than 100 feet above msl (mean sea level) to almost 400 feet, probably reflecting the presence of terminal morraines deposited as glaciers retreated. The box encompasses the study area, and the star is my home in Tacoma.
Figure 2. Progressively more detailed maps of Whidbey Island, showing the geological formations discussed in this post. (A) Deception Pass is a narrow channel (~200 yards wide) between Whidbey Island and a tiny island that connects it to a peninsula. Glaciers covered this entire area, advancing and retreating for at least two million years, while scraping out Puget Sound from unconsolidated sediments and easily eroded rocks. I entered Whidbey Island via a ferry from the mainland just north of Seattle. (B) Geologic map of the norther tip of Whidbey Island and the adjacent peninsula. The tan areas are covered by glacial sediments whereas the blue and green areas are reported as volcaniclastic rocks by Rock-D and the US Geological Survey national map. However, I read a Washington State geological report from 1962 that reported layered gabbro and other indices of a classic ophiolite sequence. Were Washington’s geologists incompetent? Over eager? Non-peer-reviewed? Or maybe they stumbled onto an exposure, described it in a state report, and, when no one cared, dropped it until they retired. I don’t know. Nevertheless, everyone is in agreement that the age of these rocks, which include basalt and marine sediments, is poorly constrained: they could be as old as 251 Ma, the beginning of the Mesozoic era; and as young as 66 Ma–the end of the Mesozoic. Wow! The thin, black lines indicate faults inferred from stratigraphic relations. The USGS has adopted the generally accepted paradigm of gathering legacy geological formations into larger groups that reflect the plate tectonic setting, rather than geographic location. The “official” description is so encompassing (including the kitchen sink) that it could easily include what the Washington geologic report called “ophiolite”. (C) Detailed map showing my approximate location along the path that followed the shoreline (blue circle) and the location where I saw these rocks in an excellent exposure (yellow diamond). I’m not sure why the rocks south of Deception Pass (blue) are differentiated from those on the north side (green) by Rock-D; the USGS map shows they are the same, as does my field examination (discussed below).
Figure 3. The ferry ride from Mulkiteo to Whidbey Island (see Fig. 2A) shows the same high elevation of Whidbey Island (left), Hat Island (center), and a promontory north of Tulalip (behind the ferry; see Fig. 1). This elevation of glacial sediments is approximately the same as the basement rock discussed below. This high relief shoreline is found throughout Puget Sound.
Figure 4. View looking north across Deception Pass, showing the nearly vertical bedding of rock layers, which could be original sedimentary fabric, metamorphic surfaces, or joints. Let’s have a closer look.
Figure 5. Images of the exposed rocks near the top of the hill overlooking Deception Pass (see Fig. 2C for location). (A) These medium bedded (~6 inches) layers contain clasts of different rocks. The height of the image is about six feet. (B) This twelve-foot exposure shows thin-bedded sand/silt layers with intercalated mud, but the layers are overturned (more than 90 degrees from horizontal) and reveal rapid changes in bedding, in addition to large boulders of material. (C) A bedding surface shows the characteristic sheen of schist, which adds metamorphic foliation to original bedding. These rocks are not heavily altered, so the layers seen in (B) probably reflect original beds. The clasts in (A) are matrix supported, which suggests mixing of different sized particles. This unusual texture occurs in environments where periodic mass failures (e.g. landslides or submarine slides) occur.
Figure 6. These images from about 100 feet elevation show more details of the rocks exposed at Deception Pass: (A) These layered sediments vary from medium to thick bedded and they also reveal gentle folding at this scale (the photo is ten feet high), suggesting that the overturned beds may be part of a large fold, possibly related to the faults seen in Figs. 2 B and C; note that the faults have a NW-SE orientation approximately aligned with the fold axis (I didn’t make careful measurements). It is also possible that the faults reflect brittle failure as the rocks were uplifted within the accretionary prism. (B) The left half of the exposure reveals a thick (> four feet) layer containing mixed clasts in an otherwise fine-grained matrix. The right side contains medium beds of a lighter material (We don’t want to get carried away here because of the vagaries of chemical weathering.) However, the contact between the two apparent lithologies is irregular; If I’m right about the left side being the bottom (questionable), this could have been a volcaniclastic slide (basalt, ash, pieces of rock, etc) that was then filled in by less catastrophic sedimentation. I admit I’m speculating, but we have to imagine life on the continental margin during active volcanism, during subduction.
Figure 7. This photo was taken looking west from Deception Pass (see Fig. 1), towards the Pacific Ocean. Those islands are emergent blocks of jumbled Mesozoic/Tertiary sedimentary and volcanic rocks. The last ten-thousand years of sea level rise has covered most of the evidence contained within the accretionary prism, leaving us with only fragments.
Conclusion. I didn’t see any ophiolite at Deception Pass, but there is plenty of evidence of accretionary tectonics; deeply buried sediments and volcanics were scraped off the subducting oceanic crust and deformed continuously. This process has to obey the laws of conservation of mass, which means that the accretionary prism accumulates further west with each passing year. What we see exposed at the northern end of Whidbey Island is occurring today beneath the continental shelf, all while the Juan de Fuca plate is swallowed by the earth’s mantle. There is a two-mile-deep trench about 100 miles off NWA, but it is filled with sediment eroded from N. America, unlike more-familiar deep-sea trenches (e.g. the Mariana Trench, about 7 miles deep).
All that sediment in the subduction trench is like sand in in your transmission: it gums up the works and slows things down, but the Earth cannot be stopped, its relentless, insatiable appetite for oceanic crust never satisfied. It will keep chewing up the Juan de Fuca plate until the upper mantle decides that enough is enough and stops pushing N America westward.
I can’t wait to see how this ends…
Coast to Coast
Plate 1. We’re not in Northern Virginia anymore!
I’ve relocated to the west coast–Tacoma, Washington to be exact, and that active stratovolcano looming in the background is Mt Rainier (aka Tahoma as it’s known to the indigenous people). The pristine water body is Commencement Bay at the southern end of Puget Sound. Mt Rainier is 14410 feet high, which makes it the most topographically prominent mountain in the lower 48 states; for scale, it is 43 miles from Tacoma, yet dominates the SE horizon. How did it come to be so close to the coast and yet so tall? Before I answer that question, let’s recap the geological story of NoVA that I pieced together over the last four years.
Over a billion years ago, NoVA was submerged beneath an ocean or marginal sea. Distant mountains eroded rapidly in a time before land plants. Vast quantities of sediment accumulated in layers of erosional debris that were subsequently buried by younger sediment. Between a billion and five-hundred million years ago, these sediments became rocks that were subsequently deformed as continental plates collided. They didn’t melt, however, and survived the cataclysm relatively unharmed, becoming schist and related metasedimentary rocks.
Plate 2. This schematic cross-section of the US East Coast is representative of NoVA. It shows the final closing of the Iapetus Ocean (forerunner of the Atlantic), which would have produced immense quantities of terrestrial sediments (e.g. the Devonian Catskill Delta in panel B). Unfortunately, these river and lacustrine sediments were subsequently eroded in NoVa as the ensuing mountains grew in size (panels C through E). They are today preserved in western New York State and eastern Pennsylvania. What survived in NoVA are older metasediments, ranging from ~1200 to 500 Ma, which were buried beneath the material eroded along the western margin of this figure (the yellow areas). Some Devonian intrusive rocks, intruded into older metasediments, survived along the Potomac River.
Plate 3. This reconstruction of the supercontinent, Pangea, coincides with Plate 2E. The square indicates NoVA. Pangea began to crack apart ~210 my ago, split by a spreading tectonic plate boundary, and for the last 200 million years, the older rocks have been slowly working their way to the surface as younger rocks were removed by erosion. They are now exposed to the elements and are weathering to form new layers of sediment in the Atlantic Ocean, beginning a new cycle.
What about the northwest coast, Tacoma and Seattle, you may ask?
Plate 4. This beautiful schematic cross-section represents the consensus opinion of geologists familiar with the Cascadia region. Tacoma lies at the northern end, near Mt Rainier. I will refer to this image frequently in my following posts. Study it a moment and you will realize that the geologic situation is similar to that presented in Plate 2A and B, but on the eastern (right) side of the closing ocean basin, i.e., the Pacific Ocean.
The Coast Range (including Olympic peninsula) is part of the accretionary wedge of a subduction zone, and Puget Sound lies within the forearc basin. In other words, I have moved from an extinct collisional tectonic regime to an active SUBDUCTION zone; Mt Rainier (Plate 1) is the tip of the geological iceberg, leaking sweat from the partially melting Juan de Fuca tectonic plate.
I hope you join me on this new geological adventure into the past…
Reflections of a Road Warrior
I began my journey in the overpopulated East, where the Appalachian Mountains—formed more than 250 million years ago—now lie subdued beneath layers of human settlement and urgency. The roads here are crowded, the pace performative. Drivers jockey for position, not just to arrive but to assert. In this terrain, driving is a social act, a negotiation of space and dominance. I obeyed the speed limits, but the pressure to conform was palpable. The land, ancient and eroded, seemed to whisper of restraint, but the people moved as if chased.
Crossing the Great Plains, the landscape flattened into a vast, glacially weathered expanse. Once grasslands, now farmland, the terrain offered little variation—just endless repetition. Here, the temptation to speed was not about competition but escape. The monotony of the land invited dissociation. Cruise control became a crutch, and the mind wandered. I found myself accelerating not out of urgency, but out of boredom. The road stretched like a taut string, and I felt the pull to snap forward. But I resisted. I slowed down. I began to see the land not as obstacle, but as place.
In the intermontane basins and across the Rocky Mountains, the terrain shifted again. The Rockies, surprisingly, offered no drama. I crossed them with nary a whimper. The basins between ranges were long, subdued, and emotionally neutral. Driving here felt mechanical, almost meditative. The land flattened my urgency. I became an automaton, moving through space without resistance. It was peaceful, but also forgettable. The road no longer demanded attention—it simply received it.
Then came western Montana, Idaho, and Washington. The youthful peaks struck like a cymbal crash. Steep grades, winding highways, and sudden elevation shifts pierced the monotony. I was exhausted—metaphorically speaking—by the mind-numbing landscape behind me, and now the terrain demanded vigilance. Driving became reactive again. The land had changed, and so had I. I was no longer cruising; I was contending. The road had become a teacher.
Less than a mile from my motel in Missoula, I witnessed a collision—a junker sports car and a delivery van, both likely violating traffic laws. The vehicles bounced like Tonka Toys, absurdly intact despite the violence. The driver of the wrecked car tried to restart his mangled machine, as if denial could override physics. Traffic paused, sighed, and resumed. No one panicked. No one intervened. The system absorbed the chaos and continued. It was a once-in-a-lifetime moment, and I had a front-row seat.
This scene encompassed many of the behaviors I’d observed across the country. Reckless driving wasn’t confined to high speeds—it occurred at low speeds too, often in familiar places. We rarely pause to see these events as inevitable outcomes of behavioral contagion, misaligned urgency, and systemic detachment. The stoic traveler observes without absorbing panic, recognizing the choreography of modern motion and its refusal to acknowledge consequence.
As I drove westward, I began to notice a pattern—not just in the terrain, but in how people moved through it. Flatness bred velocity and boredom. Elevation restored awareness. Geological youth correlated with behavioral tension. The land was not neutral. It shaped urgency, perception, and emotional posture. I had come to recognize a love-hate relationship with living in such a large country. The vastness invites freedom, but also fatigue. Driving is, above all else, boring—especially at highway speeds. But boredom is part of the lesson.
And then came the most important realization: Let local traffic pass; their urgency is not yours. This became my mantra. Most of the vehicles around me were not crossing states. They were running errands, commuting, performing routines. Their urgency was performative, not purposeful. I was on a different journey. I didn’t need to match their pace. I didn’t need to compete. I could let them pass. I could observe without absorbing. I could drive with intention.
This awareness led, fitfully, to acknowledging the inescapable control of the land over our minds and emotions. The terrain modulates behavior. It governs how we move, how we think, how we feel. The road is not just a conduit—it’s a medium. And to cross America solo is to engage with that medium fully. It’s to see the choreography between geology and psychology, between motion and meaning.
I did not enjoy driving fast. I found it fatiguing, disorienting, and performative. Slowing down was not just a mechanical adjustment—it was a philosophical one. It allowed me to appreciate the act of covering ground, to see the land as layered text, to learn in a hands-on way about geological and societal history that no Wikipedia article could convey. I stopped at unexpected locations. I absorbed stories sedimented in stone and soil. I saw how the land shaped settlement, movement, and memory.
I wish I’d had more time. My mind couldn’t keep up with the rapid pace. I experienced a kind of jet lag, even though I never left the ground. The body moved faster than the mind could metabolize. Reflection lagged behind experience. But that lag was instructive. It revealed the limits of perception, the need for pacing, the value of restraint.
In the end, this drive was not just a crossing—it was a reckoning. It was a slow-motion confrontation with the land, with behavior, with self. I began in the roots of the Appalachians and ended in the youthful peaks of the Northwest. I moved from assertion to observation, from urgency to awareness. I let others pass. I slowed down. I listened.
And the land spoke.
Acknowledgment
This essay was written by CoPilot after an extensive conversation, which it reduced to this piece. I accept full responsibility for the contents. The photographs are all real, taken by me along the way.
Rock Creek Park, Maryland: Early Cambrian Marine Sediments
Figure 1. This post comes from the NW end of Rock Creek Park, which begins in Washington DC. I discussed volcanic rocks and sediments there in a previous post. The star indicates home, so this is another local trip, examining some rocks we’ve seen before although by a different name. The inset map shows Lake Frank and the dam that created it. This is a flood control dam built in the sixties. The dash line shows our walking path, which followed the lakeshore a little, but climbed several ridges as we crossed a small creek that feeds the NW end of the lake.
Figure 2. Photo of Lake Frank from the dam. The main inflow (North Branch Creek) is to the right at the other end of the lake in this image. The outflow exits through the structure near the dam and continues a short distance before joining Rock Creek and flowing to DC.
Figure 3. This exposure of Sykesville Formation rocks (538-511 Ma) is tilted about 30 degrees in a westerly direction, as indicated by the yellow line. It is obscured by shadows, so I took a photo of a loose sample lying nearby (inset). The foliation is considered to be tectonic rather than original (according to Rock D). This unit is about 9000 feet thick and is uniformly conglomerate with metasedimentary clasts. As with any sedimentary rock, however, there is going to be spatial variability. These rocks are contemporary with Harpers Formation I examined at Bull Run Nature Preserve. However, the Harpers Formation contains interbedded schist (mud), quartzite (sand), and conglomerate (gravel) in a coarsening upward trend.
Figure 4. (A) Photo of loose boulder along the trail near Fig. 3, showing what looks like quartz filling a vein in a host rock that seems to contain some clasts, although quartz has penetrated pretty thoroughly. The dash lines are meant to suggest where the quartz is less massive; there are also several locations where a thin layer composed of fine-grained, gray material is found. Not a great example. (B) This is a better example, but the trees weren’t cooperating. The arrows point to irregular clasts contained in a gray matrix. However, the gray could be a weathering color.
SUMMARY
Overall, I’d say that the Sykesville Formation is pretty similar to the Harpers Formation at Bull Run Nature Preserve (~40 miles SW), including their radiometric ages. These rocks represent the erosion of highlands for more than 20 million years and, if the coarsening upward sequence seen at Bull Run NP is any indication, the source moved closer to VA and MD. This suggests that mountains were still rising during this period and hadn’t peaked yet. I’m certain that I’ll eventually encounter more of these rocks. The source of the metasedimentary clasts contained in the Sykesville Formation would have been previously buried sediments that were metamorphosed during burial and (probably) deformation.
There are several cycles visible here: (1) deposition of sediments during the Precambrian, with subsequent burial, deformation and exhumation over tens of millions of years; (2) these rocks were exposed to the atmosphere and weathered during the Cambrian period. Some particles collected on the seafloor to form the Sykesville and Harpers Formations not far from the source. These were buried and slightly metamorphosed; (3) they are now being exposed as the overlying rock has been removed by erosion.
Around and around we go …
Geological Cycles at Wolf Trap National Park
Figure 1. (A) Wolf Trap National Park for the Performing Arts is located about twenty miles west of Washington DC, near several parks I’ve discussed in previous posts, especially Great Falls National Monument. The geology of the area is dominated by Neoproterozoic-to-Cambrian (1000 – 511 Ma) metasedimentary rocks that originated in oceanic environments near rapidly rising mountains (e.g., a volcanic island arc). The dates are from the time of metamorphosis, which is why they give such a long time span. Taking into account the accuracy of the dates in general, this region was undergoing erosion with the resultant sediment buried in marine trenches, probably near a subduction zone, for hundreds of millions of years. The majority of the material would have been mud. There would have been hiatuses (perhaps an ocean basin briefly emerged), but such detail is lost to us after so long. (B) This map of Wolf Trap Park shows the trail we followed. The map doesn’t show topography, but the ridges are short, with maximum relief less than 100 feet. Wolf Trap creek enters from the west (left side of panel B) and flows through a wetland area (indicated by blue ellipse) before meandering a little and following the east side of the valley.
Figure 2. View of Filene Center from the SW side of our trail loop (see Fig. 1B), showing typical topographic relief at Wolf Trap park.
Figure 3. View of Wolf Trap creek where it enters the valley (Fig. 1B), showing boulders of Precambrian schist to be blocky–eroded nearby and gravitationally slid into creek but were not transported. These recently exhumed blocks are covered by Quaternary fluvial sediments, which are visible along the left side of the creek.
Figure 4. Large block (less than 6 feet in diameter) of schist that has been moderately weathered in place. Note the thin bedding (fissility) between thick layers with a conchoidal fracture pattern (center of image). This is the upstream side, which is pockmarked by rolling and bouncing boulders during high water. Mud becomes schist when buried deeply, retaining the lamination of the original fine-grained sediments, but remineralizing to familiar clays easily at the surface. Mud to schist to mud.
Figure 5. Meander in Wolf Trap creek along the north side of the park (see Fig. 1B), where a shallow pool of quiet water collects between runs (turbulent creek segments).
Figure 6. View looking upstream from a pedestrian bridge crossing Cthse Spring Branch, a tributary crossing our trail (dash line in Fig. 1B) before it joins Wolf Trap creek (NE side of trail in Fig. 1B). The boulders are smaller than downstream (Figs. 3 and 4), and their long axis are aligned with the stream flow. These angular blocks are sliding along on a stream-bed comprising miniature versions of themselves (note the clear view of the bottom in center of image). Even gravel and pebble-sized particles are platy because of the characteristic fissility of schist.
Figure 7. This photo dramatically reveals the effect of water on erosion.
Figure 8. This image is one I’ve seen too often here in northern VA. The sewer systems frequently follow streams because they are low points and run downhill (a good property for a sanitary system). However, when stream levels exceed expected values, the system is compromised and raw sewage can be released into the environment.
Summary. Over a billion years ago, this area was submerged beneath an ocean or marginal sea. Distant mountains eroded rapidly in a time before land plants. Vast quantities of sediment accumulated in layers of erosional debris that were subsequently buried by younger sediment. Between a billion and five-hundred million years ago, these sediments became rocks that were subsequently deformed as continental plates collided. They didn’t melt, however, and survived the cataclysm relatively unharmed, becoming schist and related metasedimentary rocks. For the last 200 million years, they have been slowly working their way to the surface as younger rocks are removed by water erosion in streams like we see all throughout NoVA. They are now exposed to the elements and are weathering to form new layers of sediment in the Atlantic Ocean, beginning a new cycle.
Washington Monument State Park, MD: Familiar Cambrian Metasediments
Figure 1. Looking west from Washington Monument, atop the Blue Ridge in Maryland. The valley is equivalent to the Shenandoah Valley in VA (see Fig. 2), but I couldn’t find a map with it labeled. The Appalachian trail follows the ridge through MD; we encountered it a few miles south of here in a previous post. We expect to see some of the same Proterozoic-to-Cambrian (2500-500 Ma) metasedimentary rocks here that we saw before, in addition to a surprise from an older post.
Figure 2. The field site. Washington Monument is indicated by the purple circle and arrow in the large map. The first inset map shows the geology around the monument. Note the mismatch in geology from different quadrangles; this must be a problem with either the data or Rock D, but the units (indicated in the smaller inset map to the right) were consistent when I clicked on a point. My home is indicated by the star, so you can see we haven’t traveled far. ATWC refers to the Appalachian trail at Weverton Cliff, MD, which I recommend you read to get some background. BRNP represents Bull Run Nature Preserve, which I posted last year. The geological legend for the detailed inset map is at the bottom of the figure. Note that Ma stands for a radiometric age of one-million years; this age is indicative of cooling below the threshold to set the atomic clocks within the minerals, but sedimentary rocks can’t be dated this way. Therefore, these are dates when deep burial and/tectonic deformation/magmatism ceased (i.e. when an orogenic period ended).
Figure 3. Rubble near the monument that resulted from in-place weathering of Weverton Formation rocks (Cw1 and Cw2 in Fig. 2). All of the weathering products (e.g. clays and carbonates) have been washed away, leaving large slabs (~6 feet) piled up. This is a common feature of rocky knolls with good drainage.
Figure 4. (A) Outcrop of older Weverton formation rocks (Cw1 in Fig. 1), revealing weathered material below and boulders on top. This outcrop contains cross-bedded layers on close examination. (B) Photo of a block of Cw1 used in the monument , which shows the crossbedding better than panel A because a fresh surface was cleaved during a recent repair of the 30-foot tower. The color is important: green sedimentary rocks like these represent marine environments, where there is less oxygen; sedimentary rocks deposited in rivers tend to be reddish because of oxidation (rusting) of Fe-containing minerals. These are probably shallow marine sands.
Figure 5. (A) Quartz in a vein (<1 inch thick) from near the monument. Note that the cross-bedding is very similar to Fig. 4 but more weathered. (B) Less-common view of a quartz vein seen obliquely, showing the surface that was against the country rock. These veins would have been injected during a period of magmatism, sometime between 2500 and 511 Ma; I can’t be more specific because I don’t know exactly where the radiometric ages were measured within these rocks. However, the Weverton formation is approximately 4500 feet (1.4 km) thick here; thus it’s possible that these rocks were deposited episodically during this immense time interval; but no unconformity (i.e. erosion or non deposition) is mentioned in RockD.
Figure 6. View looking east from the Appalachian Trail, showing the terrain typical of the Appalachian foothills. To the left of center, outcrops of Weverton rocks (Cw1 and Cw2 in Fig. 2) can be seen.
Figure 7. (A) Boulder (~2 feet across) of arkose, revealing angular clasts of rock fragments in a sandy matrix. (B) Poor outcrop of conglomerate with rounded rock and quartz in a similar, sandy matrix. Comparing these images to Fig. 4 shows the variability of sedimentation (and thus depositional environment) during relatively short time intervals (say … tens of millions of years, for example). This kind of variability implies changing sediment sources, possibly caused by tectonic uplift (with magmatism) to the east.
Figure 8. This figure is from the Bull Run Nature Preserve field trip. It is a schematic of how layers of sedimentary rocks (shown in different colors) can slide over one another along thrust faults. This process results in stacking of similar sediments, making stratigraphic analysis of sparse field data problematic. The rocks on the left are sliding upward to the right along a series of thrust faults (dashed line). At Bull Run Nature Preserve, a fault like this could be identified by older rocks clearly being stratigraphically higher than younger ones. That isn’t the case at Washington monument, where the interleaved rocks (blue and green) are too similar in lithology and age to be differentiated.
SUMMARY
The thrust fault labeled in Fig. 2 has been confidently identified (represented by a solid line), no doubt through more investigation than I was willing to spend time on. This unnamed fault underlies the northern Blue Ridge, and marks the beginning of the Valley and Ridge province; the Blue Ridge was thus an anomaly, which has been identified as a belt of older rocks thrust over younger ones about 500 million-years ago, when the supercontinent of Pangea was being created.
We have followed the Weverton formation through time (2500-485 Ma) and space (more than 40 miles). During this unimaginable interval, this small piece of the Earth’s crust has moved thousands of miles. Only the last 500 my of its journey is known with any confidence. This tectonic plate has been carrying these sediments to unknowable latitudes, colliding with immovable objects while spreading the remnants of mountain ranges that are now forgotten, deconstructed by the irresistible power of water, wind, ice and time.
Some things aren’t meant for us to know …
Timothy R. Keen 
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