Here I sit atop the tallest pinnacle, draped in orders of magnitude of time and space. Looking out I see eroding badlands of muddy green-gray sediments of ancient Searles Lake. In the foreground cutting the sediments, a recently-flooded wash free of tracks, the darker shade in the anastomosing channels indicating it is still water-saturated. The wash flows north towards the center of the basin- its intermittent waters will never reach the sea. Beyond is the eastern cluster of one hundred some odd pinnacles and their long midday winter shadows, separated from the distant mountains by the expansive flats of the old lake bottom. The mountains are half gone, skirted in an apron of alluvium extending over a third of the height of the mountains, marking the elevation of the old lake. To the west 150,000 years of beaches stripe the hills. The lake would have reached depths of 200m in places. To the north are the snowy peaks bounding the west side of Death Valley.
It is quiet apart from distant chatter of people behind me, their voices strangely reflected by the pinnacles, and the more distant booms of air cannons sounding at Trona to discourage traveling birds from stopping over at the toxic brine waters. There would be more people here but for the "Road Closed- Flooded" signs posted on the road. I test the atmosphere- my echoes ring out in the still desert air.
A light atmospheric haze fills the wide valley up to the old lake level cut into the desert mountains, creating an enticing illusion of a lake of fog. Distant peaks are silhouetted into the bleeding horizon. From my vantage point it is little trouble to imagine sitting here below the lake surface during the last glacial period.
It is easy to drift into the distant past here- some of my earliest and fondest rock collecting trips with my father were here at the Pinnacles and at Trona to the north; the geology is so in-your-face it is easy to make the shift into geological time and start thinking about these fossil springs slowly precipitating calcium carbonate to form these pinnacles, the slow settling of silt to form perfectly laminated lake deposits, and of the extinct camels and horses that would have dwelt near the shore. Here there is some measure of escape from the more temporal, proximal and personal thoughts that populate my mind.
There is something slightly strange about how light behaves reflecting off these pinnacles. I think their highly porous nature must alter a certain quality of light. Little grows in the poor soil. Desert holly is the only plant prevalent on my mound. A jet black crow circles with a watchful, if somewhat disinterested, eye. It lets out a "caw" I can only wonder if was directed at me. The sharp tufa presses into my pants- good thing I chose canvas today.
Atop this pinnacle intriguing textures make up the tufa and set my geological mind to wondering. Vertical-walled mounds like castle turrets are concentrically-zoned, or ringed, and often have no obvious location where fluids would bubble up. These rings consist of pencil-like fibers (themselves concentrically-zoned) radiating outward from the center. The center itself typically forms a slight bowl or depression, evidently being less resistant than the outer rinds. The sides of the mounds are frequently more cavernous with voids containing pea-sized botroids of calcite. Where these are broken they can be seen to be hollow. Also present is a chaotic tafonitic mesh- the characteristic tufa texture. It is not dissimilar to some varieties of coral, but decidedly more disordered. Some of the textures resemble networks of tube worms. Two tones of tufa are discerned within; older surfaces have a slight desert varnish patina.
It is time for this geological romance to end. The shadows have lengthened and I should drive on.
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