Black Gold Beach: How Oil Transformed Long Beach and Built the Southern California Economy

Signal Hill oil development (Photo: The Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens)

Southern California, a region synonymous with sandy beaches and Hollywood glitz, harbors a lesser-known but equally dramatic history – its rise and reign as an oil kingdom. This is not the story many people know, even Californians, but the rise and fall of the Southern California oil industry story is a fascinating tale of gushers, fortunes made and squandered, and numerous characters right out of a movie script. If not for oil, Los Angeles — and Southern California as a whole — would be different places today.

The story of oil in Southern California is inextricably linked to the Long Beach fields, an area that once seemed more like a scene from Texas or There Will Be Blood than the Golden State. The discovery of oil in this region wasn’t just a footnote in economic journals; it was a seismic event that transformed the landscape, both literally and metaphorically. And it provided an industrial center of gravity to a region of the state that was just beginning to emerge as one of the world’s great gateways of commerce.

The early 20th century was the beginning of the era of oil in California. On June 23, 1921 at 9:30 a.m., the Alamitos No. 1 oil well on Signal Hill in Long Beach was drilling 2,765 feet beneath the surface when the drill struck an underground oil deposit. This oil was under high pressure due to natural gas, blowing a gusher of oil over 100 feet high, and heralding the start of the Long Beach oil boom.

This event marked the discovery of one of the most prolific oil fields in the Los Angeles basin. Throughout the 1920s, Signal Hill, along with the nearby Santa Fe Springs field, experienced numerous blowouts, which erupted into dramatic pillars of flame that could be seen for miles. These incidents eventually prompted calls for stricter safety regulations. Consequently, in 1929, the state mandated the use of blow-out prevention equipment on all oil wells drilled in California.

Signal Hill quickly mushroomed into a forest of oil derricks, with fortunes being made overnight. As one of the most productive oil fields in the world, the Long Beach field was at one point yielding a staggering one-third of California’s total oil production. By the mid-1920s, California was producing nearly a quarter of the world’s entire petroleum supply, much of it from the Long Beach area.

Signal Hill, Long Beach oil development. (Public domain)

That so much oil is present beneath the surface of this stretch of Southern California is a gift of geology. Millions of years ago, the area that is now Long Beach was covered by the ocean. This marine environment was ideal for the accumulation of organic material, such as the remains of tiny plants and animals, on the ocean floor.

Over time, layers of sediment buried this organic matter. The high pressure and temperatures associated with deep burial initiated the transformation of this organic material into hydrocarbons – essentially, the formation of oil. Southern California is, of course, known for its active tectonics, influenced by the Pacific and North American Plate boundary. This tectonic activity has created a complex network of faults and folds in the earth’s crust in the Long Beach area.

The folding of the earth’s layers into anticlines (a type of fold that is convex up and has its oldest beds at its core) and the formation of fault traps (where displaced rocks create a seal that traps oil) are particularly important. These structures create reservoirs where oil can accumulate and be preserved over geological time scales.

As the oil flowed, so did the stories of those who sought their fortune in black gold. Perhaps the most famous of these was Edward L. Doheny, a name synonymous with California oil. Doheny, an ambitious prospector, was one of the first to recognize the potential of the Los Angeles Basin’s oil fields. His success in the oil industry was meteoric, but it was not without controversy, as he was later embroiled in the infamous Teapot Dome scandal.

Portrait of oil magnate Edward L. Doheny (Wikipedia)

The impact of oil production in Southern California extended beyond economics. It reshaped the region’s landscape, both physically and culturally. Towns sprung up around oil fields, and workers flocked to the area, drawn by the promise of jobs and prosperity. Long Beach, once a sleepy coastal town, burgeoned into a bustling city.

During the 1920s, regulations on well spacing were minimal, allowing Signal Hill to market narrow town lots. These lots were swiftly purchased by aspiring oil tycoons who installed wells so close to each other that they almost touched. Despite the dense placement, the wells generally remained profitable, though they rapidly depleted the oil field. The hill earned the nickname “Porcupine Hill” due to its appearance from afar, bristling with numerous wooden oil derricks since the more compact “nodding-donkey” pumpjack had not yet been developed.

The booming oil industry in the region attracted a massive influx of workers and investments. As oil fields expanded, Long Beach rapidly transformed from a seaside resort into an industrial powerhouse. The surge in economic activity and the availability of abundant oil fueled the growth of industries in and around Long Beach, including the burgeoning shipping and maritime sectors.

Container ships outside the Port of Los Angeles during the Covid lockdown in 2020. (Photo: Erik Olsen)

The construction of the Port of Los Angeles, which began in earnest in the early 1900s, was driven by the need to support the growing economic activities in Southern California, including agriculture, manufacturing, and oil. The proximity of Long Beach to the port, only about 20 miles south, meant that it was strategically positioned to benefit from and contribute to the port’s activities. The port served as a critical node for shipping oil, among other goods, which further integrated Long Beach, and Southern California as a whole, into the global trade system.

Signal Hill in Long Beach today. (Erik Olsen)

Moreover, the infrastructure developments necessary to support the oil industry, such as roads, railroads, and later pipelines, also facilitated the growth of the port. These developments enhanced the logistical capabilities of the region, making it more attractive for commercial and industrial activities. The oil boom thus not only transformed Long Beach but also had a cascading effect on the development of the Port of Los Angeles, cementing the region’s role as a vital hub in international trade and commerce.

As big and diverse in industry Los Angeles has become, it mostly started with oil. The fact that Los Angeles is now hardly known for oil, but better known for its massive entertainment and tourism economies is an astonishing transformation.

Of course, the influx of wealth and people also brought challenges, including environmental concerns and the need for regulatory oversight. It is well known that several major oil spills have taken place off the coast, ruining beaches and killing animals by the millions. In 1969, the Santa Barbara oil spill released vast quantities of oil into the ocean, creating an environmental disaster along the California coastline. This catastrophic event galvanized public awareness and activism, leading to the creation of the first Earth Day, as well as significant environmental legislation, including the establishment of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.

The oil slick visible around Platform A in the Santa Barbara Channel emanated from fissures in the seabed. (Photo: USGS)

Oil spills continue to take place in Southern California and the existence of 26 rigs off the coast are a reminder of that oil boom era. Those rigs are coming to the end of their productive life, however, and an on-gong controversy is what to do with them. Remove them or leave them — or part of them — as artificial reefs?

Over time, oil production in Southern California has waxed and waned. The easily accessible oil has largely been extracted, and production has declined from its mid-20th-century peak. Yet, the legacy of this era persists. It’s etched into the region’s physical and cultural landscape, from the bobbing oil derricks still dotting Signal Hill to the fortunes and institutions built on oil money.

The story of oil in Southern California, particularly the Long Beach fields, is a saga of geologic luck, ambition, ingenuity, and, at times, dangerous greed. It’s a chapter in the state’s history that’s as rich and complex as the oil that still lies beneath its surface, and yet it remains largely unknown to many people who think of Southern California as a paradise of sand and rolling waves.

Giants Fallen: The Destruction of Converse Basin Grove and its Giant Sequoias

The true tragic story of one of the worst environmental crimes in California history.

The stump of a Giant Sequoia at Converse Grove in California. (Photo: National Park Service)

California has faced its share of environmental calamities. We’ve experienced wildfires that have denuded the landscape, destroying valuable forests and homes, and taking human lives. Oil spills have soiled coastlines and killed wildlife. But of all the great environmental crimes the state has faced, perhaps few rank as high as the destruction of Converse Basin Grove in the late 1800s. And yet very few people have ever heard of it.

Located in the southern part of the Sierra Nevada Mountains east of Fresno, just outside Kings Canyon National Park, Converse Basin Grove spans over 6,000 acres and 700 feet of elevation. The basin was once home to the densest and most majestic expanse of Giant Sequoia (Sequoiadendron giganteum) on the planet.

Loggers and a team of horses pose on a fallen sequoia 26 feet in diameter. (Wikipedia)

Between 1892–1918, the Sanger Lumber Company logged the grove using ruinous clearcutting practices, and cut down 8,000 giant sequoias, some of them over 2000 years old, in a decade-long event that has been described as “the greatest orgy of destructive lumbering in the history of the world.” Only 60-100 large specimens survived. Currently, The most expansive remaining sequoia domain is the Giant Forest in Sequoia National Park, which has an estimated 8,400 giant sequoia trees that are more than one foot in diameter at their bases. The park is home to the world’s biggest tree, the General Sherman.

(See our feature on the biology behind the immense size of redwoods and sequoias here.)

General Sherman Tree (Photo: Erik Olsen)

The grove’s discovery in the late 19th century coincided with a burgeoning demand for lumber in the wake of California’s Gold Rush and subsequent population boom, particularly in San Francisco. This demand drew the attention of loggers to the massive potential of sequoias. In particular, the Kings River Lumber Company, which secured this coveted area through both lawful and dubious means shortly after its incorporation in 1888. This marked the first instance of industrial-scale logging targeting the Sierra redwoods, a venture that required substantial initial investment due to the challenges of building a mill in the mountains and the engineering marvel needed to transport the colossal timber to lower elevations.

The 54-mile-long flume, or log conveyor, from Converse Basic Grove to the town of Sanger, about 20 miles from Fresno.
(Photo: National Park Service)

To get the logs to mills from the High Sierra Mountains the company, based in San Francisco, constructed a 54-mile-long flume, or log conveyor, from Converse Basic Grove to the town of Sanger, about 20 miles from Fresno. This giant wooden waterslide, balanced on trestles along steep canyon sides, allowed lumber to be swiftly transported to the nearest train station, some 60 miles away, in just half a day. Upon reaching the station in Sanger, a town that proudly proclaimed itself the “Flumeopolis of the West” at the flume’s inauguration in 1890, the lumber’s journey to the market began the following year. It should be noted that the massive flume also became an inspiration to modern amusement park log rides such as the Timber Mountain Log Ride at Knotts Berry Farm in Southern California.

High trestle under construction on the Sanger Flume. (Public Domain)

Rugged terrain and unnavigable streams had protected these big trees for decades. That it became possible to log so many magnificent trees in such a hard-to-reach place was due to the passage of one of the most unintentionally destructive environmental laws ever passed in the United States.

In 1878, the United States Congress enacted the Timber and Stone Act to promote the private ownership of timberland and support the logging industry. This legislation permitted individuals to claim federal lands in the Sierra Nevada mountains, acquiring individual parcels of 160 acres for a nominal fee upon filing a claim.

Stacks of lumber with workers at Converse Basin (Public Domain)

Prior to this legislation, there was no legal framework allowing individuals to purchase timberland directly from the government specifically for logging purposes, as opposed to agricultural use. However, following the enactment of the law in 1878, it became possible to acquire nonarable, nonmineral public lands at a minimal cost of $2.50 per acre. To claim these 160-acre parcels, the claimant only needed to attest that their intention was to utilize the land for practical, non-speculative purposes, excluding any plans for resale or contractual transfer to another entity.

This enabled the easy transfer of vast expanses of land from the government to lumber companies, which commonly enlisted and compensated individuals to file claims on their behalf. Among these companies was the Kings River Lumber Company, which acquired some of the lands legally, but also got its hands on vast acreages using dubious and illegal tactics that took place right under the noses of government regulators.

Converse Basin Panorama from 1900. (Photo: National Park Service)

The Timber and Stone Act required buyers to use the land for personal, non-speculative purposes, but the company circumvented these restrictions by using a practice known as “dummying.” In this scheme, the lumber company recruited individuals to act as stand-ins or “dummies” to file claims on parcels of the Converse Basin under the pretense that these claims were for personal use. After securing the claims, these individuals would then transfer the parcels to the Kings River Lumber Company, often for a profit. This allowed the company to amass large areas of prime sequoia forest, much of which was still old-growth timber, under dubious legal pretenses.

Lumber production began in Converse Basin in 1891, launching with 20 million board feet of timber flowing down the flume. But the company had been created through the issuance of massive debt, and the company was under pressure to increase output to become profitable. However, the flume frequently required costly repairs. In 1895, following an unsuccessful reorganization attempt, the firm was taken over by creditors and renamed Sanger Lumber. The new management pushed for maximum production, extending the narrow-gauge railroad deeper into the basin and constructing a new sawmill in 1897.

Cut end of tree showing welded crosscut saws. (Photo: National Park Service)

During its operation, Sanger Lumber was responsible for the felling of approximately eight thousand mature sequoias within the 5,000-acre Converse Basin, leaving only one giant standing. At the northern edge of the grove, overlooking Kings Canyon, loggers spared a single large tree, now among the world’s ten largest, and named it after their foreman, Frank Boole. The Boole Tree still stands today. It is the eighth tallest sequoia in the world and ranks No. 1 in base circumference, at 112 feet. Estimated to be more than 2,000 years old, the behemoth is the largest tree in America’s national forests, but it stands less as a monument to the grandeur of the trees themselves than as a testament to human avarice and recklessness.

The operation peaked in 1903 with a production of 191 million board feet, employing up to seven hundred men. However, the process was notoriously unsafe and wasteful. Decades later, the superintendent of Sequoia National Park noted the profound damage and inefficiency of the logging, with many fallen trunks left unprocessed, free to decompose over time.

Logging, Converse Basin, near Boole Tree. (Photo: National Park Service)

The entire operation ended without profit, leading to the sale of the company in 1905 and the eventual destruction of the Converse Basin mill. What followed was a period of secondary logging, akin to scavenging, that persisted into the 1910s. In a Harpers’ essay titled The Last Stand of the Redwoods, the Yale English professor Henry Seidel Canby wrote that a visit to the basin evoked a deep sense of melancholy, describing what he saw as “a vast and lonely cemetery”.

By 1905, after depleting the majestic stand of trees without turning a profit, a Michigan lumberman acquired the operation and shifted focus to a lower-elevation, mixed-species forest. The remaining structures at Converse Basin were deliberately burned, and logging continued on a smaller scale, resembling scavenging more than harvesting.

In 1935, the U.S. government repurchased the ravaged land for fifteen dollars per acre, incorporating it into what is now the Giant Sequoia National Monument. This area, marked by fields of blackened stumps and surrounded by new growth, stands as a public testament to the historic exploitation and a somber reminder of the past.

The devastation of Converse Basin helped to catalyze the conservation movement in the early 20th century. Galvanized by the widespread destruction of such majestic trees, naturalists and conservationists, led by figures like John Muir, began to advocate more vehemently for the protection of natural landscapes. Their efforts were instrumental in the establishment of national parks and protected areas, ensuring that other groves and natural habitats were spared from the fate of Converse Basin.

Today, most remaining sequoia groves are publicly owned and managed for conservation purposes. Giant sequoia forests have faced extensive fire exclusion over the past century and suffer from the lack of frequent low-intensity fires that are necessary for giant sequoia reproduction. The long-term trend of Sierra snowpack reduction, in combination with warmer temperatures and widespread fir, pine, and cedar tree mortality from drought and pests, is greatly increasing the risk of severe fire and threatening the giant sequoia ecosystem.

U.S. Forest Service wildland firefighters protect Giant Sequoia tree during the Castle Fire in August 2020.
(Photo: US Forest Service)

The 2020 Castle Fire, part of the larger SQF Complex Fire in California, was particularly devastating for the giant sequoia population. Estimates suggest that approximately 7,500 to 10,600 mature giant sequoias were killed by this fire, which represents 10-14% of the total population. These numbers underscore the severe impact of intense wildfires on these ancient trees, which are typically resilient to fire but have been increasingly vulnerable due to factors like drought and climate change. This event has highlighted the need for new strategies in forest management and fire prevention to protect these iconic trees.

Today, the area, with its fields of blackened stumps encircled by new growth, stands as a testament to both the destructive power of industrial logging and the fragility and resilience of nature.

Julia Platt: The Unwavering Force Behind Monterey’s Ecological Conservation

In the 18th century, when Spanish and French explorers ventured along the northern California coast they encountered Monterey Bay and marveled at the astonishing ecological abundance of this 25-mile wide bite mark in the land. The shores buzzed with the lively interactions of sea birds, sea otters played amidst the luxuriant kelp beds, and the waters teemed with many species of whale.

Yet, by the late 19th and early 20th centuries, this rich tapestry of marine life and biodiversity had largely been erased, replaced by the destructive industrial operations of sardine canneries. These factories, though they brought economic activity and prosperity to a few, also introduced a plague of environmental problems that began a period of staggering ecological decline.

California Coast out of Big Sur (photo: Erik Olsen)

But the tide turned in the early 20th century, in large part due to the efforts of a determined, pioneering woman who took a stand against the sardine industry and began an effort of restoration that helped make Monterey Bay one of the most celebrated shorelines in the world..

This transformational figure was Julia Platt, whose contributions were instrumental in the conservation efforts that led to the revival of Monterey’s natural and economic landscape. As mayor of Monterey and a pioneer in marine conservation, Platt used her authority and vision to establish protected marine areas and implement regulations that curbed overfishing and habitat destruction. Her efforts laid the groundwork for a broader environmental awareness and action within the community.

Julia Platt began her career not in politics, but in science. She was born on September 14, 1857, in San Francisco, California, and later moved to Burlington, Vermont. She studied at the University of Vermont and then at Harvard University for her graduate studies.

During her academic journey, Julia faced the limitations imposed on women in academia at the time. In the late 1800s in the United States, it was nearly impossible for a woman to pursue a Ph.D. in zoology due to prevailing gender biases. However, the University of Freiburg in Baden, Germany, presented her with an opportunity to break through these barriers. She seized this chance and became one of the first women to earn a zoological Ph.D. there, challenging the norms and paving the way for future generations.

Her academic achievements were significant, and she had already made significant contributions to science, including pioneering research on chick embryo development and identifying a new head segment in shark embryos.

But upon returning to the US, she once again ran up against the glass ceiling of academia. While she worked with some of the top zoologists of the time, she could not find steady work in science. Admitting defeat, but determined to make her mark, she decided on politics, writing to a friend, “Without work, life isn’t worth living. If I cannot obtain the work I wish, then I must take up with the next best.”

Cannery Row in Monterey 2023 – (Photo by Erik Olsen)

Monterey Bay’s legendary biodiversity was under serious threat. In 1854, a whale was as valuable as several pounds of pure gold, and J.P. Davenport harvested them using exploding lances, processing the carcasses in shore-based vats of boiling oil. By the late 19th century, the lucrative abalone industry had attracted Chinese fishermen village to the shores of Pacific Grove over-burdening the population. During the Gold Rush, prospectors consumed fourteen million seabird eggs from the Farallon islands, a practice that decimated seabird populations. From the 1910s to the 1940s, Monterey Bay’s sardine population fueled a burgeoning canning industry, reaching unprecedented scales that caused horrific smells in town and rendered the beach useless for recreation.

Each of these industries ultimately collapsed under the weight of its own exploitation; otters, whales, seabirds, abalone, and sardines were all harvested to the brink of extinction.

In 1899, as the age of 42, she moved to Pacific Grove, the photogenic seaside hamlet next to Monterey where industrial canning and the environmental destruction wrought by it was at its peak. The pollution from canning operations (romanticized in John Steinbeck’s Cannery Row) made the beaches unusable and the smell wafting from Monterey made conditions almost unlivable. Platt decided to redirect her passion for understanding the intricacies of life into preserving it.

Photo by Eadweard Muybridge of egg collectors on South Farallon Island
Courtesy of New York Public Library via Wikicommons

Taking matters into her own hands, she ran for public office. In 1931, at the age of 70, she became the mayor of Pacific Grove. Despite facing challenges as one of the few female mayors of her time, she wielded her position with an iron will and a clear vision for the future. She was an ardent advocate for beach access for all people, and wielded crowbars, hammers and her own strong will against the rich beachfront land owners who sought to fence off their properties. In this regard, she was a pioneer, foreshadowing the California Coastal Act of 1976—one of the most treasured aspects of California’s landmark coastal protection system—which protects the state’s iconic coastlines from unchecked development and preserves their natural beauty and accessibility for future generations.

Platt’s most significant and lasting contribution as mayor was the establishment of one of the first marine protected areas in California. She passionately argued for the designation of a marine refuge along the coastline, driven by her belief in the innate value of conserving marine habitats and their inhabitants. With her guidance, what became the Lovers Point-Julia Platt State Marine Reserve (SMR) and Edward F. Ricketts State Marine Conservation Area (SMCA), became two of four marine protected areas (MPAs) located on the Monterey Peninsula between Monterey and Pacific Grove.

Bixby Bridge near Monterey (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Thanks to Platt’s efforts, the region saw a revival in its marine biodiversity. Her initiatives ensured that the delicate balance of the marine ecosystem was maintained and allowed for species that were on the brink of being decimated due to human activities to thrive once more.

Julia Platt was more than just Monterey’s mayor; she was its guardian. Through her vision and determination, she transformed Monterey into a beacon of marine conservation. Even after her tenure as mayor, Platt’s legacy lived on. Her initiatives paved the way for future conservation efforts, including the establishment of the iconic Monterey Bay Aquarium.

JPL and the Voyager Golden Record: Humanity’s A Cosmic Mixtape in Space

The Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) in La Canada Flintridge, California is well-known for building and sending spacecraft far into the cosmos to help us better understand the universe. But the agency was also extensively involved in one of the most ambitious and symbolic projects in the history of space exploration, one that in many ways was more art than science: the Voyager Golden Record.

In 1977, as the twin Voyager spacecraft prepared to journey beyond the confines of our solar system, they carried with them what might be the most profound artifacts ever created by humanity: the Voyager Golden Records. These records, designed to last a billion years, are time capsules intended not for Earthlings but for potential extraterrestrial finders or future humans. Engraved in gold-plated copper discs, the records encapsulate the Earth’s diverse cultural and natural heritage—from music to languages to sounds of nature.

The idea of the Golden Record was developed by a talented team led by Carl Sagan, the renowned astronomer and science communicator. Sagan, alongside other prominent figures such as Frank Drake, Ann Druyan, science journalist Jon Lomberg, and Linda Salzman Sagan, crafted a selection that aimed to represent the entirety of Earth. The content ranged from classical music by Bach and Beethoven to greetings in 55 languages, natural sounds like thunderstorms and whales, and a diverse set of 115 images depicting life and culture on Earth.

But producing a record that could survive the harsh environment of space, while also being understandable and playable by beings of unknown technology, posed unique challenges. This is where the Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) stepped in, playing a pivotal role in transforming this ambitious vision into a tangible, durable artifact capable of traversing the cosmos.

Inspection of the engraving of the Voyager Golden Record.
Photo: NASA/JPL-Cal Tech

JPL, managed by Caltech under a NASA contract, was primarily responsible for the construction and operation of the Voyager spacecraft. Their expertise was crucial not just in the scientific instrumentation and engineering of the spacecraft but also in integrating the Golden Records. The lab’s engineers worked meticulously to ensure that the records were equipped with everything needed for potential playback: a cartridge, a needle, and symbolic instructions detailing their use. These instructions, etched onto the record’s cover, provided a universal map indicating Earth’s location in relation to pulsar stars, which are highly stable and can be used as galactic landmarks.

JPL’s involvement extended to the actual physical preparation of the records. They coordinated closely with RCA Records to produce the master disc from which the Voyager records were replicated. The final products were then plated in gold and encased in a protective aluminum jacket, designed to withstand the vacuum of space, cosmic rays, and extreme temperatures.

The technical contributions of JPL ensured that the Golden Records were not only a feat of cultural expression but also a marvel of scientific and engineering ingenuity. By equipping the Voyager spacecraft with these messages, JPL helped bridge the human desire to explore and communicate with the tangible reality of space travel. The records, mounted aboard Voyagers 1 and 2, continue to be ambassadors of Earth, carrying sounds, music, and images intended to convey the story of our world to whoever, or whatever, might find them.

Today, both Voyager spacecraft, with their Golden Records, have entered interstellar space, marking them as the most distant human-made objects in existence. They serve as reminders of humanity’s ambition to reach beyond our immediate grasp and to communicate across vast cosmic distances. JPL’s role in this historic endeavor highlights the profound connection between human creativity and technological advancement, ensuring that our message to the cosmos will endure long after the original voices have faded.

JPL written on the Voyager Golden Record
Photo: NASA/JPL-Cal Tech

As these records voyage through the cosmos, they remind us not just of where we have been, but also of the far reaches that our curiosity can take us. Through the combined efforts of visionaries like Carl Sagan and the engineering prowess of JPL, the Voyager Golden Record stands as a testament to the best of human knowledge, culture, and technological achievement.

How It Works
The Voyager Golden Records are phonograph records, much like the vinyl records used to listen to music before digital media became widespread. They are constructed from copper discs coated in gold to withstand the harsh environment of space. Each record is encased in a protective aluminum jacket, along with a cartridge and a needle. Instructions in symbolic language explain the origin of the spacecraft and indicate how the record should be played. The playback speed (16 2/3 revolutions per minute) is much slower than typical records, which typically spin at 33 1/3 or 45 rpm.

What’s on the Golden Record
The content of the Golden Record is a meticulously curated selection intended to represent the diversity of life and culture on Earth:

Sounds of Earth: The records include audio of nature sounds like thunder, wind, and animals (including the songs of birds and whales). Human sounds like footsteps, a heartbeat, and laughter are also embedded, capturing the biological and social essence of Earth.

The DNA structure magnified, light hit image is one of the pictures electronically placed on the phonograph records which are carried onboard the Voyager 1 and 2 spacecraft. Credit: Jon Lomberg

Musical Selections: There are 27 musical tracks from different cultures and eras, ranging from classical pieces by Bach and Beethoven to traditional songs from various cultures, including a Navajo chant and a Peruvian wedding song. These selections were intended to showcase the diversity of musical expression on Earth.

Greetings in 55 Languages: A variety of spoken greetings from “Hello” in English to ancient languages like Akkadian. The inclusion of a broad range of languages aims to depict the linguistic diversity of humanity.

Images: The record also contains 115 analog-encoded photographs and diagrams. These images show a wide range of subjects, including humans of different sexes and races, everyday activities, scientific knowledge like mathematical definitions, and the Solar System. The intent was to offer a visual summary of our planet and its inhabitants.

Message from the UN Secretary-General and the President of the United States: There are also printed messages from prominent global leaders at the time, including U.S. President Jimmy Carter and United Nations Secretary-General Kurt Waldheim.

Sounds of Human Origin: Beyond natural and environmental sounds, the record also includes a montage of the sounds of Earth, a screaming chimpanzee, a medley of human-originated noises like tools, vehicles, and a kiss, among others.

The idea behind the Voyager Golden Record is not just to communicate where and who we are but also to share a message of hope and peace with any possible recipient, even if that recipient is far in the future. The chances of the Voyager spacecraft actually being found by extraterrestrial life are slim, but the Golden Record serves as a profound gesture of goodwill and a testament to the human spirit’s longing to reach out and explore the universe.

Rocks in Motion: Pinnacles National Park, the Geological Odyssey of Thomas Dibblee Jr. and California’s Dynamic Terrain

Pinnacles National Park’s open landscape of dramatic rock formations and craggy spires looks otherworldly, especially in golden hour light. But few people who visit the park, located in Central California, southeast of the San Francisco Bay Area, are aware that the rock formations were once at the center of a fierce debate in the history of California geology.

And at the center of the controversy was a young geologist named Thomas Dibblee Jr.

Pinnacles National Park, formerly Pinnacles National Monument, tells the story of ancient volcanic activity and the relentless geologic forces of the San Andreas Fault. This fault, a major boundary between the Pacific and North American tectonic plates, is the platform for the dramatic northward journey of the park’s volcanic remnants. Dibblee’s research illuminated how, over millions of years, the landscapes we see today were sculpted by the movements of these tectonic plates and how the shape of California as a state has changed dramatically.

The crux of Dibblee’s discovery lies in the relationship between Pinnacles National Park and a volcanic source located near present-day Neenach, close to Palmdale in Southern California. The geological narrative that Dibblee pieced together revealed that the rock formations at Pinnacles originated from volcanic eruptions that occurred approximately 23 million years ago, near what is now Neenach. Over millions of years, the relentless movement along the San Andreas Fault has transported these formations over 195 miles (314 kilometers) to their current location. At the time, very few people, geologists included, believed that was possible.

Dibblee had to be wrong. But it turned out, he was not, and his measurements and discovery launched a passionate debate about the speed of geologic forces.

Dibblee’s findings not only shed light on the significant distances that landscapes can travel over geological timeframes but also provided a tangible connection between the theory of plate tectonics and observable geological features. The juxtaposition of Pinnacles National Park and the Neenach volcanic formation serves as a clear indicator of the San Andreas Fault’s role in shaping California’s geological, indeed it’s physical, identity.

A key aspect of Dibblee’s methodology was his keen observational skills, which enabled him to recognize that the rocks at Pinnacles National Park were strikingly similar in composition and age to those near Neenach, even though these areas are separated by about 195 miles (314 kilometers) today. He noted the volcanic origins of these formations and, through detailed mapping, was able to correlate specific rock types and strata between these distant locations.

Another crucial element in Dibblee’s discovery was his understanding of the San Andreas Fault as a major geological feature capable of significant lateral movement (remember the San Andreas is a slip or sliding fault). By correlating the age and type of rocks across this fault line, Dibblee inferred that the only plausible explanation for the similarity between the rocks at Pinnacles and those near Neenach was that they had once been part of the same volcanic field, which had been split and displaced over millions of years due to the movement of the San Andreas Fault.

Rock formations at Pinnacles National Park (Brocken Inaglory)

Dibblee’s work also benefited from the broader scientific context of his time, particularly the emerging theory of plate tectonics in the mid-20th century. This theoretical framework provided a mechanism for understanding how large-scale movements of the Earth’s crust could result in the displacement of geological formations over vast distances. Dibblee’s findings at Pinnacles and Neenach became a compelling piece of evidence supporting the theory of plate tectonics, showcasing the San Andreas Fault’s role in shaping California’s landscape.

But Dibblee’s ideas were controversial at the time. Many in the scientific community were hesitant to embrace a theory that suggested such dramatic movement across the Earth’s crust, partly because it challenged existing paradigms and partly due to the limitations of the geological evidence available at the time. The prevailing theories favored more static models of the earth’s crust, with changes occurring slowly over immense periods. Dibblee’s insights into tectonic movements and the geological history of regions like the Pinnacles National Park were ahead of their time and laid the groundwork for the acceptance of plate tectonics.

This Pinnacles revelation was groundbreaking, emphasizing the dynamic and ever-changing nature of the Earth’s surface. Dibblee’s ability to piece together these monumental shifts in the Earth’s crust from his detailed maps and observations has left a lasting impact on our understanding of geological processes. His work at Pinnacles and the recognition of its journey alongside the San Andreas Fault underscores the importance of detailed geological mapping in unraveling the Earth’s complex history.

San Andreas Fault looking northwest onto the Carrizo Plain (John Wiley)

Born in 1911 in Santa Barbara, California, Dibblee’s life and work were deeply intertwined with the rugged terrains and picturesque landscapes of the Golden State, Dibblee’s journey into geology began at a young age, fostered by his natural curiosity and the geological richness of his native state. After earning his degree from Stanford in 1936, Tom embarked on his professional journey with Union Oil, later moving to Richfield. It was during this period that his extensive field mapping efforts culminated in the discovery of the Russell Ranch oil field near New Cuyama. By the year 1952, Tom had meticulously mapped every sedimentary basin in California with potential for oil, cementing his legendary status. His reputation for traversing the state’s backcountry on foot for extended weeks became a defining aspect of his character and contributed to his storied career in geology.

Dibblee Dibblee moved onto a career at the United States Geological Survey (USGS) that would span over six decades, much of it spent with the agency and then later through independent projects. His work ethic and passion for fieldwork were unparalleled; Dibblee was known for his meticulous and comprehensive approach, often spending long days in the field, mapping out California’s complex strata with precision and care.

One of Dibblee’s most significant contributions to geology was his detailed geological mapping. Over his career, Dibblee mapped over 240,000 square kilometers of California’s terrain, an achievement that provided an invaluable resource for understanding the state’s geological history and structure. He mapped large swaths of the Mojave Desert, the Coast Range and the Los Padres National Forest, earning a presidential volunteer action award in 1983 from President Reagan.

His maps are celebrated for their accuracy and detail, serving as critical tools for academic research, oil exploration, environmental planning, and education. The Dibblee Geological Foundation, established to honor his work, continues to publish these maps, ensuring that his legacy lives on.

Dibblee’s insights into the geology of California were pivotal in several areas, including the understanding of the San Andreas Fault, a major fault line that has been the focus of extensive seismic research due to its potential for large earthquakes. Dibblee’s mapping efforts helped to clarify the fault’s characteristics and behavior, contributing to our understanding of earthquake risks in California and aiding in the development of safer building practices and disaster preparedness strategies.

Furthermore, Dibblee’s work shed light on the process of plate tectonics and the geological history of the western United States. His observations and mapping of sedimentary formations and fault systems in California provided empirical evidence that supported the theory of plate tectonics, a cornerstone of modern geology that explains the movement of the Earth’s lithospheric plates and the formation of various geological features.

Thomas Dibblee Jr.’s contributions to the field of geology are not just confined to his maps and scientific discoveries. He was also a mentor and inspiration to many aspiring geologists, sharing his knowledge and passion for the Earth’s history through lectures, field trips, and personal guidance. His dedication to his work and his ability to convey complex geological concepts in an accessible manner made him a respected figure among his peers and students alike. Through his dedication and pioneering work, Dibblee has left an indelible mark on the field of geology, making him a true giant in the scientific exploration of our planet.

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