Long Valley Caldera Discover the Science and Beauty of California’s Ancient Supervolcano

The Legacy of One of North America’s Largest Volcanic Eruptions

The Long Valley Caldera is one of the most active volcanic sites in the United States.
Here, the Owens River flows through it, winding south through Owens Valley. (Erik Olsen)

Driving up Highway 395 toward Mammoth Lakes is one of the most breathtaking road trips in California. The highway winds through the rugged Eastern Sierra, offering stunning views of snow-capped peaks, alpine meadows, and vast chaparral plains. But beneath this dramatic landscape lurks a hidden danger—an ancient volcanic giant that still stirs beneath the surface.

The Long Valley Caldera in eastern California is an extraordinary geological feature, spanning about 20 miles in length and 11 miles in width. It owes its existence to one of the most dramatic volcanic events in Earth’s history, a supereruption that occurred approximately 760,000 years ago. This event, known as the Bishop Tuff eruption, ejected an estimated 150 cubic miles of molten rock and ash into the atmosphere, far surpassing the 1980 eruption of Mount St. Helens, which released just 0.3 cubic miles of material. The magnitude of the Bishop Tuff eruption resulted in the collapse of the ground above the magma chamber, creating a massive depression known as a caldera. In other words, it’s hard to get your head around how big this eruption was.

The Long Valley Caldera is a striking reminder of Earth’s immense, often hidden, volcanic power and its potential for destruction—located right here in California, near one of the nation’s most popular ski towns, Mammoth Lakes. Geothermal activity, visible in the form of hot springs, fumaroles, and hydrothermal systems, is a constant feature of the landscape. This activity has made the caldera a hub for geothermal energy production, with the Casa Diablo thermal power plant utilizing its subterranean heat to generate electricity. The energy produced at Casa Diablo is enough to power about 36,000 homes, making it an important renewable energy source for the region.

Casa Diablo Geothermal Facility, Long Valley Caldera, California (Erik Olsen)
Casa Diablo Geothermal Facility, Long Valley Caldera, California (Erik Olsen)

The surface of the caldera is also marked by the Bishop Tuff, a layer of welded volcanic ash that provides a vivid record of the eruption’s intensity and the pyroclastic flows that reshaped the landscape. Pyroclastic flows are fast-moving, hot clouds of gas and volcanic material that can destroy everything in their path. Often they are considered more dangerous than the lava that pours forth from an erupting volcano. For example, pyroclastic flows killed far more people at Pompeii than lava, as the 79 AD eruption of Mount Vesuvius unleashed fast-moving clouds of superheated gas, ash, and volcanic debris that raced down the slopes at over 100 mph, reaching temperatures above 1,000°F, instantly asphyxiating and incinerating thousands, while the slower-moving lava played a minimal role in fatalities.

Geothermal features at the Long Valley Caldera commonly support microbial communities of thermophilic bacteria and algae, which thrive in the caldera’s hot springs and fumaroles. These organisms not only influence the terrain by contributing to mineral precipitation but also serve as models for studying life in extreme environments, offering analogs for early Earth and potential extraterrestrial ecosystems. Scientists are just beginning to understand how these bacteria live and thrive in deep ocean vent systems. In some areas around the Long Valley Caldera and Mono Lake, mats of thermophilic bacteria and algae thrive around the geothermal features, like the many hot tubs that dot the landscape, forming colorful, textured surfaces. These microbial communities contribute to the unique environment and can even make the ground feel crunchy underfoot, offering a tangible connection to the caldera’s dynamic, living systems.

The Owens River flows through the Long Valley Caldera near Mammoth Lakes, California (Erik Olsen)

While the caldera’s formation was sudden and catastrophic, its story stretches back millions of years. Scientific studies at the Long Valley Caldera have advanced our understanding of volcanic processes, crustal dynamics, and geothermal systems. The Long Valley Caldera sits within the Basin and Range Province, an area of North America characterized by extensional tectonics, where the Earth’s crust is being pulled apart, allowing magma to rise to the surface.

Using seismic tomography, researchers have mapped the magma chamber beneath the caldera, revealing a layered structure with a partially molten zone capped by solidified magma. This configuration, as highlighted in a 2023 study published in Science Advances, helps explain the periodic episodes of unrest observed in the caldera and provides a basis for assessing potential future activity. Before the eruption, the region experienced significant volcanic activity, with lava flows and smaller eruptions setting the stage for what was to come. Even after the formation of the caldera, volcanic activity continued in the area. Rhyolitic lava flows emerged within the caldera, and the nearby Mono-Inyo Craters volcanic chain has seen eruptions as recently as 600 years ago, underscoring the region’s enduring geological vitality.

Horseshoe Lake in the Mammoth Lakes area, where underground carbon dioxide emissions have caused widespread tree die-off
(Photo: Erik Olsen)

Another place where the region’s volcanic activity can be experienced firsthand is Horseshoe Lake, where carbon dioxide continuously seeps from the ground, suffocating tree roots and causing a vast die-off of trees. The result is a barren, almost ghostly landscape of skeletal trunks and lifeless ground, a stark reminder that Long Valley’s volcanic system is still active beneath the surface. The area is not just eerie but also hazardous—high concentrations of CO₂ can accumulate in low-lying areas, posing a serious risk to humans and animals. Signs around the site warn visitors of the danger, as pockets of odorless, colorless gas can be lethal if inhaled in high enough doses.

Hot Springs geological site near Mammoth Lakes, California. (Erik Olsen)

The caldera has not been entirely quiet since its dramatic birth. Ground deformation studies, using GPS and InSAR technology (satellites), have tracked uplift in the caldera’s floor, offering critical data on magma movement and hydrothermal activity. In a 2016 study published in Geophysical Research Letters, researchers linked changes in uplift patterns to deeper magmatic processes, reinforcing the importance of continuous monitoring. In 1980, a series of magnitude 6 earthquakes occurred along its southern margin, drawing the attention of volcanologists from USGS. These earthquakes were accompanied by noticeable uplift in the caldera’s floor, a sign of magma movement beneath the surface. Since then, the region has experienced periodic episodes of ground deformation and seismic activity, reminding scientists that the volcanic system beneath Long Valley is far from dormant.

Recent research has provided valuable insights into the caldera’s potential for future activity. While there is currently no indication of an imminent eruption, the area is closely monitored by the United States Geological Survey (USGS). This surveillance includes the measurement of ground deformation, gas emissions, and seismic activity, all of which serve as indicators of changes within the magma chamber. The 1980s unrest heightened awareness of the need for vigilance, particularly in regions where volcanic hazards could affect human populations.

Mono Lake is home to thermophilic (heat-loving) and extremophilic (extreme-condition-loving) bacteria. These microorganisms thrive in the lake’s unusual environment, characterized by high alkalinity, high salinity, and elevated levels of carbonate. (Erik Olsen)

As a result of these studies, the town of Mammoth Lakes took proactive measures to ensure public safety. Local authorities constructed an emergency evacuation route to serve as an escape in the event of a volcanic eruption or other natural disaster stemming from the Long Valley Caldera. After local businesses and residents expressed concerns that the original name implied danger, it was changed to Mammoth Scenic Loop to emphasize the area’s beauty and appeal. The United States Geological Survey (USGS) also intensified its monitoring efforts, implementing a color-coded alert system to communicate volcanic activity risks.

Beyond its scientific significance, the Long Valley Caldera is a destination for outdoor enthusiasts and other researchers. Numerous hot springs dot the landscape and are immensely popular among tourists and residents. Mammoth Lakes is one of California’s top recreational spots, providing amazing opportunities to hike and fish during the summer and excellent skiing in the winter months. For geologists, the caldera serves as a natural laboratory, providing an opportunity to study volcanic processes in a setting shaped by one of the most powerful eruptions in recent geological history.

The eastern Sierra reflected in Little Alkali Lake near the Long Valley Caldera (Erik Olsen)

Of course, there remain certain dangers to all this volcanic activity. On April 6, 2006, three members of the Mammoth Mountain ski patrol tragically lost their lives after falling into a volcanic fumarole near the summit. The incident happened while they were conducting safety operations to secure a snow-covered geothermal vent following an unprecedented snowfall. If you’ve ever skied Mammoth before, there is a distinct sulphurous smell around the Christmas Bowl ski run at Chair 3 near McCoy Station.

Steam from an active fumarole near McCoy Station on Mammoth Mountain in 2012. (Flickr)

Standing at the center of the Long Valley Caldera, surrounded by the remnants of a prehistoric supereruption, offers a profound sense of scale and wonder. The vastness of the caldera, framed by the Sierra Nevada and dotted with geothermal vents, creates a landscape that feels alive yet ancient. It’s amazing place to be, both during the day and at night when the stars spread out across the gaping Sierra sky. The ground beneath your feet, shaped by cataclysmic forces, whispers of Earth’s power and the quiet persistence of geological time. Yet beneath the surface, the processes that shaped it continue to evolve, as magma slowly shifts and geothermal systems release heat from the planet’s interior. As research continues and technology advances, the Long Valley Caldera will undoubtedly yield further insights into the intricate workings of our planet’s volcanic systems.

A Deep Dive into Monterey Canyon, California’s Great Abyss


Monterey Canyon stretches nearly 95 miles out to sea, plunging over 11,800 feet into the depths—one of the largest submarine canyons on the Pacific Coast, hidden beneath the waves. (Courtesy: Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute MBARI)

Standing at Moss Landing, a quaint coastal town known for its fishing heritage, bustling harbor, and the iconic twin smokestacks of its power plant, you might never guess that a massive geological feature lies hidden beneath the waves. From this unassuming spot on the California coast, Monterey Canyon stretches into the depths, a colossal submarine landscape that rivals the grandeur of the Grand Canyon itself.

Monterey Canyon, often called the Grand Canyon of the Pacific, is one of the largest and most fascinating submarine canyons in the world. Stretching over 95 miles from the coast of Monterey, California, and plunging to depths exceeding 3,600 meters (11,800 feet), this underwater marvel rivals its terrestrial counterpart in size and grandeur. Beneath the surface of Monterey Bay, the canyon is a hotspot of geological, biological, and scientific exploration, offering a window into Earth’s dynamic processes and the mysterious ecosystems of the deep sea.

Drifting through the depths of Monterey Canyon, the elusive barreleye fish reveals its transparent head and tubular eyes—an evolutionary marvel perfectly adapted to the dark, mysterious waters off Monterey Bay.
(Courtesy: Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute MBARI)

Monterey Canyon owes its impressive scale and structure to the patient yet powerful forces of geological time. Formed over millions of years, Monterey Canyon has been shaped by a range of geological processes. One prevailing theory is that the canyon began as a river channel carved by the ancestral Salinas River, which carried sediments from the ancient Sierra Nevada to the ocean. As sea levels fluctuated during ice ages, the river extended further offshore, deepening the canyon through erosion. Another hypothesis points to tectonic activity along the Pacific Plate as a significant factor, creating fault lines and uplifting areas around the canyon while subsidence allowed sediment to accumulate and flow into the deep. These forces, combined with powerful turbidity currents—underwater landslides of sediment-laden water—worked in tandem to sculpt the dramatic contours we see today. Together, one or several of these processes forged one of Earth’s most dramatic underwater landscapes.

While the geology is awe-inspiring, the biology of Monterey Canyon makes it a living laboratory for scientists. The canyon is teeming with life, from surface waters to its darkest depths. Near the top, kelp forests and sandy seafloors support a wide variety of fish, crabs, and sea otters, while the midwater region, known as the “twilight zone,” is home to bioluminescent organisms like lanternfish and vampire squid that generate light for survival. Lanternfish, for example, employ bioluminescence to attract prey and confuse predators, while vampire squid use light-producing organs to startle threats or escape unnoticed into the depths. In the canyon’s deepest reaches, strange and hardy creatures thrive in extreme conditions, including the ghostly-looking Pacific hagfish, the bizarre gulper eel, and communities of tube worms sustained by chemical energy from cold seeps.

A vampire squid (Vampyroteuthis infernalis) observed by MBARI’s remotely
operated vehicle (ROV) Tiburon in the outer Monterey Canyon at a depth of approximately
770 meters. (Courtesy: Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute MBARI)

The barreleye fish, captured in stunning video footage by MBARI, is one of the canyon’s most fascinating inhabitants. This deep-sea fish is known for its’ domed transparent head, which allows it to rotate its upward-facing eyes to track prey and avoid predators in the dimly lit depths. Its unique adaptations highlight the remarkable ingenuity of life in the deep ocean. Countless deep-sea creatures possess astonishing adaptations and behaviors that continue to amaze scientists and inspire awe. Only in recent decades have we gained the technology to explore the depths and begin to uncover their mysteries.

The canyon’s rich biodiversity thrives on upwelling currents that draw cold, nutrient-rich water to the surface, triggering plankton blooms that sustain a complex food web. This process is vital in California waters, where it supports an astonishing array of marine life, from deep-sea creatures to surface dwellers like humpback whales, sea lions, and albatrosses. As a result, Monterey Bay remains a crucial habitat teeming with life at all levels of the ocean.

A woolly siphonophore (Apolemia lanosa) observed by MBARI’s remotely
operated vehicle (ROV) Tiburon in the outer Monterey Canyon at a depth of 1,200 meters.
(Courtesy: Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute MBARI)

What sets Monterey Canyon apart is the sheer accessibility of this underwater frontier for scientific exploration. The canyon’s proximity to the shore makes it a prime research site for organizations like the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute (MBARI). Using remotely operated vehicles (ROVs) and advanced oceanographic tools, MBARI scientists have conducted groundbreaking studies on the canyon’s geology, hydrology, and biology. Their research has shed light on phenomena like deep-sea carbon cycling, the behavior of deepwater species, and the ecological impacts of climate change.

This animation, the most detailed ever created of Monterey Canyon, combines ship-based multibeam data at a resolution of 25 meters (82 feet) with high-precision autonomous underwater vehicle (AUV) mapping data at just one meter (three feet), revealing the canyon’s intricate underwater topography like never before.

MBARI’s founder, the late David Packard, envisioned the institute as a hub for pushing the boundaries of marine science and engineering, and it has lived up to this mission. Researchers like Bruce Robison have pioneered the use of ROVs to study elusive deep-sea animals, capturing stunning footage of creatures like the vampire squid and the elusive giant siphonophore, a colonial organism that can stretch over 100 feet, making it one of the longest animals on Earth.

Bruce Robison, deep-sea explorer and senior scientist at MBARI, has spent decades uncovering the mysteries of the ocean’s twilight zone, revealing the hidden lives of deep-sea creatures in Monterey Canyon. (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Among the younger generations of pioneering researchers at MBARI, Kakani Katija stands out for her groundbreaking contributions to marine science. Katija has spearheaded the development of FathomNet, an open-source image database that leverages artificial intelligence to identify and count marine animals in deep-sea video footage, revolutionizing how researchers analyze vast datasets. Her work has also explored the role of marine organism movements in ocean mixing, revealing their importance for nutrient distribution and global ocean circulation. These advancements not only deepen our understanding of the deep sea but also showcase how cutting-edge technology can transform our approach to studying life in the deep ocean.

Two leading scientists at MBARI, Steve Haddock and Kyra Schlining, have made groundbreaking discoveries in Monterey Canyon, expanding our understanding of deep-sea ecosystems. Haddock, a marine biologist specializing in bioluminescence, has revealed how deep-sea organisms like jellyfish and siphonophores use light for communication, camouflage, and predation. His research has uncovered new species and illuminated the role of bioluminescence in the deep ocean. Schlining, an expert in deep-sea video analysis, has played a key role in identifying and cataloging previously unknown marine life captured by MBARI’s remotely operated vehicles (ROVs). Her work has helped map the canyon’s biodiversity and track environmental changes over time, shedding light on the delicate balance of life in this hidden world.

A peacock squid (Taonius sp.) observed by one of MBARI’s remotely operated
vehicles. (Courtesy: Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute MBARI)

Monterey Canyon continues to inspire curiosity and collaboration. Its unique conditions make it a natural laboratory for testing cutting-edge technologies, from autonomous underwater vehicles to sensors for tracking ocean chemistry. The canyon also plays a vital role in education and conservation efforts, with institutions like the Monterey Bay Aquarium engaging visitors and raising awareness about the importance of protecting our oceans.

As we venture deeper into Monterey Canyon—an astonishing world hidden just off our coast—we find ourselves with more questions than answers. How far can life push its limits? How do geology and biology shape each other in the depths? And how are human activities altering this fragile underwater landscape? Yet with every dive and every discovery, we get a little closer to unraveling the mysteries of one of Earth’s last great frontiers: the ocean.

The Mountain Pass Mine in California May Be the U.S. Rare Earths Game Changer

A California Company Called MP Materials Hopes to Revitalize Domestic Rare Earth Production to Reduce Dependence on China

MP Materials Rare Earths Mine in Mountain Pass, California (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Rare earth metals are now essential to the global economy, powering everything from smartphones and electric vehicles to wind turbines and defense systems. As China continues to dominate the market—producing more than 70% of the world’s supply—the urgency to find reliable alternatives has grown. The United States is locked in a high-stakes race to secure new sources of rare earth elements, along with other critical minerals like lithium and nickel, which are key to the clean energy transition. At the center of this effort is a storied mine in California that not only helped launch the rare earth industry decades ago but now stands as America’s most promising hope for rebuilding a domestic supply chain.

Mining shaped California’s growth, from the 1849 Gold Rush to key industries like mercury, silver, copper, tungsten, and boron. While some have declined, others, like the Rio Tinto U.S. Borax Mine in Boron, California, remain major global suppliers, while rare earth element extraction continues to be an important industry.

MP Materials’ Mountain Pass rare earths mine in California is a remarkable example of industrial resurgence and the strategic importance of critical metals in the modern era. Located in Mountain Pass in the remote Californian desert near the Nevada border (it’s easily viewable from Interstate 15), this mine, initially developed in the mid-20th century, has seen dramatic shifts in fortune, technology, and geopolitics, reflecting the complex role rare earth elements (REEs) play in global industries.

The rock at Mountain Pass contains an average of 7 to 8 percent rare earth elements—a remarkably high concentration by industry standards. This richness is a key factor in the mine’s potential. However, extracting these valuable elements from the surrounding material remains a challenge.

Discovered in 1949 while prospectors searched for uranium, the Mountain Pass deposit instead revealed bastnaesite, an ore rich in rare earth elements like neodymium, europium, and dysprosium. These elements are indispensable to modern technologies, powering innovations across consumer electronics, environmental solutions, and advanced military systems.

A computer-controlled arm deposits the raw crushed ore into a mound at the MP Materials mine and ore processing
site in Mountain Pass, CA. (Courtesy: MP Materials)

Smartphones, for instance, are packed with rare earth elements that enable their functionality. Europium and gadolinium enhance the brightness and color of their screens. Lanthanum and praseodymium contribute to the efficiency of their circuits, while terbium and dysprosium enable the compact, high-performance speakers. Beyond smartphones, rare earth elements are essential to electric vehicles and renewable energy technologies, particularly in the production of permanent magnets. Thanks to their distinctive atomic structure, rare earth elements can produce magnetic fields far stronger than those generated by other magnetizable materials like iron. This exceptional capability arises from their partially filled 4f electron shell, which is shielded by outer electrons. This configuration not only gives them unique magnetic properties but also results in complex electronic arrangements and a tendency for unpaired electrons with similar spins. These characteristics make rare earth elements indispensable for creating the most advanced and powerful commercial magnets, as well as for applications in cutting-edge electronics.

Permanent magnets are among the most significant uses of rare earths, as they convert motion into electricity and vice versa. In the 1980s, scientists discovered that adding small amounts of rare earth metals like neodymium and dysprosium to iron and boron created incredibly powerful magnets. These magnets are ubiquitous in modern technology: tiny ones make your phone vibrate, medium-sized ones power the wheels of electric cars, and massive ones in wind turbines transform the motion of air into electricity. A single wind turbine can require up to 500 pounds of rare earth metals, highlighting their critical role in reducing greenhouse gas emissions.

MP Materials Processing Facility in Mountain Pass, California (Courtesy: MP Materials)

Additionally, rare earths play a significant role in environmental applications. Cerium is used in catalytic converters to reduce vehicle emissions, while lanthanum enhances the efficiency of water purification systems. Rare earth-based phosphors are employed in energy-efficient lighting, such as LED bulbs, which are central to reducing global energy consumption.

The importance of these elements underpins the strategic value of deposits like Mountain Pass, making the extraction and refinement of rare earths a critical aspect of both technological progress and national security. In the military domain, rare earths are integral to cutting-edge systems. They are used in the production of advanced lasers, radar systems, night vision equipment, missile guidance systems, and jet engines. According the the Department of Defense, for example, the F-35 Lightning II aircraft requires more than 900 pounds of rare earth elements. Alloys containing rare earth elements also strengthen armored vehicles, while lanthanum aids in camera lenses and night vision optics, giving military forces a strategic advantage.

Bastnaesite concentrate. Bastnaesite is a mineral that plays a crucial role in the production of rare earth metals.
(Courtesy of MP Materials)

To fully appreciate the significance of rare earth elements and their crucial role in the United State’s economic future, it’s essential to explore the history of Mountain Pass, one of the most important rare earth mines in the world. This storied site not only played a pivotal role in meeting the surging demand for these elements but also serves as a case study in the challenges of balancing industrial ambition with environmental responsibility.

The Molybdenum Corporation of America, later renamed Molycorp, initially capitalized on the booming demand for europium in color televisions during the 1960s. In 1952, the company acquired the Mountain Pass site, recognizing its rich deposits of rare earth minerals. As the first major player in rare earths in the United States, it began operations at Mountain Pass, establishing a foothold in the burgeoning industry. Over the ensuing decades, Mountain Pass became the world’s premier source of rare earths, serving a growing market for advanced materials.

By the 1990s, however, the mine faced significant challenges. Environmental damage caused by leaks of heavy metals and radioactive wastewater led to regulatory scrutiny and costly fines, culminating in the mine’s closure. During its dormancy, global rare earth production shifted overwhelmingly to China, which gained near-monopoly control over the market. By the time Molycorp attempted to revive the site in the early 2000s, it struggled against operational inefficiencies, low rare earth prices, and fierce Chinese competition. Molycorp eventually declared bankruptcy, leaving the mine idle once again.

MP Materials Mine Facility (Photo: Erik Olsen)

In 2017, MP Materials, led by investors including Michael Rosenthal and Jim Litinsky, acquired the shuttered Mountain Pass mine after recognizing its untapped potential. Initially, they anticipated an established mining or strategic buyer would emerge. Faced with the risk of losing the mine’s permit and seeing it permanently closed through reclamation, they made the bold decision to operate it themselves. To restart operations, MP Materials partnered with Shenghe Resources, a Chinese state-backed company that provided critical early funding and became the company’s primary customer. Through this arrangement, MP shipped raw rare earth concentrate to China for processing, laying the foundation for a business model that was heavily reliant on the Chinese supply chain.

Over the next several years, Mountain Pass far exceeded expectations. By 2022, it was producing 42,000 metric tons of rare earth oxides—three times the best output achieved under its previous owner, Molycorp—and accounted for about 15% of global production. In 2024, the mine hit a U.S. production record with over 45,000 metric tons of REO in concentrate. But even as the mine’s output surged, MP Materials’ ties to China remained central to its operations. Shenghe not only purchased the bulk of that concentrate but also maintained an 8% ownership stake. In 2024, roughly 80% of MP’s revenue came from this relationship. That changed in 2025, when China imposed steep tariffs and new export restrictions. MP responded by halting all shipments to China, shifting instead to processing much of its output domestically and selling to U.S.-aligned markets like Japan and South Korea. It has since invested nearly $1 billion to build out a full domestic supply chain and launched a joint venture with Saudi Arabia’s Ma’aden, marking a decisive pivot away from reliance on China.

The processing of rare earth elements, particularly for high-value applications like magnets, involves a complex, multi-step value chain. It begins with extraction, where ores containing rare earths are mined, followed by beneficiation, a process that concentrates the ore to increase its rare earth content. Next, separation and refining isolate individual rare earth oxides through solvent extraction or other chemical methods. These refined oxides then undergo metallization, where they are reduced into their metallic form, making them suitable for further industrial use. The metals are then alloyed with other elements to enhance their properties, and finally, the material is shaped into high-performance magnets essential for applications in electric vehicles, wind turbines, and advanced electronics. Each of these steps presents significant technical, economic, and environmental challenges, making rare earth processing one of the most intricate and strategically important supply chains in modern technology.

Bastnaesite ore (Wikipedia)

Despite MP Materials’ success and efforts to ramp up facets of processing at its Mountain Pass mine in California, a critical portion of the rare earth refining process—metallization, alloying, and magnet manufacturing—remains dependent on other countries, including China and Japan. These procedures are both intricate and environmentally taxing, and California’s stringent regulatory framework, designed to prioritize environmental protections, has made domestic processing particularly challenging. Across the rare earths industry, this dependence on Chinese facilities exposes a significant vulnerability in the rare earth supply chain, leaving the United States and other countries reliant on foreign infrastructure to produce critical materials essential for technologies such as electric vehicles and advanced military systems.

However, to address the dependency on foreign processing, MP Materials is investing heavily in building a fully domestic rare earth supply chain. At its Mountain Pass mine in California, the company is enhancing its processing and separation capabilities to refine rare earth elements on-site. Meanwhile, at its new Independence facility in Fort Worth, Texas, MP Materials has begun producing neodymium-praseodymium (NdPr) metal and trialing sintered neodymium-iron-boron (NdFeB) magnets. This facility marks the first domestic production of these critical materials in decades, with the capability to produce 1,000 metric tons of magnets annually, amounting to the production of roughly half a million EV motors.

“This is our ultimate goal,” says Matt Sloustcher, EVP of Corporate Affairs for MP Materials. “To handle the entire separation and refining process on-site—but that ramp-up takes time.”

Individual slings of PrNd Oxide, the primary product produced at MP Materials. (Courtesy: MP Materials)

MP Materials asserts that the new U.S.-based rare earth supply chain it is developing will be a “zero discharge” facility, recycling all water used on-site and disposing of dry waste in lined landfills. That will make it a far more environmentally sustainable than its counterparts in Asia, where rare earth mining and processing have led to severe pollution and ecological damage. The company says it is making progress. MP Materials’ Sloustcher pointed California Curated to a Life Cycle Assessment (LCA) study published in the American Chemical Society which “found that NdFeB magnets produced from Mountain Pass ore have about one-third the environmental footprint of those from Bayan Obo, China’s largest rare earth mine.”

“With record-setting upstream and midstream production at Mountain Pass and both metal and magnet production underway at Independence , we have reached a significant turning point for MP and U.S. competitiveness in a vital sector,” said James Litinsky, Founder, Chairman, and CEO of MP Materials in a company release.

Interior view of the Water Treatment Plant at the MP Materials mine and ore processing site in
Mountain Pass, CA. (Courtesy: MP Materials)

MP Materials has also partnered with General Motors to produce rare earth magnets for electric vehicles, signaling its commitment to integrating domestic production into key industries. The push for domestic EV production is not just about economic security but also about environmental sustainability, as reducing the carbon footprint of mining, processing, and transportation aligns with the broader goal of clean energy independence.

The resurgence of the Mountain Pass mine aligns with a broader initiative by the U.S. government to secure domestic supplies of critical minerals. Recognizing Mountain Pass as a strategic asset, the Department of Defense awarded MP Materials a $35 million contract in February 2022 to design and build a facility for processing heavy rare earth elements at the mine’s California site Additionally, the Department of Energy has been actively supporting projects to strengthen the domestic supply chain for critical minerals, including rare earth elements, through various funding initiatives.

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Mountain Pass’s operations, however, highlight the challenges inherent in mining rare earths. The extraction process involves significant environmental risks, particularly in managing wastewater and tailings ponds. MP Materials claims to prioritize sustainable practices, yet its long-term ability to minimize environmental impact while scaling production remains under scrutiny. The mine’s bastnaesite ore, with rare earth concentrations of 7–8%, is among the richest globally, making it economically competitive. Still, as mentioned above, processing bastnaesite to isolate pure rare earth elements involves complex chemical treatments, underscoring why global production remains concentrated in a few countries.

Overhead view of the Crusher at the MP Materials mine and ore processing site in Mountain Pass, CA. (Courtesy: MP Materials)

Today, Mountain Pass is not only a critical supplier but also a symbol of U.S. efforts to reduce dependency on Chinese rare earth exports as well as other minerals such as lithium and copper vital to a transition to clean energy technology. As demand for REEs surges with advancements in green energy and technology, the increasing mine’s output supports the production of permanent magnets used in electric motors, wind turbines, and countless other applications. This resurgence in domestic rare earth production offers hope for a revitalized U.S.-based supply chain, reducing dependence on foreign sources and ensuring a more stable, sustainable future for critical mineral access.

However, significant obstacles remain, including the environmental challenges of mining, the high costs of refining and processing, and the need to develop advanced manufacturing infrastructure. Overcoming these barriers will require coordinated efforts from industry, government, and researchers to make domestic production both economically viable and environmentally responsible, ensuring a truly climate-friendly future. With the global race for critical minerals intensifying, MP Materials’ success demonstrates the potential—and challenges—of revitalizing domestic mining infrastructure in an era of heightened resource competition.

Walter Munk was a Californian Oceanographer Who Changed Our Understanding of the Seas

Photo: Erik Jepsen (UC San Diego)

Walter Munk, often referred to as the “Einstein of the Oceans,” was one of the most influential oceanographers of the 20th century. Over a career that spanned more than 70 years, Munk fundamentally altered how we think about the oceans, contributing to our understanding of everything from wave prediction during World War II to deep-sea drilling in California. His work at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography in La Jolla, California, was groundbreaking and continues to influence scientific thinking to this day.

Walter Heinrich Munk was born in Vienna, Austria, on October 19, 1917. At 14, he moved to New York, where he later pursued physics at Columbia University. He became a U.S. citizen in 1939 and earned a bachelor’s degree in physics from the California Institute of Technology the same year, followed by a master’s in geophysics in 1940. Munk then attended the Scripps Institution of Oceanography and completed his Ph.D. in oceanography from the University of California in 1947.

Dr. Walter Munk in 1952. (Scripps Institution of Oceanography Archives/UC San Diego Libraries)

In the early 1940s, Munk’s career took a defining turn when the United States entered World War II. At the time, predicting ocean conditions was largely guesswork, and this posed a significant challenge for military operations. Munk, a PhD student at Scripps at the time, was recruited by the U.S. Army to solve a problem that could make or break military strategy—accurate wave prediction for amphibious landings.

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One of his most famous contributions during the war came in 1944, ahead of the Allied invasion of Normandy. Alongside fellow oceanographer Harald Sverdrup, Munk developed a method to predict the size and timing of ocean waves, ensuring that troops could land safely during the D-Day invasion. Using their model, the Allied forces delayed the invasion by one day, a move that proved crucial in reducing casualties and securing the beachhead. This same wave prediction work was used again in the Pacific theater, particularly for landings on islands like Iwo Jima and Eniwetok. Munk’s contributions not only helped win the war but also laid the foundation for modern oceanography. Wave forecasting is now a standard tool for naval operations, shipping, and even recreational surfers.

Landing craft pass supporting warships in the Battle of Eniwetok, 19 February 1944. (U.S. Army)

After the war, Munk returned to Scripps, a place that would remain central to his career. Established in 1903, Scripps had been growing into a major center for oceanographic research, and Munk’s work helped elevate it to new heights. Located in La Jolla, just north of San Diego, Scripps was perfectly positioned on the California coastline to be at the forefront of oceanographic studies. Scripps is one of the premier oceanographic institutions in the world.

During the post-war years, Munk helped pioneer several new areas of research, from the study of tides and currents to the mysteries of the deep sea. California, with its rich marine ecosystems and coastal access, became the perfect laboratory. In La Jolla, Munk studied the Southern California Current and waves that originated across the Pacific, bringing new understanding to local coastal erosion and long-term climate patterns like El Niño. His research had a direct impact on California’s relationship with its coastline, from naval operations to public policy concerning marine environments.

Walter Munk in 1963 with a tide capsule. The capsule was dropped to the seafloor to measure deep-sea tides before such measurements became feasible by satellite. Credit Ansel Adams, University of California

While Munk’s contributions to wave forecasting may be his most widely recognized work, one of his boldest projects came in the 1960s with Project Mohole. It was an ambitious scientific initiative to drill into the Earth’s mantle, the layer beneath the Earth’s crust. The project was named after the Mohorovičić Discontinuity (named after the pioneering Croatian seismologist Andrija Mohorovičić), the boundary between the Earth’s crust and mantle. The boundary is often referred to as the “Moho”. The goal was revolutionary: to retrieve a sample from the Earth’s mantle, a feat never before attempted.

The idea was to drill through the ocean floor, where the Earth’s crust is thinner than on land, and reach the mantle, providing geologists with direct insights into the composition and dynamics of our planet. The project was largely conceived by American geologists and oceanographers, including Munk, who saw this as an opportunity to leapfrog the Soviet Union in the ongoing Cold War race for scientific supremacy.

The Glomar Challenger, launched in 1968, was the drill ship for NSF’s Deep Sea Drilling Project. (Public Domain)

California was again the backdrop for this audacious project. The drilling took place off the coast of Guadalupe Island, about 200 miles from the Mexican coast, and Scripps played a key role in organizing and coordinating the scientific work. The project succeeded in drilling deeper into the ocean floor than ever before, reaching 600 feet into the seabed. However, funding issues and technical challenges caused the U.S. Congress to abandon the project before the mantle could be reached. Despite its early end, Project Mohole is considered a precursor to modern deep-sea drilling efforts, and it helped pave the way for initiatives like the Integrated Ocean Drilling Program, which continues to explore the ocean’s depths today. For example, techniques for dynamic positioning for ships at sea were largely developed for the Mohole Project.

Munk’s work was deeply tied to California, a state whose coastlines and oceanography provided a wealth of data and opportunities for study. Scripps itself is perched on a stunning bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, a setting that greatly inspired Munk and his colleagues. Throughout his career, Munk worked on understanding the coastal dynamics of California, from studying the erosion patterns of beaches to analyzing how global warming might impact the state’s famous coastal cliffs.

Scripps Institution of Oceanography

His legacy continues to shape how California manages its vast coastline. The methodologies and insights he developed in wave prediction are now used in environmental and civil engineering projects that protect harbors, beaches, and coastal infrastructure from wave damage. As climate change accelerates the rate of sea level rise, Munk’s work on tides, ocean currents, and wave dynamics is more relevant than ever for California’s future.

Walter Munk’s contributions to oceanography stretched well beyond his wartime work and Project Mohole. He was instrumental in shaping how we understand everything from deep-sea currents to climate patterns, earning him numerous awards and accolades. His work at Scripps set the stage for the institution’s current status as a world leader in oceanographic research.

One of the most notable examples of this work was an experiment led by Munk to determine whether acoustics could be used to measure ocean temperatures on a global scale, offering insights into the effects of global warming. In 1991, Munk’s team transmitted low-frequency underwater acoustic signals from a remote site near Heard Island in the southern Indian Ocean. This location was strategically chosen because sound waves could travel along direct paths to listening stations in both the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. The experiment proved successful, with signals detected as far away as Bermuda, New Zealand, and the U.S. West Coast. The time it took for the sound to travel was influenced by the temperature of the water, confirming the premise of the study.

Walter Munk in 2010 after winning the Crafoord Prize. (Crafoord Prize)

Munk passed away in 2019 at the age of 101, but his influence lives on. His approach to science—marked by curiosity, boldness, and a willingness to take on complex, high-risk projects—remains an inspiration for generations of scientists. He was a giant not only in oceanography but also in shaping California’s role in global scientific innovation. As the state faces the challenges of a changing climate, Munk’s legacy as the “Einstein of the Oceans” continues to be felt along its shores and beyond.

John Isaacs, the Maverick Oceanographer Who Wanted to Tow Icebergs to California

An AI rendering of Isaacs’ bold idea (Midjourney)

California’s water crises have always inspired bold solutions, but few ideas rival the sheer audacity of John Isaacs’ proposal to tow a giant Antarctic iceberg to San Diego. A brilliant and unconventional researcher at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography, Isaacs made waves in 1949 with his imaginative, though controversial, plans to quench California’s chronic droughts by harnessing the frozen reservoirs of the polar regions.

Isaacs’ career was defined by his boundary-pushing ideas. A polymath with a keen interest in marine biology, engineering, and climate science, he often operated at the intersections of disciplines, challenging conventional thinking. The iceberg-towing proposal exemplified his knack for blending vision and pragmatism—if one were willing to stretch the definition of “pragmatic.”

Isaacs theorized that large Antarctic icebergs could be wrapped in insulation to slow their melting and then towed by tugboats up the Pacific coast. The journey, spanning thousands of miles, would end with the iceberg positioned off the coast of Southern California, where its meltwater could be harvested to replenish reservoirs. Isaacs estimated that a single large iceberg, some the size of Manhattan, could supply tens of billions of gallons of freshwater—enough to offset drought conditions for millions of people.

John D. Isaacs (Scripps Institution of Oceanography)

The concept wasn’t a fleeting thought. Isaacs expanded on his idea in 1956, suggesting the capture of an eight-billion-ton iceberg—20 miles long, 3,000 feet wide, and 1,000 feet deep—and towing it to San Clemente Island off San Diego in approximately 200 days. He even calculated that a fleet of six ocean-going tugs could accomplish the feat, taking about six months to tow the iceberg from the 65th parallel south to the Californian coast.

In October 1973, the RAND Corporation took Isaacs’ vision further with an extensive report titled “Antarctic Icebergs as a Global Fresh Water Source” for the National Science Foundation. This 96-page document, authored by J.L. Hult and N.C. Ostrander, provided the most detailed scheme to date, transforming the theoretical idea into a more structured and mathematical model. It envisioned the creation of an “iceberg train” and delved into the technicalities and logistics of towing icebergs across the ocean. Hult explained, “Bringing icebergs to where the water is needed was suggested by John Isaacs of Scripps Institute of Oceanography in the 1950s. It is our job to show how practical it is.” However, the plan was not without eccentricities—such as the suggestion of using a floating nuclear power plant to supply the energy needed for the operation. The RAND report exemplified the ambition of its era, though many of its assumptions leaned heavily on theoretical modeling rather than practical viability.

AI rendering of an iceberg being dismantled (Midjourney)

Isaacs wasn’t alone in dreaming big. His proposal came at a time when other researchers and engineers were exploring similarly outlandish ideas, like seeding clouds with silver iodide to induce rain or building massive aqueducts from Alaska. But Isaacs’ iceberg scheme captured imaginations for its sheer romance and its symbolic uniting of Earth’s polar extremes with parched California landscapes.

Isaacs knew his plan faced enormous technical, logistical, and financial hurdles. For one, towing an iceberg would require immense energy and coordination, as well as a fleet of powerful ships. The iceberg’s tendency to melt during transit—especially when entering warmer waters—posed another significant obstacle. To mitigate this, Isaacs suggested covering the iceberg in reflective materials or insulating blankets to slow heat absorption.

Then there was the issue of economics. Calculations revealed that the cost of transporting a single iceberg could run into the billions, far outweighing the price of more conventional water solutions like desalination plants or water recycling programs. Critics also worried about ecological disruption, from changing ocean currents to the impact on marine ecosystems along the iceberg’s route.

While Isaacs’ iceberg idea was never realized, it sparked a wave of creative thinking about unconventional water solutions. Today, some of the principles behind his ideas have resurfaced in modern innovations. Advanced engineering methods, including climate-resilient infrastructure and adaptive water management, owe a debt to the exploratory spirit of Isaacs’ era.

AI rendering of an aqueduct built to carry water from Alaska to California (Midjourney)

The iceberg-towing concept is occasionally revisited, especially as climate change intensifies water scarcity. For example, in recent years, researchers in the United Arab Emirates have considered similar plans to bring freshwater from polar ice to arid regions. Advances in materials science and energy efficiency have made some aspects of Isaacs’ vision more feasible, though the logistics remain daunting.

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John Isaacs’ career extended far beyond icebergs. He contributed to deep-sea exploration, studied the effects of nuclear fallout on marine life, and was an early advocate for understanding the ocean’s role in climate systems. His interdisciplinary approach and willingness to embrace unorthodox solutions left a lasting impact on oceanography and environmental science.

Isaacs’ iceberg proposal remains a testament to his fearless creativity and his deep commitment to solving humanity’s greatest challenges. While the world never saw an iceberg floating past Los Angeles, Isaacs’ bold thinking continues to inspire researchers grappling with the complex interplay of science, technology, and the environment.

The Great Los Angeles Flood of 1934 was a Disaster That Shaped California’s Approach to Flood Control

A house in the La Crescenta-Montrose area was swept off its foundation and carried several hundred feet by the
New Year’s Eve floodwaters. (LA Times)

In early 1934, Southern California experienced one of the most tragic and devastating natural disasters in its history as a populated region: the Los Angeles flood of 1934. This flood, largely forgotten today outside of the areas directly affected, struck La Crescenta, Montrose, and other foothill communities with devastating force, reshaping not just the landscape but the way California approached flood management and disaster preparedness. It was one of the deadliest floods in Los Angeles history.

The catastrophe took shape in early January after a period of intense rainfall, likely the product of an atmospheric river, a weather phenomenon that can deliver extreme, concentrated rainfall over a short period. In this case, a series of storms in early 1934 carried moisture from the Pacific Ocean directly into Southern California. The storms brought unusually heavy rain to the region, especially to the steep, fire-scarred San Gabriel Mountains.

Nearly 12 inches of rain poured over the foothills in a span of a few days, saturating the steep slopes of the San Gabriel Mountains. The natural landscape was already vulnerable, scarred by wildfires that had burned through the mountains in recent years, leaving slopes exposed and unable to hold the sudden deluge. At this time, the practice of fire suppression had only just begun, meaning that the region’s dry, chaparral-covered mountainsides were naturally prone to burns, which often created perfect conditions for flash floods in winter. Once the rainfall reached a critical level, water, mud, and debris barreled down the mountains, channeled by steep canyons that funneled the destructive flow toward the communities below.

A worker digs out a car and the remains of a home on Glenada Ave. in Montrose. (LA Times)

La Crescenta and Montrose were hit hardest, with residents astonished by walls of mud and rock rushing down their streets. Homes were swept from their foundations; trees, rocks, and debris clogged roadways, and massive boulders tumbled down, crushing cars, smashing into homes and rolling into the middle of once-busy streets. The disaster destroyed over 400 homes and claimed dozens of lives, and numerous people were injured. The streets were piled with silt and debris, several feet thick, which made rescue efforts nearly impossible at first. Additionally, infrastructure like power lines and bridges was obliterated, leaving the communities isolated and in darkness. The floodwaters, swollen with debris, rushed into homes, sweeping families out into the chaos, while cars and buildings alike were left buried or carried off entirely.

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Believing it to be a secure shelter for the night, a dozen people took refuge in the local American Legion Post 288. Tragically, the building lay squarely in the path of a powerful debris flow that swept down from Pickens Canyon. The force of the flood shattered the hall’s walls, filling it with thick mud that buried everyone inside before surging on its destructive path. Today, a modest memorial honors those lost to the 1934 flood, overlooking the site of the former hall, which has since been converted into part of the flood control infrastructure.

American Legion Hall damaged by flood and mudslide, La Crescenta-Montrose, 1934 (LA Times)

In the aftermath of the tragedy, local and state governments were forced to confront the region’s vulnerability to such floods. At that time, Los Angeles was in the throes of rapid expansion, with more people moving to suburban areas near the San Gabriel Mountains. The flood, along with an even more destructive one in 1938, firmly swayed public opinion toward a comprehensive flood control strategy. The concrete channels that cut through Los Angeles today are part of this system, designed to swiftly carry water past the city and out to the ocean. brought a clear message: these communities needed better protection. As a result, California embarked on an ambitious flood control plan that would shape Los Angeles County’s infrastructure for decades. Engineers and city planners constructed a network of dams, basins, and concrete channels, including structures like the Big Tujunga Dam, to control water flow from the mountains. The Los Angeles River was channeled and paved, transforming it from a meandering, unpredictable river into the hard-lined, brutalist urban waterway we see today. The Arroyo Seco and other channels were also developed as part of this system to divert stormwater, preventing future flood damage in surrounding communities.

People survey the damage to their cars and roads in the aftermath of the flood. (LA Times)

Over the years, this engineering effort proved largely effective in preventing a recurrence of the devastation that struck La Crescenta and Montrose. However, modern critics argue that these concrete channels, while functional, have disconnected Los Angeles from its natural water systems, affecting both wildlife habitats and the local ecosystem. In recent years, the focus has shifted toward exploring more sustainable flood management techniques, with an eye toward revitalizing some of the natural waterways. This includes restoring parts of the Los Angeles River with green spaces, enhancing biodiversity, and creating flood basins that can handle overflow while supporting ecosystems. In this way, the 1934 flood has left a long-lasting impact, as it continues to influence flood control policies and urban planning in the region.

Mud, rocks, and wrecked cars littered Montrose Avenue in Montrose after the New Year’s flooding. (LA Times)

Today, with climate change bringing more extreme weather, Los Angeles is once again reflecting on its flood infrastructure. The LA River Restoration Master Plan is an ambitious project aimed at transforming the Los Angeles River from a concrete flood channel back into a vibrant, naturalized waterway that serves as a green space for local communities. The plan envisions revitalizing the river’s ecosystems, improving water quality, and creating public parks, walking trails, and recreation areas along the river’s 51-mile stretch. By reconnecting neighborhoods and restoring wildlife habitats, it seeks to bring nature back into the urban core. However, the plan comes with significant challenges, including an estimated cost of up to $1.5 billion and complex engineering demands to ensure flood safety while restoring the river’s natural flow and ecology.

Rendering of a section of the LA River part of the Los Angeles River Revitalization Master Plan (Wenk Associates)

The 1934 flood serves as a sobering reminder of the dangers posed by sudden, intense rainfall in fire-prone mountainous regions. As California experiences more intense wildfire seasons, the cycle of fire followed by flood continues to be a significant threat. The legacy of the Los Angeles flood of 1934 underscores the delicate balance required in managing natural landscapes and urban expansion and remains a critical part of understanding how communities can—and must—adapt to an unpredictable climate future.

Get Your Nukes on Route 66: The Wild Plan to Use Nuclear Weapons to Blast a Highway Through the California Desert

…and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. Micah 4:3

Fake rendering of an atomic bomb exploding near road in Mojave Desert.

In the early 1960s, the U.S. government seriously considered using nuclear bombs to solve a civil engineering challenge: building a highway bypass through the rugged terrain of California’s Mojave Desert. Dubbed Project Carryall, the plan would have involved detonating a series of nuclear devices to blast a path for a stretch of highway and railroad intended to reroute Route 66 and ease congestion. The idea sounds absurd today, but at the time, the U.S. was actively exploring ways to use nuclear energy for peaceful purposes.

Project Carryall was part of a broader initiative known as Operation Plowshare, launched by the Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) to explore the potential of using nuclear explosions in constructive ways. Proposed ambitious projects included using nuclear explosions for excavation, mining, and infrastructure development. Ideas included creating artificial harbors, digging new canals like the “Pan-Atomic Canal,” stimulating natural gas production through underground detonations, and creating tunnels or underground reservoirs.

The idea was conceived in 1951 as a way of “beating atomic arms into plowshares.” The underlying logic was that controlled nuclear blasts could do the work of traditional excavation on a much larger and faster scale. Proponents of the project, including argued that using nuclear bombs could reduce the time and cost involved in these types of infrastructure projects, providing a technological leap forward.

Edward Teller, a key figure in the development of the hydrogen bomb, was actively involved in promoting Project Carryall as part of his broader support for Operation Plowshare. His earlier contributions to the successful creation of the H-bomb in 1952 helped cement his reputation as a leading nuclear physicist, and he saw projects like Carryall as a way to repurpose atomic energy for large-scale civil engineering projects​.

Teller was a highly controversial figure due to his staunch advocacy for the use of nuclear technology, both in weapons development and peaceful applications like Project Carryall. His role in the hydrogen bomb’s creation, along with his support for large-scale nuclear projects, earned him both admiration and criticism, particularly after he testified against Robert Oppenheimer, which many viewed as a betrayal of his fellow scientists. Teller, who died in 2003, went to his grave convinced that nuclear geo-engineering was a missed opportunity.

Schematic and map of Project Carryall in the California Desert

The proposal for Project Carryall specifically targeted the construction of a new transportation corridor in Southern California. By the early 1960s, Route 66 had become notorious for traffic bottlenecks, particularly as postwar car ownership and travel boomed. To bypass the tight curves and mountainous terrain of the Cajon Pass area, engineers envisioned a straighter, more efficient route through the Bristol Mountains. The task of carving out such a path would have been an immense undertaking with traditional methods. Enter the nuclear option. Maybe we could dig with the bomb.

A feasibility study conducted by the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe Railway (ATSF) sought assistance from the U.S. Atomic Energy Commission citing the Bristol Mountains as the ideal location for the project. Collaborating with the Commission’s San Francisco office and the Lawrence Radiation Laboratory (now the Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory and a Department of Energy-funded U.C. Berkeley offshoot), the study concluded that a nuclear-excavated bypass was not only “technically feasible” but also significantly cheaper than traditional excavation methods.

Public domain, via Atomic Skies

Project Carryall aimed to carve a path through the Bristol Mountains, about 11 miles north of Amboy, California, a popular stop along Route 66, using 22 nuclear devices with yields ranging from 20 to 200 kilotons. Engineers planned to drill holes along a 10,940-foot section of the mountainside, each 36 inches in diameter and between 343 to 783 feet deep, reinforced with corrugated metal to house the nuclear explosives. These detonations, which would have been fired in two groups of 11 simultaneously, were expected to remove around 68 million cubic yards of earth, creating a cut up to 360 feet deep and between 600 and 1,300 feet wide. The total yield of the explosions, 1,730 kilotons, was equivalent to about 115 times the explosive power of Little Boy, the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima. The blasts would have essentially carved the path through the mountains in seconds​.

Project Storax Sedan shallow underground nuclear test by the United States, used for a cratering experiment. 6 July 1962, Nevada Test Site Yield: 104 kt. The main purpose of the detonation was to asses the non military dimension of a nuclear explosion.

Citing data from 1962’s Project Sedan, the Atomic Energy Commission estimated that work in the area could safely resume just four days after the nuclear detonation. This projection was highlighted in a 2011 report by the Desert Research Institute, affiliated with the University of Nevada, Reno, which examined the feasibility and safety of such operations during the era of nuclear excavation projects. The Sedan nuclear test displaced around 12 million tons of earth with a single 104-kiloton blast. This test created a massive crater and sent radioactive debris into the atmosphere.

The 1962 “Sedan” plowshares shot displaced 12 million tons of earth and created a crater 320 feet deep and 1,280 feet wide.
(National Nuclear Security Administration)

The projected combined costs for the railroad tunnel and highway in Project Carryall were estimated at $21.8 million, equivalent to roughly $216.96 million today. The nuclear excavation method was expected to cost $13.8 million (about $137.34 million in 2023 dollars), excluding the price of the nuclear devices themselves. Traditional excavation was estimated at $50 million, or approximately $497.61 million today. Although the cost of the nuclear devices was classified, it was assumed to be less than the gap between conventional and nuclear methods, making the nuclear approach seem more cost-effective at the time.

Mid-20th century scientists envisioned a new Panama Canal blasted down to sea level with thermonuclear explosives. (Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory)

As wild as this plan seems today, it wasn’t entirely out of place in the context of its time. The Cold War era was marked by an optimistic belief in the power of technology, particularly nuclear technology, to solve big problems. With Operation Plowshare, the U.S. government was looking for ways to demonstrate the peaceful uses of nuclear energy. Proponents of Project Carryall framed the use of nuclear devices for highway construction as a sign of progress, imagining a future where atomic energy could help reshape the American landscape in new and innovative ways.

However, there were significant hurdles to the project’s realization, many of them environmental and logistical. Although the AEC touted the precision of the nuclear blasts, the potential consequences of radiation were harder to dismiss. The detonation of nearly two dozen nuclear devices in the middle of California’s desert would likely have released dangerous levels of radioactive fallout, contaminating the land, air, and possibly even water supplies for nearby communities. Engineers also anticipated “occasional rock missiles” projected as far as 4,000 feet (1,200 m) from the blasts. While the nearby town of Amboy was not expected to experience significant effects, there was greater concern about the impact on a natural gas pipeline in the vicinity, which would require pre-blast testing to assess potential risks​. Further, concerns about the safety of workers, residents, and wildlife made it increasingly difficult to justify the project.

Project Carryall was abandoned due to a combination of environmental, political, and logistical concerns. As public awareness of the dangers of nuclear fallout grew, the potential for radioactive contamination became a significant issue, especially with the predicted large dust cloud and the risk to nearby natural gas pipelines. The signing of the Limited Test Ban Treaty in 1963, which prohibited nuclear tests that produced radioactive debris across borders, further complicated the project’s prospects. Moreover, the environmental movement was gaining traction during the 1960s, leading to increased opposition to nuclear excavation. Traditional construction methods, though more costly and time-consuming, were ultimately deemed safer and more politically feasible. By the mid-1960s, the California Highway Division (Now Caltrans) withdrew from the project, and nuclear excavation was abandoned in favor of conventional approaches. The highway bypass was eventually constructed using traditional methods, without the need for nuclear blasts.

Project Carryall Marker sign in Ludlow, California

While it never came to fruition, Project Carryall remains a striking example of the U.S. government’s audacious postwar optimism and the belief that nuclear technology could solve even the most mundane problems. It serves as a reminder of the tension between technological ambition and environmental responsibility—a lesson that resonates even more today. The story of Project Carryall is one of the stranger chapters in the history of America’s nuclear age, but it highlights how far we’ve come in understanding the limits and dangers of nuclear energy beyond warfare.

Today, the Carryall project is memorialized by a roadside marker in Ludlow, the nearest town to the west of the site.