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

An AI rendering of Isaacs’ bold idea (Midjourney)

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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.

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All the Fish We Did Not See – The Discovery of the Ocean’s False Bottom off California

A paper nautilus or Argonaut, a group of pelagic octopuses that dwell in the ocean’s twilight zone. (Erik Olsen)

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In the summer of 1942, aboard the USS Jasper, a team of scientists embarked on a mission off the coast of San Diego, California, a hub for U.S. Navy operations and other military activities vital for the Pacific Theater of World War II. Their goal was to test a new technology called “long-range active sonar,” developed to detect enemy submarines—specifically Japanese submarines and German U-boats—during World War II. Long-range active sonar is a technology that sends sound waves through the ocean to map and visualize the seafloor across great distances, revealing details of underwater topography and structures that would otherwise remain hidden beneath the waves.

The expedition was led by Carl F. Eyring, an accomplished acoustic physicist known for his pioneering work in sonar technology. Eyring, along with his colleagues Ralph A. Christensen and Russell W. Raitt, played crucial roles in the mission. Their combined expertise in acoustics, naval operations, and marine science made them the perfect team to explore the deep ocean with sound.

The USS *Jasper* in 1945—just a few years after scientists discovered the first evidence of the Deep Scattering Layer during a research cruise aboard the ship. (Photo: Naval History and Heritage Command)

As they deployed sonar pulses into the depths, they encountered an unexpected anomaly: a persistent, dense layer approximately 300 yards (about 274 meters) below the surface that scattered their acoustic signals. It was almost as if the ocean floor had risen, looming closer with a strange, unyielding presence that defied all explanations.

This new reading was a complete anomaly, contradicting everything they knew about the seafloor’s topology. It was as though a solid mass had somehow materialized in the depths—a mass dense enough to obscure their sonar and make the familiar landscape unrecognizable. At the same time, their signal strength readings spiked erratically, suggesting significant interference in the water.

Carl F. Eyring (Brigham Young University)

The discovery of this peculiar layer presented an intriguing puzzle to the scientists aboard the Jasper. Yet, with a war raging, they couldn’t afford to lose focus. Instead, they concentrated on measuring its dimensions and mitigating the acoustic interference it created. Determining its true nature would have to wait for another time.

It wasn’t until almost three years later, in 1945, that oceanographer Martin Johnson deployed nets into the Pacific and uncovered the truth: the layer was actually a massive cloud of marine animals, most no larger than a human finger, migrating daily from the deep ocean to the surface and back. This dense biological layer, packed with animals capable of reflecting sonar, had created the illusion of a solid mass, effectively “masking” the true depth of the ocean floor by reflecting sonar waves off the swim bladders of the fish and other marine organisms.

Bristlemouth trawled from the ocean’s twilight zone (Erik Olsen)

This phenomenon, later termed the Deep Scattering Layer (DSL), created a “false bottom” in sonar readings, revealing an unexpectedly dense concentration of biological life in a mid-ocean zone once thought to be relatively sparse. The discovery of the DSL challenged assumptions about life distribution in the ocean, showing that vast numbers of organisms—such as fish, squid, and zooplankton—populate these depths, rising and descending with daily cycles to avoid predators and optimize feeding.

The DSL is situated within the ocean’s mesopelagic zone, commonly referred to as the twilight zone, which extends from about 200 to 1,000 meters below the surface. This region is characterized by minimal sunlight penetration and hosts a diverse array of marine life. Indeed, this huge swath of biomass is exactly what the sonar was picking up. This remarkable behavior observed in this zone is the diurnal vertical migration—the largest daily movement of biomass on Earth, the world’s largest animal migration. Each evening, billions of organisms (some scientists actually believe they number into the quadrillions) including small fish like lanternfish, hatchetfish and bristlemouths, ascend toward the surface to feed under the cover of darkness, retreating to the depths at dawn to evade predators. (Bristlemouths, by the way, are said to be the most numerous vertebrate on the planet.)

Scattering layer seen on sonar (Erik Olsen)

The discovery of the DSL provided significant insights into marine biology and oceanography. The layer’s composition—primarily swarms of marine animals with gas-filled swim bladders—explained the sonar reflections that mimicked the seafloor. This understanding highlighted the abundance and biodiversity of life in the twilight zone and underscored the importance of these organisms in oceanic ecosystems.

The discovery also led over time to an understanding of the role this layer plays in the carbon cycle, the very phenomenon that helps regulate Earth’s climate. The daily migration of marine animals in this layer is not just a remarkable biological spectacle; it is also a key mechanism for transporting carbon from the ocean’s surface to its depths. As these organisms ascend at night to feed and then return to deeper waters during the day, they excrete waste and many of them die, effectively moving carbon downwards, often sequestering it in the deep ocean floor where it can remain for centuries. This process, known as the biological carbon pump, plays a vital role in mitigating the effects of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, thus contributing to climate stability. Without the existence of the Deep Scattering Layer and its role in the carbon cycle, the Earth’s carbon balance would be significantly different, highlighting just how interconnected marine ecosystems are with global climate regulation.

In the decades following its discovery, the DSL has remained a subject of scientific inquiry. Advancements in sonar technology and deep-sea exploration have revealed the layer’s dynamic nature and its role in global carbon cycling.

Current research into the twilight zone, particularly by scientists at the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution (WHOI), is uncovering fascinating insights into this enigmatic region of the ocean. The twilight zone remains one of the least explored parts of the ocean, despite being home to an abundance of life and playing a crucial role in global biogeochemical cycles. Woods Hole has been at the forefront of investigating this layer, employing advanced technology like remotely operated vehicles (ROVs), autonomous underwater vehicles (AUVs), submersibles, and cutting-edge acoustic techniques to understand its complex dynamics and ecosystem.

One of the leading researchers at WHOI, Dr. Heidi Sosik, has been focusing on the role that the twilight zone plays in the carbon cycle. Sosik’s work involves the use of automated imaging technologies to analyze the behavior and diversity of the organisms inhabiting this region. By documenting their daily migrations and interactions, Sosik’s team has been able to quantify the extent to which these animals contribute to carbon transport. This research is essential for understanding how much carbon is effectively being sequestered from the atmosphere through these daily migrations.

Another prominent scientist at WHOI, Dr. Andone Lavery, is working to map the twilight zone’s acoustics in unprecedented detail. Lavery’s expertise in underwater sound technology has helped reveal not only the composition of the Deep Scattering Layer but also the behaviors of its inhabitants. Lavery’s recent findings indicate that the twilight zone’s acoustic properties are far more dynamic than previously thought, and these properties can significantly affect how marine animals detect predators and prey, as well as how researchers measure biomass in this layer.

Dr. Simon Thorrold, also from WHOI, has been studying the food web dynamics within the twilight zone. Thorrold’s research has uncovered surprising insights into predator-prey relationships among mesopelagic species. Using chemical tracers, his team has been able to track the movement of nutrients through the food web, revealing that many animals from the twilight zone are integral to surface ecosystems as well, either through vertical migration or being preyed upon by larger species such as tuna, swordfish, and marine mammals.

Scientists use a Triton submersible to explore the ocean’s twilight zone in the Bahamas. (Erik Olsen)

In addition, WHOI has been collaborating with international partners on the “Twilight Zone Exploration” (TZX) project, which aims to better understand how human activities, such as fishing and climate change, are impacting this critical part of the ocean. The mesopelagic zone is increasingly targeted by commercial fishing due to the sheer biomass it holds. Dr. Sosik and her colleagues are actively studying the potential consequences of harvesting these species, considering their importance in carbon sequestration and as a key link in marine food webs.

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Together, these efforts are gradually revealing the twilight zone’s secrets, emphasizing its importance not only in regulating climate but also in maintaining the health of marine ecosystems. As the pressures of climate change and human exploitation continue to grow, understanding this mysterious part of the ocean has never been more critical.

The USS Jasper‘s encounter with the false bottom off California’s coast stands as a pivotal moment in oceanographic history. It not only unveiled the hidden complexities of the ocean’s twilight zone but also bridged the gap between military technology and marine science, leading to a deeper appreciation of the intricate and interconnected nature of Earth’s marine environments.

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Cadillac Desert: How Marc Reisner Changed the Way We See Water

Los Angeles Aqueduct passing through Palmdale, California (Photo: Erik Olsen)

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Marc Reisner’s Cadillac Desert: The American West and Its Disappearing Water remains a towering achievement in environmental journalism, decades after its publication in 1986. Chronicling the history, politics, and ecological consequences of water management in the American West, Cadillac Desert is not just an exposé of the past—it’s a cautionary tale that resonates today. With precision and passion, Reisner unraveled the intricacies of an arid region’s improbable transformation into one of the world’s most agriculturally productive and densely populated areas. His work has had a profound and lasting impact on how we understand water politics and environmental sustainability in California and beyond.

Cadillac Desert stands as a fitting successor to Wallace Stegner’s Beyond the Hundredth Meridian, continuing the exploration of water’s defining role in the American West. While Stegner championed the visionary work of John Wesley Powell and exposed the folly of ignoring the region’s arid realities, Reisner picked up the torch decades later to chronicle how those warnings were systematically ignored. Where Stegner painted a historical narrative of ambition and hubris, Reisner delivered a scathing and urgent critique of water politics, detailing the environmental and economic consequences of massive dam-building projects and unsustainable resource exploitation.

Cadillac Desert is, at its core, a gripping investigation into the manipulation of water resources in the American West. Reisner meticulously details how the construction of massive dams, reservoirs, and aqueducts enabled the transformation of a naturally dry landscape into a gargantuan economic powerhouse. From the Colorado River to the Los Angeles Aqueduct to California’s Central Valley, Cadillac Desert paints a vivid picture of engineering triumphs and environmental sacrifices, revealing the cost of this development to natural ecosystems, Indigenous communities, and future generations.

One of Reisner’s central stories is the tale of the Owens Valley. In the early 20th century, this fertile agricultural region was drained dry when the Los Angeles Aqueduct diverted its water to fuel the growing metropolis of Los Angeles. The story, replete with backroom deals, broken promises, and outraged locals, serves as a symbol of the greed and ambition that defined water politics in the West. Reisner weaves this narrative with the larger saga of William Mulholland, the ambitious engineer whose name is synonymous with both the success and hubris of L.A.’s water empire. This saga of water, power, and betrayal would later inspire the dark and iconic tale of Chinatown, the Roman Polanski film that captured the moral ambiguities and human cost of Los Angeles’ relentless thirst for growth.

Marc Reisner (Water Education Foundation)

Another cornerstone of the book is the story of the Colorado River, a waterway Reisner calls the most controlled and litigated river on Earth. He charts the creation of the Hoover Dam and the vast network of canals and reservoirs that distribute its water across seven states. The book reveals how over-allocation of the river’s resources, coupled with decades of drought, have pushed it to the brink of collapse—an issue that has only grown more urgent since Cadillac Desert was published.

Hoover Dam in 1936 (United States Bureau of Reclamation)

Reisner also dissects the Central Valley Project and the State Water Project, two gargantuan efforts to turn California into an agricultural Eden. By moving water from Northern California to the arid south, these projects enabled California’s emergence as a global agricultural leader. But Reisner doesn’t shy away from exposing the social and environmental consequences: drained wetlands, salt buildup in soils, and a system that prioritizes agribusiness over the needs of small farmers and urban residents.

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What makes Cadillac Desert extraordinary is not just its scope but its style. Reisner’s journalistic rigor is matched by his ability to tell a compelling story. He brings characters like Mulholland and Floyd Dominy, the brash commissioner of the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation (part of the U.S. Department of the Interior), to life with vivid detail. At the same time, his writing is infused with moral urgency, challenging readers to question the sustainability of a society built on unsustainable water use.

Owens River in the Eastern Sierra (Erik Olsen)

The book’s legacy is immense. It galvanized environmentalists and policymakers, inspiring debates about water rights, conservation, and the future of development in the West. Documentaries, academic studies, and even contemporary water management policies owe much to the awareness Cadillac Desert raised. In California, where water battles continue to define politics and development, the book remains as relevant as ever.

As we face a future of intensifying droughts and climate change, Reisner’s insights grow more prescient by the day. California is still grappling with the overuse of groundwater, the challenges of aging infrastructure, and the inequities in water distribution. And while new technologies and policies offer hope, the central question Cadillac Desert poses—how do we balance human ambition with the limits of nature?—remains unanswered.

Tragically, Reisner passed away in 2000 at the age of 51 from cancer, cutting short the life of a writer who had so much more to contribute to our understanding of environmental challenges. His death was a significant loss to the fields of journalism and environmental advocacy, but his legacy endures through his groundbreaking work. Cadillac Desert continues to inspire new generations to confront the urgent questions surrounding water use, conservation, and the future of the planet.

Marc Reisner’s Cadillac Desert is not just a history of water in the West; it is a call to rethink our relationship with one of the planet’s most precious resources. At once an epic tale and an urgent warning, it stands as a monumental testament to the price we pay for bending nature to our will.

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Unearthing the Secrets of the Sierra Nevada Batholith

An example of Sierra Nevada batholith. There are several domes in Yosemite besides Half Dome. (Erik Olsen)

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Ansel Adams, with his iconic black-and-white photographs of Yosemite and the Sierra Nevada, likely never realized that his lens was capturing not just breathtaking landscapes but one of geology’s most fascinating phenomena—the Sierra Batholith, a colossal formation of granite that lies at the heart of the mountains he immortalized. The Sierra Batholith is a massive granite body that reveals the tale of ancient volcanic activity in California, showcasing nature and time as master artists, and the slow tectonic forces that have shaped the Earth’s crust over millions of years.

Discussing the Sierra batholith, the writer John McPhee wrote: “It lies inside the Sierra like a big zeppelin. Geologists in their field boots mapping outcrops may not have been able to find a bottom, but geophysicists can, or think they can, and they say it is six miles down. If so, the batholith weighs a quadrillion tons, and its volume is at least a hundred and fifty thousand cubic miles.”

The Sierra Batholith is unique because it represents a massive, exposed section of the Earth’s continental crust formed deep underground during the Mesozoic era, between 85 and 220 million years ago. Unlike typical mountain ranges that form through surface processes, the Sierra Batholith was created as molten rock, or magma, cooled and solidified far beneath the Earth’s surface.

A batholith is a gargantuan underground rock formation made up mostly of intrusive igneous rock, predominantly granite.” Intrusive” in this context doesn’t mean the rock is barging into conversations—it refers to rock that formed beneath the Earth’s surface as molten magma slowly cooled and solidified. The Sierra Nevada batholith is a titan among batholiths, covering an area of about 40,000 square kilometers (16,000 sq. miles).

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How did this underground monolith come into being? Picture the Earth’s crust as a sort of geological lasagna, consisting of multiple layers of rock. When the Pacific Plate and the North American Plate crashed into one another—intense pressure and heat accumulated deep within the Earth. The result is the formation of magma, which then cooled and solidified slowly below the Earth’s crust. The slow cooling allowed minerals to crystallize, creating a texture in the rock that’s coarse and beautifully patterned—not unlike granite countertops for your kitchen, but on a monumental scale.

The Sierra Nevada Batholith was only revealed after vertical miles of Earth’s crust above it eroded away. Stretching from just north of Lake Tahoe to Tehachapi Pass, this massive formation resembles an air mattress—450 miles long, 60 miles wide, and about eight to nine miles thick, with six miles still buried underground and two to three miles towering above the surrounding landscape. The sheer size, scale, and immense mass are awe-inspiring—and it’s all right here in California.

This creation process was far from uniform—the batholith is actually not a single mass, per se, but a cluster of blobs of molten rock fused at the edges. These blobs, called plutons, are clustered together like cobblestones in a street or the uneven domes of a bubble wrap sheet. What we now see are the rounded tops of about 20 oval-shaped plutons, each around 10 by 20 miles in size. Chemically, each blob varies slightly. Granite, made mostly of silica, which forms 60 to 80 percent of its mass, gets its whitish hue from silica, with black flecks of feldspar and hornblende, sometimes tinged with reddish iron oxide. The slower the cooling, the more time quartz crystals had to form.

One of the largest and youngest plutons in the Sierra is called the Whitney Intrusive Suite, and it is the foundation of the nation’s tallest peak outside of Alaska, Mt. Whitney.

A geologic map of Yosemite National Park showing the many intrusions that make up this part of the Sierra Nevada Batholith.

Natural forces like wind, water, and glaciers have gradually eroded the Earth’s surface, exposing the underlying granite. Imagine the work of an infinitely patient sculptor, slowly chipping away at a block of marble year after year, century after century. Except here, the sculptor is Mother Nature, and the time frame is geological, spanning epochs rather than mere decades or centuries.

One fascinating facet of this story is how glaciers have been among the most dramatic artists in nature’s magnificent art gallery. Their slow, relentless movement sculpted features like Yosemite Valley, one of the most breathtaking landscapes on Earth.

Half Dome in Yosemite, a granite giant of the Sierra Batholith, showcases millions of years of cooling magma and erosion. (Erik Olsen)

But the Sierra Nevada batholith isn’t just a stationary slab of rock—it’s also a dynamic part of California’s ecosystem. The granite affects the way water moves or stagnates in the region, influencing local hydrology and, by extension, water supply. When the snow in the Sierra Nevada mountains melts, it feeds rivers and lakes, many of which are essential to California’s agricultural and urban areas. Imagine the batholith as a silent but vital cog in the wheel of California’s complex water system.

One excellent resource to learn more about the Sierra and the Sierra batholith is Kim Stanley Robinson‘s The High Sierra: A Love Story. The book is an evocative blend of memoir, natural history, and environmental meditation, centered around the Sierra Nevada mountains, a region Robinson has deeply cherished for decades. Robinson, widely regarded as one of today’s greatest science fiction writers, has authored numerous books on topics ranging from space exploration to climate change. Yet one of his deepest passions is hiking in the Sierra.

Half Dome, carved from the granite of the Sierra Batholith, offers a glimpse into Earth’s deep history, where ancient magma chambers solidified beneath the surface and were gradually revealed through uplift and erosion. (Erik Olsen)

In the book, he explores the geologic grandeur, ecological richness, and personal significance of this mountain range, offering readers a vivid portrayal of its granite peaks, alpine meadows, and glacial valleys. Robinson intertwines his own hiking experiences with reflections on the Sierra’s geological formation, the indigenous histories of the land, and the environmental challenges it faces today. His narrative is as much an ode to the beauty and solitude of the Sierra as it is a call for greater environmental stewardship, showcasing his talent for combining science with a profound emotional connection to the natural world. (If you haven’t yet read one of his books, you should. Start with Red Mars.)

Sierra Nevada from Lone Pine (Erik Olsen)

If you’re the adventurous type with a penchant for rock climbing or hiking, the Sierra Nevada batholith serves as both your playground and your classroom. Whether you’re scaling the granite walls of El Capitan or hiking the trails near Lake Tahoe, you’re traversing a landscape that’s millions of years old. Each crevice, each outcrop, and each boulder tells a tale of geological drama spanning eons.

Looking back at John McPhee’s Assembling California: A Journey through Geology and Time

Sierra Nevada Mountains and Hot Creek Geological Site (Erik Olsen)

California’s diverse landscapes, rich history, and abundant natural phenomena have inspired many scientific-themed popular books, ranging from John Steinbeck’s “The Log from the Sea of Cortez,” with its focus on marine biology, to Mary Austin’s “The Land of Little Rain,” a lyrical examination of California’s desert environment, not to mention the late Marc Reisner’s Cadillac Desert, an epic history of California’s contentious relationship with water. (I’ve read it twice.)

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But when it comes to exploring the state’s geology – its mountains, coastlines, and, most notably, its fault lines – few books can match the prowess and eloquence of John McPhee’s “Assembling California“. Part of his Pulitzer-winning series, “Annals of the Former World,” the book offers a comprehensive and accessible tour through the geological history of California, crafting a fascinating narrative that is as engaging as it is informative.

John McPhee is an acclaimed American writer and pioneer of creative nonfiction, renowned for his deeply researched and beautifully crafted works that often explore topics related to nature, science, and geography. A long-time staff writer for The New Yorker and the author of over 30 books, McPhee is celebrated for his ability to turn seemingly ordinary subjects—such as geology, oranges, or transportation—into compelling narratives. His distinctive style blends meticulous research with accessible, often poetic prose that has been widely immitated. I’ve read several of McPhee’s books and while some of the work can be hard going, I’m usually very satisfied once I’m done. Assembling California is, in my opinion, one of his best.

Here’s an excerpt:

An old VW bus is best off climbing the Sierra from the west. Often likened to a raised trapdoor, the Sierra has a long and planar western slope and—near the state line—a plunging escarpment facing east. The shape of the Sierra is also like an airfoil, or a woodshed, with its long sloping back and its sheer front. The nineteenth-century geologist Clarence King compared it to “a sea-wave”—a crested ocean roller about to break upon Nevada. The image of the trapdoor best serves the tectonics. Hinged somewhere beneath the Great Valley, and sharply faulted on its eastern face, the range began to rise only a very short geologic time ago—perhaps three million years, or four million years—and it is still rising, still active, continually at play with the Richter scale and occasionally driven by great earthquakes (Owens Valley, 1872). In geologic ages just before the uplift, volcanic andesite flows spread themselves over the terrain like butterscotch syrup over ice cream. Successive andesite flows filled in local landscapes and hardened flat upon them. As the trapdoor rises—as this immense crustal block, the Sierra Nevada, tilts upward—the andesite flows tilt with it, and to see them now in the roadcuts of the interstate is to see the angle of the uplift.
John McPhee in Assembling California

The Sierra Nevada, a massive mountain range stretching like a spine nearly the length of California, provides the central geological narrative in “Assembling California”. Known for its stark beauty and dramatic peaks, the Sierras are also a textbook example of the immense forces that shape our planet. (We’ve written and will continue to write about them.) McPhee masterfully explicates how tectonic activity shaped this terrain over millions of years, giving readers a sense of the awe-inspiring age and dynamism of the Earth.

A brief bit about the man: Born in 1931, McPhee studied at Princeton University and Cambridge, and his writing straddles diverse topics from basketball to nuclear energy. His primary strength lies in his ability to seamlessly interweave complex scientific principles with engrossing human stories (there’s always an interesting character and the heart of his work), making the intricate world of science both comprehensible and enjoyable to the lay reader. His skill and prolificacy have earned him numerous accolades, including the Pulitzer Prize.

Assembling California stands out for its illuminating journey through California’s intricate geological history. Traveling with the late geologist Eldridge Moores of the University of California Davis, McPhee unpacks the layered story of California’s geology from its seismic activity to its unique rock formations. There is an excellent excerpt in a 1992 issue of the New Yorker.

Moores was a renowned geologist known for his significant contributions to understanding the geological history and structure of the Earth, particularly in relation to plate tectonics. Born in 1938 in Phoenix, Arizona, he spent the bulk of his career as a professor of geology at Davis, where his research significantly advanced the theory of plate tectonics. He was particularly interested in the geology of his adopted home state, California. Moores also held the position of President of the Geological Society of America in 1996. Apart from his boundless energy, Moores’ real gift was his vision: his ability to “see” geologic history in a pile of rocks. His passionate teaching style and profound knowledge made him a beloved figure in the field of geology. Moores died in a tragic accident in 2018 while on a field trip in Greece, leaving a significant void in the geology world.

Moores explains to McPhee how the Sierra Nevada range didn’t just emerge from the Earth’s crust, as geologists long thought. Instead, the building blocks bubbled up from faraway rifts in the ocean floor called “spreading centers,” then transported thousands of miles on moving plates and piled up onto the North American continent.

Sierra Nevada Mountains and Owens River (Erik Olsen)

The movement of the Earth’s crust along fault lines, as in the well-known San Andreas Fault, is a central theme of the book. By explaining the shifting of tectonic plates, McPhee brings to life the reality of living in California: a landscape that is constantly, if imperceptibly, in motion. His descriptions of earthquakes, both historic and potential future ones, vividly underscore the seismic hazards associated with residing in the state. McPhee’s ability to humanize these impersonal geologic processes is a testament to his storytelling prowess. You will learn a lot about what happens to the California beneath your feet.

However, “Assembling California” is not just a tale of geological forces. McPhee also weaves in fascinating narratives about gold prospectors and vineyard owners, infusing the state’s human history into its ancient geological story. You really can’t tell the story of modern California without delving into the resource-driven economic narratives that are a fundamental part of the state’s history. We try to do a lot of that in this magazine.

For those who want to go beyond McPhee, another fine author is Simon Winchester, whose “Crack at the End of the World” picks up where McPhee left off, both in terms of theme and approach. Winchester, a British author and journalist known for his popular science writing, explores the devastating 1906 San Francisco earthquake. Like McPhee, Winchester expertly merges detailed geological explanations with human stories, providing a compelling account of one of the most significant natural disasters in American history. This is also a very fine book.

The legacy of “Assembling California” lies not just in its rich storytelling but also in the path it blazed for a new kind of popular science writing – one that’s engaging, comprehensive, and profoundly human. By understanding our planet’s past and the forces that shape it, we are better prepared to navigate its future. As readers, we owe a debt of gratitude to writers like McPhee and Winchester who, through their craft, help us appreciate the intricate dance between the Earth’s geological processes and human civilization.

Since McPhee wrote “Assembling California,” technology has made leaps and bounds in the field of geology. Advancements in technology like LIDAR (Light Detection and Ranging), which uses lasers to measure distances and can create high-resolution maps of the Earth’s surface, and improvements in seismograph technology and satellite imaging, have allowed scientists to study geological phenomena in greater detail and with better accuracy.

Geology, like all scientific disciplines, evolves over time as new techniques and technologies become available. This progress often refines our understanding of geological phenomena and can lead to new theories and models. We’re still learning a lot about how our state literally came together, with new research being done all the time that sheds light on our mountains, coasts and valleys.

More recent studies of the San Andreas Fault, for instance, have allowed us to better understand the fault’s behavior, including how frequently significant earthquakes occur and what triggers them. For example a 2022 study from Lamont-Doherty Earth Observatory suggests that the San Andreas Fault moves slowly in a process called “creep,” which was previously thought to release tectonic stress and reduce earthquake risk. However, this new research suggests that this creeping segment might instead be accumulating stress, potentially leading to larger and more destructive earthquakes than previously anticipated.

Not exactly good news, but it’s always better to know what’s happening and to have science that backs it up, and McvPhee was a master at helping us understand he way the world works.

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Why Parkfield, California is the Nation’s Earthquake Capital

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When Big Joe Turner sang “Shake, Rattle and Roll,” he probably wasn’t thinking about a dusty little town in Central California, but in Parkfield, it’s practically the town motto.

Parkfield, California, is a quiet, dusty farming town tucked into the rolling hills of the Cholame Valley, just off Highway 46 (worth the drive if you ever have the chance). A few miles down the road lies an historic intersection, the place where James Dean was killed in a near head on collision crash in his Porsche 550 Spyder on September 30, 1955. The collision ended a blazing young career just as it was taking off and cemented Dean’s image as a tragic icon of American cinema. While tourists still visit the nearby memorial, Parkfield itself is better known to scientists than to star-watchers.

Parkfield is an unremarkable town, with one exception: it lies directly atop the San Andreas Fault and is known as the Earthquake Capital of the World. This is not because there are so many earthquakes there, although there are, but because it has one of the highest densities of seismic technology anywhere. In addition to the larger magnitude 6.0 earthquakes that tend to strike about every 22 years, Parkfield also experiences a steady rhythm of smaller quakes. These minor tremors, often below magnitude 1.0, happen with such regularity, that scientists have compared them to “seismic pulsars” for their consistent, almost clock-like behavior. (And for what it’s worth, Petrolia, California actually has the most earthquakes).

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The San Andreas Fault is one of the best known, and most active faults in the world. In the Parkfield area, the San Andreas Fault is constantly shifting—millimeter by millimeter, day by day. This continuous movement is unique to the region, as the fault remains relatively locked in both the northern section around San Francisco and the southern section near Palmdale. While the fault in these other areas stays immobile, the central part near Parkfield steadily creeps, creating a contrast that puts pressure on the locked sections to the north and south.

Parkfield’s main strip, stretching just a quarter mile, hosts a small collection of buildings, including a one-room elementary school, the USGS-Berkeley earthquake monitoring site, a Cal Fire station, and the Parkfield Cafe and Lodge. Outside the cafe, a row of mismatched mailboxes serves the dozen or so homes scattered along a few dirt roads branching off the main street. Parkfield might be a small, obscure town to most Californians, but to geologists fascinated by the workings of the Earth, it’s the epicenter of seismic research.

Every hillside and valley, grassy nook and riverbed is home to some kind of instrument that measures earthquakes. Over the years, these instruments have become more sophisticated and expensive, making it necessary in many cases to fence them off with the threat of arrest. These instruments monitor, hour by hour, or better, millisecond by millisecond, the stirrings of the earth. To geologists, it is ground zero for seismic measurement.

The town is proud of its reputation. A water tower boasts the tourism slogan: BE HERE WHEN IT HAPPENS (see photo). There is also an iron bridge in the town that has the distinction of standing astride the San Andreas Fault. One one side of the creek that runs beneath the bridge is the North American tectonic plate. On the other is the Pacific tectonic plate. Those two plates are moving south and north respectively at a rate of about 2 inches a year. As we all know, that movement creates immense pressure as the two plates seem otherwise locked in place. That pressure will have to be released at some point. It always has. When that happens, we can expect a potentially devastating earthquake that will rock the state from top to bottom.

The writer Simon Winchester calls the fault an “ever-evolving giant that slumbers lightly under the earth’s surface and stirs, dangerously and often, according to its own whims and its own rules.”

Since 1985, a focused earthquake prediction experiment has been in progress in Parkfield. Known as “The Parkfield Experiment“, the project’s stated purpose is to “better understand the physics of earthquakes — what actually happens on the fault and in the surrounding region before, during and after an earthquake.”

Since the mid-1980s, scientists have deployed an array of advanced monitoring devices, including seismometers, strainmeters, creepmeters, and GPS sensors, to capture detailed data on ground movement and strain accumulation. These instruments are designed to measure subtle changes in the Earth’s crust, helping researchers predict seismic events and understand the processes leading up to an earthquake. By continuously collecting data, the experiment has provided valuable insights into the mechanics of fault movement and the potential for earthquake prediction.

An art installation, known as the Parkfield Interventional EQ Fieldwork (PIEQF), used earthquake waves recorded by the USGS seismic network in California to trigger a hydraulic shake table which was installed in an excavated trench. (USGS)

Experts also once bored a 10,000-foot-deep hole into the ground in Parkfield, into which they placed a large array of sensors to measure the earth’s movements. The goal of the $300 million project, called the San Andreas Fault Observatory at Depth, or SAFOD, was to allow scientists to study how faults work and how earthquakes happen. The drilling stopped in 2007, but Parkfield remains a hot spot for geologic research.

Additionally, the Berkeley Seismological Laboratory operates the High-Resolution Seismic Network (HRSN) in the Parkfield area. This network comprises geophone arrays aimed at monitoring microseismicity along the San Andreas Fault, providing valuable data on the fault’s behavior.

Parkfield remains critical to better understanding seismic dangers in California. The fault zone is poorly understood at depth and so far, the predictability of earthquakes in the near term is pretty limited. But devices like these could help improve prediction, especially if there is a large quake. But that’s the rub, really. We need to experience a large earthquake to get the best data to know how to predict later ones. So it is in California.

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How Theodore Roosevelt’s 1903 trip to California gave birth to modern conservation

Theodore Roosevelt and John Muir in Yosemite. Credit: National Park Service

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Theodore Roosevelt is our hero.

The 26th President of the United States was a soldier, a historian, an amateur scientist, a best-selling writer, an avid outdoorsman and much much more. He has been called the “father of conservation,” because, as president, he authorized the creation of 150 national forests, 18 national monuments, 5 national parks, 4 national game preserves, and 51 federal bird reservations. We think he deserves the moniker.

*President Roosevelt and John Muir at the base of the Grizzly Giant.*
*Credit: Photographer: Joseph Nisbet LeConte; Yosemite NP Archives*

But many people may be unaware that TR has a very important California connection. 121 years ago, in 1903, just two years after becoming our nation’s youngest president at the age of forty-two, following the assassination of President William McKinley, Roosevelt embarked on one of the most important Presidential trips in the history of America.

In 1903, President Theodore Roosevelt embarked on a grand tour of the western United States. At the time, Roosevelt was already known for his passion for the outdoors and his desire to protect the nation’s natural resources. This trip would cement his legacy as a conservationist and lead to the expansion of America’s national parks.

The impact of his trip to California is still being felt today.

The trip, taken by railroad, took Roosevelt across the American continent. The 3,000-mile journey began in April from Washington D.C., and took TR through twenty-five states, and lasted nine weeks. He traveled through the American West and stopped at Yellowstone National Park for a hiking and camping trip with naturalist and essayist John Burroughs. He continued on and ended up touring a large swath of the state of California, including Yosemite, which had been declared a national park in 1890.

Yellowstone National Park (National Park Service)

It was a tenuous time for the American environment. Millions of buffalo had been slaughtered across the plains, often for sport, their carcasses left to rot in the sun. The passenger pigeon, a bird that once filled the skies by the billions, had been exterminated. But America was also in the midst of a nature renaissance, and Roosevelt was one of its pivotal figures. The impact of his trip to California is still felt today.

Millions of buffalo were slaughtered during the western expansion of the United States (Wikipedia)

In California, Teddy Roosevelt’s journey was a mix of official duties and personal exploration, reflecting his dual role as a statesman and an outdoorsman. After arriving in San Francisco, Roosevelt was greeted with great fanfare, delivering speeches to large crowds and meeting with local dignitaries. His visit to the city included a tour of its bustling port, symbolizing the growing importance of California as a gateway to the Pacific. Roosevelt also visited Stanford University, where he spoke about education, progress, and the future of the American West. His time in the urban centers highlighted California’s rapid development and its significance in the nation’s expansion.

However, the most profound part of Roosevelt’s time in California came during his visit to Yosemite National Park. He met with naturalist John Muir on May 15th, 1903. The meeting took place on a train in the dusty town of Raymond, California, the closest station to Yosemite. From there, the men traveled 40 miles (about 8 hours) by stagecoach, which gave them the opportunity to get acquainted. They stopped in Mariposa Grove, where TR saw his first sequoia and had his picture taken driving through the “Tunnel Tree,” which no longer stands.

That first night, President Roosevelt dismissed his aides and the press, which was unusual for him because he was a publicity hound. In the wilds of Yosemite, he and Muir spent three days “roughing it,” camping beneath the stars and enjoying conversation around a campfire. It was during those conversations that Muir made the case for the preservation of forests and other natural resources. Likely, these talks created the impetus for Roosevelt’s support for the 1906 Antiquities Act, arguably one of the most important pieces of conservation law in the United States. With the power to proclaim lands as monuments in the public interest, Roosevelt in 1908 set aside some 800,000 acres as Grand Canyon National Monument. Congress later gave it a national park status.

Arguably, no other President has had such a singular impact on protecting American lands, and it’s fair to say, we think, that his visit to California had a lot to do with it.

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