This post is for Rosemary whose research skills and interest turned a vague intention into something concrete.
Today we are not visiting a beach: we are visiting the Narooma Accretionary Complex, although it is also called Narooma Beach, or Glasshouse Rocks Beach, depending on who you ask.
The need to know more about the geology of my beaches has been simmering away for a while. Yesterday things began to come together. When, on advice from my research mentor, Rosemary, I googled “Eurobodalla geology”, instead of being precise about Potato Point, I struck it rich – a site with basic geological information, a map, and photos of a number of places close to home. One of my problems in the past has been converting diagrams and abstract information into a relationship with what I see in front of me.
J has a longstanding interest in geology (amongst longstanding interests in just about everything in the natural world), so on Sunday morning we set off to find the track from Narooma cemetery to the NAC, where we were promised chevrons, mylonite and chert. We found a track all right: steep, and slippery, and calculated to shoot your feet down faster than the rest of you. I was determined to reach the beach, so I bummed it down using my stick as a just-effectual brake, surprising J who was expecting me to be daunted.
And there they were, visible even to my inexpert eye, chevrons folded when the Pacific tectonic plate collided with land, creating the tremendous pressure which pushed the layered rock into this very clear zigzag pattern. We stood looking at them, J doing what he does so well: turning earth story into a once-upon-a-time narrative that I can understand.
The beach was stunning. How, I ask myself, could I never have been down here? The heavy seas have taken away sand so rocks once buried are now visible in all their patterned and coloured glory: I know this because of a conversation with another beach-walker. I can't explain the processes that created these beautiful patterns and designs, but one day I may be able to understand as well as admire.
Midway along this section of the beach, I spotted the formations called mylonites. Although I recognised them from the photograph, I can't make sense of any explanation I've yet found.
As I approached Glasshouse Rocks, poking up dark from the clear Narooma water, I saw a smaller companion rock, and beyond the headland, a cluster of spectacular even smaller rocks, some sharp-edged, some rounded. The mainfestation of chert was in deep shade which eradicated detail. I'll need to come back when low tide and afternoon light coincide, and when I'm wearing sandshoes rather than clodhoppery boots. Next time I'll be carrying a bit of knowledge in my head: chert is sedimentary rock material; when it breaks it has very sharp edges (and was therefore highly valued as tool-making material – it's also called flint); Narooma Chert was deposited on the ocean floor over a period of 50 million years (my imagination quails at the time scale) and carried west to its present location when the Pacific plate collided with Gondwana.
When it's time to go home, we don't have to belly our way up the steep, slippery track after all. There is a completely civilised, gently sloping sandy bush track, winding up the hill to the cemetery. I ramble up easily, admiring the view back to that wonderful beach, passing correa bushes, engulfed in the perfume of pittosporum.
Geological questions proliferate, and poring over geological helpmates at home raises more questions than answers. As I spend Monday morning trying to increase my geological knowledge, delighted that I had identified mylonite, chert, and chevrons, I find myself clicking on links every second word, and then links from links, and links from links from links, as I try to understand what I'm reading, and assess the reliability of sites. I tend to distrust any site I can even begin to understand without a savagely wrinkled brow and twenty five rereads.
I hereby certify that I understand at a very basic level anything I outline here, although the temptation of course was to pseudo-knowledgeably cut and paste! If I've got it wrong, please tell me.
Glossary of new words, in bold if I have an inkling of their meaning: chevron … subduction zone … tectonic plates … ductility … turbidite … orogenic belts … Lachlan fold belt … Bogolo formation … mylonites … chert
Fascinating and informative. Your photos are truly remarkable. The earth formations looks like they have been painted.
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Aren’t I glad I dared the descent! I knew with absolute certaint that I wanted to get down there. Thanks for the appreciation of my photos: all things conspired!
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Wow what gorgeous photos. I have never heard of chevron folding, it’s stunning.
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Me neither, till last Friday. I liked it because it so easy to see and understand β and it was beautiful too!
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Fascinating stuff. I shall have to come back to this post and read it again. What interested me most were the zigzags – caused by tectonic plate colliding with the land as this was the cause 300 million years ago of the concertina rocks found along the north Devon coastline. Take a look at the last gallery in this post (you need to scroll through the images as there is some information on each one). I wonder if your rock folds were created at the same time?
https://smallbluegreenwords.wordpress.com/2013/11/15/spring-in-north-devon/
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Your folds are grand scale and spectacular. I’ve saved the photos to generate weekend discussion with J. Could’ve been at the same time: although I don’t know that we were riding the same tectonic plates. But then I know an enormous nothing on the subject. It sounds as if you know a bit more. There’s a geology walk around here in November, with three apparently disputatious geologists. My network is functioning again!
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The folds in Zion (USA) are even more spectacular! I was dizzy just looking at them!
https://smallbluegreenwords.wordpress.com/2014/04/13/the-canyon-circle-road-trip-part-vi/
Travelling around the USA with its layers of different formations is what got me interested in actually looking at the rocks around me.
I’m no geologist, and wish I did know more, but I am fascinated by the history of the land and what shaped it; standing on mountains that were once under an inland sea makes me realise how just how short a time we exist.
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Amazing photos of your adventure to this geological wonderland. I so enjoyed the view.
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It was an amazing place, and it’s got a lot of competition along my coastline.
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Well my favourites are 112pm, simply because they are so different, but what an array of wonder and you’ve probably explained it well but its way beyond me, at that stage of a tough day anyway! So, all that and the scent of pittosporum = total bliss.
I keep meaning to say I love your new gravatar π
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112pm? This is beyond my comprehension at 5 am on dentist day! It was indeed an array of wonder, and I hope it eased a tough day a tiny fraction. A huge pittosporum knocks on my bedroom window: it in full flower and brings me birds in close-up, but oddly no perfume.
(I’m glad you like the new gravatar, but I think you actually did say!)
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Well that tells me I need to go to bed! Good luck with the dentist and 112PM is the number on your photo when I hover over it. Is your pittosporum in the sun? If not then the fragrance may not come out?
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Oh. It just didn’t look like a photo number, but then I’ve been resizing madly. No. Pittosporum not in the sun really, I’m not in my bedroom in the warm part of the day, and my nose doesn’t smell as well as it once did.
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These are just like the rocks on the Ligurian coast and quite a surprise for someone who grew up among sedately layered Hawkesbury sandstone country around Sydney. What incredible forces exist to create such deformations, revealed by over aeons by the erosive power of the ocean. It makes a human very small and insignificant in space and time. By the way, if you take me to Narooma Beach next time I visit, we’ll get down there the easy way.
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I love your description of Sydney sandstone and I actually enjoy that feeling of insignificance. But J says “All these geological processes had to happen for you to be here” and that makes me feel extraordinarily important. You make me want to visit the Ligurian coast.
You want the easy way down? Not a slippery dip? OK.
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An egocentric interpretation of geological processes and evolution, Meg. Nice one.
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I seem to remember you claiming the sun in similar terms on Hornsby oval. “That sun is coming 150 million kilometres to shine on me, and you’re blocking it!”
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I was a lot younger then and didn’t know better how to express my needs more diplomatically or engage in a bit of lateral thinking, literally, to reposition myself. That oval was cold and windy, now I remember.
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Earthstory in pictures- just wonderful, Meg.
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It took me about 8 hours to write. I’m glad you liked it. I’ve got to keep reminding myself that I felt totally and abysmally ignorant when I began botanising, and I’ve made a bit of progress in seven years. Geologising seems harder somehow.
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Geologising is hard because of all the opaque terminology. As far as I’m concerned, all that matters is that you have a good eye for rocks, and that plainly put explanations are always best. I do quite like geo-words like igneous, tectonic and sedimentary. And schist is good too π
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And besides I’ve just heard on BBC Radio 4, so it must be true. Never mind the Precambrian and the Ordovician, it was giants who really made the landscape. And for added proof, the beeb even gave our local hill, the Wrekin, as an example
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I like the words too – a kind of found poem. But ultimately I have to grasp what they mean. Or do I? Giants I can comprehend relatively easily.
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I go with the giants π
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