Archive for the ‘Oakland geology views’ Category

Orinda’s 1204 Hill

30 October 2017

As far as I know this hill has no name, but it’s a highly visible part of Orinda. You pass it on Route 24 between the Wilder exit and downtown, as seen in this Google Maps perspective view. The USGS topo maps give it an elevation of 1204 feet, so I’ll call it 1204 Hill.

It’s part of San Pablo Ridge, but the west branch of San Pablo Creek cut a deep gorge through the ridge while it was being uplifted, forming a classic water gap. That’s clear to see in the 1915 topo map, made before anything significant was developed there.

During the mid-20th century, at least four quarry pits ate their way into this hill, one on the north side and the others on the south. Now it provides a bit of seclusion to the exclusive luxury Orinda Wilder development. I paid the hill two visits this month, and to me it offers seclusion from Orinda Wilder. Here it is, as seen across Wilder Valley last summer.

A fire road encircles the hill for your visiting convenience. It offers good views all around. This is looking north across 24 to grassy Eureka Peak along with wooded Vollmer Peak behind it. Both are also part of San Pablo Ridge.

And in the other direction is the last, southernmost lump of San Pablo Ridge, separated from 1204 Hill by another branch of San Pablo Creek.

Looking west, Route 24 approaches the wall of the Oakland Hills. Eureka Peak, at the right edge, and 1684 Hill on the left, part of Gudde Ridge, form the sides of Siesta Valley.

Both peaks are made of the same lava of the Moraga Formation. The formation is folded like a taco shell under Siesta Valley, a geological feature called a syncline, and hey why don’t we look at the geologic map now. This is the same area shown in the topo map.

“Tmb” is the basalt lava of the Moraga Formation — the taco shell — and “Tst,” the Siesta Formation, is the filling. That red line with the little arrows is the axis of the syncline. The light-yellow unit “Tms” is sedimentary rocks, also in the Moraga Formation, that were laid down between eruptions of lava. To the right of the black toothed line — the Moraga fault — the rocks are much younger and I won’t mention them again.

The quarries were excavating freshwater limestone from the Siesta Formation, used to produce cement and soil amendments, and basalt from the Moraga Formation, used for crushed rock. Here’s the lava.

Where lava flowed onto wet ground, the underlying clay got baked and the steam oxidized the lava, turning both materials red. It’s not always easy to tell what’s what.

There are bits of light-gray limestone here and there. You can tell by the way a drop of acid fizzes vigorously on it. I didn’t take a picture, but I did stop to shoot examples of mineralization in the lava. They might be copper compounds, or phosphates, or several other possibilities that aren’t easy to identify just by eyeballing.

There’s also a little conglomerate that looks for all the world like the Orinda Formation. It goes to show that a geologic map is a simplification of a wacky, complicated Earth. However, I don’t quite trust the stone because it’s loose, not a proper outcrop.

Climbing the hill from the fire road is a scramble. There are only subtle trails, the kind that deer make. But on top of the hill there’s the stubs of a former water tower, and a stone spiral with a little cairn at the center, the kind that locals make. And outcrops.

The last thing to mention is the quarry scar. It displays the structure of the Moraga Formation nicely.

But the exposures are unapproachable and dangerous.

I’m not sure what the developers plan to do with this hill. Probably nothing except watch it closely. The closest street to the quarry scar has home sites only on the far side of the road, and there’s a wide ditch between the road and the quarry that will catch falling rocks.

I’m gonna keep my eye on this interesting spot.

Advertisements

The highest point in Oakland

25 September 2017

I have believed — and what’s worse, repeated — that Oakland’s highest point is Grizzly Peak. In fact, the highest point within the city limits is Chaparral Peak, an eminence so subtle you can barely tell it’s there.

Let’s look at the 1959 topo map of the high Berkeley Hills. Everything south of the county line is in Oakland.

Grizzly Peak stands out, at approximately 1745 feet. Figures differ, so don’t quote me on that. But Chapparal Peak definitely rises above the 1760 foot contour, making it a hair over one-third of a mile above the Bay. Here’s the mountaintop, such as it is.

It’s Oakland’s largest exposure of the Bald Peak Basalt, which extends from here beyond Vollmer Peak.

Chapparal Peak is the heart of Frowning Ridge, a name we don’t use much (and I’m not sure we ever did). Frowning Ridge is an ill-defined set of peaks and eminences running from Grizzly Peak to Chapparal Peak and then down Siesta Valley where it’s cut off by a fault. This is the view upridge to Grizzly Peak. Mount Tam is in back, on the left.

And this is the view southeast to the Oakland Hills.

Round Top is in the center, against the sky, and exactly in front of it is 1684 Hill. On the right rises a nameless hill, topped by a large installation, where the county line goes. I think of these as affiliated with Gudde Ridge, on the south side of Route 24, because they line up with it.

Both ridges reflect the presence of volcanic rock units. Frowning Ridge is held up by the Bald Peak Basalt and Gudde Ridge (and its northern affiliates) by the Moraga Formation.

Here’s one more view, this time due east across the far flank of Siesta Valley to Mount Diablo.

The Mount Diablo Base Line, the master line for land surveys in most of northern California and all of Nevada, runs right between Chapparal and Grizzly Peaks. That’s the red line on the map, with Township 1 North and 1 South on either side of it.

An early look at the Fan

4 September 2017

Lots of people love old photographs of familiar places, or old landmarks when they were new. I love old photos of Oakland because they show the land before it was paved over and/or forested.

The early California photographer Carleton Watkins was instrumental in saving Yosemite as a public park, simply because his large-scale images let people see its beauty and grandeur for themselves. But he also practiced his trade up and down the Pacific coast, including Oakland.

Here’s a stereograph he made here in 1876, looking east from the roof of the Grand Central Hotel at 12th and Webster. Click it to see its full 1000-pixel size.

Stereographs were made to be viewed through a simple apparatus that allows you to see a 3D image. You can do it without a viewer if you cross your eyes carefully. (Don’t worry if you can’t; you’re like most people.) To simplify things, I’ve turned one of the images into black and white and zoomed in a bit (800 px).

This is a pretty good image of Oakland’s high hills, the highest of which is Redwood Peak at the left edge. Lake Merritt sits between downtown and the hills of old Brooklyn. That hook in the shoreline is the cove where Wesley Avenue splits from Lakeshore Avenue today, heading left up a little valley. The right edge of the photo is where East 18th Street meets Lakeshore.

Between Redwood Peak and the shore of Lake Merritt, the top one-third is the high hills and the bottom third is the low hills. The middle third, hard to see, is the rocky hills above Piedmont and their eastern continuation in Oakmore and Redwood Heights.

Note that almost all of this is treeless. That was the state of the whole East Bay when the Spanish and the Americans came here. The exception was the redwood groves, which occupied the highest part of the ridgeline until they were logged out before 1860, and the coastal oak groves nearer the bay.

Anyway, what caught my eye in this photo was its view of the undeveloped lower hills that are almost totally hidden by houses today. Those hills were overridden first by wealthy estates, then by homes and apartments whose selling point was their views. To me, the real view was what those structures wiped out. Today only three bits of that terrain are left: San Antonio Park, Home of Peace Cemetery and Evergreen Cemetery.

Here’s how the Fan fits into that view. We’re looking east across lobe 4, the central segment of this ancient alluvial fan that dominates central Oakland.

Today, you can walk all over those hills and picture how they would have looked before development, but it’s a struggle. The old photographs are indispensible, and precious.

South Dunsmuir Ridge

29 May 2017

I finally got to a sweet corner of town last week, the sunny side of Dunsmuir Ridge, this lovely hill in the Google Maps 3D view.

The view is to the north-northwest, such that the Hayward fault runs straight up about a thumb’s width from the left edge. The maps below start with the 1915 topo map, in which the ridge’s top is the lobed outline of the 625-foot contour.

That straight creek valley along the hill’s south side — the gorge in the foreground of the top image — keeps catching my eye, but it seems to be inaccessible, which might make it Oakland’s wildest piece of land. The watershed map below may help in visualizing the hill and its surroundings. The two black dots are where the fire trail I took starts and ends.

Dunsmuir Ridge is city land, rescued from development after several aborted attempts to put high-end estates on this broad hilltop overlooking (in both senses) the deadly Hayward fault. The fire trail starts at the end of Cranford Way and winds up the ridge to join the fire road from the other side, which I’ve featured here before.

The walk is very scenic. To the north, downtown rises against Mount Tam.

Or if you prefer, there’s the new profile of San Francisco.

Higher up, the view opens out. Here San Leandro Creek is made visible as a line of trees coming out of the canyon toward its mouth near the airport.

But the main attraction is to the south. This is the best place to take portraits of Fairmont Ridge and its quarry scar. Unlike most places, this trail sets off the hill with a foreground of wild, forested land.

The prominent cleared space midway up the trail — a staging pad for firefighters — has regular visitors who find the spot special.

Interestingly, this spot is mapped as a patch of the peculiar Irvington-aged gravel that first brought me to Dunsmuir Ridge in 2009. However, I didn’t notice much of it, if any. See it on the geologic map — the white dots mark the ends of the fire trail.

There are rocks to be seen too. The soil is thin in most places. This little cut displays a profile of the soil and the decaying bedrock — saprolite — just beneath it.

The bedrock varies, and it doesn’t match the geologic map very closely. I would say nearly all of the lower part is not Leona volcanics (Jsv) but San Leandro Gabbro (gb). It has the gabbro’s pepper-and-salt appearance but is stained orange instead of the pristine rock’s bluish gray (as I saw earlier that day in San Leandro). You’ll see it well exposed in the trail itself, where this winter’s heavy rains carved fresh runnels.

If the city fills them before you get there (which it should before they become gullies), there are still roadside exposures that display the rock well, and it’s unmistakably gabbro where the map says volcanics. The top of the hill, though, is unquestionably Leona volcanics.

My long-term plan is to revisit every bit of bedrock in Oakland and log it. Besides sheer nerdery and the chance to improve the map, my motive is to come back to views like this one over and over again.

The old quarry is still for sale. Developers have tried to put houses there, but they keep getting shot down. Better, I say, for the Regional Parks District to acquire the land and develop it for quiet recreation.