Archive for the ‘Oakland rocks’ Category

Oakland geology ramble 2, Rockridge to Orinda

15 August 2016

The second geology ramble — my name for a long walk that starts in one place and ends in another — is a long and rugged one, just to show you I’m not kidding about these. From the Rockridge BART station to the Orinda BART station is a walk of more than 9 miles with a thousand-foot climb in the middle.

There are several ways to do this. This summer I’ve pioneered what I’ll call the middle route on two separate outings. Here they are, first on Google Maps and then on the geologic map (both images are 1000 pixels). The photos are a mixture from both traverses.



From the Rockridge station, the route along the south side of Route 24 is more direct while the alternative, up Chabot Road to Roanoke Road to The Uplands to Tunnel Road (dashing across Tunnel to the uphill side), takes you through more shade and past more rocks, starting on Roanoke.


The mixed lithologies of Franciscan melange (KJfm) give way to rugged outcrops of the Leona rhyolite (pink color) as you cross Vicente Creek on Tunnel Road. Admire them at the century-old estate called The Rocks. Beyond the Fire Garden is a short stretch without sidewalks that passes a long, excellent exposure of Leona Rhyolite. This was quarried in the 1930s and again in the 1950s during construction of upper Broadway, the Caldecott Tunnel and Route 24.


The rocks change to mudstone of the Great Valley Sequence (Ku), then the much younger Sobrante Formation (tan color), as you ascend Tunnel Road’s steady, gentle grade.


The change to the Claremont chert is dramatic as you near the ridgetop and enter Sibley Preserve.


Cross the park on the Round Top Loop trail, which goes through the coarse-grained sedimentary rocks of the Orinda Formation (Tor), although you won’t see much of them. Take the Volcanic Trail left, which leads into the structurally overlying basalt of the Moraga Formation (Tmb). The quarry that carved up these golden hilltops extracted that basalt. In 0.2 miles, at the right edge of this photo, is a road with a cattle gate that exits the park.


The views change dramatically on the east side of the hills, whether you’re looking to the left up Siesta Valley . . .


. . . or to the right toward Mount Diablo.


Straight ahead lies the unbuilt Wilder Ranch subdivision of Orinda. The valley it sits in is the continuation of Siesta Valley, and it’s underlain by nonmarine sedimentary rocks of the Siesta Formation.


Both valleys owe their shape to the large fold, or syncline (“sloping together”), in the Siesta Formation that’s noted on the geologic map. The Moraga Formation basalt is also downfolded by this syncline, and it crops out again in the hill with the quarry scar.

This subdivision looks bleak, but the developers are doing the job right. The lots are gray because they’re sealed with some tough, pliant substance that prevents all dust and weeds. And as you cross, the route takes the dirt road running from the intersection of Wilder and Bigleaf Roads to the big bend in Rabble Road. You’ll pass several vegetated catch basins designed to hold the extra runoff from the new properties.


This is another example of the flood-control practices I mentioned last week.

The route goes from Rabble Road to Boeger Ranch Road, but take the straight spur between them and follow it to the end, where a footpath connects with the end of Oak Road. All of this area is mapped as mudstone of the Mulholland Formation, of which I know nothing beyond its (young) age, Miocene and Pliocene. From Oak, take Stein Way down to busy-busy Moraga Way and from there head to the BART station. Sidestep as much of Moraga Way as possible by taking Camino Encinas.

If time permits, stop for a beer at The Fourth Bore in Theatre Square. If you take this ramble the other way, stop for a beer at Ben & Nick’s. Either way, you’ve earned it.

The first time I made this trek, many years ago, I took the northern route: up Claremont Canyon, north on the Skyline Trail, then down through the Lomas Cantadas maze to Camino Pablo. That was work. I’ve hiked up the canyon on Claremont Avenue several times, but the traffic is nerve-racking. The alternatives, through the Hiller Highlands or Grandview neighborhoods, are steep, sunny trudges. On the Orinda side it would be more fun to descend through the East Bay MUD land from the Skyline Trail (for which you need a hiking permit). I plan to attempt the northern route again when the weather cools. I have a vague scheme for a southern route, too.

See ramble 1 here.

A greenstone boulder in Lakeside Park

25 July 2016


Lakeside Park holds a scattering of boulders and plaques. The plaques are always interesting, and sometimes so are the boulders. This one sits at the west side of Bandstand Cove by a grove of redwood and oak trees. I can tell at a glance — the greenish color, even texture and lack of sedimentary fabric — that this rock consists of metamorphosed lava, informally called greenstone. There’s a lot of it in the Coast Range. There’s also some in the Sierra foothills, and I suspect that this was quarried over there.

One side of the boulder displays a nice slickenside, a sign that the rock was cracked and wrung underground.


Emily Brodsky down at UC Santa Cruz studies these fault surfaces and has been finding deep clues in them (see the latest paper from her team).

Elsewhere the boulder shows stretch marks — little extensional fractures filled with quartz. Like a run in a stocking, these are evidence of the stresses that affected this body of material once upon a time. Since the boulder has been ripped out of its original setting, these scrape marks and stretch marks have lost their geological meaning, but they’re still pretty.


Oh yeah, the boulder has a message on it. The plaque announces that the three fountains in Lake Merritt were installed or renovated by Madeleine and Andrew Wong as a gift to the people of Oakland.


And not least among its functions, the boulder punctuates the most peaceful view on the whole lake, whether the fountain is running or not.


Lake Merritt needs a lot of human management to stay clean and pleasant, and the fountains are a key part of that.

A look at serpentinization

13 June 2016

Joaquin Miller Park contains excellent examples of serpentinite. This large boulder, placed by the park entrance, is a textbook example of how this rock type forms. (Click the photo for a 1000-pixel version.)

click for 1000 pixel version

Serpentine rock starts out as peridotite (“per-RID-a-tight”), a very important rock type that is rarely seen because it composes most of the Earth’s mantle, beneath the crust. Bear with me as I take you through the outskirts of plate-tectonic petrology.

The Earth’s mantle is hot and under pressure — so hot and under so much pressure that if you ease up on the pressure, even a little bit, it starts to melt. That’s what happens in places where the crust is spreading apart. Just a fraction of the mantle rock melts, only a few percent, and the melt — magma — leaks upward, seeking to erupt as lava. Magma isn’t the same composition as the rock it leaves behind. It’s enriched in elements like silicon and aluminum, and depleted in others like magnesium and iron. Silicon is the biggie that governs all of magma chemistry, and geologists track it (like other elements) in terms of its oxide, SiO2 or silica.

The mantle is real low in silica, around 40%. The first melt that comes out of the mantle is about 50% silica and hardens into the rock called basalt. The crust of the ocean floor is almost entirely basalt. Beneath it is peridotite, the badass dregs that the magma left behind.

As plate tectonics keeps sweeping the dense ocean crust back down into the mantle, remelting keeps concentrating silica in the magmas, which become less and less dense until they end up in the continents. Granite, the continents’ workhorse rock, is over 70% silica. (Granite is made of the minerals quartz, which is 100% pure silica, and feldspar, which is about 50% silica.)

The upshot of all this is that peridotite, the dense left-behind dregs rich in magnesium and iron, rides along on the bottom of the ocean crust, and almost all of it stays deep in the Earth. Occasionally chunks of ocean crust end up on land, where they’re called ophiolites (“OH-fee-alights”). Oakland contains bits of the well-known Coast Range ophiolite.

Peridotite, badass as it is, is helpless against superheated water, which reacts with its minerals (olivine and pyroxene) to form a hydrated mineral, serpentine. Let me show you what happens in these photos from the Klamath Mountains, America’s largest exposure of peridotite. This is a split-open boulder sitting in a roadside turnout up there. You can see similar examples up at the Serpentine Prairie preserve, off Skyline Boulevard.


When all of this rock was still a few miles underground, superheated water entered the gray-green peridotite along cracks, and the alteration spread outward from the cracks. Serpentine takes up more space than the unaltered minerals, so the outcome is just like driving wedges into the rock. Serpentine is also softer. That’s how this peridotite outcrop ended up looking like it does — alteration, then erosion.


This stage of alteration is preserved because conditions cooled off before the serpentinization process could finish. Usually, peridotite is completely altered. After that, serpentinite tends to slip and slide and flow, erasing any hints of its original structure.

Look again at the big boulder at Joaquin Miller Park. It shows those same spikes on its upper rim, plus a spiderweb of alteration cracks in the center. I find it mesmerizing.