Geology Determines Destiny

(still have to run this by a geologist and an historian)

August 17 2025, rewritten October 3, 2025
Draft 5.2

 

I remember as a youngster seeing a bumper sticker that sent me to the encyclopedia. “Idaho, Home of the Batholith” certainly got my attention.

I had expected to find a new species of frightful monster. Imagine my surprise being greeted by the image of a large half-buried rock. A batholith, as I was soon to learn, was a type of rock that forms when magma rises into the earth’s crust, but doesn’t quite make it to the surface and requires millions of years of erosion and sloughing off of soil to reveal itself.

If someone had told me I'd be spending a good part of my life hiking around batholiths, I'm not sure I would have believed them.

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I never took a geology course in high school or college. At the time, I never wanted to. It takes a special kind of person to wallow in shist and detrital, xenocryst and gneiss. I got the geology bug later in life.

But why such off-putting words? Were they deliberately trying to chase me away? The study of geology would have been more appealing to me back then if I had thought it was less about strange-sounding rocks and more about the study of Earth’s physical history and of civilizations shaped by their landscape.

It was much later when I heard about Hans Cloos. "Stones have begun to speak because an ear is there to hear them," the German geologist wrote. "Geology is the music of the earth." What a great teacher he must have been.

                                                                          

The American writer John McPhee made a career of writing beautifully about geology. "If by some fiat I had to restrict all this writing to one sentence, this is the one I would choose," he wrote. "The summit of Mt. Everest is marine limestone."

He could just as easily have been writing about the summit of Idaho's highest mountain, Mt. Borah.

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You don't have to travel far to realize that something momentous happened here. Seashells on the summit of Mt. Borah... A waterfall higher than Niagara Falls... An underground aquifer the size of Lake Erie that reveals itself at magical Thousand Springs... Two of the world’s largest recorded floods, one in northern Idaho and one in southern Idaho... A “hot spot” that left a path of dead volcanoes across southern Idaho, leading right to Yellowstone National Park.

And that's just scratching the surface.

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Geology has affected so much of Idaho’s history. It has also underpinned many of our 300 plus Outdoor Idaho shows, with titles like “A Sawtooth Celebration,” “Land of the Lost River Range,” “A City Made of Stone,” “Beyond the White Clouds,” “Idaho’s Inland Seas,” “Fifty Years of Wilderness.” In fact, whenever possible, I tried to link our stories to Idaho's crazy geology. That's how important I thought Geology was to the telling of Idaho's stories. And some of our shows explored how geology has culturally divided us and hindered the cohesiveness that is so helpful to a state.

{{One has to wonder if John Wesley Powell's 19th century vision of using watersheds instead of politics to create state boundaries would have benefited a state like Idaho. In Powell's map the West is defined by water and its natural movement instead of the politics of the day. Still, when I look at his map, he has Idaho only growing on all sides, with north and south still one state.}}

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And then there's “Idaho Geology, A Convergence of Wonders.” If there’s an Outdoor Idaho show vying for “Most Complicated,” this would win my vote.

                                     

It seemed a hopeless task: an hour-long show on Geology that would appeal to Joe Sixpack without getting panned by Professor Hans Geologist. Back in 2010 the station had just raised money for a new High-Definition camera and also found the money to rent a pilot and helicopter for a few hours. It was to be used for "Idaho, An Aerial Tapestry," not exactly an Outdoor Idaho show, even though no one would know that, since we used my voice and the same crew who worked on Outdoor Idaho.

We had to rent a Tyler Mount separately and had to rent it many days in advance, with no refunds. It's the piece of equipment built to connect the video camera to the underbelly of a helicopter, to minimize the helicopter's vibrations.

Talk about watching the weather forecast! It was a real gamble. Clouds and rain meant thousands of dollars down the drain, for the helicopter and the Tyler Mount. We lucked out.

 

That aerial video ultimately wound up in dozens of programs and played a major role in "Idaho Geology, a Convergence of Wonders."

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Now it was time to face my fear: to produce an entire Outdoor Idaho show on the state's Geology. And cram it into an hour. Fat chance, huh?  Luckily, I could rely upon Idaho's expert geologists and Outdoor Idaho's vast collection of video from all parts of the state.

                                                                    

We had gathered footage from the Teton Dam failure in 1976, the Mount St. Helen’s eruption in 1980, and the Borah earthquake in 1983.  We received from one of the state's premier writers, Cort Conley, a reel of 1926 film of a miner panning for gold and the first documented boatmen and rafters on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River.

 

The brother of the station's chief Engineer had scuba diving equipment and special camera gear to allow us to capture the spring water bubbling up at Blue Heart Springs near Hagerman. And we explored the intricate rock formations at Black Magic Canyon near Shoshone, after irrigation season. Those excursions alone proved that Idaho holds surprises even for those who think they know their state.

 

Every major geological event mentioned in our hour-long program had to be covered with video that complemented the words of the script, in a way that made sense to the viewer at home struggling to pay attention to such an inscrutable subject.

 

One of the great things about working with director/editor Pat Metzler is that he also went looking for images and graphics that explained the topic at hand. He pulled dozens and dozens of video tapes from our station archives for this one show. And that wasn’t counting the 30 tapes, each 30 minutes in length, that we shot specifically for “Idaho Geology: A Convergence of Wonders.”

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Going into this project, we knew we couldn’t leave it just to geologists to tell the story. Most of them talk so densely that it takes time to absorb, and that can be deadly in a television show that is already dense for most viewers. 

 

I figured we needed a hook to draw in the unwilling. I counted myself in that category. I would rely upon my own short attention span to keep things moving. Our archives contained footage of all kinds of recreationists enjoying the Idaho landscape, but we wanted something viewers hadn’t seen before. We decided to enlist a new group of athletes who enjoyed unusual activities.

 

We joined several skiers who took us to the steep back side of Bruneau Dunes for some sand skiing on North America's tallest single-structured sand dune.

 

We hiked cross country with several expert kayakers to their favorite white water, in the Owyhee Mountains. They made the Class IV Succor Creek runs look relatively easy, partly because the big rocks they were gliding over were slippery polished rhyolite, from ancient volcanic eruptions.

 

We joined two of Idaho's world-class climbers at City of Rocks National Reserve. The granite spires have made the area a destination spot for face climbers around the world.  Some of the expert routes are 600 feet in length.

 

We videotaped rafters flipping their big boats on the Lochsa River, in the Nez Perce-Clearwater National Forest. We headed up there one weekend during Spring run-off, and we weren’t disappointed. Every third raft flipped at Lochsa Falls. No one died because after the Class IV rapid, there was a stretch of placid water where rafters could collect their thoughts... and their coolers.

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A key element to any show’s success is to find someone who can speak with authority and in “plain English.” Luckily, we found a husband-and-wife team at the University of Idaho.  We promised eternal youthfulness to Geologist Bill Bonnichsen and Volcanologist Marty Godchaux, since our show would likely re-air for many years.

But mainly we relied upon their desire to educate Idahoans about what we have in our own backyard. Bonnichsen and Godchaux became for us the kindly aunt and uncle who patiently answered all our silly questions, and they did it in words we could understand. 

Videographer Hank Nystrom and I drove Bill and Martha around the state, interviewing them at places like the Sawtooths, the Lost River Range, and Craters of the Moon National Monument.

“We had no idea how much work went into an Outdoor Idaho program!” remarked Martha Godchaux. “We have an entirely new appreciation of what it takes to make television.”

                                                                         

Of the places we visited with them, the couple seemed most at home at Craters of the Moon National Monument. It’s not surprising that the two geologists would find Craters exciting. It features a 52-mile-long crack in the earth’s crust known as the Great Rift, as well as a volcanic landscape that is remarkably preserved.

 

I personally figured this National Monument had the best chance of becoming Idaho’s first National Park, partly because so little would have to change. It would still be managed by the National Park Service. Supporters argued it would just be a name change. It would bring in business to struggling towns like Arco and Carey. Besides, what damage could 100,000 visitors do to a black rock pile in the heat of the summer?

 

When a serious proposal arose in the Idaho Legislature in 2017, few people opposed the name change. A county-wide poll indicated that 57% were in favor. Support was growing. But then the Idaho Farm Bureau weighed in.

 

Bureau officials argued that national park status could mean restrictions on trucks hauling hay on the highway running through the current National Monument. The National Park Service currently manages Craters of the Moon, and there hasn’t ever been a problem with trucks hauling hay. National Park supporters also argued that a 1941 proclamation by President Franklin Roosevelt transferred Highway 20 to the state of Idaho.

 

What it really seemed to come down to was fear of federal meddling, and that was enough to stop the momentum. So, Idaho continues to be the only state in the West without a National Park, and that seems quite fine to many Idahoans.

 

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The important issue for Bill and Marty was not whether it’s a Monument or a National Park. It’s that Craters of the Moon is ready to erupt. Every two thousand years for the past 10,000 years, the area has produced a “tourist-friendly” eruption. It’s been more than 2,000 years since the last eruption. So it's overdue, said volcanologist Marty. 

“We geologists are just waiting and hoping that maybe, maybe in our lifetimes, this area will see another basaltic eruption, It’s not a given, but we’re hoping."

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I particularly enjoyed Bill’s comments on the creation of the Snake River plain, that smiley face that cuts across a wide swath of southern Idaho, where most Idahoans live.

Bill had written several books, and a paper entitled “The Bruneau-Jarbidge Eruptive Center.” He was an expert on a part of geology that has suffered several major rewrites, just in the past 50 years.

I took the occasion to mention my favorite theory that seemed to explain it all: a giant meteorite crash-landed near the Idaho-Oregon-Nevada border 16 million years ago and put a gash in the earth’s mantle. In other words, the start of the Snake River plain owed its creation to the same forces that killed off the dinosaurs.

 

It was not a new theory. I had read about it in the popular Roadside Geology of Idaho. The author argued that it was the impact of a meteorite that created a “hot spot” in the earth’s mantle. And as the tectonic plate above it inched slowly southwestward at the rate of eight feet every 100 years – or less than an inch a year -- the hot spot acted like a blow torch, creating mini-volcanoes along a path that can be traced all the way to Yellowstone National Park. Yellowstone sits atop that hotspot. I guess the corollary is that, millions of years from now, Minot, North Dakota, will be a fascinating place to visit.

 

To most geologists much of the above is acceptable:  a stationary hotspot, rooted to its deep source of heat, while the tectonic plate above it is slowly moving southwestward. But the part about the meteorite? Not so fast.

 

“Forget about the meteorite,” said Professor Bill. “Superficially, it’s a really attractive idea. But when one goes out looking for specific evidence for that, the evidence is lacking, such as the debris fields that would have been created by the fallback of material blown into the atmosphere and then fallen back to earth. So personally, I discount the idea. It’s an interesting idea, but it’s gone to the dustbin of interesting geologic ideas.”

The explanation, said Professor Bonnichsen, is less other-worldly than meteorites. It has more to do with tectonic plates moving across the surface of the planet and crashing into each other. It’s in these subduction zones where the biggest crashes on planet earth occur. They create mountains and earthquakes and possibly even “hot spots.”

 

How sad. The one theory I could unequivocally get behind... now relegated to the dustbin of geologic history. But who knows what the next 50 years of research will uncover. Things can change in the field of Geology. I’m still holding out for the meteorite theory.

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One thing I learned while working on "Idaho Geology, A Convergence of Wonders" is how little I know about the subject. It definitely keeps me humble.

I was surprised that many of the things most of us assume are “fact” are still theories that require more field work. Maybe that’s why geologists seem open-minded. They know how quickly the study of the Earth can lead to brand new theories. And they know how some of the theories we hold onto today -- like plate tectonics or a meteorite crashing into the Yucatan and cutting short the lives of dinosaurs – were laughed at only fifty years ago. 

 

Of course, Geology itself is humbling. It’s a true science, where empirical evidence rules the day, not parables or hearsay or something on TicToc. It’s not something you can vote on. If you could, I’m sure some of those geologic names for rocks would change fast!

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Here are some things I learned that you may not have heard about...

 

We’ve all grown up believing the depth of Hells Canyon is primarily a product of Idaho’s largest river, but the Snake River came late to the party. The depth of Hells Canyon is more a product of tectonic plates and uplifting of the nearby mountains. And, the Hells Canyon waters likely flowed south, not north. "If you look at all the tributaries to the Snake River in the southern part of Hells Canyon," says Professor Bill, "they actually are flowing toward the south. The whole thing was going to the south.” Some geologists argue that the Salmon River was once Idaho’s major river, with a much shorter Snake River a tributary to the River of No Return.

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Geologists call it the Basin and Range Province. You know you’re there when you see long flat valleys with parallel mountain ranges on each side. Those are the signs of an active earthquake zone, and Idaho has one of the most active. It’s where you can feel what happens when rocks are stretched to the breaking point. Challis and Mackay experienced that on October 28, 1983. “Every rock has its breaking point,” said Professor Martha Godchaux, “and when it breaks, that’s when you have an earthquake.”

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I learned that the mass of rock in the center of the state – the batholith -- stopped rising about 5 to 10 miles underground. That’s where the molten rock reached its buoyancy and started to cool. In other words, what we know today as the Sawtooth Mountains couldn’t even make an appearance until the miles of earth above it disappeared. "Either part of it just physically slides off, or part of it erodes away," explains Professor Bill. "In the case of central Idaho, both processes have occurred.” Only then could glaciers and wind and rain shape what we see today.

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The Trans Challis Fault is not a phrase most of us use, but it’s where the gold is. The wide fault line runs from the Challis-Salmon area to the old gold camps of Idaho City and Silver City. That’s where today’s mining companies concentrate their efforts. “Why Nature chose to concentrate gold along that trend is still a good geologic mystery,” said the professor.

So, we can thank Idaho's geology for gold, but there's not a lot of oil and gas underneath. That means we'll never be an energy colony like some other western states are.

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I learned that Idaho was once ocean front property. The slowly moving Pacific tectonic plate reeled Oregon in from the south Pacific and docked it on the west side of Idaho. That plate has continued to slide under the North American plate, creating immense heat and pressure directly under Idaho and making this part of the world such an interesting geologic region.

As Professor Martha stated, “This is a fabulous state for a geologist to work in. I can’t think of another state that has anything better than we have here. Without having to walk very far, you can go from two billion years ago to today.”

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But to me, it's the two gigantic floods that I find most fascinating, if only because it's so new, geologically speaking.

In southern Idaho, Lake Bonneville broke through at the natural dam called Red Rock Pass around 14,500 years ago, and Utah drained into Idaho. The flood waters discovered the Snake River canyon. Shoshone Falls is a result of that powerful flood.

 
And while Utah was draining into southern Idaho, the waters of Montana were draining into northern Idaho. According to geologist Mark McFadden, an ice dam 2,000 feet high and 20 miles wide blocked the Clark Fork River near the Idaho border. That created a massive lake behind it that stretched eastward 200 miles into Montana.

But as impressive as the ice dam was, it was no match for a warming climate.

"When it does fail, a lot of people think that glacial lake Missoula emptied in a matter of days," said the North Idaho College professor, "just setting up a vibration in the atmosphere that must have been amazing."

Fifty miles an hour, taller than the Empire State building, 60 times the size of the Amazon River, the power of ten times the combined flow of all the rivers in the world. 

What makes the story unique is that, starting about 18,000 years ago and continuing until about 14,000 years ago, the number of dam failures, according to Mark, was "at least 25 failures and maybe closer to 40. So we're very proud of our Idaho story."

Each time the dam failed, the power of the water further gouged out Lake Pend Oreille and stripped the soil off Washington's "scab lands," as it powered it way to the Pacific Ocean. The floods made Pend Oreille the deepest lake in Idaho, at 1,158 feet. Only four lakes in the U.S. are deeper.

 

I have on my wall a bumper sticker that says "Restore Glacial Lake Missoula." Tongue in cheek of course. I can't imagine the damage done today by what one geologist called "the largest flood documented by scientists," tearing through Northern Idaho and Washington, all the way to the Pacific Ocean.

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 And I learned that this is now our time. The dinosaurs are gone, the volcanoes have quieted down for the most part, and the heat at the center of the earth has cooled just enough. It’s now our time to make a go of it. And who knows how long that will last, although it's hard to imagine that our time will last quite as long as the dinosaur's 165 million year reign. 

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A cool thing about the study of geology is that it makes for great quotations. One of my favorites: “Civilization exists by geological consent, subject to change without notice.”

Will Durant’s words certainly ring true when one thinks of the 1983 Mount Borah earthquake. The 7.3 Richter scale quake opened a rupture 23 miles long, at the base of the Lost River Range.  Mountains and valleys shifted apart by ten feet in some places, altering the underground plumbing. Some wells dried up and others doubled in output.

Hunters near the epicenter that morning at 8:06 a.m. described what they saw.  One hunter commented that “it looked like someone had taken scissors to a piece of paper and just cut it.”

 

“The ground was swelling up like it was going to burst,” said another hunter. “The trees were laying half over and then they’d snap back up. The bluffs just let go as if you’d blasted them, and boulders half the size of pickups came down all around us. I think I aged about ten years in five minutes.”

 

I remember it was my birthday, and I was at my cabin outside Idaho City, submerged in my sunken bathtub when the quake hit. It wasn’t until I stepped into the living room and saw my stained-glass pieces swaying violently on their chains that I realized the earth had just convulsed.

 

All this might have had a touch of humor to it, except that the largest earthquake in the state’s recorded history killed two young children walking to school that morning in Challis. The quake destroyed most of Mackay’s tall stone-faced buildings on Main Street and even affected Yellowstone’s geysers.

Geologists Bill and Martha could not have predicted "when" the earthquake would occur. But they knew "where" it would occur. The Lost River Range is the most active earthquake zone in Idaho. Earthquakes will continue to inflict damage, but hopefully on a much smaller scale.

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Another example where Idaho's unique geology and soil types have recently wreaked havoc on us is the collapse of the Teton Dam. The 1976 disaster obliterated the small towns of Wilford and Sugar City and did extensive damage to mid-sized Rexburg. Damage was estimated at $2 billion, making it one of the costliest dam failures in U.S. history.

The dam broke as it was filling up for the first time. At that point the reservoir behind the dam was 270 feet deep and almost 17 miles long. The reservoir emptied in about six hours, spilling 80 billion gallons of water throughout eastern Idaho.

 

In the photos and video that we used for our "Idaho Geology" show, you can see houses floating down the river. Large trees and debris, acting as battering rams, destroyed seven bridges and most of the area’s 700 miles of county roads. Thirteen thousand cows and horses and other livestock perished.

It took about 20 minutes for the water to reach towns. Luckily the dam collapsed in the daytime and most people had sufficient notice to climb to higher ground. Instead of thousands of deaths, only eleven people perished.

 

It was the worst man-made disaster in Idaho’s history. The consensus afterwards was that the porosity of local rock and the geological instability of the area meant it was a lousy site for a dam.

The foundation built on solid political Congressional back-scratching did not hold. Officials and experts from the Bureau of Reclamation had badly miscalculated Idaho’s geology. 

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If you’re searching for gold, you want to be headed to the Idaho batholith in the center of the state. When Idaho’s large body of intrusive igneous rock began to cool underground, hot liquids pushed gold into cracks and fissures within the rock, creating gold-bearing veins.

That’s what miners rushed to find in 1860 near Pierce, Idaho. Nearby Lewiston, along the confluence of the Snake and Clearwater Rivers, grew to be a decent-sized town. Understandably, Lewiston made legitimate claims to be the territory’s capital city.

 

However, most towns relying on gold tend to lose their luster after about two years. And right on cue, rich placer deposits near Idaho City beckoned to the residents of the tent town of Lewiston. Almost overnight, Idaho’s first capital city lost most of its residents as they rushed to chase the yellow stuff 250 miles south of Lewiston.

 

By 1863 Idaho City could boast a population of nearly 10,000 residents. The “Queen of the Gold Camps” was now the largest town in the northwest, larger even than Portland, Oregon.

 

The gold rush sped up the Territory’s entry into the Union. Paradoxically, most of the miners were confederates, but most of the gold landed in the Union’s Civil War coffers, at a time when it helped change the direction of the war.

 

I find it humorous that so many folks up north continue to blame Boise for “stealing” the capital. Boise leaders certainly deserve blame for their duplicity in dealing with Lewiston.

 

But it was really Idaho’s geology that’s to blame. Moving a population base so quickly and so thoroughly is something that very few elements can accomplish.

But gold can do that to a man... and even to a state. Seems like Geology really can determine Destiny. 

                     

                                                                          -30-