Waiting to Tell an Epic Tale

The Roxbury Conglomerate waited to tell its story 20 feet from where I played with my son and visited with friends at Martin Hilltop Playground in Dorchester, Massachusetts.  Rocks have a way of doing that; waiting that is. Parts of this outcrop had survived 650 million years, traveled thousands of miles and climbed probably two or three to tell an epic tale of rises and falls, separation and unification. And it was only on my way out of the park that I took the time to glimpse the gray layered rock with walnut sized chunks of white , gray and pink stone trapped within.  Each type of smaller stone told part of what it took to get this rock to a park near the south edge of Boston.

The story of these rocks begins not far from the coast of Africa.  A light colored rock with largish crystals called granodiorite indicates a fond farewell from Africa.  The dense rock that forms much of the ocean's bottom is jet black, and we call it basalt. When a new ocean tears a continent open, that basalt forming magma wends through lighter colored continent rock, forming a kind of salt and pepper blend of the two called diorite.  Chunks of the Dedham Granodiorite (an even lighter version of diorite) within the conglomerate may have formed in a prePangea split. As this island fragment of Africa set off on its own, erosion and sorting would have created new sediments. Another type of fragment, the gray Westboro Quartzite, thought to have a similar age as the Dedham rock, may have been a beach on the coast of this diverging island. The beach would have been transposed to sandstone and eventually quartzite with time and travel.  Each of these rocks, encapsulated in the conglomerate is a chapter in the conglomerate's story.

Breaking from its roots in Africa was only one small step in Avalon's eager journey to become part of North America.  After all, the ocean is not only wide; it's firm.  Unlike the water that overlies it, the bottom of the ocean is solid stone. Once Africa split, an ocean bottom's worth of material, like so much yellow shag carpet, would need to be removed to make way for Avalon's trip. But, where to put it? A convenient choice might be underneath the very crust of the Earth itself. As the continent moved west to escape Africa and join America, the ocean in its path was shoved below (in a process called subduction). This arrangement only works so well, however. Less dense ocean bottom material has trouble sinking through denser mantle (the layer of the Earth beneath its crust), and post-descent some of the slab melts and floats upward. When this melted rock makes its way to the surface, we call it a volcano. Thus was born the reddish  Mattapan Volcanics, another component of the Roxbury Conglomerate.

The large chunks of rock contained within tell their own individual parts of the story, but the conglomerate itself reveals the denouement.  Imagine standing in stagnant water, your feet squelch in the muddy bottom. In a stream, or wavy coast, mud is hustled away and what remains is sand. Speed that stream up by, say, running it through a set of miles-high  mountains, and your feet rest on well worn gravel.  All but the biggest chunks of the mountains above have been dragged well out to sea by a raging river.  How do you get mile high mountains made of an amalgam of granodiorite formed deep in a splitting continent, quartzite formed on shoreline, and volcanic rock formed in migrating islands?  You crush the whole, complicated, landscape in the binding vice of Africa and North America as they form one corner of the supercontinent Pangea.  The mountains climb, and the gravel falls.

The intervening couple of hundred million years is mostly waiting for the conglomerate and its components. Waiting to harden from riverbed into stone. Waiting for the giant mountains to be worn down to roots. Waiting while glaciers scour the rock and sediment above. Waiting for Boston and the park to be built. Biding time for the opportunity to tell an epic tale to curious visitors. Don't worry, the rocks don't mind the wait.


Hepburn, Christopher J., Javier Fernandez-Suarez, George A. Jenner, and Elena A. Belousova. "Significance of Detrital Zircon Ages from the Westboro Quartzite, Avalon Terrane, Eastern Massachusetts." Geological Society of America 40.2 (2008): n. pag. Web.

Reid, Annie. "Nature Notes 5/12/2006 - A Mighty Collision and Much Glaciation." The Westborough News. Westborough Community Land Trust, 12 May 2016. Web. 06 July 2016

Watts, Douglas. "Geology of North Easton, Massachusetts: We're Still in West Africa." Tispaquin's Revenge. N.p., 6 Feb. 2010. Web. 06 July 2016.

 Thompson, Margaret D., and O. Don Hermes. "Ash-flow Stratigraphy in the Mattapan Volcanic Complex, Greater Boston, Massachusetts." Geology of the Composite Avalon Terrane of Southern New England Geological Society of America Special Papers 245 (1990): 85-96. Web.

Skipping Stones at Kettle Cove

An assortment of stones at Kettle Cove,
 including white quartz and gray phyllite 

Chasing my fifteen month old son at Kettle Cove beach means faster glances at the rocks. I absorb the scene but miss a lot of the details.  A lot of flat rocks - good for skipping.  "That's a little too deep bud, let's bring it in." Some nice round hunks of quartz. "It's okay, keep walking and you'll dry off ." More of the same; more flat, more quartz. Not a lot to see, but that says a lot.

Arms of dark rock contain the sands of Kettle Cove beach

Arms of dark rock supply the cove of Kettle Cove. The repeating foliations and large "knots" make it look almost like wood.  A fact that drives the untutored to ask whether it is petrified wood.  It is not.  The physical features have a more involved backstory.  Four hundred twenty million years ago this rock was sediment in a deep ocean.  Sand, silt and clay piled up in a space between continents: to the north what would one day become most of North America to the south Avalon, a microcontinent whose remains form the coast of Maine and parts of Rhode Island, Great Britain and Africa.  It might seem that these layers of rock would become the "tree rings", but the thin sheets would reveal themselves millions of years later.

"Petrified wood" is really ocean bottom rock
split by stretched bands of quartz 

Four hundred million years ago Avalon crept toward  the North American core.  The pressure on these layers escalated. The minerals in mud migrated and aligned themselves to sustain the stress.  The wavy foliations are the result.  The heat and pressure of impact had the added effect of heating quartz to liquid, sending it screaming through cracks and layers.  As things settled down the quartz solidified into extended blocks called dikes.

The collision with Avalon was prelude to the formation of Pangea. As this is now the coast, we know these impacts were not the end of the story. Africa bumped our coast, and then bounced back out to sea (carrying a piece of Avalon with it). Our "petrified wood" does not have stripes of quartz.  It is punctuated by "knots" of it.  As the continents split, the bands of quartz stretched. Some parts spaghettified into ribbons.  Other sections remained thick with tapered edges.  These bulbs, called boudins (French for sausage, which the strands of quartz resemble) become the "knots" in our wood grain.

Inevitably the rock of this formation, having been lain down, rearranged, injected with quartz and stretched, began to break down. Glaciers, rivers and waves have all had their shot at the rocks of the Maine coast, and the most recent of these don't carry rocks very far.  The smallest pieces may end up as mud on the ocean bottom or sand on the beach. The larger chunks stay local. The flattened layers become skipping stones. The round quartz knots roll back and forth in the surf. These remnants remain for my son and me to explore while perusing Kettle Cove.

Bentley, Callan. ""Boudinage" is my favorite geology word - Mountain Beltway - AGU Blogosphere." Mountain Beltway Site Wide Activity RSS. American Geophysical Union, 20 June 2011. Web. 19 Aug. 2014. <http://blogs.agu.org/mountainbeltway/2011/06/20/boudinage-favorite-geoword/>. 

Berry , Henry N. , and Robert G. Marvinney. "The Geology of Two Lights State Park Cape Elizabeth, Maine." Geologic Site of the Month. Maine Geological Survey, n.d. Web. 19 Aug. 2014. <http://www.maine.gov/dacf/mgs/explore/bedrock/sites/jun02.pdf>. 

The Outcrop in the Crystal

It's my 20th post!  This blog post is the first of several that will highlight an outcrop that drove my interest in Maine geology.  If you're looking for the outcrop it's on Rte. 115 on the Gray/ Windham border.  Or check it out on the Sphere app.  

The outcrop told the story of Maine.  The white rock, a granite, bubbled up when Africa's coast collided with our own 450 million years ago, sealing Maine into the Pangeaic interior.  The black basalt resulted from one of the volcanoes that once again cleaved the supercontinent in two when Pangea split.  The glittery schist told the tale of a muddy ocean bottom that predated both two igneous rocks.  But how did the green rock get there?

There were obvious clues.  The parallel stripes of white, green, and sometimes even gray told tales of piling layers.  The fact that these layers took turns with schist, a mudstone altered by heat and pressure, as one scanned the outcrop from left to right suggested that it, too, formed in that muddy sea.  Other facts didn't add up.  The tough rock scored glass.  Most of the usual sedimentary suspects wouldn't do that; unmetamorphosed mudstone and limestone were just too soft.  Their metamorphic progeny, schist and marble would have crumbled as well.  Sandstone, and its postbear quartzite, would do the job, but the look wasn't right.  The rock lacked the granularity of sandstone, and the sugariness of quartzite.

The truth became clearer as I began to research Silurian time, a period between 416 and 444 million years ago, in which the green rock formed.  The ocean bottom that it gathered in was flanked on three sides.  To the north lie North America, to the south, a hunk of land that would become Maine's coast. To the east, Western Europe plugged another opening preventing the flow of currents.  The phlegmatic basin, just south of the equator, became poor in oxygen, but rich in life.  Lacking our usual breath of life, the creatures of the sea resorted to extreme measures - consuming sulfur.  

The chemistry of this bounded sea played an important role in the green rock's formation.  As a coral reef, in an aerated ocean, degrades, it forms limestone, which is composed of the elements calcium, carbon and oxygen.  Our sluggish sea would have produced a similar product, with one small difference: the sulfur consumption exchanges some of the sediment's calcium for a new element - magnesium.  The rock it forms goes by a different name: dolomite.

Even dolomite doesn't have the strength to scratch glass.  The rock would require one final transformation.  As plates moved, the basin grew smaller, and then disappeared.  The formation of Pangea spurred an influx of fluids: some large, like the bulb of magma that formed the white granite, some less immense, like the infusion of quartz and water that flowed through the ancient ocean bottom.  This liquid sought out any channel it could access, including spaces in the schist, and the dolomite.  The schist proved passable, but inert.  The dolomite was reactive.  The heat and chemicals in the flowing fluid released carbon and oxygen from the dolomite (as carbon dioxide).  Some of the quartz stuck around, providing the white layers of the rock.  The green crystals, a mineral called diopside, kept the calcium and magnesium of the dolomite and replaced the CO2 with silicon and oxygen from the quartz.  

The outcrop is a testament of Maine's geological history.  It documented the marine roots and the accordion push-pull of continents.  The green diopside crystal, a fractal of that outcrop, records the deoxygenated ocean bottom in its calcium and magnesium.  It further tells the tale of the pushing and pulling continents in its silicon and oxygen.  The green crystal, a mere fragment of the outcrop, tells the outcrop's entire story.

Bickle, M. J. , H. J. Chapman, J. M. Ferry, D. Rumble, and A. E. Fallick. "Fluid Flow and Diffusion in the Waterville Limestone, South—Central Maine: Constraints from Strontium, Oxygen and Carbon Isotope Profiles." Journal of Petrology 38.11 (1997): 1489-1512. Print.

Ferry, J. M.. "A Comparative Geochemical Study Of Pelitic Schists And Metamorphosed Carbonate Rocks From South-central Maine, USA." Contributions to Mineralogy and Petrology 80.1 (1982): 59-72. Print.

Fischer, Dan , Tammy (Yue) Liu, Emily Yip, and Korsen Yu. "The Silurian Period."The Silurian Period. University of California Museum of Paleontology, 5 July 2011. Web. 6 Dec. 2013. <http://www.ucmp.berkeley.edu/silurian/silurian.php>.

Hussey, Arthur M., II, 1996, Bedrock geology of the North Windham 7.5' quadrangle, Maine; Maine Geological Survey (Department of Conservation), Open-File Report 96-16, 6 p.

Helmholtz Centre for Ocean Research Kiel (GEOMAR) (2012, June 7). How does dolomite form?. ScienceDaily. Retrieved December 8, 2013, from http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2012/06/120607105815.htm

Wilde, Pat , William Berry, and Mary Quinby-Hunt. "Silurian Oceanography."Marine Sciences Group. University of California, Berkeley, n.d. Web. 8 Dec. 2013. <http://www.marscigrp.org/sil91.html>.

Beyond Pangea: The Chain Lakes' Long History

Every middle schooler hears about Pangea.  You look at the world map and envision the ocean closing and that land before time re-forming.  And that's the end.  You don't think about what happened before because no one ever told you that there was a before.  Well, I am here to set you straight.

Don't get me wrong.  Pangea is old.  When Pangea was THE place to be, dinosaurs had not yet set foot on this Earth.  In fact, the dry center of the giant continent set the stage for water loving amphibians to evolve into drought tolerant reptiles.  Later, these reptiles gave birth to the generations that would become the feared lizards we call dinosaurs.  Here in Maine, however, you will find no trace of dinosaurs, because nearly every rock was formed before the oceans that collapsed to make way for Pangea produced their parting waves.

What's important to realize is that the formation of whole Earth continents, like Pangea, is a cycle.  These so-called supercontinents occur occasionally throughout Earth history.    Six hundred million years ago, the supercontinent of the day, one that we call Pannotia, would have filled much of the space taken up by the modern day western Pacific Ocean, and a large hunk of Antarctica, too.  About 1.3 billion years ago, Rodinia was gathering all the Earth's land masses at the equator.  This is the point at which we will begin our journey back to the future.

The Chain Lakes Massif, an elevated hunk of land just north of Sugarloaf, may be the best perch from which to watch the story unfold.  A supercontinent is formed when an ocean closes.  The weighty seafloor rock descends into the Earth beneath the lighter continental shoreline. The diving rock melts, and then reascends, forming a chain of volcanoes, not unlike the modern Andes.  The larger the colliding continents, the larger the mountain chain - and Rodinia was big!  The billion year old mountain chain is now the core of North America, running the 3000 miles from Newfoundland, Canada to Veracruz, Mexico.  Big mountains fall fast, and as rain and ice dragged sediment from the peaks it dropped it into the closing ocean.  Some scientists think it was this sediment that would become the Massif.  As the ocean closed, the sediment may have changed from mud to stone.

A billion years ago Rodinia was formed, but this, too, must pass.  The mega-continent shattered.  While the 3000 mile backbone, called the Grenville Province, stayed intact, the sedimentary shorelines drifted away.  While the cycle continued, the sedimentary island moved along the Earth's surface, but 400 million years after it started its journey, the Massif came home.  As its ocean closed, and Pannotia gathered, the piece of land that would become the Chain Lakes became nestled in the heart of the new supercontinent.  Nestled may be an understatement, because the crushing force of the continent forming squeezed, buried, and roasted the rock, altering it from a simple sedimentary rock to a banded metamorphic one called gneiss.

Pannotia didn't last long, and when the proto-Pangea split, the Massif hung on to what would become North America.  In fact at that time it would have been coastal property, but that would change as oceans closed one more time.  The Iapetus Ocean (Iapetus was the father of Atlas, and the Iapetus was the predecessor of the Atlantic) closed in stages.  The first impact was a set of Carribean-like islands, the next a small continent called Avalon.  Each collision provided more heat and more pressure, driving the gneissic metamorphism of the once sedimentary rock even further; and making the geologic puzzle harder to solve.

The final crunch came as Africa found its place in the Pangeaic landscape.  The world, different than the one in which we now reside, would at least be familiar to our geographic sensibilities.  South America cuddled up with western Africa, and northern Africa spooned by New England.  Pangea may be the first chapter in our middle school geology texts, but it was one of the last in this corner of Maine.

DiPietro, Joseph A. Landscape Evolution in the United States: An Introduction to the Geography, Geology, and Natural History. Burlington, MA: Elsevier, 2013. Print.

Landing, Ed. "Vestiges of Rodinia: Adirondack and Hudson Highlands." New York State Geological Survey. New York State Museum, n.d. Web. 11 Nov. 2013. <http://www.nysm.nysed.gov/nysgs/nygeology/tectonic/02.html>.

Meert, Joseph . "A History and Preview of Supercontinents through Time." Gondwana Research. N.p., n.d. Web. 11 Nov. 2013. <http://gondwanaresearch.com/hp/supercon.pdf>.

Unfolding the Camden Hills

Two weeks ago my friend Colin and I climbed Mount Megunticook.  I was bending his ear about a particular rock, or piece of geologic history when he asked me the question: so how did the Camden Hills get here?  The question haunted me.  It's certainly a question I'd pondered.  I just hadn't made any headway.  I'd researched it too; the answers were either non-existent, or just didn't add up. Glaciers? But, ice sheets scoured the whole state.  Why leave peaks here?  Granite? There may be occasional injections of the light colored rock, but no more than other, lower regions of the state.  Over the intervening weeks I revisited both and decided that perhaps the answer lies in the the shattered infrastructure of the region.

I've mentioned in a previous post that this region was ground zero for a major collision between plates, and the impact is still visible on a relief map.  The ridges to the north and west of the Camden Hills look like ripples in a carpet pushed up by slid furniture.  If Africa was a couch, and Maine an area rug, this isn't too far from the truth.  When Pangea formed, Maine's rock needed to take up less space.  Like the carpet, part went up, and the rest stayed down.  The difference is, rock is not so good at bending.  Instead, a wedge of rock cracks off along a fault, and slides up the face of the piece next to it.  This crack-slide scenario occurred twice, with state geologic maps showing thrust faults not far from two ridges: one that includes Levenseller Mountain, Moody Mountain and Philbrick Mountain and another that features Hatchett Mountain and Coggans and Clarry Hills.

If collision shoves rock skyward, extension drops it down.  When Africa moonwalked its way out of Pangea, it stretched Maine behind it.  Certain blocks of Earth dropped down, filling would be holes with wedges of rock.  To the southeast of the Camden Hills, the land quickly plunges to ocean. The state maps once again show a fault and a cross section makes it look as though the fault block  descended with extending crust.

Where does this leave us?  Three hunks of rock stacked up piggy-back and a piece of ocean dropped into a hole left by a departing Africa.  The Camden Hills, with Megunticook the highest mountains on the Atlantic coast south of Acadia, are the top piggy with the drop to the ocean providing stunning views.  Of course, the once neat blocks have been intruded by magma, and worn down by glaciers and time.  But, I believe, these small giants, are more a tribute to the tug of war between continents than the ice and granite.

Bloom, Arthur. Geomorphology: A Systematic Analysis of Late Cenozoic Landforms. Upper Saddle River, New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 1991. Print.

"Facing Hatchet Mountain." Hope Historical Society. Hope Historical Society, n.d. Web. 15 Sept. 2013. <www.hopehist.com/Himages/HD402.html>.

Flanders . "Mount Megunticook : Climbing, Hiking & Mountaineering : SummitPost."Climbing, Hiking, Mountaineering : SummitPost. SummitPost.org, 12 Oct. 2013. Web. 15 Sept. 2006. <http://www.summitpost.org/mount-megunticook/234387>.

Osberg, Philip H., Hussey, Arthur M., II, and Boone, Gary M. (editors), 1985, Bedrock geologic map of Maine; Maine Geological Survey (Department of Conservation), scale 1:500,000