At Vanderbilt University’s Wilderness Skills club we classified adventure into two types of fun. Type 1 fun was fun to experience and fun to remember. Type 2, the slightly more common type, was miserable while it happened but either has a great reward or created a story that got you attention at parties.
The hike up to Rachel Lake after work with a 30-pound pack on my back was decidedly Type 2.
I got off work early on that Friday, headed east on I-90, turned off at the exit for Kachess Lake, bounced up potholed gravel roads to the trailhead, and set out for adventure. I knew the hike went from 2,800 to 4,800 feet in four and a half miles. What I had foolishly overlooked is that it gains 1,400 feet in the last 1.2 miles. A significant distance of that 1.2 miles is literally in a creek bed. It had me questioning my life choices. I had planned to go all the way up to Rampart Lakes at 5,100 feet but I was absolutely done by the time I got to Rachel Lake. I was too cranky to eat my ramen noodles. I set up my tent at the outskirts of an inordinately crowded back country campground just as it got dark, made a cup of tea, and turned in for the night.
The next day was 100% heavenly Type 1 Fun.
I left the burden of my camping stuff where it lay and headed uphill into a clear blue day. My goal was Alta Peak at the northern end of Rampart Ridge, elevation 6,152 feet. I climbed up the ridge past fields of glacier lilies and heather and creeping phlox. It took me about two hours to make it to the top, with views of Mt. Rainier, Mt. Adams, and Glacier Peak. I settled in for an hour with my chair and my map to plan further adventures while I could see so much of the landscape!
I then rambled downhill to have lunch at Lila Lake. It was hopping with backpackers but I found a nice spot to eat my snack assortment and get yelled at by a marmot.
Once I had my fill of exploring the bouldery outcrops at Lila Lake, I headed south to Rampart Lakes. I spent the rest of the afternoon basking on a rock with a view at the Rampart Lake furthest along the trail. I braved the water for a swim and dried off in the sun while reading a mystery novel and enjoying my sippy flask of rosé. I did not join the hikers who were penguin-sliding down the snowdrift straight into the lake, though.
Around 6pm I headed back down to Rachel Lake to cook dinner and explore the campsite possibilities in the main campground for next time. I went to sleep in an exponentially better mood than I had the previous night.
Sunday morning I hoped to make it down the horribly steep creek bed part of the trail before the day hikers would be heading up it. Mission successful! I took loads of photos of wildflowers. I set up to finish my novel and eat lunch at a rocky waterfall overlook about a mile from the trailhead.
By this point Friday’s uphill slog was completely a thing of the past. All things considered, the trip had been a delight.
But wait! I couldn’t ignore the cool rocks. You know me.
The rocks exposed up at Rampart Ridge were gray with white clusters of larger elongated crystals. I thought they were really distinctive, but didn’t know their name.
It turns out these rocks have the epic moniker of “glomeroporphyritic basalt”. Glomeroporphyritic translates out of science Latin into “collected-together larger crystals”. In geology-ese, “porphyritic” refers to an igneous rock texture where larger crystals are set in a matrix of rock crystals with a much finer texture, like blueberries in a muffin.
Porphyritic igneous rocks form in two stages – the first one at deep in the earth’s crust, and the second in a shallower, cooler zone at or near the earth’s surface. The large white crystals in Rampart Ridge’s basalt formed when the magma was deep underground. They had plenty of time to slowly cool into large crystals in the hot environment at depth. However, some igneous or tectonic process suddenly shoved the magma body up towards the surface. This made the rest of the magma cool suddenly. Because these newer crystals did not have time to grow, they stayed very small.
But why did this one white mineral form crystals at depth, and not the others? I turn to a familiar chart from my geology textbooks for the answer. It’s called Bowen’s Reaction Series, and describes the order in which minerals crystallize out of molten rock. This series springs from painstaking experiments involving pulverized minerals, a very very hot oven, and more patience than I possess. They revealed that minerals form into crystals at the different temperatures along a gradient.
The elemental mix of magma that becomes basalt creates the white mineral calcium plagioclase and the dark gray/black mineral pyroxene, with only trace amounts of other minerals. Calcium feldspar has a higher melting temperature, and so solidifies at a higher temperature while pyroxene has not yet formed into crystals. An important caveat is that not all magma contains all the elements necessary to make every rock in the series, so several minerals may be “skipped” in a certain magma body.
For example, quartz has the lowest melting temperature of all the common minerals, which is why it often forms decorative crystals or veins in the voids left when other minerals have already crystallized.
The two kinds of rock I saw on this hike date mainly from the Eocene and Oligocene time periods between 55.8 and 23 million years ago. Washington was roughly at it’s current location on the globe back then and the volcanoes of the Cascades were starting to rev up. Since then, these rocks have been folded by tectonic forces, broken by faults, and eroded until they cropped out in the patchwork patterns that geologists map today.
The glomeroporphyritic basalt dates from the late Eocene period. It’s colored medium green and marked as Tnbg on the map above.
Tv and the light pink color stands for Oligocene volcanic rocks – an igneous jumble that’s a few million years younger than the glomeroporphyritic basalt. The rocks on Alta Peak are describe in the USGS pamphlet for the Snoqualmie quadrangle as “coarse volcanic breccia and tuff with minor ash flow tuff). They look almost like concrete made with blocky, angular aggregate. Breccia describes rocks created when magma shattered and engulfed surrounding rock as it erupted. Tuff forms when ash becomes cemented by its own heat, like how I described in the Smith Rocks post from 2018. Breccia makes up the ridgeline of the photo below – you can really see how this one rock classification encompasses a bunch of different kinds of rocks that erode differently to create a mix of straight ridge lines and messy talus slopes.
I’m still doing research about how these rock types ended up juxtaposed. Western Washington’s rocks tell a complex story of bits of foreign continents (called accreted terranes) that were stuck onto the rest of North America by subducting plates, then covered with volcanic rocks and shuffled around by faults. It’s the northern relative to the process in Southern Oregon that I wrote about in my accreted terranes post. Up here, the terranes were even more altered by volcanism and faulting.
It definitely created a fantastic landscape!
Definition of glomeroporphyritic basalt: https://blogs.agu.org/georneys/2011/07/14/geology-word-of-the-week-g-is-for-glomeroporphyritic/
USGS map and pamphlet for the Snoqualmie Quadrangle: https://pubs.usgs.gov/imap/i2538/
Info on volcanic breccia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Breccia#Volcanic
Information on Bowen’s reaction series: https://courses.lumenlearning.com/physicalgeology/chapter/3-3-crystallization-of-magma/