[While doing "series posts" (consisting of Part 1, Part 2, ... ), I have been guilty of posting a Part 1 and then getting distracted and not completing planned subsequent related posts. As for the prior parts of this thread, please scroll down.]
As previously mentioned, despite the regrets of not having finished this project and failing to inform myself of what my cohorts learned, over the years I have used some of my scanned slides (and memories) as Educational Resources, as seen with the labeled images (Figure 1) and suggested discussions below.
In an attempt to resurrect my portion of the project and to spend some "really quiet time" with only the sound of the wind and my thoughts, I visited the Eagle Mountains either in the Fall of 1979 (or was it 1980?), by myself.
As usual, I checked in at the ranch house to verify it was still OK (it was). While chatting with the caretaker, he mentioned that the remnants of a hurricane had "wandered up the Rio Grande Valley" from the Gulf Coast and that it "sat" over the Eagle Mts. for a weekend, during which time they got 22 inches of rain (courtesy of "Orographic Lifting" - my conclusion). [Usable in Weather and Climate discussions.]
(I suppose by examining Gulf of Mexico weather records could help estimate the date, but it doesn't matter.) He advised me of this as "some of the roads didn't exist - in a usable manner - anymore" and he didn't have the proper equipment to fix them. [I guess the owner in Houston was trying to decide if fixing them was worth it.]
Figure 1A.
The text box (in the above image) obscures the roadway we used in 1978 in the NE quadrant. This was a normal arroyo (dry canyon) crossing, down-gradient from a canyon draining part of the "highlands". Though this wasn't part of my 1978 field area, I had wanted to explore the more-accessible parts of the NE and SE quadrants and so some more photography.
The image below shows the "roadus interruptus" within an "inner montane valley". It illustrates the poorly-sorted nature of valley alluvium, deposited by "normal" seasonal flooding versus the 4 feet (+/-) of rapid down-cutting from a single catastrophic flash flood. At the base of the vertical cut, you can see a small "apron" (talus cone) starting to form, as part of nature's re-establishment of a "natural angle-of-repose" for this range of clast sizes.
[These considerations are usable in discussions of "Cycles of Erosion and Deposition"; "Changes in Flood Velocity and Capacity" due to "Gradient Variations" and degree of "Valley Confinement"; as well as "Soil-Moisture Retention" due to this being on the east side of the mountains. Suitable for Physical Geology, Hydrology, Weather and Climate, Environmental Science, and Ecology.]
Figure 1B.
At the time I was taking this above photo, I wasn't thinking of educational resources or scholarly discussions, I was thinking "Well damn, I will not be doing much exploration in this area of the NE quadrant". With that, after exploring what I could, I returned to the comfort of the "home base" at East Mill. (This autumn photo below was probably taken at that time.)
Figure 2. (Looking approximately Northeast.)
[Please forgive the dust spots on the sky portion of the photo.]
East Mill is a special place for me, even after not having visited it in 40+ years. Other than a distant train passing miles away, across Eagle Flat, and random airplanes (some to be discussed below), all you could hear was the wind. So calming as to be spooky at night, when alone.
A weather-related memory stands out amongst the East Mill events of the summer of 1978.
Within the Desert Southwest, usually in early-July, the summer heating of the continental U.S. landmass triggers a "quasi-Monsoon Effect", drawing in moist air from the Gulf of Mexico and the Gulf of California. We welcomed the appearance of clouds over the mountains (Orographic Effect), as they brought us some shade. But often that shade was followed by thunderstorms that forced us back to East Mill.
One afternoon, with active clouds in the area, we had "knocked off" and eaten dinner early, as we expected storms.
[In the view shown in Figure 2, directly behind us, in the Red Light Bolson was the Rio Grande, cutting across at a NW-to-SE angle. In Mexico, the term "Rio Grande" is not used until downstream of the confluence of the "Rio Conchos" with the "Rio Bravo" ("Rio Grande" of American usage).]
With an hour and a half of daylight left, a small but intense thunderstorm, that probably began in Mexico, crossed over the ridge west of East Mill, and for about 10 minutes we were treated to heavy rain and lightning strikes within a quarter-mile. We both piled into my truck and backed up-slope for maybe a 200 yards, to get a little further away from the windmill.
After the storm was "finished" with us, we returned the truck to its normal position. We stepped out and enjoyed the cool, freshly-washed air. As the storm trundled across Eagle Flat, then the Carrizo Mts., and across I-10 towards the Beach Mts. (NW of Van Horn), something happened. It seemed to stop moving. After a few minutes, it became apparent to me that the storm had reversed direction (by 180 degrees) and was coming back for another noisy visit.
I said "It's coming back.", to which Dan replied, "That's impossible!". We argued briefly, then I decided to shut up and let the storm do the talking. A few minutes later, Dan had to admit, "The storm is coming back ... "
Sure enough, the damn storm drifted about 10 - 15 miles northeast, before the winds changed and pushed it back for Round 2. We again backed the truck up the hill and watched as the storm repeated its performance, after which it traveled back over the ridge and returned to Mexico. And with that, our Meteorology lesson in "the Movement of Convection Thunderstorms" was over.
I regret having lost touch with Dan. If memory serves me correctly, he may have been from upstate New York. He had a rather laidback attitude about things for a northerner. I only heard him cuss twice, both times during our being set upon in the Eagle Mts. - at different times - by plagues of gnats and then wasps. No fellow grad students had ever mentioned being besieged by either.
When the gnats were at their peak, it seemed that they were desperate for moisture to the point of getting it from your eyes, nose, and mouth, driving Dan to cussing and stating that he was "ready to quit Geology and go sell insurance". Oh, the heresy! During the plague, we discovered that the gnats were victimizing other mammals as well. One day, Dan managed to quietly walk to within 6 feet of a rabbit, because it was rubbing its front paws over its nose and eyes in search of relief. It finally noticed him and hopped off. It wasn't until we got a good rain that the gnats subsided.
Sometime later, we gradually started seeing a growing number of reddish-orange wasps flying about. As they flew closely around us, their behavior seemed more about curiosity than aggression, perhaps they were asking "Well, did you bring us something to eat?". As luck would have it, we had forgotten to bring any wasp treats. Dan's second episode of cussing followed one of the curious wasps crawling into his backpack and when he reached in for something, the wasp demonstrated that it COULD sting if it needed to.
[Sorry, still compiling the list of References.]
After the storm was "finished" with us, we returned the truck to its normal position. We stepped out and enjoyed the cool, freshly-washed air. As the storm trundled across Eagle Flat, then the Carrizo Mts., and across I-10 towards the Beach Mts. (NW of Van Horn), something happened. It seemed to stop moving. After a few minutes, it became apparent to me that the storm had reversed direction (by 180 degrees) and was coming back for another noisy visit.
I said "It's coming back.", to which Dan replied, "That's impossible!". We argued briefly, then I decided to shut up and let the storm do the talking. A few minutes later, Dan had to admit, "The storm is coming back ... "
Sure enough, the damn storm drifted about 10 - 15 miles northeast, before the winds changed and pushed it back for Round 2. We again backed the truck up the hill and watched as the storm repeated its performance, after which it traveled back over the ridge and returned to Mexico. And with that, our Meteorology lesson in "the Movement of Convection Thunderstorms" was over.
I regret having lost touch with Dan. If memory serves me correctly, he may have been from upstate New York. He had a rather laidback attitude about things for a northerner. I only heard him cuss twice, both times during our being set upon in the Eagle Mts. - at different times - by plagues of gnats and then wasps. No fellow grad students had ever mentioned being besieged by either.
When the gnats were at their peak, it seemed that they were desperate for moisture to the point of getting it from your eyes, nose, and mouth, driving Dan to cussing and stating that he was "ready to quit Geology and go sell insurance". Oh, the heresy! During the plague, we discovered that the gnats were victimizing other mammals as well. One day, Dan managed to quietly walk to within 6 feet of a rabbit, because it was rubbing its front paws over its nose and eyes in search of relief. It finally noticed him and hopped off. It wasn't until we got a good rain that the gnats subsided.
Sometime later, we gradually started seeing a growing number of reddish-orange wasps flying about. As they flew closely around us, their behavior seemed more about curiosity than aggression, perhaps they were asking "Well, did you bring us something to eat?". As luck would have it, we had forgotten to bring any wasp treats. Dan's second episode of cussing followed one of the curious wasps crawling into his backpack and when he reached in for something, the wasp demonstrated that it COULD sting if it needed to.
[Sorry, still compiling the list of References.]
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