Wherever you are from, I’m sure you’ve had out-of-towners ask you, “Is this weather normal?” Here in the San Juan Mountains, the answer is always yes. From a blizzard in July to 70 degrees in January to the most still and blue-skied day you could imagine, it all falls into the ever broadening range of “normal.” And around here, more than your average number of people actually experience this weather up close and personal. I’m sure many of you have been out in it – like it or not.
One aspect of the weather that has been pushing itself outside of our wide range of “normal” is the severity. In late June, the Animas River in Durango was a confused chameleon. Spring runoff had it colored an acceptable paper bag brown for several days. But then it abruptly went to its late-summer translucent blue-green. And then, seemingly without warning, it switched to an opaque cafe latte between breakfast and dinner.
Intense isolated rain storms have further fueled my lifetime obsession with the geologic process of erosion. For 17 years, I have worked outdoors and witnessed the ebb and flow of weather’s tranquility and ferocity. My time as a Forest Ambassador for San Juan Mountains Association (SJMA) has been no exception. I have seen waterfalls crop up suddenly in places where I’d never known them to occur. But I’ve also experienced those cobalt blue-sky days that are so calm, I wonder if the world has ended and nobody told me. I am perpetually in awe of nature’s beautiful indifference.
Erode is defined by Merriam-Webster as “to diminish or destroy by degrees” and, specific to geology, “to wear away by the action of water, wind, or glacial ice.” In the early 1800s, geologists had settled into two parties when it came to erosion. The exemplary book The Emerald Mile by Kevin Fedarko explains these two diverse schools of thought. The Catastrophists argued that the rugged landforms of our planet came about via “abrupt, cataclysmic events; Then there were the Uniformitarians, eventually called Gradualists, whose observations deduced that topography was formed very slowly and evenly over long periods of time.
Well, they were both right. By the 1960s, geologists understood that the slow moving processes of mountain building and glacial erosion were, to quote Fedarko, interspersed with “brief moments of exceptionally brutal violence in which things happen very quickly indeed.”
While the cataclysmic events in the San Juan Mountains don’t quite classify as “debris flows” like those in the Grand Canyon, we do get “gully washers” which lead to flash floods, rock slides, and mudslides. During these events, the ground and the plants rooted within it cannot absorb the water quickly enough despite how much they might need it. This summer we’ve seen several mudslides that block traffic such as just north of Durango on Hwy 550 and down in the Animas Canyon across the railroad tracks.
Critters such as pocket gophers can unwittingly help with percolation – their extensive burrowing in search of tasty roots aerating the soil and creating quick ways for the deluges to permeate the ground. But the sheer ferocity of recent downpours – which sometimes include hail – produce more water than can be absorbed. And since the San Juans aren’t flat, the result is the abrupt erosion of topsoil as the precipitation pulls it downhill.
So when you are caught out there this monsoon season, be safe but take time to marvel at the beautiful indifference of nature. Perhaps part of your favorite trail will wash out tomorrow. Or the clear creek you fished today will be a muddy mess next week. And when a passerby asks if this is normal, you can smile and tell them yes.
MK Thompson is a Forest Ambassador for SJMA. Learn more at sjma.org or MK’s page, artofmisadventure.com
