When we began searching for crystals in Washington State, it felt like nothing short of a real hunt for treasure. To prepare, I spent countless hours reading everything I could find about where to hunt and how to get there. I'm pleased that the answers weren't so easily spelled out. No single set of directions was sufficient to guide us to the promised land. Instead, each blog article, blurb, comment, map, and satellite photo became a piece of the puzzle that allowed us to draw up a new map, with our location triangulated. All we needed to do at that point was hit the trail and explore.
One thing I really enjoy doing is looking at Google Maps. I will literally spend hours toggling back and forth between satellite view and topographic view, zooming in and out, trying to memorize every incline and bend in the road so that when I'm on it, I can say, "Ah hah! This is what that dark green streak on the map looks like from the ground!"
In addition to learning large landmarks (which can be oh-so helpful for navigating), I've been gaining a pretty strong interest in the geography and geology of the landscapes we explore.
We got a hearty lesson in the geology of crystal-producing veins, around the fire one evening in South Carolina. With the sun down, we could no longer hunt for crystals, so we relaxed by the fire, wrapping our finds in newspaper for the long journey home.
There was a Geologist with us that evening who was happy to share his knowledge and answer our questions. In the case of Diamond Hill, which is situated in the ancient mountain range of the Appalachians, the tectonic activity drove plates together, raising the mountains and creating breaks and fissures in the crust. The heat and gasses crystallized within these cracks and crystal "veins" were formed. Then, through the process of erosion, over hundreds of millions of years, the mountains wore down. The veins become exposed and today, we can dig to them and find the beautiful crystals that formed there so very long ago. There's nothing quite like pulling out plates of crystals that have existed longer than we can conceptualize, knowing they have never before seen the light of day.
Washington State's geological history is a little different and I'm only now beginning to understand how it all works. Granted, I'm no geologist, so I'm just going to share what I've gathered from reading and talking with others. From what I understand, Washington's mountains are created by a combination of tectonic and glacial activity. It was plate tectonics that raised us up, out of the ocean. Evidence of this uplift can be seen in the weathered fossil cliffs of Chuckanut Drive, near Bellingham. Recently, I read that it was glacial activity that carved out our mountain passes, digging the deep gorges that grant us access from the high desert of the East, to the temperate rainforest of the West.
It is well known that Washington State is host to a wide variety of minerals, but I wanted to know more about why and how they've come to be discovered by us. Unlike the Appalachians, the Cascades have not endured hundreds of millions of years of erosion. On a planetary time-scale, our mountains are fairly young, so it takes other means beside natural weather-erosion to expose the mineralization.
Most of Washington's quartz crystals come from a granitic intrusion called the Snoqualmie Batholith. Faulting and tectonic activity allowed molten rock to push up toward the surface. When it cooled, it became granite, which is composed of quartz, among other minerals. World-class Quartz and Pyrite crystals have been recovered from mineral claims that are part of this Batholith structure. In addition to veins of crystallization, similar to those in the Appalachians, the Batholith features "vughs", or pockets, wherein gasses were trapped and crystals formed. Sometimes explosives are used to tear away the rock and expose these pockets. For the rest of us, hunting for crystals is just a lot of digging in the dirt.
Yesterday, as I was perched on the precarious hillside of our favorite crystal-hunting spot, I got to wondering, "Why?". Why do I find crystals here and not over there? Why do we come back to the same time-worn hillside that's been sifted by human hands for decades? Why don't we try 100 yards over, next to the tall trees, where there's no evidence of the area having been searched before? I realized my knowledge of the area is much too micro. In order to understand why, I would need to learn more about the macro.
As if someone had overheard my thoughts, an odd forest creature appeared uphill from me, ready to answer my questions. He was unlike any rock-hounder I had ever met - wearing toe-shoes and a midriff-exposing vest. He had on a few handmade necklaces - one with lovely, intricate beadwork, and another that was a wire-wrapped stone. He explained he was on his way from California to Canada and had decided to stop off and grab a handful of crystals to bring home. He was certainly the cleanest person I've ever met up on the mountain, and had an astounding knowledge of the geologic history of the area - using an angle I'd never considered before - the trees.
Anyone who drives past or visits Humpback Mountain will notice that there is a distinct line in the trees, at approximately 3500', wrapping around the North face of the peak. Above the line, the trees are dark green and super tall - old growth. Below the line, they are lighter in color and not nearly as tall - new growth. It is said that Humpback experienced a massive land-slide long ago, which tore open the mountain, exposing the mineralization. For the longest time, I had assumed that the variation in tree height was due to the slide - something to do with the instability of the rocks and the inability of trees to grow on top of them. But my elfin friend helped me understand that the slide occurred long before these old-growth trees even began to grow. The slide was so old, it was pre old-growth! When exploring the mineral collecting site, it's clear to see that logging was the primary reason that the roads were originally created. The very road we hike in on was created to give access to this formerly pristine wilderness. Massive stumps are all that remain of the old-growth (below 3500'). The trees that now grow on the hillside are no older than 100 or so years.
Mineral hunters frequently target the roots of the old-growth stumps, because these trees grew on top of the slide that exposed the crystals. The prevailing theory is that if one can dig beneath the soil, under the stumps, they are digging into virgin rock exposures. The best crystals and crystal clusters are thought to be found in these places. Unfortunately, undercutting huge stumps is extremely dangerous and has even been fatal in the past, leading to on-and-off closure of the hunting site, and sparking debate about whether it should be allowed remain a publicly accessible area.
Now that I know more about the geology of the area, I'm dying to return and do some more exploring. To date, our crystal collecting has been from sifting through the dirt that literally sparkles with quartz. What I learned yesterday is that this dirt is known as "tailings" - or, dirt that has already been moved by someone else's efforts. This dirt was moved by the people searching for nicer specimens in the rocks beneath the dirt.
So far, our dirt-sifting has turned up an impressive abundance of water-clear quartz points, some with fantastic inclusions, all about 1" long. We've also found quite a few small clusters and some neat pyrite formations. But I still sense that we're missing something. Tall tales filter down from veteran rockhounds who've been visiting the area for decades. "Big fish" stories indicate there could be quartz points the size of flashlights, and plates of quartz and pyrite that rival the world-class specimens found in other areas of the Batholith.
One answer to my question of "Why?" is that it's not easy to overlook the sparkling ground in favor of digging for "better" treasure. While searching through the dirt, you're constantly reminded that for every one crystal you find, you're probably overlooking five. Why would I want to take a risk and dig in an unknown spot, when I can dig in someone else's tailings and find all the crystals they overlooked?
The other answer to my question is that I've only been rockhounding for 2 years. Perhaps all it takes is time. I imagine that if the site stays open and accessible, in 10 years time I'll have created some big fish stories of my own.
When I returned home last night, my back and knees ached and my hands were bruised and bloodied. The irony never escapes me that when we see crystals on display, they're usually perfectly clean and shiny. We don't often ponder what they looked like when they came out of the ground - caked with mud and rust. We don't often think about the person who risked their life, with cracked fingers and filthy clothing, to recover them for all to enjoy. It is the efforts of a daring, gritty few, who have the motivation and drive to brave the challenging terrain in search of these natural treasures; and I couldn't love it more.
