A old map with text on top of it: "Geoscience Today. The Pendulum, Familial Geoscience and Hobbits."

The Pendulum, Familial Geoscience and Hobbits

By Paul J. Hubley, P.Geo. Part I – Introduction I write this from the floors of ancient seas, drinking connate groundwater filtered through Ordovician limestones of the Iapetus Ocean mixed with proglacial Champlain Sea water. In all things and over vast expanses of time we are connected. – Paul Hubley, inspired by a passage in Geo-Logic (Frodeman 2003). Part II – Bilbo Baggins, Foucault, and Donald Rumsfeld  “It’s a dangerous business Frodo, going out your front door, you step onto the road and if you don’t keep your feet there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to” – Bilbo Baggins, The Hobbit. J.R.R.Tolkien. Bilbo Baggins was speaking from his hard-earned wisdom, entitling his book “There And Back Again, A Hobbit’s Tale”. On the surface it is an episodic tale involving the mysteries of earth and perhaps an early awareness of risk management. But really it’s about relationships. From the title we can relate something of the adventure to our own lives – these days we fill time with our “to’ing” and “fro’ing”, physically and emotionally – going here, coming back, going there, and coming back, often with subtle changes, hopefully mainly positive changes. Stand in one place for long enough and you will observe the back and forth of your life and that of your environment. Losing wallets, finding wallets, losing pens, finding pencils, losing faith in one, restoring faith through another. Birds migrating south, birds migrating north, water heaping onto shore, water receding, daylight coming and going. Back and forth. Repeated. Someone unfortunate enough to experience a hurricane feels the strong winds from one direction followed by calm followed by strong winds from the other direction – back and forth, possibly without ever having the perspective of seeing its regional rotation. At particular scales, circularity may be invisible, linearity is unclear – life can appear as a pendulum.  But what appears to be a There and Back Again pendulum effect on a narrow perspective is typically “corrected” by geoscientists that have come to understand that processes occur on broad cycles, often repetitive, over many millennia and over vast areas. But here we’re going to ignore all of that and do the dangerous business of going out the front door for a moment, exploring the pendulum from another perspective.  “A pendulum is a tool that is used to connect to your higher self and ‘source’ by asking questions to help guide, clarify, and raise your awareness.” reiki healer Kelsey Patel After cleansing the pendulum and preparing questions relative to your life, Patel instructs us to (i) learn how the pendulum moves; (ii) start with what you know; and (iii) remain open (that’s a tough one for us..). In the mid 19th century it was already widely established in science circles that the Earth was round and rotating, but definitive proof was lacking. Jean Bernard Léon Foucault’s pendulum (Foucault’s Pendulum) provided a simple and visual connection between theory and demonstration that was repeatable by anyone. Its key contribution was the insight it provided to a vast audience, especially those from other entry points to the idea: non-scientist, child, believer and skeptic alike. For the first time this was demonstrable proof of theory that could now be seen and felt and readily repeated – it provided needed perspective to the public. These are now found in learning institutions throughout the world. Foucault’s Pendulum exploits the differential between the faster velocity of rotation near the equator and the slower velocity closer to the poles. One of these pendulums activated far enough from the equator will reveal a slow but easily measurable rotation (about 270 degrees over a day of operation in Paris, for example). This doesn’t work at the equator, as there is no speed differential.  Reiki healer Patel asks us to go with what we know. One thing I know is that I don’t know reiki healing. But when I read the following nugget I always feel better about struggling with the vastness of the unknown: Reports that say that something hasn’t happened are always interesting to me, because as we know, there are known knowns; there are things we know we know. We also know there are known unknowns; that is to say we know there are some things we do not know. But there are also unknown unknowns—the ones we don’t know we don’t know. And if one looks throughout the history of our country and other free countries, it is the latter category that tends to be the difficult ones. Donald Rumsfeld Geoscientists know a lot about technical things and are particularly good at knowing known knowns – either within geoscience or connecting to other technical sciency and engineery things. Also, we are slowly and collectively developing an awareness that we (most of us, me included) don’t know as much about the people sciences (humanities and philosophy, etc.) but that we should – a growing awareness of the known unknowns, if you will.  Geo-Logic (Frodeman, 2003) attempts to connect geoscience to philosophy, which is about as unknown unknown as some of us with sciency backgrounds can get. He postulates that “Geologic” seeing is poetic vision constrained by the sobriety of science, a series of daring imaginative leaps disciplined by examination and measurement.  I don’t know about daring but let’s move slightly in that direction for a short time. Part III – Familial Geoscience If you look up this term in an online dictionary you find all sorts of things, like familiar geology, family as it relates to geologic formations, etc., but no Familial Geology or Familial Geoscience. I did not see a definition so I propose one here. How about this: Familial Geology is the relationality of members of a familiar group with the landscape – how relationships are fostered, change and develop related to specific geological processes, geological events or areas of geological significance, etc. There are probably plenty of modern examples of families that episodically go rock collecting together, strengthening bonds between each other

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Photo of two people climbing a mountain range. On top of the photo text reads: "Geo Careers: Kassandra Del Greco."

GeoCareers: Kassandra Del Greco

When asked if I could write a little something about my career in geoscience, my gut response was, “I’m not sure I’m qualified to write something.” However, with a little reflection and persuasion, I thought it might be beneficial for others to read about how far an education in geosciences might actually take you. My initial interest in geology came out of my decision to take a “bird” course in CEGEP (Collège d’Enseignement General Et Professionnel), a type of junior college that encompasses the equivalent of grade 12 and the first year of university, to alleviate the heavy math and physics schedule I had lined up for one term. I signed up with a friend, thinking “Won’t it be nice to take a really easy class this semester” and soon found myself completely enthralled with learning about Earth’s history and systems. When university applications came around later that year, I began to consider that the career as a mathematician I had envisioned for myself didn’t quite make sense and I soon found myself wandering over to the geology, mining engineering, and geophysics booths at the McGill University open house. I was reminded during my visit to McGill that I knew two women who had graduated from McGill’s geology program. Two young women from my community, who I knew from extracurricular activities, had graduated with McGill geology degrees a few years prior and from what I could see on Facebook, were living adventure-filled lives working as exploration geologists in places like Australia and Africa. Growing up I had limited travel opportunities; it suddenly occurred to me that there are literally rocks all over the planet and that in theory, I could work anywhere in the world as a geologist, and with a career as a geologist, I might have the opportunity to visit places I’d never dreamed of before. What really sealed the deal was when I heard about the famous “Willy Trips” at McGill’s geology department, where Dr. Anthony Williams-Jones travelled to different destinations with a class of students every year to explore and learn about the geology of a new country. I was hooked. I went through university taking every opportunity to attend as many field trips as I could, and visited places like Chile, Tanzania, Columbia and the Southwest United States during my studies alone. I was so excited to begin my career as an exploration geologist and visit places like the remote Canadian North, Australia, Africa, South America…you name it. Everything was on track until 2012, the year I finally graduated. I entered the job market, top of my class, ready to begin working as an exploration geologist in mid-2012. Little did I know that 2012 would mark the beginning of one of the longest commodity and mining market downturns in history. It was difficult to find a job as an experienced geologist, let alone a freshly graduated geologist with just a summer’s worth of experience. I hustled as much as anyone, applying to literally any job I could find in the industry, but like many of the peers I graduated with, had no luck. It was disheartening, to say the least. After about 8 months of unemployment, I began looking at graduate studies opportunities. I thought that maybe I could either pursue a career in academia, or at the very least, hide out during a Masters degree and hope that within a couple of years the industry would turn and entry level jobs would begin to reappear. During my Masters degree at the University of Victoria I studied the structural geology and tectonics of the Cantabrian mountains in Northern Spain and was fortunate enough to spend a summer in Spain doing field work and attending conferences with geologists from the University of Salamanca. I finished my M.Sc. in mid-2016 and two hours after submitting my final thesis I was called by my first ever boss in the Quebec mining industry who I worked for a summer prospecting. He asked me if I was looking for work (I was) and told me about an opportunity for field work that summer (Holy cr*p, my plan worked!). I had my boots on the ground in Northern Quebec about two weeks later and was thrilled to, four years later, be starting my career as an exploration geologist. It was about 18 months of bliss, working multiple consecutive contracts in exploration for multiple gold exploration companies in Quebec. I was working on rotations that were 21 days on, 10 days off, or 14 days on, 14 days off. Of course, I took every opportunity to travel on my time off, living out of a duffle bag for months on end, visiting places like Portugal, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Italy. Essentially, I would go anywhere I could get to for a reasonable price and with less than 7 hours of flight time. However, it was about two years later when I started to feel the pains of the job. It turned out that as much as I loved learning about geology in school, I didn’t exactly love the work. I wasn’t totally enthused by core logging, learning to create geological models, or even spending time in the field. I was beginning to feel worn down by the swamps, the bugs, the heavy bags full of rocks, and spending whole days in the bush soaking wet. On top of this, I started to become acutely aware of the fact that I had no community. Over nearly two years, I had barely spent any time at home, causing me to feel disconnected from friends, unable to get involved in any type of club or activities at home, and forget dating, it was impossible! I began to reflect on whether this was the career for me. Sure, I loved learning about geology, and I loved travelling, but I didn’t really enjoy the work or the life I had built for myself anymore. I began searching for a mentor (I found a great one). I started writing

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An aerial shot of Pingualuit crater filled with dark water. On top of the image text reads: "Geoscience Today. A Remarkable Pimple: Pingualuit Crater."

A Remarkable Pimple

Excerpted from The Last Speaker of Bear by Lawrence Millman published by Trinity University Press. For more information, please visit tupress.org. Reprinted courtesy of Trinity University Press. A meteorite 400 feet in diameter whisks through the atmosphere in a fiery flash. Traveling at 20 miles per second, it slams into the earth, sending boulder-sized rocks flying off in all directions as well as excavating a gaping hole in the earth’s crust. Some 1.4 million years later, I was seated in a Twin Otter aircraft flying over northern Quebec’s Nunavik region and looking out the window at the seemingly endless tundra. Suddenly I saw a perfectly circular blue eye — the meteorite’s crater filled with water. Formerly called Chubb Crater, it now bears the Inuit name Pingualuit, a word that simply means pimple. Being three miles wide, the crater is a rather large pimple. On landing near the crater, an Inuk named Yaakaa greeted me and showed me where I should pitch my tent. During my visit, I encountered a totally pristine habitat, with none of the broken-down ATVs, candy bar wrappers, or potato chip bags that litter so many other parts of the Canadian North. Apart from a few old Inuit fox traps, there was no evidence that my litter-minded species had spent any time here.   The day after my arrival, Yaakaa and I climbed up the slope cluttered with the granitic boulders that had been ejected by the meteorite’s original impact. Each of these boulders displayed a design created by lichens such as the cartographic Rhizocarpon geographicum and the bright orange Xanthoria elegans. After little more than an hour, we were standing at the crater’s rim, and I looked down at the huge circular lake that I’d seen from the air. The water was the bluest blue I’d ever seen. “We call this lake ‘The Crystal Eye of Nunavik,’” Yaakaa said, “and it may have the purest water of any lake in the world.”    We walked around the edge to a spot where the slope down to the lake was the least steep. As we hiked down, the quietude was interrupted by severaI loud maniacal laughs, followed by a sound similar to an explosion.    I wondered: Was the Crystal Eye looking at me, an outsider? Not at all. The inside of the crater was a giant amphitheater, and its walls amplified any sound inside it. What I heard was a couple of loons chortling at each other and diving for fish. The splashes from their dives were the explosions. When we reached the bottom, I cupped my hands in the lake, then raised them to my mouth. I tasted a rich, full flavour that made all the other water I’d ever tasted seem tacky as well as downright dull. As we were hiking back up to the rim, I could still hear the loons screaming wahoo! quarpp! wahoo wahoo! Since loons are among the very last birds to migrate south for the winter, they would probably be screaming in this fashion right up until the time the lake froze. When we reached the top of the crater, and before heading down the other side, I stared one last time at the remarkable blue eye that seemed to be staring directly at me. The Last Speaker of Bear © 2022 Lawrence Millman Author-explorer-mycologist Lawrence Millman is the author of 19 books, including such titles as Last Places, Northern Latitudes, Fungipedia, A Kayak Full of Ghosts, Hiking to Siberia, and — forthcoming — The Last Speaker of Bear. His compass invariably points North; he has made more than 35 trips and expeditions to the North, but he’s never been to Rome. As a mycologist, he found a fungus in 2006 that had been declared extinct in 1909. He keeps a post office box in Cambridge, MA, USA.

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