an aside and the Colorado Groundwater Atlas

[Ed: As the coauthor who developed the structure and presentation of this first-ever fully online publication at the CGS—the Colorado Groundwater Atlas—I wanted to help draw attention to the issue of groundwater generally. This is an edited version of the initial RockTalk blog post when the Atlas was first published in 2020. Written for both the general public (Sections 1-8 and 13) and a technical audience (Sections 9-12), the Atlas is an excellent primer on this critical and rapidly diminishing resource.]

An aside

My neighbor, Christie, directed my attention the The Last Word On Nothing (LWON) blog—she writes for it—and I’ve been reading it regularly over the past couple years. That led to my belated discovery of the work of Colorado-based  author Craig Childs who also writes for LWON. He’s “an anecdotal science writer, citizen naturalist, an eye in wild places.” I’m currently absorbing and enjoying his first book of essays, “The Secret Knowledge of Water,” published in 2000, a series of intimate takes on this elemental feature of western landscapes. (Well, technically, “Stone Desert Journal,” published in 1999, and republished in 2022, was his first book.)

Water in the US West is a big deal … I should probably assemble a bibliography of essential readings on the topic! Maybe someday. Meanwhile, I’ve got to go water some of the few native trees on my property with captured rainwater that came last night, it’s been a pretty dry year again, so far.

 

The mighty Colorado River starts out as a seep from a wetland at its headwaters, La Poudre Pass, Rocky Mountain National Park. Wetlands are important carriers of near-surface groundwater. Photo credit: David Noe for the CGS.
The mighty Colorado River starts out as a seep from a wetland at its headwaters, La Poudre Pass, Rocky Mountain National Park. Wetlands are important carriers of near-surface groundwater. Photo credit: David Noe.
Groundwater

Everyone knows that water, wherever it might be found—at the surface or underground—is essential for life. However, few people are aware that groundwater is everywhere beneath their feet. It fills the pore spaces between grains of soil, sand, and gravel as well as the fractures and voids in hard bedrock (Figure 02-01 – pdf download). It may be just below the surface—accessible by digging with simple garden tools, or it may be hundreds of feet down in hard rock—requiring expensive drilling with specialized equipment.

more “an aside and the Colorado Groundwater Atlas”

water fills the hall

New work for Galerie Díra, aka The Hole Gallery, a site-specific sound art gallery space in the courtyard of Školská street no. 28, in Prague. The Gallery was founded in 2012 by Mlok Asociation in collaboration with Školská 28 Gallery.

cover, water fills the hall, ©2014 - hopkins/neoscenes, Prescott, Arizona, November 2014

(00:52:45, stereo audio, loop, 127.2 mb)

As neoscenes is wont to synthesize, water fills the hall is a sustained drift, this time through a profusion of sonic liquids that flow — in drips, burbles, washes, rushing, splashing, crashing, soothing — hard against the (lovingly graceful) machinic systems we deploy to direct those flows. The I Ching suggests that water simply flows, on and on, filling up all the places through which it moves. Nothing can make it lose its own essential nature: it remains true to itself under all conditions. What are we in the face of such an energized flux? Are we advancing or are we retreating with the tide? Will the rain wash our sins away? If we can swim, will we drown? Do we recall our amphibian soul? Are we thirsty for more? Are we simply thirsty?

With sonic samples from four continents, many cities, and, especially, many wilderness places, this multilayer movement begins in the Mojave desert, as flies collect around the body of a dead rattlesnake, the dry air desiccating the corpse; there is organ practice by the harbor in Sydney; and wandering through the Pergammon on the Spree; students protesting along the Vilna River; monsoon rains and thunders, falling and filling desert cisterns in the High Sonoran desert; telecom wires hum in moist Arctic chill; melt-waters slowly cleave the Rocky Mountains to dust; film projectors clatter while representing fluid realities (homage to mentor and friend, film-maker Stan Brakhage); Geiger counters count what heavy waters we’ve made; rains falls on the roofs of hydrocarbon-fired chariots; rivers rage, and whining pumps pump the rivers; while F-18s storm in the wet clouds overhead, and baptisms soulfully bless the swimming pools; a plague of cicadas stands ready for the waters to recede, and Noah’s ark founders on a reef.