I'm doing the year-end meme wherein I compile the first sentence of the first post of every month. Meme rules are as follows, as per DrugMonkey:
Post the link and first sentence from the first blog entry for each month of the past year.
I've also added the photo from the same first post, if there happened to be one. I've removed any captions from the photos, so if you want to find out more about locations, etc, you'll have to click through. The first sentences include some classically long, LFD-style sentences, one short sentence, and many that are in between. Previous takes on this Twelve Month meme at LFD were posted for 2008, 2009, 2010, 2012, and 2014.
A year ago today, a thin snow highlighted some Lake Lahontan shorelines on basalt-capped hills out in (or near) the Fernley Wildlife Management Area (FWMA):
Yesterday, when out hiking in nearby Water Canyon (before the Super Bowl), MOH and I slowly (at least for me) made our way up a variably steep, grassy to rocky hillside until we came to a large rib of quartzite.
Well, I'm back at the place I was working at about two years ago (see these three posts for more info), spending more time on a back paved road and on dirt roads than I was most recently while on the road to work (I'm still driving on the interstate some, but a lot less than during the last two years).
It was a very windy day as I drove south along what's variably called the Surprise Valley Road or the Sand Pass Road (and to the north, is often called the Smoke Creek Road) into the Pyramid Lake Paiute Tribe's Reservation.
It is often — more commonly than in the past, IMO — hazy or dusty in north-central Nevada where I routinely work and often travel, here and there across basins and over ranges.
This is technically a road song because it mentions streets twice and roads once, and because the video that came out with the song also shows a lot of streets.
There I was minding my own business while flying north from RNO to SEA (that is to say, I was reading a thick book and trying to ignore a seatmate while crammed against the window near the rear of a Q400), when I looked out (to the east) and spotted the peak of an Oregon volcano sticking out through what I first thought was a low, thick cloud cover.
In later years—in the future of the 1976 "present" of these ongoing thesis-hunt stories—I made my way back into the Palmetto-Magruder area barely a handful of times.
When I pulled up to Lida Summit two years ago—I was on my way to a property examination and had decided to check out the LidaandPalmettoareas—I stopped right in front of...a roadcut!
Yesterday, when out hiking in nearby Water Canyon (before the Super Bowl), MOH and I slowly (at least for me) made our way up a variably steep, grassy to rocky hillside until we came to a large rib of quartzite. While standing there admiring the many geological and other features of the rib (including quartz veins, fractures and joints, bright greenish yellow lichen patches, and packrat middens), I noticed that a nice circle (22° halo) had formed around the sun. I moved into position behind the towering quartzite rib and shot a picture or two. The best one (which is enhanced to match the way it looked on the camera, which is the way it looked IRL except for the high contrast or excessive darkness of the foreground, where my eyes could see better than the camera) is shown above. You can also see just a bit of the bright greenish yellow lichen on the quartzite, barely shining through the camera-darkened foreground.
The lichen, also with a more common dark gray to black or dark brown variety and a pale green variety, can be seen better in this photo showing the same quartzite outcrop, although here I've moved over a little to the right to center the photo on a tall, narrow cleft formed along a couple parallel fractures or joints, possibly a small fault zone.
I immediately walked into the fracture so I could turn around and take this picture looking back to the north. The white bands in the center of the brownish quartzite, slanting shallowly to moderately to the right, are several of a complicated quartz vein set that are no doubt saying something about the stress regime during the time of their formation.
When we got back from Alaska after Xmas, northern and western Nevada was locked into a classic mid-winter high-pressure system, with a surface temperature inversion creating below average low temperatures on the valley floors (and higher temperatures in the mountains and at local ski resorts, something we did not actually check out this time). Classic Great Basin inversions with severe Pogonip events in the past have had people skiing in shirt sleeves in essentially spring skiing conditions (slushy snow) on Mt. Rose, while temperatures in the valley were -20°F or lower.
In fact, because of the Chinook that came in while we were up north, temps in Nevada were considerably colder than they were in Alaska. Reno was running lows of 10 to 16°F and highs of 30 to 33°F while Anchorage ran lows of 21 to 33°F and highs of 30 to 43°F. Our destination location, which we drove to on I-80 on January 5th (photos below), was having lows of -10 to -16°F and highs of 17 to 22°F.
Steam from the geothermal plant at Brady's Hot Springs is rising straight into the air, one hallmark of high pressure and inversion.
The low hills of the Hot Springs Mountains fade into a smoggy haze. Wave-cut terraces of Lake Lahontan are enhanced by the thin snow cover.
Approaching the geothermal plant at Brady's Hot Springs, AKA Nightingale Hot Springs (see location at the end of the post).
A closer view of the steam from the geothermal plant at Brady's Hot Springs, which is mostly used to roast or dry onions.
By the way, although these hot springs are among the hottest in Nevada, at 83 to 98°C (181 to 209°F), they are entirely private, and can't be accessed by the likes of you or me. The Nightingale Hot Springs Exit provides access to the geothermal plant and a nearby fossil collecting area.
Looking northeast down I-80 and the Fortymile Desert toward the West Humboldt Range.
The Humboldt Range is about 6 miles distant on the far right of the photo, beyond a dark, gently sloping hill, and is about 34 miles distant looking straight down the highway.
Looking south toward the east edge of the Hot Springs Mountains on the right, and at the hazy, fading Stillwater Range beyond the Carson Sink, center and left.
Tufa mounds in the Fortymile Desert on a Lahontan shoreline or terrace in the foreground; the West Humboldt Range 9 miles away in the left middle ground; the hazy Stillwater Range in the far distance about 35+ miles (58+ km) away.
The hazy day didn't make for optimal photos: snow on the ground was bright white, the mountains in the distance were hazy white, and everything blended together. Finally, approaching our northern Nevada destination, the closer mountains offered bits of photogenic opportunities.
After a few days, the high pressure and accompanying inversion dispersed, and light to moderate snowfall came into the area. And now, the cold valley temperatures are back: it was -15°F this morning at the airport, though only -4 or so at our banana belt location. As per the National Weather Service, "LOWS AT NIGHT WILL GENERALLY RANGE FROM 5 TO 15 BELOW ZERO WITH DAYTIME HIGHS OF 10 TO 20 DEGREES" into the forseeable future (link to this statement is probably not a permalink).
I missed this retrospective meme last year, but here it is, back again, as per DrugMonkey:
The rules for this blog meme are quite simple. -Post the link and first sentence from the first blog entry for each month of the past year. I originally did this meme, after seeing similar posted by Janet Stemwedel and John Lynch. Prior editions include 2011, 2010, 2009 and 2008.
Previous takes on this Twelve Month meme at LFD were posted for 2008, 2009, and 2010. As usual for LFD, I've also added the accompanying first photo of the month, where there was one with the first post of the month.
January: I went on my first walk of the year earlier today, out along a creek in Anchorage, AK.
March:Upon getting out of the truck at the north end of the Monitor Valley playa, it became rapidly clear to me that it was very cold.
April: I thought I'd actually have time over my 5-day break to get caught up on some blogging, but that hasn't been the case, and things aren't looking all that great for the coming 8- or 9-day work week and the break following that, so I'm posting a few views from the new area.
May: Just a quick post showing a photo I took about two weeks ago at 5:50 am, on my early morning ride to work.
June: Yesterday I received an email while at work telling me that there was a hummingbird moth in one of our two pots of chocolate mint, which are sitting outside on the front porch.
July: These stitched photos were taken about three weeks ago near the site of Preble (just off the map to the west).
August: These relatively small pinnacles are located in the canyon of Midas Creek, just north of the town of Midas, Nevada.
September: Besides the obvious greenish feldspar, the countertop rock is composed of black pyroxene, gray metallic minerals (magnetite or ilmenite are likely, but I didn't bring my magnet, magnetometer, or portable xrf), and pyrite.
October: In the morning after I wake up—while I'm drinking my first, second, and maybe third cup of coffee—I often think of things to write for the blog, how to write them, maybe even what pictures to use.
I got to thinking after taking another looking at my arc photos, that this shot may show a weak tangent arc above the also weak 22 degree halo around the sun.
December: We came in from the east or north, depending on how you view the direction of I-80 as it traverses the entire north-south length of the west flank of the Humboldt Range from Florida Canyon to Limerick Canyon northeast of Lovelock.
I got to thinking after taking another looking at my arc photos, that this shot may show a weak tangent arc above the also weak 22 degree halo around the sun.
Possible tangent arc with circumzenithal arc above, also showing left sundog and weak 22 degree halo.
Photos were enhanced as described in my circumzenithal arc post; lower photo is two photos stitched together. Better sundogs and halo can be seen in the circumzenithal post.
Driving back from work the other day, Sunday October 28 to be precise, I noticed a bright sundog on the right side of the sun as we came around the corner at Button Point. I looked straight overhead, hoping to see a Kern arc, and there was the so-called circumzenithal arc, which does not make a complete circle around the zenith. When I got home, I ran in, grabbed my camera, took one quick shot of a fairly faded arc before the batteries died and before the arc faded almost completely in fickle cirrus clouds. After changing the batteries, and after the arc came back a couple minutes later, I took the above photo, where the arc is still faint.
By the time I took this picture, two sundogs had formed on opposite sides of the sun (the right one is not visible behind a building to the right; the left one is the bright, washed out spot on the left), and a nice halo had started to develop.
A zoomed in view of the same arc, taken a moment later.
The halo around the sun continued to develop.
Halo mimics the shape of the tree.
Sundog to the left of the sun.
The sun was fairly low in the sky between 4:32 and 4:47 pm PST when I took these photos; it was probably between 10 and 15 degrees above the horizon, a little lower than the ideal 22 degrees.
The following day, I ran outside with my Brunton at about 4:50 pm to measure the sun angle, which was at 10 degrees above the horizon. The days are getting shorter by only 1 to 2 minutes each day, with minimal time difference in sunset between the two days in question, so the sun was probably at 10 degrees or slightly higher.
In fact, photos in which the ground isn't cropped out show that the height of the sun above the horizon is less than half of the 22 degree halo around the sun, although some distortion by the camera cannot be ruled out.
All photos except the one described as unenhanced, were enhanced by increasing color saturation and contrast, and by adjusting the brightness up or down as needed. They were then exported to a smaller size (1000px long dimension). After export, they were minimally sharpened to diminish blurriness imparted during export.
The first two photos both consist of two photos that were stitched together and cropped prior to enhancement, export, and sharpening. My semi-wide angle lens won't show a circumzenithal arc and the lower part of the sky in one shot.
Some classic wave clouds, or lenticulars, from the front that went through a couple days ago.
The wave clouds in this photo indicate that winds aloft are blowing swiftly to the east (left). Note the iridescence in the brightest and thinnest parts of the clouds in the upper left. Also note the low rotor clouds below the wave, dark and scud-like, especially the one on the right, which may show hints of the rotation typical of these clouds, and which shows a classic ragged form. When conditions are right—when the wave is strong and the rotor is hitting the ground—winds on the ground will move opposite to the winds aloft, typically back to the west in Nevada (right in the photo). These "backwards" ground winds can be strong, erratic, and turbulent, and can cause unexpected damage to street signs and the like. In Nevada, when the rotor is blowing, it's a good idea to keep an eye out for flying sheet metal. Lenticulars—which are sometimes described as unique, or even rare—are fairly common in Nevada, in the lee of the Sierra Nevada and the many mountain ranges of the Basin and Range. Understanding lenticular clouds and mountains waves Lenticular cloud with irisation (cloud iridescence) at Atmospheric Optics Lenticular clouds at APOD
Photo taken 23Oct2012, Sparks, NV, from the Sheels parking lot.
On the way over to Great Basin National Park last week, I grabbed this quick photo of the alpenglow hitting the west side of Wheeler Peak (13,063 feet ASL), partly because the lower line of the pinkish band was hitting the mountain at just about tree line. The pinkish band is sometimes known as the Belt of Venus or antitwilight arch, at least when it is seen in the sky, and the dark purplish blue area below the alpenglow is the Earth's shadow on the mountain. It is sometimes called the dark segment, at least when seen in sky.
If you happen to be standing on a mountain when this pinkish phenomenon is visible to those to the west of you, you will be standing in the pinkish, dying light of the sun, just before it goes below your western horizon (presuming you aren't in Alaska or somewhere very far north or very far south, where the sun doesn't always set in the west, but can set in the north or south, or not set at all). As the pinkish, last light of the sun leaves you on your mountain perch, the terminator will come upon you, you'll be in the twilight zone, and then you will pass into the night (all while standing still). In this grainier enlargement of the same photo, you can see that the pinkish alpenglow isn't exactly congruent with tree line in all places. We drove on, to find and set up camp in the dark, at about 9800 feet on the other side of that same mountain.
Two years ago today, on a Saturday, I was in downtown Anchorage for the ceremonial start of the Iditarod, and this sun halo (22° halo) and associated sun dog (parhelion) was visible to the east over the Chugach Mountains. As for this year, the ceremonial start was March 5th, and the official re-start in Willow was yesterday, March 6th. The race is now underway; current standings can be accessed here.
I love Alaska in the winter, at least in short doses, though I didn't make it up there this year.
