Time continued to play on my mind. This time it came courtesy of a random search engine query that landed on 12MC for some unknown reason. However, the notion implied by this wayward message intrigued me much more than the average query. I’ve focused on structures split by borders before although this one had an unusual twist. The border in question also served as a Time Zone boundary. Theoretically, then, not only did the structure exist in two different states, it existed in two different times. It was also a really big structure.
The question focused specifically on the Time Zone of the Hoover dam (map). I’d never considered that possibility before although it seemed obvious once it came to my attention. The Colorado River marked the boundary between Nevada and Arizona. Nevada fell within the Pacific Time Zone (except for the city of West Wendover, a place that I visited a few years ago). Time in Arizona followed its own unique beat. If fell within the Mountain Time Zone although it also did not observe Daylight Saving Time (plus the whole Navajo and Hopi conundrum).
I discarded the anomalies and focused on time as it might be observed along the Colorado River. No time difference existed during DST. However, in the winter months during Standard Time, those living on the Nevada side of the border set their watches an hour earlier than those in Arizona. That time difference split directly through the Hoover Dam. Do workers at the Hoover Dam have to adjust their watches several times a day based on location? No, actually they do not. The Bureau of Reclamation solved the problem for them. The facility followed Pacific Time for its hours of operation.
This made me wonder whether Time Zones split any other dams. It seemed logical to look farther downstream along the Colorado River for other examples. A similar condition prevailed at the Parker Dam (map) that created Lake Havasu. This dam fell along the border between California and Arizona although the same basic condition existed. In this instance California fell within the Pacific Time Zone.
Something similar happened between Alabama in the Central Time Zone and Georgia in the Eastern Time Zone, albeit with its own twist. The Walter F. George Lock and Dam (map) stood on the Chattahoochee River, forming a large reservoir behind it. Georgia controlled the river which remained within the state up to the mean high water mark. However, water behind this dam spread beyond the original riverbank that formed the boundary, crossing onto Alabama land so part of the lake belonged to Alabama too. The name of the dam and the lake honored Walter F. George, who served as a distinguished Senator from Georgia for many years. George died in 1957 so it seemed like a good idea to name the dam for him when construction finished in 1962, at least to the citizens of Georgia. That still left the lake without an official name so politicians in Alabama made their move.
On June 25, 1963, both Houses of the Alabama Legislature signed off on Act No. 60 (sponsored by Senator Jimmy Clark of Eufaula) which endorsed the name, Lake Eufaula, in honor of the Creek Indians who once lived throughout the Chattahoochee Valley of Alabama and Georgia… Not to be outdone, House Resolution 268 was adopted by the Georgia House of Representatives on March 12, 1965 to designate the reservoir as "Lake Chattahoochee."
The U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, noting a lack of consensus, stuck with the simple name Walter F. George Lake. That also became its official name. The name Lake Chattahoochee fell by the wayside although usage of Lake Eufaula on the Alabama side of the border continues to be popular.
The analysis of landlocked national lowpoints amused me so much that I decided to extend the exercise to individual states within the United States. Once again I found a perfectly matching Wikipedia page so I didn’t have to recreate my own, a List of U.S. states by elevation. Only two states included elevations below sea level, California and Louisiana, and both featured seacoasts. Thus, I only had to search for states with positive elevations, which by process of elimination would have to be landlocked. If the District of Columbia ever became a state it would lead the pack with a single-foot lowpoint at the spot where the Potomac River exited the nation’s capital. However, setting that aside, there were three states with impressive lowpoints all falling beneath a hundred feet (30 metres).
The delta of the Mississippi River drained an incredibly flat plain although it still surprised me that it extended all the way into Arkansas. It had the lowest elevation of all landlocked states. Arkansas was a solid two hundred miles (320 km.) from the nearest seacoast at the Gulf of Mexico. Yet it offered a lowpoint where the Ouachita River crossed from Arkansas into Louisiana at an elevation of only 55 ft. (17 m.). The Ouachita joined the Tensas River, forming the Black River, commingling later with the Atchafalaya River and eventually intertwining with the Mississippi River. The whole mass of bayous, sloughs and waterways formed an immense tangled delta reaching far inland.
Native Americans thrived in the swamplands for hundreds of years during the Pre-Columbian period, building large settlements and ceremonial mounds.
The major Indian tribes that lived along the OUACHITA were the Washita, Caddo, Osage, Tensas, Chickasaw and Choctaw… The Spanish explorer DeSoto recorded in 1540 the existence of an enormous mound built on the banks of the OUACHITA. This site was named "Anilco", and was located at the present site of Jonesville, Louisiana. This mound was tragically destroyed when a bridge was built over the site in the 1930’s. This mound was one of the largest ever recorded in North America.
Priceless cultural artifact or second-rate highway bridge? Apparently priorities differed in the 1930’s.
The actual Arkansas lowpoint (map) occurred at an interesting intersection for followers of modern geography, directly upon a county quadripoint. Four counties (parishes in Louisiana) joined where the Ouachita River left Arkansas and entered Louisiana: Union County, AR; Ashley County, AR; Union Parish., LA and Morehouse Parish., LA. The two entities named Union were referenced previously in "Adjacent Counties, Same Name, Different States."
Arizona also surprised me although maybe it shouldn’t have seemed all that counterintuitive once I considered the situation some more. Arizona was such a large state and it seemed so far away from a seashore. Yet, if one looked at a map it became abundantly clear that its southwestern corner fell pretty close to the Gulf of California. One would have to travel through neighboring México to accomplish that though, and perhaps that was why I tended to overlook it mentally. The quickest path to the Gulf followed the course of the Colorado River, making Arizona’s lowest elevation 72 ft. (22 m.) where it exited the state at San Luis.
Oddly, that hadn’t happened much in the last half century making the lowpoint a dry, empty riverbed instead. A series of state compacts, international treaties and dams strictly parceled the Colorado’s waters to variously prescribed residential and agricultural purposes. The final dam built on the river at a place straddling the U.S / Mexican border between Yuma and San Luis — the Morelos Dam (map) — took what little flow remained and channeled it into croplands in surrounding areas of México. That converted what used to be a wonderfully diversified estuary and turned it into just another patch of Sonoran desert sometime around 1950. Environmentalists on both sides of the border began to wonder what might happen if the Morelos Dam opened periodically and allowed the Colorado River to flow naturally to the sea for limited times. Thus the notion of the "Pulse Flow" came to pass and it actually happened in March 2014:
… officials released an experimental pulse of 105,000 acre-feet of water from the Morelos Dam on the United States-Mexico border, and on May 15 the river once again flowed into the sea. The eight-week water release, though small, was enough to cause a 43 percent increase in green vegetation in the wetted zone and a 23 percent increase along the river’s borders…
Actually all three of the landlocked states with elevations of less than a hundred feet completely fascinated me. Third on the list went to Vermont — literally the Green Mountain — where one would expect higher elevations instead of lower ones. Certainly Vermont included impressive peaks within its boundaries although it also bordered on Lake Champlain (map). Its lowpoint coincided with the lake, a diminutive 95 ft. (29 m.) flowing into the St. Lawrence River and onward towards the Atlantic Ocean.
Lake Champlain served as an important transportation corridor during colonial times and the early days of an independent United States where difficult overland travel took place on muddy, rutted roads. It was a lot easier to navigate a boat inland wherever that was possible instead of turning to horse and wagon. Lake Champlain became Vermont’s access to the outside world. It was no wonder that the lake figured prominently in the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812. Forts such as Ticonderoga and Crown Point appeared along its shorelines. British and American naval forces battled upon its waters. The United States fortified Lake Champlain’s shoreline even after the wars, including the infamous "Fort Blunder" placed on the wrong side of the border by mistake. Canals later connected the lake to the Hudson River watershed and the Erie Canal system, creating a vast superhighway over a large swath of the continental interior.
This was one of the more enjoyable article series I’ve written in awhile. Lowpoints seemed to offer more untold stories waiting to be discovered than highpoints.
Loyal reader "Lyn" contacted Twelve Mile Circle a few weeks ago with a stack of digital images from a recent road trip to California’s Salton Sea. This has long been on my list of places I’d love to see some day, and I still hope that will happen, so I was pleased to receive the photos. These pictures plus the text I’ve created around them will have to keep me content until the day I can visit the Salton Sea in person.
This wasn’t the first time Lyn contributed to 12MC either. I mentioned receiving a web hit from Cameroon awhile ago. Yes, that was Lyn who happened to be in Douala at the time and knew I’d appreciate the ping.
I’m fortunate to add Lyn to the very selective list of 12MC readers who have provided material that became full articles. All photographs belong to Lyn and are used with permission.
According to the Salton Sea History Museum, this geographic feature was actually an extension of the Gulf of California until about four million years ago. The Colorado River washed enough silt downstream over numerous millennia to cut the tip off from the Gulf. This left behind a large, deep depression now known as the Salton Sink. The floor of the empty sink extended far below sea level, down to -226 feet (-69 metres). By comparison Death Valley — the lowest spot in North America — measured -282 ft (-86 m) so the Salton Sink compared rather favorably as the second lowest spot on the continent.
The Salton Sea was an artificial creation and an accident. People diverted the Colorado River to irrigate parts of the sink, and for a time around the turn of the previous century the area blossomed with cropland. The river busted from its man-made diversion in 1905 after it ran higher than usual, and flooded uncontrollably into the sink. Engineers couldn’t completely halt the breach for two years and by then the spill grew to 35 miles long and 15 miles wide (56 km X 24 km) within the depression, and formed the Salton Sea.
However it was an endorheic basin without an outlet to the ocean. The salinity increased over time, and continues to increase, making it difficult for the few fish species that survived there to thrive in ever worsening conditions.
That naturally brought up a legitimate point. Why would 12MC, or anyone for that matter, want to experience the Salton Sea in person? I supposed it had to be because every description I’ve ever seen of the few settlements still clinging to its shores undoubtedly referenced the phrase "post-apocalyptic" (e.g., Salton Sea: From Relaxing Resort to Skeleton-Filled Wasteland).
It wasn’t supposed to be that way. The Salton Sea held so much promise after its accidental creation while the water remained fresh, before salt built up and poisonous farm runoff added to the disaster. Bombay Beach was envisioned as an inland resort, a beachfront paradise, and was constructed in such a manner. Now it’s mostly a ruin, a desolate place strewn with graffiti and abandoned belongings in the searing Sonoran Desert by a fetid saline lake, a photographer’s paradise and an oddball’s dream. A handful of outcasts still live among the detritus adding character to the scene. Now does it make sense?
Harsh conditions created strange situations out there on the fringes of society. Slab City started as a marine corps training facility during the Second World War: Camp Dunlap they called it. The marines had no need for remote camps in the middle of the desert after the war so Camp Dunlap closed and the government dismantled it, leaving behind only the cement foundations of various buildings.
Seasonal campers in large recreational vehicles learned about the wide selection of perfectly level concrete slabs and figured that a favorable wintertime climate made this an attractive spot to park for a few months every year. Slab City came without amenities, however people remained there as long as they wanted for free. "And now thousands of visitors return to ‘The Slabs’ each winter."
I couldn’t be sure if the isolation created unique behaviors or if people with those traits saw the Salton Sea as a beacon and arrived there from elsewhere, or a little bit of both. No matter the case, this location provided a perfect backdrop for something as wonderful as Salvation Mountain by Leonard Knight (1931–2014).
Leonard’s passion has lovingly created this brilliant “outsider art” masterpiece resplendent with not only biblical and religious scripture such as the Lord’s Prayer, John 3:16, and the Sinner’s Prayer, but also including flowers, trees, waterfalls, suns, bluebirds, and many other fascinating and colorful objects… Its 50 foot height and 150 foot breadth is made totally of local adobe clay and donated paint and is truly unique in the United States and probably the world.
I barely scratched the surface of the Salton Sea’s weirdness or Lyn’s collection of photographs. I need to save a few surprises for later in case I ever make it out there.