The Delaware Water Gap: A Few More Scenes

Along many points in the great ridge walls of the eastern Appalachian front are passes, or as they are referred to locally, gaps.  Many of them, while noticeable, are also quite high and more akin to saddles on the great ridges than actual breaks in the mountains.  A few of them were much lower and afforded an easy way for people to pass between the ridges rather than take the arduous journey over them, most notably Cumberland Gap.  Many such gaps contained rivers which cut such passes through the mountains.  In some cases, the rivers were even older than the mountains (the New River in West Virginia is reputed to be 300 million years old) and were able to cut down the mountains rather than flow against them because they carved into the rocks as they uplifted.  In the case of the Delaware River, particular combinations of rocks and minerals as well as glaciation during the recent ice ages allowed the waters to punch a hole through the ridge here. 

I'll let the pictures do more of the talking, starting with a more primitive view than I-80 currently allows:

During the summer months the view would be largely obscured except in nearby exposed outcrops, leading to a more dramatic view as one suddenly came upon the river and found the gates to a world further north and west ahead.  In winter, though, seeing the gap filtered through the trees and wondering what could give the mighty Appalachians such an interruption would surely only heighten the excitement of finding such a place.  Think about this in light of the fact that in the majestic forests of early colonial times, the trees were often as strong a selling point as the landmarks.  A great ridge ahead would not come as a huge surprise to one who had already been given a taste of Appalachia on a trip into the backwoods, but a conquering sky like this?  Definitely a distraction from the trees.  Grandeur.  Ease of passage.  Opportunity.

Surely even the most economically motivated explorer would have stopped making marks on the map for a little bit, though.  Pressing inland from incredible beaches, vast swamps, towering forests, and even a little bit of prairie patches, one suddenly came across rock and lots of it.

One would also see the open scale of some of those trees previously seen only from strictly below.

And in some places, one would watch as even the giants would be dwarfed by a continent that preferred to do nothing the small way.

Then the land would be moved from mystery to frontier, and later considered a patch of hard to develop land between the prosperous coast and the fertile Lakes and Midwest.  Grander vistas out west would become the new frontier and the Gap and places like it still a convenience, but also more of a memory of a difficult past overcome.  What's the Gap in the face of so many deeper western canyons?  Well, for one, I doubt that many people who pass through here don't at least temporarily feel small and a part of something greater.  At any rate, the Gap is certainly more impressive a welcome sign to either Pennsylvania or New Jersey than some road sign. 

I-80 Across New Jersey

Believe it or not, one of the most ecologically diverse states in the eastern United States is New Jersey.  The Garden State, while often reviled as a toxic waste dump fit only for the conducting of business related to organized crime, is actually the east in miniature:  lovely beaches, dunes, barrier islands, coastal pine forests, the mixed white pine forests of New England, and the Appalachians, complete with masses of rhododendrons, can all be found here.  As always, though I insist that the best way to discover a place is on foot or in a canoe, a drive across cutting across the state can get one a decent glimpse of the variety of landscapes that it has to offer.  Today we get to see what a trip across New Jersey on I-80 westbound is like. 

I-80 is the second longest interstate highway in the United States and was built to be the high-speed upgrade to the Lincoln Highway, the first road to stretch across the country.  Much of I-80 is actually quite dull in comparison to the other transcontinental routes; I-90 and I-70 pass through much more dramatic portions of the Rocky Mountains, I-40 heads on through the most scenic parts of several mountain ranges including the Great Smokies, and I-10 is very very fun, getting through the best of the swampy south and cactus land over in the southwest.  I-80 passes through, well, a lot of farmland.  This is not to say she is boring at all, passing through Donner Pass in the Sierra Nevadas and such, but the highlights are a bit more subtle in many places.  New Jersey, where the westward trek begins, is probably one such place.

If one enters I-80 from its glorious starting point on the George Washington Bridge, one is probably already very angry and frustrated from driving in some of the most annoying and dangerous traffic in the country.  The scenery is hardly spectacular either, as all around is an urban landscape that refuses to yield anything green for quite some time.  One tends to be more concerned with all the road signs telling the driver how to escape the NY metropolitan area.

Fuzzy driving pictures.  I should probably invest in one of those mounted dash cameras.  Even the steady hand of a passenger is no substitute for a mount.

This is not to say that things are boring around here.  This is one of the biggest urban areas in the world, after all, and within spitting distance and sometimes even visual range are historic landmarks like Paterson Great Falls.  This is about where the road climbs off the Atlantic coastal plain and into the foothills of the Appalachians, albeit very gradually.  The odd rock cut here and there is the only sign that this is happening.  In general, the first leg of the trip is very flat, and all of a sudden...

Very forested.  The trees are nothing unusual, and the whole affair is largely a hardwood event, sort of the northernmost extensions of the Piedmont.  The presence of both the city and the coast disappear almost with the passing of a few miles.  Then those rock cuts show up again.

With them comes the great Eastern White Pines which tell the traveler that the last bastion of the southeastern world must give way to the northeastern and Appalachian world.  

Then mile by mile, the rolling terrain gives way to a bit more relief.  If one travels in the winter, the relatively warmer temperatures of the lower country turns into something more befitting the northern states.  In many ways, by terrain, climate, and even developmental signs, the eastern interior knocks away the heart of the Thirteen Colonies and even in this day and age, the result is more wilderness than settlement.

This is not to say that the urban northeast is left behind, as the exit signs indicate.  People have settled and moved into every square inch here that they can.  Yet even these days the ridges of the eastern Appalachian front remain largely undesirable for development.  The Great Eastern Wall remains the first bastion of a still relatively wild continent.  The first true measure of this comes along in the sputtering remains of the Blue Ridge where it is intersected by the Delaware River in a place known as the Delaware Water Gap.  The great ridge comes up almost suddenly into view, albeit from a distance long enough to really get absorbed into the contrast of scale between here and the other side of the state.

The water gaps are places where rivers managed to cut their way through the parallel ridges of the eastern Appalachians.  They often allowed for early travelers to make their way past these walls further into the interior, even as they allow I-80 to do so today.  New Jersey comes to a glorious western end here at the river.  Next post we will take a closer look at this beautiful place.

Manhattan Before Manhattan: Ontario in New York? A Rocky Question.

Most images of Manhattan focus on its world class skyline and numerous commercial and cultural attractions.  Broader shots of the island as a whole, usually taken from the Empire State Building, show a rather rectangular flat island crowded over in all but Central Park.  In reality, however, the New York area, even Manhattan island, is an incredibly beautiful natural landscape featuring everything from mountains and forests to prairies and lovely beaches.  Before the urban core of New York was paved over it featured a very attractive paradise which lured both First and Second Born alike to her shores.  Most of her natural features have long since been transformed; even where nature seems to persist (such as in Central Park) the world has been carefully groomed and altered to human tastes.  Some protected areas, such as Fire Island, contain remnants of what the early Dutch colonists found here.  Pine barrens persist in central Long Island, and the New Jersey Meadowlands have so far still largely eluded development.

Most enduring of all, however, would be the geological features of the area.  While human development has generally preferred flat spaces for urban growth, the fact remains that the rocky Earth still manages to defy modern engineering when using its own weapon of economics against itself.  A cliff is too expensive to level, and large outcrops of granite, gabbro, and other fun ancient stuff is just too much of a pain in the ass to constantly dynamite.  One of the most impressive features to be seen from the big city, right in it in fact, would be the Palisades, sheer cliffs that confront many westward views across the Hudson River into New Jersey.

The lower deck, westbound, of the George Washington Bridge (I-95) looking toward New Jersey and those majestic Palisades.  You can see views like this from upper Manhattan northwards for some distance, until around the Tappan Zee Bridge.  

Perhaps I have always been focused enough on the natural world to notice the contours of the land and natural features even when surrounded by human grandeur, but one of the first things I noticed when emerging from Penn Station in my first ever trip to New York was the beginnings of those cliffs as I stared all the way down 33rd street and across the Hudson.  I always subconsciously imagined New York as being flat and nothing but buildings, even if my reading had told me otherwise.  When I left the city after that first visit, I took the Empire State line clear back to Buffalo and was able to see the entire length of the tidal Hudson north to Troy, including going underground past what looked remarkably like the rocks of the Canadian Shield so very far to the north.  The great city, riddled with sewer and subway tunnels, was carved into a very rocky heart that looked like it could have been pulled out of northern Ontario or Quebec.

The inspiration for this post, in fact, came from a very Shield looking outcrop that I passed along the Harlem River, not too far opposite from Yankee Stadium.  It even had quartz veins in it!  I could not snap a picture because I was focused on dealing with the insane traffic, but thankfully Google streetview helped me find again what really took me by surprise.

To find this and other outcrops, simply look anywhere along Harlem River Drive or the stretch of I-95 in Manhattan.  

I mean come on, the thing could very well be something one can find in Ontario!  The actual stuff is too young by far to hold a candle to that Shield rock, however.  What you see is probably only 500 million years old, even if it does have schist and gneiss in there, even a little bit of marble.  The ancient Shield can be found relatively close by, 150 miles away in the Adirondacks, a detached part of the Laurentian Mountains.  Billion year old granite, which not part of the geological core of the continent, can be found even closer in the strip of Appalachians which the Hudson forces through in between West Point and Sing Sing Prison.

Forgive the fuzziness, it was dusk.  This is along I-87 southbound, pretty close to where New York's suburbs start.  

That's right, the mountains of the east come within a mere twenty miles of the concrete jungle.  The Appalachian trail passes through here on a pedestrian bridge over I-87, and is among the lowest elevation (and most urban) of stretches of the otherwise wilderness oriented trail.  It can be amusing to think that some tourists are camping out and even sleeping under the stars even as others are posting photos of Time's Square from their mobile devices not a few dozen miles away.  Even in New York we can find ourselves still trying to interact with our wild world which is never truly far away.

Thanks!

Last month, despite a paucity of posts, American Voyages hit an all time high viewer count of any month out there.  Apparently you like reading my takes on history and international relations, which probably means I need to write more on the matter.  The purposes of this blog are to share perspectives on the geography and history of our continent, and thus far it seems like that is something I have been doing.  I was debating about shutting down the blog as I do not seem to have much time for it these days, and it does come with a cost; in the absence of any ads or monetizing efforts (and trust me, I would be earning a decent income off of this), the blog costs money to keep up and running.  I keep getting pageviews, however, as well as comments and questions at BKryda@Gmail.com.

That in mind, let's keep up with this thing.  In the spirit of a continuing exploration into the heart of a North American identity, have this shot of heading west on I-80 through the Delaware Water Gap, one of the great breaches in the Appalachian wall that our ancestors used to see just what was beyond yet another western horizon.

The left rise is Pennsylvania, and the shot is taken from New Jersey.