There is considerable controversy regarding when humans first migrated into the Americas and whether they might have been in the local area during any of the Ice Age Floods. This 2016 video, produced by reputable sources, doesn’t answer that question, but it is an interesting and instructive visualization of human migration paths and timing over the past 200,000 years.

An ancient flood seems to have stalled the circulation of the oceans, plunging the Northern Hemisphere into a millennium of near-glacial conditions. Thirteen thousand years ago, an ice age was ending, the Earth was warming, the oceans were rising. Then something strange happened – the Northern Hemisphere suddenly became much colder, and stayed that way for more than a thousand years. For some time, scientists have been debating how this major climatic event – called the “Younger Dryas” – happened. The question has grown more urgent: Its answer may involve the kind of fast-moving climate event that could occur again. This week, a scientific team made a new claim to having found that answer. On the basis of measurements taken off the northern coasts of Alaska and Canada in the Beaufort Sea, the scientists say they detected the signature of a huge glacial flood event that occurred around the same time. This flood, they posit, would have flowed from the Arctic into the Atlantic Ocean and shut down the crucial circulation known as the “Atlantic meridional overturning circulation” (or AMOC) – plunging Europe and much of North America back into cold conditions. “Even though we were in an overall warming period, this freshwater, exported from the Arctic, slowed down the vigor, efficiency of the meridional overturning, and potentially caused the cooling observed strongly in Europe,” said Neal Driscoll, one of the study’s authors and a professor at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography. The work, published in Nature Geoscience, was led by Lloyd Keigwin of the Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution along with researchers at that institution, Scripps and Oregon State University. The result remains contested, though, with other researchers still arguing for different theories of what caused the Younger Dryas – including a very differently routed flood event that would have entered the ocean thousands of miles away. Nonetheless, the story is relevant because today, we’re watching another – or rather, a further – deglaciation, as humans cause a warming of the planet. There is also evidence that the Atlantic circulation is weakening again, although scientists certainly do not think a total shut-off is imminent, and are still debating the causes of what is being observed. Either way, the new research underscores that as the Earth warms and its ice melts, major changes can happen in the oceans. And could happen again. The researchers behind the current study, working on board the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Healy, analyzed sediments of deep ocean mud, which contain the shells of long-dead marine organisms called foraminifera. In those shells, the scientists detected a long-sought-after anomaly recorded in the language of oxygen atoms. The shells contained a disproportionate volume of oxygen−16, a lighter form (or isotope) of the element that is found in high levels in glaciers. That is because oxygen−16, containing two fewer neutrons and therefore lighter than oxygen−18, evaporates more easily from the ocean but does not rain out again as readily. As a result, it often falls as snow at high latitudes and is stored in large bodies of ice. “This is the smoking gun for fingerprinting glacial lake outbursts,” Driscoll said. And that means the findings may also represent the trigger for the Younger Dryas. The thinking is that as the ice age ended and the enormous Laurentide ice sheet atop North America began to retreat, the resulting meltwater fed a bevy of large lakes atop the depressed surface of the continent. That included the massive glacial Lake Agassiz, which stretched from the Great Lakes northwestward across much of Canada. The approximate maximum extents of major glacial lakes that formed from the retreat of the western Laurentide Ice Sheet. (Shannon Klotsko, Scripps Institution of Oceanography, University of California at San Diego) Prior research had shown that for a while, much of the resulting freshwater drained down the Mississippi River and into the Gulf of Mexico. But at some point, as the ice sheet continued to shrink, the flow of water appears to have been suddenly rerouted to the north or to the east, where it could do more potential damage to the ocean circulation in the Atlantic. There has long been scientific debate about where all the meltwater actually entered the ocean, though – with some contending that it would have occurred through the St. Lawrence River, which flows past today’s Montreal and Quebec City and thus out into the Atlantic. The new research holds that, instead, the floodwater exited through the Mackenzie River, which stretches across today’s Northwest Territories, emptying straight into the Arctic Ocean. It would certainly have been an enormous flow of fresh water. “I would say somewhere between the Mississippi and the Amazon,” Keigwin said. That could have interfered with the Atlantic circulation, which is crucial because it carries warm water northward, and so heats higher latitudes. Eventually, the waters of the circulation become very cold as they travel northward, but because they are also quite salty, they sink because of their high density and travel back south again. Freshening is therefore the Achilles’ heel of the circulation. And the new study argues that although the glacial water would have entered the seas very far away near the present Alaska-Canada border, it would have then circulated around the Arctic, eventually traveling south past Greenland and entering the key regions that are crucial to the overturning circulation, which tend to be off Greenland’s southern coasts. Not everyone is convinced, though – including some researchers who have previously published results suggesting that the outburst flood or flow was instead to the east, through the St. Lawrence River. “They have produced a nice signal of the release of freshwater into the Arctic Ocean, but the conclusions are based on an uncertain chronology which, when trying to tie together events so closely, requires some independent confirmation,” Peter Clark, an Oregon State University geoscientist who has published evidence supporting the St. Lawrence River theory, said in an email. Anders Carlson, Clark’s co-author and colleague at Oregon State University, sent a geological study finding that, as he put

This 3:50 minute animation, presented by the Crown Point Country Historical Society, illustrates the growth of the Cordilleran Ice Sheet, the damming and back-up of Glacial Lake Missoula, and the progress of an Ice Age Flood through WA and OR after an ice dam collapse.

On October 7th at Chief Timothy Park near Clarkston, WA at the latest Confluence Story Gathering,  Thomas Morning Owl (Umatilla tribe) noted there are indigenous people’s stories of massive floods going back to 14,000 years ago. While he didn’t elaborate, it would be very interesting to have these stories shared as first-hand accounts of the Ice Age and/or Bonneville Floods. Confluence Story Gatherings are designed to elevate native voices in our understanding of the Columbia River system. This Confluence Story Gathering explored stories and perspectives from Nez Perce homelands, where a panel of indigenous thinkers and storytellers — Allen Pinkham, Sr. (Nez Perce), Thomas Morning Owl (Umatilla) and Jefferson Greene (Warm Springs) — shared their observations. Despite the strong winds, rain and even hail, the stories prevailed. Confluence Project is a community supported nonprofit that connects people to place through art and education. We work in collaboration with Northwest communities, tribes and celebrated artist Maya Lin to create reflective moments that can shape the future of the Columbia River system. We share stories of this river through six public art installations, educational programs, community engagement and a rich digital experience. The six projects span 438 miles from the mouth of the Columbia River to the gateway to Hell’s Canyon, with sites in both Oregon and Washington. These are “teachable places,” transformed and reimagined to explore the confluence of history, culture and ecology in our region. Each work references a passage from the Lewis and Clark journals as a snapshot in time, while comparing it with the deeper story.

No one can ever say for sure what the future will bring, but this new video has summed up all the science-backed predictions that we can reasonably make about how Earth will change over the next 1 billion years. It’s highly unlikely that anyone will be around to see most of these changes come to pass, so consider this an exclusive front-row seat to a world where supercontinents reign supreme, Mount Everest is no longer the tallest mountain on our planet, Earth enters another glacial period regardless of current global warming trends. and then the Sun becomes a lot hotter. Just another reason we should be glad we live at the time we do. Reposted from Science Alert and RealLifeLore

Check out Bruce Bjornstad’s Ice Age Floodscapes YouTube channel.  A growing library of surreal aerial video and pics of other-worldly megaflood features.These drone videos and images that can only be achieved and appreiciated from close range in the air give a unique perspective on large landscape features, such as: Gardena Cliffs Rhythmites, Streamlined Palouse Hills, Quincy Lakes Erratic, Moses Coulee, Castle Lake Cataract, Frenchman Coulee, Martin Falls Cataract, Reach Ice Age Floods’ Tours – 2017, Scabland Coulees, Williams Lake Cataract, The Great Blade, Lake Sacajawea Flood Bar, West Bar Giant Current Ripples, Devils Canyon Coulee, Missoula Flood Rhythmites, Ice-Rafted Erratics and Bergmounds, Wallula Gap, Dry Falls, Deep Lake Potholes, and Drumheller Channels

Ice Age Floods Smithsonian Article Devastating Ice Age Floods That Occurred in the Pacific Northwest Fascinate ScientistsThe Scablands were formed by tremendous and rapid change, and may have something to teach us about geological processes on Marsby Riley Black – Science Correspondent – April 19, 2022 for Smithsonian Magazine The Earth seems to change slowly. Continents shift by about half an inch in a year. Sea levels rise by less than a quarter of an inch in the same amount of time. Mountains are constantly being eroded but, to us, seem to stand today just as they did yesterday and the day before. Our planet’s geological history often seems like one of slow, grinding change. But that’s hardly the whole story. Sometimes geological change comes startlingly, violently fast, leaving scars on the Earth’s surface. The Channeled Scablands of the Pacific Northwest, a landscape full of flat-topped plateaus that rise between steep-walled canyons, are among the vastly-altered landscapes that have caused researchers to rethink what they previously presumed. The geologic wounds are dramatic evidence that quick and catastrophic changes have played a significant role in shaping our planet. The Scablands, principally located in southeastern Washington state, bear the signs of an incredible Ice Age event. Between 14,000 and 18,200 years ago, huge glacial lakes on the boundaries of ice sheets burst from their natural dams and rushed over the landscape, scouring the hills and dropping massive stones as they went. Entire hills were washed away as the floodwaters dumped gravel, boulders and sediment in new places, almost like shaking a great geological Etch-a-Sketch. But this is a relatively new understanding, only broadly accepted since the 1970s. It took decades for geologists to construct even an outline of what the Scablands represent, a realization that proved to be a turning point for science. For if intense floods could carve such features once in Earth’s history, surely they could have changed landscapes at other times and in other places—even those as far away as the Martian surface. Geologists only began to pick up on the story of the Scablands a century ago. In the 1920s, naturalist J Harlen Bretz wrote several descriptive papers on the strange basins and odd channels of the area. Those channels had been created by moving water, but the way water had once flowed through the area seemed to make no sense. “The channels run uphill and downhill, they unite and they divide, they head on the back-slopes and cut through the summit,” Bretz wrote, “they could not be more erratically and impossibly designed.” The only reasonable conclusion, Bretz proposed, was that the Scablands were created by massive and short-lived floods. Bretz’s colleagues were not ready for such a conclusion. Ever since geology came into its own as a science in the 19th century, much of the field has been influenced by the concept of uniformitarianism—that the present is the key to the past. In a broad sense, that’s an excellent rule. The Earth is still changing, and many of those alterations—from erosion to volcanic eruptions—also occurred in the past. But some additional stipulations to the older formulation of the idea were unnecessarily taken as truth. One of them was that the Earth is changing at a slow, gradual rate and that quick, catastrophic change was impossible. Bretz’s idea for how the Scablands formed flew in the face of what many geologists accepted. Channels were carved over long periods of time by rivers, other geologists thought, not by sudden floods. To Bretz, the evidence was unmistakable. Among other things, the Scablands contained layers of gravel hundreds of feet high. Slow-moving streams couldn’t have left such vast accumulations. Pieces of gravel are larger and heavier than particles of sand or silt, requiring faster-moving water to pick up the gravel and transport it. Gravel deposits as tall as skyscrapers must have required an incredible amount of fast-flowing water. The pattern was consistent with the underlying geology of the area, as well. The rock beneath the massive flood deposits was relatively friable volcanic rock, easily broken and carved. The fragility of these rock layers allowed the floods to gouge out channels and canyons in a way that harder rocks would have been more resistant to. Yet the fact that Bretz couldn’t identify the source of the floodwaters caused many to dismiss his idea, and it wasn’t until evidence of similar events—such as Ice Age flood beds found in Montana—that other experts began to reconsider what Bretz had proposed. Eventually, by the 1970s, dismissive geologists changed their tune. Something catastrophic truly did transpire to create the Scablands. Not that the behavior or history of such floods are completely understood. “There are loads of outstanding questions and many people are thinking carefully about the Scablands,” says University of Washington geology PhD candidate Kelsay Stanton. Even though experts are confident that vast glacial lakes provided the water for the floods, the precise volumes of the repeated floods are unknown, and the timing of the dozens of outbursts has yet to be determined in detail. “The glacial outburst flooding of the Pacific Northwest is hardly a closed subject,” Stanton says. Part of what’s allowing geologists to keep going back to the Scablands is that the tools available to scientists have changed a great deal since Bretz’s time. “There are lots of geochronology and computer modeling methods now that weren’t available when Bretz and other early researchers were mapping the area,” says University of Massachusetts Amherst geology PhD candidate Karin Lehnigk. These repeated floods affected the ocean, she notes, with the influx of freshwater reducing the saltiness of the northern Pacific for years and altering the way colder, saltier water in deep ocean layers circulated. The floods affected more than the land they ran over, and have acted as models for how our modern glaciers might alter ocean circulation as they melt due to global warming. New, broad scale methodologies can offer some of these insights and these refined techniques have proved to be critical, as no one has ever

Washington State Geological Survey is collecting, analyzing, and publicly distributing detailed information about our state’s geology using the best available technology – LIDAR – an acronym for Light Detection And Ranging. The main focus of this new push for LIDAR collection is to map landslides, but there are innumerable additional benefits and applications of this data both inside and outside of the field of geology. A number of amazingly beautiful and revealing images are featured on the WA-DNR Flickr website, along with a trove of information about the technology and it’s applications. LIDAR is a surveying method that measures very precise distance to a target by illuminating that target with a pulsed laser light and measuring the reflected pulses with a sensor. Differences in laser return times and wavelengths can then be used to make digital representations of the target. LIDAR is expensive, but it can easily remove vegetation/grass/trees as it uses an emitting source and interferometry criteria to find the “last echo return” that is assumed as the ground, even in very dense scenarios (forests, corn fields, etc). LIDAR uses ultraviolet, visible, or near infrared light to image objects. It can target a wide range of materials, including non-metallic objects, rocks, rain, chemical compounds, aerosols, clouds and even single molecules. LIDAR is widely used for many different applications. Some (but by no means all) of those uses include: Geology and Hazards, Forestry, Graphics, Navigation, Meteorology and Fir,e Land-use planning, Archaeology and Agriculture. In geology, bare earth models allow closer study of geomorphology, which is the study of the origin of the topography of the earth. Floods, faults, landslides, erosion, and glaciers leave their mark on the landscape, and while these marks can be hidden by dense vegetation, they can’t hide from LIDAR. LIDAR can be used in the field of archaeology to find things hidden by the forest canopy. Large features that would be indistinguishable on the ground are readily apparent in a LIDAR survey, leading archaeologists to sites they might not have otherwise found. For example, intensity returns can be used to detect features just below the surface that affect plant growth.

When and how did the first people come to the Americas? The conventional story says that the earliest settlers came via Siberia, crossing the now-defunct Bering land bridge on foot and trekking through Canada when an ice-free corridor opened up between massive ice sheets toward the end of the last ice age. But with recent archaeological evidence casting doubt on this thinking, scientists are seeking new explanations. One dominant, new theory: The first Americans took a coastal route along Alaska’s Pacific border to enter the continent. A new geological study provides compelling evidence to support this hypothesis. By analyzing boulders and bedrock, a research team led by the University at Buffalo shows that part of a coastal migration route became accessible to humans 17,000 years ago. During this period, ancient glaciers receded, exposing islands of southern Alaska’s Alexander Archipelago to air and sun — and, possibly, to human migration. The timing of these events is key: Recent genetic and archaeological estimates suggest that settlers may have begun traveling deeper into the Americas some 16,000 years ago, soon after the coastal gateway opened up. The research will be published online on May 30 in the journal Science Advances. “People are fascinated by these questions of where they come from and how they got there,” says lead scientist Jason Briner, PhD, professor of geology in UB’s College of Arts and Sciences. “Our research contributes to the debate about how humans came to the Americas. It’s potentially adding to what we know about our ancestry and how we colonized our planet.” “Our study provides some of the first geologic evidence that a coastal migration route was available for early humans as they colonized the New World,” says UB geology PhD candidate Alia Lesnek, the study’s first author. “There was a coastal route available, and the appearance of this newly ice-free terrain may have spurred early humans to migrate southward.” The findings do not mean that early settlers definitely traversed Alaska’s southern coast to spread into the Americas: The project examined just one section of the coast, and scientists would need to study multiple locations up and down the coastline to draw firmer conclusions. Still, the work is exciting because it hints that the seafaring theory of migration is viable. The bones of an ancient ringed seal — previously discovered in a nearby cave by other researchers — provide further, tantalizing clues. They hint that the area was capable of supporting human life at the time that early settlers may have been passing through, Briner says. The new study calculates that the seal bones are about 17,000 years old. This indicates that the region was ecologically vibrant soon after the ice retreated, with resources including food becoming available. Co-authors on the research included Briner; Lesnek; Charlotte Lindqvist, PhD, an associate professor of biological sciences at UB and a visiting associate professor at Nanyang Technological University; James Baichtal of Tongass National Forest; and Timothy Heaton, PhD, of the University of South Dakota. A landscape, touched by ice, that tells a story To conduct their study, the scientists journeyed to four islands within the Alexander Archipelago that lie about 200 miles south/southeast of Juneau. The team traveled by helicopter to reach these remote destinations. As soon as the researchers arrived, Briner knew that the islands had once been covered by ice. “The landscape is glacial,” he says. “The rock surfaces are smooth and scratched from when the ice moved over it, and there are erratic boulders everywhere. When you are a geologist, it hits you in the face. You know it immediately: The glacier was here.” To pinpoint when the ice receded from the region, the team collected bits of rock from the surfaces of boulders and bedrock. Later, the scientists ran tests to figure out how long the samples — and thus the islands as a whole — had been free of ice. The researchers used a method called surface exposure dating. As Lesnek explains, “When land is covered by a glacier, the bedrock in the area is hidden under ice. As soon as the ice disappears, however, the bedrock is exposed to cosmic radiation from space, which causes it to accumulate certain chemicals on their surface. The longer the surface has been exposed, the more of these chemicals you get. By testing for these chemicals, we were able to determine when our rock surfaces were exposed, which tells us when the ice retreated. “We use the same dating method for huge boulders called erratics. These are big rocks that are plucked from the Earth and carried to new locations by glaciers, which actually consist of moving ice. When glaciers melt and disappear from a specific region, they leave these erratics behind, and surface exposure dating can tell us when the ice retreated.” For the region that was studied, this happened roughly 17,000 years ago. The case for a coastal migration route In recent years, evidence has mounted against the conventional thinking that humans populated North America by taking an inland route through Canada. To do so, they would have needed to walk through a narrow, ice-free ribbon of terrain that appeared when two major ice sheets started to separate. But recent research suggests that while this path may have opened up more than 14,000 years ago, it did not develop enough biological diversity to support human life until about 13,000 years ago, Briner says. That clashes with archaeological findings that suggest humans were already living in Chile about 15,000 years ago or more and in Florida 14,500 years ago. The coastal migration theory provides an alternative narrative, and the new study may mark a step toward solving the mystery of how humans came to the Americas. “Where we looked at it, the coastal route was not only open — it opened at just the right time,” Lindqvist says. “The timing coincides almost exactly with the time in human history that the migration into the Americas is thought to have occurred.” The research was

A recent Smithsonian Magazine article gives some interesting insights to present-day Jökulhlaups (glacial outburst floods) that are but minuscule relatives of the cataclysmic Ice Age Floods. Iceberg Lake was on the edge of a western tributary of the Tana Glacier, but in 1999 the lake suddenly vanished. Dammed on its southern end by ice, the water, with persistently warming temperatures, had bored a hole under the ice and escaped through tunnels to emerge ten miles away and empty into the Tana River. The sudden drainage of a glacier-dammed lake is not uncommon. “Some lakes in Wrangell-St. Elias regularly drain,” Loso said. Hidden Creek Lake, for instance, near McCarthy, drains every summer, pouring millions of gallons through channels in the Kennicott Glacier. The water gushes out the terminus of the Kennicott, causing the Kennicott River to flood, an event called a jokulhlaup—an Icelandic word for a glacial-lake outburst flood. “The Hidden Creek jokulhlaup is so reliable,” said Loso, “it has become one of the biggest parties in McCarthy.” But the disappearance of Iceberg Lake was different, and unexpected. It left an immense trench in the ground, the ghost of a lake, and it never filled up again. The roughly six-square-mile mudhole turned out to be a glaciological gold mine. The mud, in scientific terms, was laminated lacustrine sediment. Each layer represented one year of accumulation: coarse sands and silts, caused by high runoff during the summer months, sandwiched over fine-grained clay that settled during the long winter months when the lake was covered in ice. The mud laminations, called varves, look like tree rings. Using radiocarbon dating, Loso and his colleagues determined that Iceberg Lake existed continuously for over 1,500 years, from at least A.D. 442 to 1998. “In the fifth century the planet was colder than it is today,” Loso said, “hence the summer melt was minimal and the varves were correspondingly thin.” The varves were thicker during warmer periods, for instance from A.D. 1000 to 1250, which is called the Medieval Warming Period by climatologists. Between 1500 and 1850, during the little ice age, the varves were again thinner—less heat means less runoff and thus less lacustrine deposition. “The varves at Iceberg Lake tell us a very important story,” Loso said. “They’re an archival record that proves there was no catastrophic lake drainage, no jokulhlaup, even during the Medieval Warming Period.” In a scientific paper about the disappearance of Iceberg Lake, Loso was even more emphatic: “Twentieth-century warming is more intense, and accompanied by more extensive glacier retreat, than the Medieval Warming Period or any other time in the last 1,500 years.” Loso scratched his grizzled face. “When Iceberg Lake vanished, it was a big shock. It was a threshold event, not incremental, but sudden. That’s nature at a tipping point.” One of the most startling, and devastating, consequences of this rapid melting of the ice was the Icy Bay landslide. The Tyndall Glacier, on the southern coast of Alaska, has been retreating so quickly that it is leaving behind steep, unsupported walls of rock and dirt. On October 17, 2015, the largest landslide in North America in 38 years crashed down in the Taan Fjord. The landslide was so enormous it was detected by seismologists at Columbia University in New York. Over 200 million tons of rock slid into the Taan Fjord in about 60 seconds. This, in turn, created a tsunami that was initially 630 feet high and roared down the fjord, obliterating virtually everything in its path even as it diminished to some 50 feet after ten miles. “Alder trees 500 feet up the hillsides were ripped away,” Anderson says. “Glacial ice is buttressing the mountainsides in Alaska, and when this ice retreats, there is a good chance for catastrophic landslides.” In other ranges, such as the Alps and the Himalaya, he says, the melting of “ground ice,” which sort of glues rock masses to mountainsides, can release enormous landslides into populated valleys, with devastating consequences. “For most humans, climate change is an abstraction,” Loso says when I meet him in his office, which is down a long, dark, heavily beamed mine building in Kennecott. “It’s moving so slowly as to be basically imperceptible. But not here! Here glaciers tell the story. They’re like the world’s giant, centuries-old thermometers.” Read the entire article “A Daring Journey Into the Big Unknown of America’s Largest National Park” online at SmithsonianMag.com

1918 story in the Wenatchee World that Bill Dietrich (former Columbian reporter and later with The Seattle Times) says in his wonderful 1995 book Northwest Passage — The Great Columbia River , “is probably the single most famous newspaper article in Pacific Northwest history. . . It is generally credited for launching the long debate about Grand Coulee Dam.” Students, fans and the mildly curious about any or all of: Grand Coulee Dam, The Columbia River, the massive Columbia Basin irrigation project, Eastern Washington in general, Washington state history, will find this article interesting.