Santa Monica Bay - Now At Higher Risk of a "Stealth Tsunami" - 2012

 

Santa Monica Bay - Now At Higher Risk of a "Stealth Tsunami"

In the 1950’s, prior to the California surfing craze, riding an inflatable raft in Pacific Ocean surf was more fun than anything else I could imagine. However, growing up in Burbank, California at that time implied a landlocked existence. Luckily, our own natural water park, at Sorrento Beach in Santa Monica was only an hour away by car. Several times each week of summer vacation, my mother drove us to the shore of that crescent shaped bay.

In later years, polluted runoff entering Santa Monica Bay contributed to rising cancer rates among L.A. County Lifeguards. The statistics were enough to deter swimming at Southern California beaches. Even though my visits to the shore were rare, I often dreamed about Santa Monica Bay. In those dreams, I stood ashore as an unseen tsunami approached from the west. After the Indian Ocean Tsunami in December 2004, I wondered about the tsunami threat in Santa Monica Bay. When the March 2011 tsunami hit the east coast of Japan, some of the heaviest damage occurred in and near Sendai.

Sendai, Japan stands at the head of a crescent shaped bay similar to Santa Monica Bay. While reviewing maps and pictures, I could see a tsunamical signature in the creation of Matsushima Bay, just north of Sendai. That “bay within a bay” is an archipelago of small, but towering islands, most having little or no beach. Lost in prehistory, a cataclysmic tsunami struck the coast at Matsushima. That huge series of waves quickly inundated and eroded the land, sweeping most of it out to sea. Today, those small, towering islands are all that remains of headlands that once overlooked the Pacific Ocean.

Earth scientists have long known that crescent shaped bays amplify wave action by focusing it at the head of such landforms. Within the city limits of Crescent City, California, Crescent Bay is one of half a dozen crescent shaped inlets. From the Great Alaskan Earthquake of 1964 to the Japanese Earthquake and Tsunami of 2011, Crescent City often takes the brunt of Northern California tsunami activity. According to researchers at nearby Humboldt State University, the city experienced tsunami conditions more than thirty times between 1933 and 2011.

With the help of satellite mapping and paleo-flood surveys, there is sufficient data to prove that crescent shaped bays do more than amplify tsunami. It is my thesis that tsunami help to create crescent shaped bays, both large and small. As sea levels rise annually at a rate between 1.7 mm and 3.3 mm, the threat of destructive tsunami also rises. Each cubic foot of water weighs over sixty-two pounds. Even a small rise in sea level places staggering extra inertia behind waves concentrated by a crescent bay. In Japanese, tsunami means, “harbor wave”.

Reflecting on my dreams of Santa Monica Bay tsunami, I now pay closer attention to crescent shaped bays that I visit. Three of my favorite Pacific Ocean bays are Natewa Bay, Catalina Harbor and Hanalei Bay. Each of the three bays is unique and beautiful. Their common heritage includes both tsunamical creation and vulnerability to future tsunami.

In 2001, I visited Natewa Bay, Vanua Levu, Fiji. Immediately, I was struck by its size. Throughout the South Pacific, it is second in size only to Subic Bay in the Philippines. Our buree at Lomalagi Resort overlooked the head of Natewa Bay. Each day, we watched as the tides emptied and then refilled the bay. Stripped down to old coral and bedrock, the long, narrowing bay magnifies any tidal action. If not actually created by tsunami, Natewa Bay appears to have hosted many such events. Around 2005, some development wags proposed building human made islands in the upper reaches of Natewa Bay. Although the development website still exists, we see no sign of actual development. With high tsunami risk at Natewa Bay, near shore development makes no sense.

The small town of Two Harbors is located at Isthmus Cove, Santa Catalina Island, California. Facing the Southern California coast, Isthmus Cove is a reliable anchorage for pleasure craft. On the far side of the isthmus is Catalina Harbor. Similar to Natewa Bay, “Cat Harbor”, features a south facing underwater canyon. The isthmus, a gently tapered mound of earth, rises only sixty-two at its high point. If a thirty-foot tsunami arrived from the south, the isthmus at Two Harbors could easily become a “tsunami sweep”. It is easy to visualize a tsunami-induced flood topping the low isthmus and spilling into Isthmus Cove, on the far side.

Hanalei Bay, on Kauai, Hawaii is a classic tsunamical bay. Lying at the foot of the Hanalei River Valley, there is no deep canyon beneath the bay. The mouth of the almost circular bay opens to the northwest. Rather than sediment from the river extending into the Pacific Ocean as a delta, exposure to tsunami and other extreme wave action has carved out a semicircular bay. Within the gentle sloping river valley, great tracts of farmland remain vulnerable to future tsunami.

In my recurring tsunami dream about Santa Monica Bay, I stand onshore. As I look out to sea, the ocean water recedes. Then, with no warning, I see a large tsunami racing toward me. I turn, as if to run from the approaching wave. As the towering tsunami overwhelms me, I find that it is made of cloudy foam. At the time of my inundation, the great wave evaporates and whisks away like a fog. In my dreams, the Great Tsunami of Santa Monica Bay causes no harm. In our real world of rising seas and continued earthquake activity, we may not be so lucky.

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By James McGillis at 05:52 PM | Environment | Comments (0) | Link

An Average Day in Paradise (Vanua Levu, Fiji) - 2001

An Average Day in Paradise

(Vanua Levu, Fiji)

Tuesday August 22, 2001

 

8:00 AM – Our resort provides both 110V and 220V power, which is a luxury for us Americans.  We can use all of our personal care appliances without employing a voltage converter.  The smell of fresh coffee finally awoke Cagey for the day and we simply sat, watched and listened from our lanai.

 

8:30 AM – Takasa, our shy and pretty server came up our walk and rang the bell along our walkway.  Since we had the resort all to ourselves and the place practically defines privacy, members of the staff always ring the bell so that one can toss on a lightweight robe in time to avoid embarrassment.  In any event, Takasa had fresh cut fruit, home made bread and muffins, orange juice, butter and preserves for us.  Could it possibly be better than this?  Our bay and our breakfast were all we needed.  We fed a few pieces of papaya to the Myna Birds, in hopes of bribing them into being quiet the next morning, to no avail.

 

10:15 AM – Terry drove us the couple hundred yards from the resort office, down the steep hill to the little dock they had built at the end of the resort’s property.  There he helped us into our Alaskan-made, two-person sea kayak, which has an aluminum frame and a waterproof fabric skin to keep us dry.  It seats two and has steering pedals that act like those on a small airplane.  The only trouble is that the kayak will not move unless you paddle it.  We never did master the art of paddling in unison, but somehow we moved along the beach and around our end of Natewa Bay.

 

At last, we rounded the point of land leading to Takasa’s house, and here is what we saw.  Because of tidal action, sandy beaches are in short supply in Natewa Bay.  A twenty-foot wide beach is a major one, with many places having just a rocky shore and no beach at all.  Takasa lives with her father and her young son on a sandy beach about as long as Waikiki Beach, in Hawaii.  Hers is the only house on that beach.  When I read that statement, I still have to let its reality sink in to my consciousness.

 

On our return trip, we paddled out about half a mile, from time to time viewing unspoiled tropical reefs below us.  Then we turned for home.  As we glided back in, we encountered one of about six I-beams that were standing vertically at the edge of the final shallows.  Apparently they were placed there to alert any sailor who might come along that they were about to hit the rocks.  Terry said that he thought they were driven-in forty or fifty years ago, but by whom he did not know.  There they stand, rusting at their bases, the only human-made items visible on Natewa Bay.

 

12:15 PM – We returned to the dock just as the tide began to fill our end of the bay.  Terry had contracted for a small power shovel to be brought to the dock area so that Lomalagi Resort’s tiny channel could be dredged to a depth that his Sea-Doo jet boat (more on that later) could be launched or retrieved, even at low tide.  The remnants of the old coral reef were piled to the sides, leaving small towers of gray, rock-like matter that reminded me of the tufa towers of Mono Lake, California, located on the east side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.  We rode back to the resort in an ancient work truck, which was loaded with coral sand, used to fill in the potholes of the roads within the resort.

 

1:15 PM – Upon our return, we were treated to a lunch of shrimp and lobster, with ice cream for dessert.  Our guests that day were three Aussies who were buying property nearby.  It seems that all the Europeans who visit our end of Vanua Levu call ahead and the Lomalagi dining room transforms into a restaurant.  The moneyman of the three said he was building a house somewhere down past Takasa’s beach.  He had brought all his “toys”, including a sport fishing boat.  Looking back, more than six years later, I wonder if he was the vanguard of the group who plan to develop a large resort nearby, creating artificial islands in the once-pristine Natewa Bay.

 

2:15 PM – We wandered down to the office and shopped a bit in Collin’s boutique.  Having misplaced the map I had bought in Savusavu, I purchased a large new one for $10 F.  While we were there, Collin called on our behalf to the Cousteau Resort, located at the other end of the island, to arrange for our scuba diving the next day.  I spoke with one of their dive masters, explaining that we were scuba-certified and that we really would show up the next day, if the boat would be there to meet us.

 

2:30 PM – We decided to walk around the grounds and see some of the sights.  The property comprises twenty-five acres, but we restricted ourselves to the area near our bure, which has hills, coconut trees, flowers and an incredible green lawn, which covers the entire landscape.

 

The previous day, when we pulled our Suzuki Jimny up under the huge tree at the center of the property the day before, we saw a powerful, lean man pushing a large power mower across a huge stretch of the lawn.  Keep in mind that half of this lawn is on what looks like a 30-degree slope.  I shouted out, “Bula” to him because I had acculturated to say that to everyone we met.  He stopped the mower and approached us.  Removing his gloves, he offered his hand and said, “Hello, I’m Spence”, in a New Zealand accent.  He appeared to be a blond haired rock-of-a-man, tall and muscular, with perhaps a bit of Maori ancestry. 

 

As the days went by, we would hear Spence and his mower from time to time.  Actually, the gas engine propelled it, but even with that assist, I am sure I could not have pushed it up and down those steep hills for very long.  I recalled the Greek myth of Sisyphus.  You know the one, with Sisyphus destined to roll a huge rock up a hill.  As soon as he reached the top, the rock would get away from him and roll back to the bottom, where he would have to start the process all over again.  I always assumed that it was one of the Greek Tragedies (which technically it may be).  More recently, I heard the story Examined in a different way.  This version was about the simplicity and beauty of Sisyphus’ life.  In this version, he knew his task and he performed it well.  He made it a noble gesture to use all his strength to propel the rock up the hill, where inevitably it rolled back to the bottom.  Then, he reset his sites on his goal and started again.  Spence and his mower embodied that ethic.  He appeared to have a purpose in life and he stuck to it.

 

3:00 PM – We were back at the room, content to relax for the balance of the afternoon.

 

5:30 PM – It turned cloudy.  The Mynas returned to the deck.  It was time to shower in that fabulous Fiji-water and get ready for dinner.

 

7:00 PM – Dinner was Indian Curry, light and tasty.

 

9:00 PM – We were back in the room, preparing our dive gear and cameras for the next day.

 

This is Chapter Seven of ten chapters. To view the previous article in this series, click HERE.  To view the following article in this series, click HERE.

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Vanua Levu, Fiji - Morning Breaks on Another Day in Paradise - 2001

Vanua Levu, Fiji - Morning Breaks on Another Day in Paradise

  

Tuesday August 22, 2001

 

4:00 AM Fiji Time – Since it was 9:00 AM back home in California, Cagey awoke, hungry for breakfast.  She arose and the fruit plate, which contained some juicy leftovers from our arrival, the previous day.  She ate while I slept.

 

6:00 AM – The Sun comes up shortly after 6:00 AM and sets shortly after 6:00 PM.  The dawn and twilight are shorter in the tropics, leading to the impression that you are in something like an old Walt Disney cartoon, where day breaks, the rooster crows and life in the barnyard is moving at full speed in just a few seconds.

 

7:00 AM – Somehow, I was able to stay asleep until about 7:00 AM.  By that time, our “barnyard” was so full of bird squawks, chirps, squeaks and caws that I had to pay attention and finally get up.  As usual, it was not cold, but not hot either.  I made my way out on to our Lanai.  There I discovered the Myna Birds who had awakened me.  Their habit was to make a lot of noise after sunrise, then to disappear about thirty minutes later, when there was no chance of our going back to sleep.

 

7:30 AM – Natewa Bay, which takes up the foreground, background and the middle ground of our view from the Lanai is one of those natural phenomena that takes some time to figure out, but absolutely no time to appreciate.  “Discovered” hundreds of years ago during early English voyagers, it was called “Nateva Bay” on reproductions of the original charts that we later saw at the Museum in Suva, The capital of Fiji.

 

The Lomalagi Resort website has a few wide-angle shots of the bay and its sunsets.  Before we arrived there, we had read on the website that Lomalagi was the only resort on the Bay, which encompasses 600 square miles of water, surrounded on three sides by lush volcanic mountains of varying topography.  Just like you, I was trying to picture a bay of that size with only a spot or two of human habitation.  I just could not picture it, or maybe I could not believe it.

 

When we arrived, it was at New Moon, which made the nights very dark and the tides of the Bay come in and go out at levels known as “astronomical”.  We tend to use the word astronomical to mean huge or large.  The term takes on its true meaning here when you wake up and see sand bars miles off shore and an empty bay at you feet, only to find it brimming full only a few hours later.  Similar to Mont Saint-Michel, a castle in France that sits on a tidal island, you can almost watch the tide fill in or recede in the bay, depending on the time of day.  As the Moon entered a fuller state, the tides moderated and the bay did not go through the major highs and lows, as it did for the first several days of our visit.  As our host Terry said, “I have never seen a bay that looks good at low tide”.

 

I know it is only 7:00 AM, but I must tell you about the nights on Natewa Bay during the time of the New Moon.  Before our arrival, I was disappointed that we would not have a Full Moon during our visit, figuring that the Moon over the water was probably a sight to see.  Little did I know that the most beautiful nights are those with no Moon.  You must remember that “light pollution” has not yet occurred along Natewa Bay.  Most of the surface area is ocean, which emits no light.  What land that exists, is mainly not “electrified”, even in many places on the main island.  The few cites that have been built have neon and streetlights and many cars.  However, they are over an hour away by airplane!

 

Upon returning to our bure (or villa) at night, turning out our room lights and looking out across the water it is a remarkable sight.  The Milky Way is above, brighter than anywhere else you might see it (other than Antarctica, I suppose), casting enough light to dimly illuminate the basic features of land and bay.  Across the water, we could see three or four lantern lights at our end of the bay.  We saw several more lights from a village across the bay, which apparently has a small generator.  That was it.  The entire bay had a couple of electric lamps and half a dozen lanterns.

 

Later we found that the lanterns on the water were from the fishing families who ventured out on “billybillys”, which are watercraft made by lashing about eight coconut logs together.  They "pole out" into the shallows, where they drift until dawn, with their fishing hand-lines in the water.  We learned that a few years earlier there had been a fishing craze, with many billybillys on the water each night.  Predictably, the villagers had over-fished the shallows of the bay and thus they reverted to the “specialists”, who fished for all within their villages.

 

If you have ever sat and contemplated a Japanese painting and seen the vision of the artist come to life, you will know what it is like to stand at our window at any time of the night, even 3:00 AM. Reassuringly, the fishers were there, each billybilly displaying a single lantern as it glided along in the shallow bay. Peace, harmony and beauty prevailed.

This is Chapter Six of ten chapters. To view the previous article in this series, click HERE.  To view the following article in this series, click HERE.

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By James McGillis at 01:59 PM | Travel | Comments (0) | Link