Posted on Feb 1, 2002

John Garver, professor of geology, and
Mike Bullen '97 published a paper in
Geological Society of America Bulletin (December issue) that details
their work on the evolution of the Tien Shan Mountains in Central
Asia. Their study suggests that the initiation of mountain building
in the Tien Shan occurred about 10 million years ago and
has continued until today. This mountain range has been
created by the collision of India with Asia, and the active growth of the
range has resulted in a number of large earthquakes. Their
evidence includes a study of the time of rock cooling as determined
by fission-track analysis, as well as an analysis of the strata.
This dating of rock cooling, done at the Union fission-track
lab, allowed them to precisely determine when rocks cooled
as they were exhumed from deep levels to the surface.
Bullen, pursuing a master's degree at Penn State, returned to Union
to collaborate with Garver because he was familiar with the
fission-track lab from his undergraduate research. Garver also is
co-author on a paper, “Differential exhumation of an Alpine
microcontinent, Central Anatolia, Turkey: Evaluation of rates and
mechanisms using FT analysis” in
Earth and Planetary Science Letters. The paper details work on the
uplift and evolution of metamorphic rocks in Central Turkey.
These rocks have come up to the surface from great depths as they
have been squeezed between fault zones. The work helps in
understanding how long these fault systems have moved and
the long-term effect of their movement. Some of the dating of
the rocks was done at Union's fission-track lab.

Posted on Feb 1, 2002

Thomas
McEvoy, director of housing at Williams College since 1988, has been appointed
the director of residential and campus life at Union.

Last
spring, the Board of Trustees approved the creation of a House System designed
to contribute intellectual, cultural, and social events to campus. McEvoy, in
the newly-created position, is charged with carrying out the board's mission
and implementing initiatives with the quality of life of all Union students in
mind.

McEvoy
is a 1975 graduate of the State University of New York College at Geneseo. He
worked at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute before joining Williams, where he
was responsible for the administrative and operational management of the
college's student and faculty residential programs.

Posted on Feb 1, 2002

Two
Union faculty members – one a chemist,
and the other a poet – received national notice this fall:

Professor
Tom Werner, an enthusiastic supporter of undergraduate research since his
arrival at the College in 1971, received the American Chemical Society's Award
for Research at an Undergraduate Institution.

Ed
Pavlic, an assistant professor of English whose poetry writings are about music
and the memories it evokes, won the American Poetry Review/Honickman First Book
Prize for Paraph of Bone & Other Kinds of Blue.

The
award to Werner is funded by the Research Corporation, a private foundation for
the advancement of science. It honors a chemistry faculty member whose research
in an undergraduate setting has achieved wide recognition and contributed
significantly to chemistry and to the professional development of undergraduate
students. The award consists of $5,000 and a certificate; Research Corporation
also is providing a $5,000 grant directly to the College.

Werner,
the Florence B. Sherwood Professor of Physical Sciences, has directed about
fifty senior theses, which have produced publications with more than thirty
student co-authors, and more than thirty-five presentations at regional and
national conferences. Last year, one of his students, Tania Magoon, received a
National Science Foundation Graduate Fellowship; she now is pursuing her Ph.D.
in chemistry at Harvard University.

A
longtime member and former chair of the board of governors of the National
Conference on Undergraduate Research (NCUR), Werner twice co-chaired Union's
hosting of NCUR, the largest national conference of its kind. He also is a
co-author of a history of NCUR, which is to appear in The Journal of Chemical
Education. In 1991, he helped establish the Steinmetz Symposium at Union, now a
two-day celebration of undergraduate scholarly activity in which more than 300
students participate. He also helps direct the College's NSF-AIRE award, a
$500,000 grant awarded in part for the College's promotion of undergraduate
research, and is director of the NCUR/Lancy Initiative, which provides
institutions with support for faculty-mentored research.

He
remembers that he became fascinated with research while an undergraduate at
Juniata College in Pennsylvania. “I guess it's a story that's a fairly common
one,” he says. “The influence of the teachers that you have really has a big
impact on the way you end up,” recalling that it was an eccentric chemistry
teacher from high school who first sparked his interest in chemistry and that
professors in college opened up their worlds to him through research.

The award to Pavlic includes publication of
his book, a $3,000 cash award, and distribution through Copper Canyon Press, a
leading publisher of poetry books.

Pavlic,
a Union faculty member since 1997, says his book draws heavily on his own
musicality, in particular his penchant for the blues and the improvised art
form known as jazz. Many of his lines resemble musical riffs, and there are
frequent references to musicians such as Charlie Parker, Billie Holiday, and
Miles Davis. Poet Adrienne Rich, who wrote the book's foreward, says that
Pavlic has “listened closely to our most profound American art, the blues and
jazz, and that music has not only helped him achieve poetic art form but
allowed him to explore a mesh of experience extraneous to literary theories.”

For the
title of the book, “paraph” (a flourish at the end of one's signature) and “bone”
combine to convey a sort of exuberance at the core of who we are, Pavlic says.
The rest of the title, borrowed from Davis's exploration in modal jazz that
featured prolonged invention within a single scale, refers to the wide spectrum
of human experience.

“The
title is a provocation that says, 'You're not going to get all of this,'”
Pavlic says. “There's a kind of mystery to it, and I liked the way it sounded.
A lot of times I start poems with sounds, not even a word, and the words kind
of branch out from there. There's a whole musicality to poetry.”

Pavlic
received his degrees from the University of Wisconsin and Indiana University.
His critical and creative work has appeared in African American Review, Black
Warrior Review, Colorado Review, DoubleTake, and other journals, and his book,

Crossroads Modernism, will be published this year by the University of
Minnesota Press.

Posted on Feb 1, 2002

Geologists
are no strangers to meeting the
logistical challenges of doing fieldwork in remote parts of the world. But
when John Garver, professor of geology,
and Sarah Johnston '02 visited the Kamchatka Peninsula in Russia's Far East
last summer, the challenges included grizzly bears, vodka, and an aging tank.

The
final frontier

“Metvet!” (russian for “bear”)

was
barely audible over the drone of the tank and through my earplugs. Almost 100
meters to the right, a huge brown-red grizzly sow rears up to check out our
oncoming tank, which has nine geologists hanging onto the roof and two in the
cab. After a brief deliberation, she turns, drops to all fours, and scurries up
the hillside. Two small cubs emerge from the tall grass and race after their
mother. Our destination is the Srendiny Range in the southern part of the
Kamchatka Peninsula in the Russian Far East, and we're getting there on an
ancient – and very noisy – Russian tank.

Kamchatka
is one of the last great wild frontiers in the world. Nearly the size of
California, it has about 300,000 residents, most of whom live in the city of
Petropavlovsk-Kamchatski (PPK) on the southeastern part of the peninsula. Most
of the landmass is uninhabited, and there are fewer than 1,000 kilometers of
roads on the entire peninsula (compared to more than 600,000 kilometers in
California). Kamchatka is still one of the nerve centers for the Russian
military machine, and before the breakup of the Soviet Union in 1991, Soviet
citizens needed a visa to visit the region, despite that fact that it was part
of the motherland. For Americans, of course, a visit was virtually impossible.
This started to change after 1991, and Kamchatka is now partly open to
scientific inquiry.

Why do
we choose to work in Kamchatka? A simple answer, really. Due to its prominent
position in the northwest Pacific, it's a geological wonderland, full, for
example, of many active volcanoes that are featured in so many televised nature
specials. And there is incredible scientific opportunity in a land that had
been closed to Westerners for so long.

At
times, it seems we are the only geologists in Kamchatka not studying one of the
volcanoes. Instead, our quarry is the deeper and older bedrock. Funded by a
grant from the National Science Foundation's Office of Polar Programs, we are
trying to unravel the scar, or “suture zone,” from a collision of oceanic
plates some 45 million years ago.
The timing of this event is revealed in
the sedimentary strata that accumulated at the time and by tiny radioactive
minerals that had their atomic clocks reset by the punch of that collision. Our
job is to get to the suture zone and collect rocks that tell this story.

While
this objective might seem relatively simple, in Kamchatka it is not. Geological
fieldwork commonly involves complicated field logistics, of course, but
geological fieldwork in Kamchatka always involves complicated logistics. Our
field sites are remote, and the infrastructure in Kamchatka needs work.
Generally, the only access to remote areas is by helicopters, boats, and tanks.
But over the years I have learned that logistical challenges spawn interesting
solutions, and last summer we found our field party of eleven loading gear onto
a surplus Russian military tank for a fourteen-day excursion to the mountains.

As an
aside, let me describe how just getting to Kamchatka these days is exhausting.
Russia has either purposefully or accidentally shut off most air traffic from
the east (mainly from Anchorage, but also from Seattle and San Francisco).
Apparently the Russian authorities don't want you leaning out the plane windows
taking pictures. So the only reliable way of getting to
Petropavlovsk-Kamchatski is from Moscow, a nine-hour flight that crosses nine
time zones entirely within Russian airspace. The flight from New York City to
Moscow takes about eight hours and crosses eight time zones. So, just to land
in PPK from New York, we travel for two days and cross seventeen of the
twenty-four time zones on the planet. This redefines jet lag!

The
Russian- American Connection

Our
Russian colleagues work at the Institute of the Lithosphere of Marginal Seas,
which is part of the Russian Academy of Sciences (dryly known as ILMS-RAS)
located in Moscow. The Russian team is headed up by Galina Ledneva and Alexie
Soloviev, both regular visitors to the Geology Department at Union since 1993.
Their early visits, and the entire collaboration, were based on a Union-alumnus
funded program to facilitate exchange between FSU (Former Soviet Union)
scientists and Union faculty and students between 1991-1995.

Galina
and Alexie are the bright lights of the future of Russian science. They
survived the 1990s Russian brain drain – a mass exodus of perhaps as many as half of the scientists in
the FSU – largely because at that time they were young, early in their careers,
and therefore relatively immobile. Now, less than ten years from receiving
their Ph.D.s, they have rocketed upwards in the world of Russian science, and
they have found themselves in leadership roles while still young. This is the
New Russia.

Galina
is an igneous geochemist, which means she works on the origin of melted rocks
such as granite and basalts. Using analytical equipment at Union with Professor
Kurt Hollocher of the Geology Department, she figures out where melted rock
comes from simply looking at distinctive geochemical fingerprints. Like
Sherlock Holmes, her job is to figure out whose fingerprints are on the goods,
and in this case the goods are volcanic rocks from plate collisions.

Alexie
specializes in structural geology and tectonics, which means that he worries
about how faults and folds are related to tectonic smash-ups. In this sense, he
is a bit like an insurance investigator trying to sort things out after a car
accident. Alexie's job is a little more challenging, though, because the
accident was millions of years ago, there were no witnesses, and the tectonic
plates have had time to hide evidence. Over the last five years, Alexie has
spent a number of visits at Union in the fission-track lab, dating the timing
of rock cooling that was driven by these tectonic nudges.

Getting
started

Well,
we make it to PPK, and then we negotiate a six-hour bus ride north to the small
town of Milkova, near the salmon-laden Kamchatka River in the vast flats of the
central Kamchatka region. Our target is the high mountainous region of the
Srendiny Range to the west. The first task is to find transportation – reliable
transportation – and we make our first stop at a well-used lumber yard just
outside town. Sitting among the piles of fresh lumber, dirty logs, and angry
dogs is an interesting collection of tracked vehicles and trucks.

Our
choice was a real tribute to the creative hands of our new hosts. It was an
eleven-ton, 1960s-era, personnel carrier modified especially for “off road” use
in the mountains. We learned that it was originally purchased as surplus from
the Russian military for a couple of grand (in U.S. dollars). Ironically, this
revitalized Cold War machine would now be used to take an American-Russian team
to do science in the field. How times have changed.

As one
would expect, the tank was painted army green. It had two huge sprockets in the
front that turned the tread, which was made of interlocking steel plates.
Inside, it could seat the driver plus two or three in a pinch. The most obvious
improvement to the tank was that part of the back end was sheared off and
replaced with a six foot by ten foot steel box with small windows on either
side. This cargo box held our gear and four fifty-gallon drums of diesel.
Another modification included gun removal; perhaps that's always done before
these units are made surplus by the army.

The
style was clearly made for utility and not for comfort, and more than once I
wondered what it must be like to be a soldier in the Russian military and was
thankful for my cushy job as a college professor. Riding on the tank was
deafening. The engine whined, and thick black diesel exhaust belched out the
side. In the cab, the constant loud metal-on-metal clanking from the treads
left one wondering how the thing stayed together as the kilometers ticked by.
Both on the roof and in the cab, earplugs were handy.

Loaded
and tanking

It
sometimes seems that Russians in Kamchatka will drain a bottle of vodka on even
the smallest of occasions. On the morning of our third day we set out for the
Platonich River, our farthest destination, which was easily a full day of
tanking away. At this point, we were well over 300 kilometers from
civilization. At about 11 a.m. we were startled by the sight of another tank
passing us on the left through the bush. Then things got really bizarre. Five
camouflage-clad fellows from Milkova brandished guns and signaled us to stop.
Although technically we were on a tank ourselves, stopping seemed the prudent
thing to do.

Within
seconds out came vodka bottles, beer, cucumber slices, and bread. I am certain
that their earlier breakfast resembled this early lunch. It turns out that the co-owner of our tank
was driving the other tank and was taking some Russian guys out to look for
gold. I have never seen prospectors on a tank, carrying loaded guns and vodka,
but hey, you never know what it takes to strike it rich. Later it dawned on me
that if I were looking for gold and I came upon a tank with eleven geologists,
I might ask a question or two about promising areas. I doubt it even crossed
their minds.

After
we were all reasonably happy with the depth of our new friendship (and the
vodka was gone), we packed up and waved goodbye. The older gentleman on the
other tank repeatedly yelled the only three English words he knew, “I love you,”
to our two female geology students. Seemingly on our way, we soon heard shots,
and in the confusion it looked like we were taking small arms fire from our new
friends. Apparently, in Kamchatka it is appropriate to shoot at the other guy
to tell him: “Hey! The back door to your tank is open!” We closed the door and
tanked on.

Grizzly
Mom

Brown
bears and grizzly bears pose one of the biggest dangers to geological field
parties in Kamchatka, and a sow with two cubs is about as dangerous as it gets.
The Kamchatka brown bear (with the appropriate Latin name: Ursus arctos
horribilis) is a relative of the North American grizzly bear and is one of the
largest of the species in the world. Full-grown males are generally nine feet
tall and can weigh up to a ton, while females are six feet tall and weigh 700
to 800 pounds when full grown. Kamchatka has the an estimated 12,000 to 14,000
brown bears – about ten percent of the total world population. We geologists
tend to have great respect for these animals because we share a common interest
in remote regions with rocks and rivers. A good rule for fieldwork – steer wide
and clear of this potential fireball.

But our
massive tank support gave us a new bravado. Just to let them know who's boss, Leova raced the tank toward a
newly-spotted bear in our path along the Zolotaya (“Gold”) River. The terrified
bear scurried off into the woods, pausing several times as if to check the
number on our license plates. Lord help us if we actually had to get off the
tank and walk around.

Our
Tank Driver

Leova
is, basically, a professional tank driver. As far as I could tell this was his only real profession. He was trained in
the Russian army near the town of Khabarovsk, which is in the Russian Far East
near the border with China. He looks the way I suppose a tank driver should
look: he has a full head of graying brown hair, a tanned ruddy face with a
thick mustache, and a two-week growth of stubble. He has short stubby fingers
and hands made for turning nuts and bolts. He sports several tattoos on his
hands, including a skull and bones “ring” on one finger and a barely legible
name scrawled across the base of his thumb that was quite clearly the result of
a vodka-hazed night some time ago. He lives in the town of Milkova, where we
rented the tank and his services.

On the
road, Leova is amazing. He is keenly focussed on keeping both the tank and the
passengers safe during the course of a ride, a true professional. Most travel
is on fairly obvious dirt tracks remaining from previous excursions. Despite
this, one of the biggest dangers of riding on the roof of the tank is branches
from trees. Leova deftly works the foot pedals and the hand levers so that the
roof-riders stay nearly branch-free. Off road, he concentrates on the
additional natural hazards that make tanking so interesting; negotiating
boulders, steep embankments, river crossings, and trees are all in a day's
work. When we cross poorly-traveled valley bottoms, the tank makes easy work of
most trees in our path; eight-inch diameter trees were felled smoothly in first
gear.

In the
bush, Leova is comfortable and relaxed. Evenings he crouches in camouflage duds
by the campfire and quietly sips sugar-rich tea in a small enameled cup with bright
red flowers. He listens to the mixed Russian and English banter, only getting
half of it. When we finish for the evening, we pile into our REI dome tents and
he climbs into the back of the tank and settles in for the night among the gear
and diesel drums. Before we left, we arranged to pay $100 (U.S.) per day for
the tank services. My guess is that of that total, Leova takes home about $20
per day (the owners get the rest), so for a fourteen-day trip he probably takes
in just under $300. This kind of money will go a long way in his hometown,
where a pack of Russian cigarettes goes for three rubles (ten cents), a bottle
of vodka is about thirty to ninety rubles (one to three dollars), and a loaf of
bread costs fifteen rubles (fifty cents).

“Home”
at Last

As we
ride back into town, 600 kilometers behind us, the road gets better and better
and the tank goes faster and faster. I'm riding up front in the cab with Leova,
and I can sense that he is getting tense in anticipation of our arrival in
town. It will probably be a long night of celebration and a rapid
acclimatization back to “civilization.” I think back over the past fourteen
days and realize that he was the modern Russian cowboy of the post Cold-War
era, tanking away on the Kamchatkan frontier.

Posted on Feb 1, 2002

Sarah
Johnston, a senior geology
major, was aware of the pitfalls of doing research in Russia's remote Kamchatka
Peninsula.

The
drawbacks include iffy weather, no communication with the outside world, the
legendary Russian bureaucracy, and grizzly bears.

The
reward was a chance to do scientific research where few Westerners – let alone
college students – have ever been.

So
Sarah had no hesitation about joining Professor of Geology John Garver and nine
other researchers who spent part of last summer deep in the middle of nowhere.
Was it worth it? “It was great,” she says. “I'd go back in an instant.”

The
summer's visit was a good one, according to Garver, who had been to Kamchatka
on four previous occasions. The weather was beautiful (he remembers one trip
where he was trapped in a tent for ten straight days by pounding rain).
Although Russian officials vetoed their original research plan at the last
minute, they still were able to go to a part of the peninsula they were
planning to visit eventually. And the grizzly bears – more abundant here than
anywhere else in the world – left them alone.

Kamchatka
has long fascinated geologists, and when the area was opened to Western
scientists in 1992 after the breakup of the Soviet Union, Garver and long-time
colleague Mark Brandon of Yale University were eager to visit. Having done
extensive fieldwork on Mesozoic and Cenozoic tectonics in British Columbia and
Washington, they were intrigued by the chance to establish a similar program on
the other side of the Pacific. At about the same time, the support of an
anonymous donor enabled the College to bring Russian scientists to campus for
extended visits. One of the visitors, Nikolai Sobolev, used his Russian
contacts to assist Garver and Brandon, who obtained a National Science
Foundation grant in 1993 and promptly made their first visit.

“It's
an area where the continental plates are grinding against each other,” Garver
says. “We think that understanding the active tectonic process might help us
with things like oil and mineral exploration. If you're exploring for oil, it
would be real handy to have a blueprint of how it came about.”

Despite
the initial enthusiasm by Western scientists, few have persisted like Garver
and Brandon. Obtaining the proper permits, for example, is a laborious process
involving several levels of the Russian bureaucracy. Garver says he does
encounter other non-Russian scientists on his trips, but, “Basically, you could
put all the Westerners in one room.”

Sarah
Johnston can attest to the bureaucratic difficulties. When Russian officials
told the team that it couldn't go to its planned research area on the coast
this summer, her research idea went out the window. The team hastily put
together an alternative plan, and Sarah is back on track to do a thesis that
examines when a certain set of conglomerates was deposited.