Sunday, June 22, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
She (and they) worth the drive
It was a long trip back from central Illinois today, bypassing the flooded highways of southern Wisconsin. But the visit to granddaughter's (and daughter's and son-in-law's) was worth it.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Lake Delton's disappearance
Lake Delton disappeared last week.
Sounds like the beginning of a Robert Ludlum or Thomas Pynchon novel, doesn't it? Last week's news story seemed stranger than fiction. The storm-ravaged lake in the heart of Wisconsin's tourist country burst its earthen perimeter and within two hours disembogued 600 million gallons of water.
The official response poured forth as swiftly as the lake's discharge into the nearby Wisconsin River. We'll refill the lake, Gov. James Doyle reassured would-be visitors and propietors of the tourism industry, whose livelihood dried up faster than you can say Dells Visitor and Convention Bureau.
The lake is (was?) home to the famed Tommy Bartlett acrobatic water ski show, a portion of the charmingly anachronistic Duck boat tours, and several resorts that ringed the 267-acre lake. The Wisconsin Dells known and loved by tourists -- including its kitschy main street -- exists far beyond the lake's shores, so visitors still can find plenty of mini golf. But losing the lake in the middle of it all nonetheless drains some of the enthusiasm.
Everyone respects the economic impact of the swampy void that is Lake Delton, as well as the several other flood-related afflictions across the state last week. But while we're quick to express shock at the consequences, where's the wonder at the climactic and geological forces at work?
This story is about sediment and spillways as much as dollars and destinations. (Ironically, Lake Delton is a newly sensationational tourist temptation for onlookers curious about what a lake looks like underneath all that water.)
The Chicago Tribune reported the response of University of Wisconsin sedimentary geologist Shanan Peters to the lake's sudden purge. He said the result reminded him of a glacial lake draining, which is exactly what exposed the Dells millenniums ago, according to the Tribune. "A finger of water found its way through loose soil and the soft sandstone, and then a torrent followed it," the newspaper reported.
The Tribune continued: "Civil engineering experts and geologists blame prodigious downpours that in recent weeks soaked and softened the low point between Lake Delton and the river.
A spillway and dam couldn't keep pace with the lake's rising waters, which cut a yellow gash in the ancient, erosion-prone sandstone that ran straight to the river. And then the lake went down the drain.''
To me, that's the fascination of this cataclysm. Anyone who's ever traced a leak in their roof knows water goes where it wills itself to go. This is waterworks writ large, and a fascinating moment in Wisconsin's geology and geography, not just a scourge upon its economy.
Sounds like the beginning of a Robert Ludlum or Thomas Pynchon novel, doesn't it? Last week's news story seemed stranger than fiction. The storm-ravaged lake in the heart of Wisconsin's tourist country burst its earthen perimeter and within two hours disembogued 600 million gallons of water.
The official response poured forth as swiftly as the lake's discharge into the nearby Wisconsin River. We'll refill the lake, Gov. James Doyle reassured would-be visitors and propietors of the tourism industry, whose livelihood dried up faster than you can say Dells Visitor and Convention Bureau.
The lake is (was?) home to the famed Tommy Bartlett acrobatic water ski show, a portion of the charmingly anachronistic Duck boat tours, and several resorts that ringed the 267-acre lake. The Wisconsin Dells known and loved by tourists -- including its kitschy main street -- exists far beyond the lake's shores, so visitors still can find plenty of mini golf. But losing the lake in the middle of it all nonetheless drains some of the enthusiasm.
Everyone respects the economic impact of the swampy void that is Lake Delton, as well as the several other flood-related afflictions across the state last week. But while we're quick to express shock at the consequences, where's the wonder at the climactic and geological forces at work?
This story is about sediment and spillways as much as dollars and destinations. (Ironically, Lake Delton is a newly sensationational tourist temptation for onlookers curious about what a lake looks like underneath all that water.)
The Chicago Tribune reported the response of University of Wisconsin sedimentary geologist Shanan Peters to the lake's sudden purge. He said the result reminded him of a glacial lake draining, which is exactly what exposed the Dells millenniums ago, according to the Tribune. "A finger of water found its way through loose soil and the soft sandstone, and then a torrent followed it," the newspaper reported.
The Tribune continued: "Civil engineering experts and geologists blame prodigious downpours that in recent weeks soaked and softened the low point between Lake Delton and the river.
A spillway and dam couldn't keep pace with the lake's rising waters, which cut a yellow gash in the ancient, erosion-prone sandstone that ran straight to the river. And then the lake went down the drain.''
To me, that's the fascination of this cataclysm. Anyone who's ever traced a leak in their roof knows water goes where it wills itself to go. This is waterworks writ large, and a fascinating moment in Wisconsin's geology and geography, not just a scourge upon its economy.