Range Rover: Rocks in my Head VI—The Sea to Sky

'As in love, with topophilia, the deeper you go, the deeper you get' Because we both shape and are shaped by where we live, it's unsurprising that residents of the Sea to Sky corridor share a high degree of topophilia—emotional connection to a place or landform. Those who've dwelt here over the ages have always had to adapt to a dynamic landscape that can both support and impact livelihoods, engendering both awestruck endearment and respectful caution for the power of the land. However, with the increasing spectre of extreme weather due to climate change—and a demonstrable spike in geohazard risk accompanying it—it has become crucial to more fully appreciate the role this area's unique, internationally significant geology and real-time hazards play in our lives. Such are the themes underlying the Fire & Ice GeoRegion, an initiative that began a decade ago with a small group who felt that a thematic concept focused on natural values might fill a gap for the corridor, inspiring much-needed respect for the land and its people among visitors, while also sharing vital knowledge for locals. Let's start here: how many of us are aware we live in the country's most geologically active area? A landscape in motion shaped by 200 million years of uplift and subduction (tectonic plates sliding over and under each other, thrusting up mountains and creating volcanic hotspots), terrane accretion (the sequential pasting of Pacific islands onto the continent—e.g., Whistler Mountain), episodic volcanic activity (columnar lava along the highway is hard to miss), cycles of continental glaciation (we're currently 2.5 million years deep into one), and large-scale wasting (erosion/collapse) events that include debris flows, glacial lake outburst flooding, and rock/landslides resulting from the interaction of natural processes, coastal weather, and, as noted, a rapidly changing climate. I've been referencing geoparks throughout this series, so you're probably wondering about the term 'GeoRegion.' In the same way Átl'k_a7tsem/Howe Sound Biosphere Region avoided echoing the colonial construct referenced by 'Biosphere Reserve,' GeoRegion skirts the colonial delineation of 'park,' with its overwhelmingly exclusionary connotation. Instead, GeoRegion suggests a borderless entity defined solely by something that already exists—geology. Thus, the Fire & Ice GeoRegion encompasses several nodes of geological significance, stretching north from the Porteau Cove Sill, a submarine terminal moraine of the last Cordilleran ice sheet, to the Bridge River Cones. Within this area, dozens of geosites tell an end-to-end story of ongoing mountain-building, glaciation, volcanism and collapse—four distinct geological pillars around which education and interpretive outreach might be woven. Of particular note are examples of volcanic eruptions both beneath and atop Pleistocene glaciers resulting in a variety of nifty but inherently unstable ice-contact lava formations. Black Tusk—the iconic spire of andesite lava long believed the remnant plug of a large stratovolcano, but whose cooling patterns suggest a subglacial eruption that never reached the surface—would be the most visible and famous; The Barrier—a hang-fire wall of ice-dammed lava above Highway 99 near Daisy Lake, reason for the town of Garibaldi to be evacuated and abandoned in 1980—would be the most nefarious; and Nch'Kay/Mount Garibaldi—source of 20-some catastrophic landslides that built the Cheekeye Fan—of most lingering concern. Significantly, the deep-time GeoRegion story has unfolded across what became the unceded, shared traditional territories of the Squamish Nation and Lil'wat Nation, whose historical experience included joint experiences of the four geological pillars—a landslide from The Barrier that wiped out the trading village of Spo7ez, tsunamis that inundated coastal villages, a volcanic dike (on The Stawamus Chief) and mountainsides (Tszil/Mount Currie) that prescribe mythologies involving transformers and other supernatural beings. The stunning metal sculpture 'Big Flood' by Xwalacktun outside the Audain Art Museum is testament to the importance in oral tradition of geological dynamism. After the usual careless wave of resource extraction by Europeans left little else to build on, the corridor's inherent geological diversity supported development as a tourism destination with an abundance of activities and attractions. Over decades of piecemeal efforts, interpretive materials informing about geological phenomena, geohazards, biodiversity, ecology, and post-contact industrial history popped up throughout the corridor, irregularly disseminated on the landscape and discordant with relation to content (the Resort Municipality of Whistler gets a silver star for mostly bucking that trend). Thus, an important utility of the GeoRegion concept would be to offer a single thematic umbrella under which these efforts could unite to highlight their connectivity—the relationship of geodiversity to biodiversity and to cultural diversity—instilling a collective sense of stewardship in preserving the area's natural and cultural values as part of a more integrated and sustainable tourism vision. But first, it's connect-the-dots of geology. This is currently coming together with interpretive signs in select locations and cutting-edge digital tools—such as replacing a Fire & Ice GeoRegion app with a newer web-based version, updated website, and plans for a mobile GeoTrailer that will incorporate an immersive 360-film experience for visitors. Because, of course, there's always more to learn in a Geopark/GeoRegion beyond famous rocky gewgaws visible from a highway. Stories to drill down into of rivers and lakes and waterfalls. Of glaciers and icefields and snowlines. Of bedrock batholiths and fault lines and lava flows. Landslides where house-sized chunks of rock travelled more than 200 km/h down one side of a valley and up the other. And, of course, the human dimension: mines and markets and maps; art and attractions and outdoor pursuits. As in love, with topophilia, the deeper you go, the deeper you get. Leslie Anthony is a Whistler-based author, editor, biologist and bon vivant who has never met a mountain he didn't like.