Ashes Into Stardust

Prologue

Yellowstone

Frank Gould studied the Rocky Mountain terrain as it swept by. Even from the lofty altitude, the mountains looked formidable. Through the airplane’s small window, he easily spotted ancient fault lines and uplifts. The massive gray granite mountain tops had once been sediment on the bottom of the ocean. Unbelievably powerful forces from deep within the Earth had pushed these layers up and curved them like putty. Over millions of years, the uplift bent the sediment layers until they fractured and these ancient rifts then became the sharp faces of the Rocky Mountains.

The flight from Salt Lake City to Billings, Montana took the regional jet over the eastern edge of Yellowstone National Park.

The 27-year-old geophysicist cast aside seven years of scientific training and his analytic brain’s assessment of the scene below. Frank absorbed the raw, primordial beauty of the contrasts between the blue-green conifer trees that carpeted the mountain slopes and the barren, rocky mountain peaks, and the expanses of white snowfields and brilliant blue lakes. He was not surprised to see the snow; he knew glaciers and permanent snowfields existed in northwest Wyoming, and these contained a cubic mile of water.

Preparing for landing, the airplane turned its tail to the mountains and descended over the dull light-brown prairie. While Billings was the metropolis of the area, it looked to be the size of a shopping mall in Dr. Gould’s hometown of Atlanta, Georgia.

Frank had taken the early-bird flight out of Houston. After six hours of travel, and gaining one hour by crossing into the Mountain Standard Time zone, it was noon when the plane glided to a stop at the terminal. It was one o’clock in the afternoon by the time he had his baggage and rental car.

A born and bred city boy, Dr. Gould had decided to transform himself to fit-in with the locals. He had shed his business attire for jeans, plaid shirt, and sneakers. He had reserved a jeep as his rental car. Tossing his bag and the three cartons of electronics in the back, he settled into the seat of the rough and ready mountain vehicle. He plugged his mobile phone’s power cord into the cigarette lighter and opened the GPS app to plot the path to the Yellowstone Park administration office at Mammoth Hot Springs.

However, there simply was no road through the Custer National Forest that separated Billings from Yellowstone. The only route was a three-hour drive around the forest. The GPS sent him west along Interstate 80 and south on US Hwy 89. He would arrive at four o’clock, at the earliest.

Putting the pedal to the metal, he headed west. One advantage of the northern latitudes was that the summer days were very long; the sun didn’t set until after nine o’clock.

Interstate 90 followed the path of Lewis and Clark’s return journey in 1806, or more accurately, it was the path that William Clark had used. The expedition had split for a while and Clark had come within forty miles of Yellowstone and its mysteries. However, it would be John Colter, the first of the mountain men, who was the first man of European descent to enter Yellowstone.  Frank imagined that the prairies, mountains, geysers, and boiling mud pots were as alien to these explorers as the surface of the moon was to Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin.

Gassing up in Livingston, Montana, he drove south through the mountains while eating a sandwich from the truck stop. The highway was rarely out of sight of the Yellowstone River until he reached Gardiner, Montana. From here, the road followed the Gardiner River into the park and the town of Mammoth Hot Springs.

The GPS faithfully guided him to the Department of Interior’s administration building. Glancing at the clock on his phone, he saw that it was 4:30 p.m.

Thirty minutes to quitting time, he muttered to himself.

Approaching the receptionist, he identified himself. Hi, I’m Dr. Frank Gould from NASA. I have an appointment with Mr. Jerald Caldwell. I’m awfully sorry that I’m so late. Is he still here? He rarely used the title afforded by his PhD, but sometimes it came in very handy.

As expected, the attractive young blonde woman took notice. After examining him from head to toe, she rattled the keys on her computer and examined the monitor. Frank examined her name badge—Beth Norman.

I’ll ring him for you, she said, and picked up the phone. Dr. Frank Gould from NASA is here, she spoke into the device that appeared to be left over from the 1980s. A moment later, she said, Yes, and hung up. She pivoted her smiling face to Frank. You just did catch him. Up the stairs, turn left, second door on the left. She pointed to the wide dark wooden staircase.

The Yellowstone Park administrator met Frank at the door with his hand extended.

Dr. Gould, we were getting worried. Frank shook his hand and noticed his choice to abandon business attire had been a good one.

Thank you for waiting for me, sir. My flight was delayed, Frank lied to the balding man wearing Harry Potter glasses. It was a harmless white lie, he figured.

NASA, well, how can we help NASA?

I’m sure you have received our communication about plotting the seismic activity via satellite.

Oh, yes, of course, tracking the supervolcano. Is NASA seriously planning on trying to prevent an eruption? Is this really the business of NASA?

Ah, I see you have read the reports. It is certainly premature to say we are going to try and prevent an eruption, but that is the point of our research. And as for NASA’s business, well... Frank let his thought trail away as the door opened.

Mr. Caldwell gestured for him to sit while a mature woman entered with two coffee cups. She placed one in front of Caldwell and the other beside Frank. She deposited several packages of sugar, artificial sweeteners, and cream.

Thank you, Frank said. He did not add the condiments to his beverage. After a sip from the cup, he turned to Caldwell. As I was saying, Mr. Caldwell—

Jerry, please, we are informal here.

Yes, Jerry, years ago some scientists somewhere researched the variety of means that Mother Nature might end life on the planet. I’m sure you know there have been many mass extinctions in the Earth’s past. The results of this study indicated most of the really bad things nature could dish out came from outer space. Things like asteroid or comet impacts have been the subject of many movies, but there are gamma ray bursts from collapsing stars, nearby stars going nova, rogue stars ripping through our solar system, the list goes on. Many of these things were thought to have happened in the past.

Jerry sipped his coffee, and Frank followed suit.

Anyway, Frank continued, the study of these fell under the purview of NASA. Most of them we can’t do anything about, but I’m sure you are aware of the plans to divert the orbits of asteroids that stray too close.

Yes, is that pie-in-the-sky? Jerry asked, and then chuckled. Sorry, I wasn’t meaning to make light of it.

Of course, and to some extent, it is pie-in-the-sky, but we can probably come up with an effective means before it is needed. Our ability to detect and track asteroids has greatly improved, providing us with extensive warning before an impact.

Yes, but what does all this have to do with the Yellowstone supervolcano?

Well, supervolcanos are on the list of things Mother Nature can throw at us. As it turns out, they are the number one thing, the most probable thing, on the list. Without a doubt, a supervolcano will erupt one day, and it could create something equivalent to the nuclear winter concept—a volcanic winter. Since NASA was studying all the other nasty processes from Mother Nature, and since we already had a staff of geologists studying the moon, Mars, and such—we were handed this one too.

I see, well, I hope this is not going to interfere with my retirement. Jerry chuckled. I guess a NASA geologist is not so strange after all.

Yes, I’m not really a space traveling kind of NASA guy, but my older sister is. She is slated to be the team geophysicist for the upcoming moon mission.

Ah, Dr. Helen Gould is your sister? Jerry excitedly asked. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, I should have known. So, geology runs in the family, eh?

Yes, her enthusiasm for the science was my inspiration.

My son attended CalTech. Helen was the graduate student teacher for his geology labs. Did you graduate from CalTech too?

No, sir, I attended the University of Arizona.

Well, that is certainly a top school in the field. We have several Wildcats working in Yellowstone. Mm, first woman on the moon, such a monumental achievement. And, I bet she helped you land this job too? Again he didn’t wait for Frank to answer. Don’t worry son, scratching each other’s backs is the way we survive in government service. Jerry glanced at his watch. What is it that my office can do to help you?

Ah. Frank pulled a map from his briefcase and unfolded it on the desk between them. I’m sure you know that the frequency of earthquake swarms around the supervolcano has been increasing.

Jerry looked down at the map, frowned, and nodded.

Well, basically we want more data. We have never placed seismic sensors along this edge of the old caldera rim. Frank traced his finger along a region southeast of Yellowstone Lake. I would like the assistance of your office—say, a guide—to help me place three sensors. They are small and solar powered. They are quite easy to carry and position. It shouldn’t take but a day or two.

Jerry frowned again and grunted. There is a reason no sensors were placed there. Ya can’t get there from here, or from anywhere. Unless you are prepared to, quite literally, walk in where no man has gone before. Jerry groaned. Sorry, but the moon might be easier to get to. He chuckled.

Frank smiled. Remembering the beauty of the mountains as seen from the air, he said, How long would that take?

You are serious about this?

Yes, this is my mission, and we NASA people always complete our missions. This seems to be a more strenuous task than I expected, but I’m up to trying.

Well, we will certainly help you do it. Jerry paused to rub his chin. Being as late as it is, why don’t you come back tomorrow morning, and I will sit you down with some people who know a whole lot more about this than I do.

Thank you, very much, sir. Frank stood and extended his hand. Ah, I’m afraid I didn’t make a lodging reservation for tonight. Do you know where there is a motel or something? This was another white lie. He had tried to get a reservation, but everything was booked. He was hoping that the administrator had a string to pull to get him in a room.

Oh, son, you’ve come at a bad time for that. No doubt everything is booked solid with vacationers. Ask Miss Norman downstairs if she knows of anything.

That was the best possible answer. Ah, Miss Beth Norman, he silently mused. Smiling, Frank folded his map, finished the last swallow of coffee, and left.

Back in the lobby, Frank approached the receptionist again. Miss Norman... He waited, and was grateful that she did not correct his use of ‘miss’. Ah, Mr. Caldwell sent me to you. He thought you might know where I could spend the night, or perhaps a couple of nights.

I’m sure there is nothing available. She stood. Looking away from him, she began the process of shutting down her computer and collecting her personal belongings.

Does that mean I will have to sleep in the car?

Or, under the stars, yes, it seems so. You can head back towards Billings, checking the motels as you go until you find one.

Ah, Mr. Caldwell asked that you try to find something. He seemed impressed with your magical abilities. He contemplated borrowing Caldwell’s assertion that government employees should scratch each other’s backs, but decide to hold this in reserve.

She interrupted her preparations to leave for the day, and looked into his eyes. She sighed. Well, you are a government employee. She sighed again. She picked up the phone and turned her back. She spoke in hushed tones for a minute. Frank could not hear what she said. She hung up the phone and again looked him in the eye. I found a room for you in the summer employee dormitory. She scribbled on a scrap of paper. Think you can find this?

Frank nodded without looking away from her eyes.

Ask for Donald. He says he has something for you, but don’t expect much more than a closet.

Thank you, so very much, Beth. Is that short for Elizabeth? That’s my mother’s name. This was not a lie. Can I buy you dinner? You have been so helpful. As he took the paper, he held her hand for a brief moment.

Sure, she shrugged, but ignored the comment about her name. She scribbled her phone number on a second scrap of paper. Go get settled and call me in an hour or so. I’ll see where we might get in. This time of year, the few restaurants around fill up fast.

He got the key to the ‘closet’ from Donald. He stored the seismic sensors in the room, but kept his personal bag in the jeep. This was a good decision. The closest available restaurant was back in Gardiner, and this was also where Beth Norman lived. In the end, Frank had no need of the room in the dormitory.

FRANK GOULD SAT ON the rock outcropping and raised the binoculars to his eyes. He panned along the carpet of bright green trees that filled the valley between him and the saddle-back shaped ridge. The left side of the ridge was guarded by a rugged rock-faced mountain. The right side of the ridge was a mile-long slope stretching up the back of another mountain. The only possible path to the caldera rim was over the saddle. He panned the valley, but again failed so see any path through the thick timber.

It was easy to see why no one had ever been here before.

Setting the binoculars down, he noted the location from the GPS on the map. He powered off the instrument; he had no way to recharge the battery, and he would need it operational for three more days.

He picked up the second half of the sandwich Beth had made for him, and finished his lunch.

We need to get moving, if we are going to make it before dark, Hank said.

Frank said nothing; he had learned that Hank did not seek conversation. However, Frank admired the park ranger, cut from the cloth of ancestral, fur trapping mountain men. Hank Monroe had a chiseled jaw and high cheekbones. With his Stetson hat cocked back, he looked like Kirk Douglas in the movie The War Wagon. The reserved ranger was medium height and lean, but carried the strength and determination of an ox.

Frank drew a swig of water from his canteen. He looked across the vast, unbroken landscape and thought about how beautiful it was. He filled his lungs with fresh, pine-scented, mountain air.

Hank didn’t give Frank another thought when he mounted his horse. Holding the reins in one hand, and the lead rope to the pack horse in the other, he gently nudged his horse into a walk.

Frank stood. He adjusted the top of the bear spray canister suspended from his belt in the manner an old west gunslinger might adjust his holstered revolver. He wished he had a sidearm; he wished he could go back in time and see the old west. Frank had been concerned when he learned they were heading into the carnivore infested wilderness with the Bowie knife slung over Hank’s left hip as their only weapon. And he had voiced his concern. Always, always keep yer bear spray within arm’s reach, Hank had said in response. And don’t let yer horse run away without you.

The previous three days had transformed Frank. He felt this country was where he belonged. After meeting Hank, and making plans for the trek into the Yellowstone wilderness, Frank had purchased cowboy boots, a sleeping bag, and other accessories required for a back country trip. Beth had taken him shopping and showed him exactly what he needed to appear to be prepared. Being a city slicker, there was no way he could have actually been prepared, but he didn’t want the seasoned mountaineer to know that.

When the seismic sensors were planted, he was going back to Houston. He would move heaven and earth to get assigned here, permanently. He would be a part of the supervolcano mitigation group. He would buy a ranch and raise horses in his spare time. He might even get married. For just a moment, he allowed his thoughts to drift to the hours he had spent with Beth.

Frank scooped up the remains of his food wrapper. He was grateful to be where no man had gone before, and he would not be the first one to tarnish this pristine land with human trash.

As he approached his horse, the old mare turned an eye to him. Hurry up, he imagined the horse saying. We’re falling behind.

Them that fall behind, get left behind, Frank said, adding to the horse’s implied concern.

It had been less than a minute since Hank had left, but he had already disappeared into the forest.

Frank untied Smokey’s reins from the bush she had been eating, and carefully positioned the pointed toe of his left boot in the stirrup. He now understood why cowboy boots had pointed toes. With a mighty heave, he slung his right leg over the horse and settled in the saddle.

I’m getting better at that, eh, old girl? Frank patted the horse’s neck. She nickered something that he took as approval.

Without waiting for him to nudge her flanks with the heels of his boots, Smokey followed Hank’s trail. Frank was no Indian tracker, but even he would have had no problem following the signs left behind by the two horses ahead of him. Nonetheless, Smokey didn’t give him a chance. As soon as he loosened the reins, she hastened to catch up.

Carefully stepping over downed timber and around rocks, trees, and brush, the mare had the ass end of the pack horse in sight within two minutes. After five minutes, they were in their position, a pace behind the other two horses.

The thick canopy of pine tree branches concealed their view of landmarks and even the sun. Frank could have turned on the GPS to assist with the navigation, but he left the responsibility to Hank and his old Army compass. Throughout the afternoon, they trudged deeper into the wilderness.

Attempting to ascend one ridge, covered with loose shale, Hank ordered them to dismount and lead the horses up the hill. Frank observed Hank’s eyes darting nervously back and forth.

If something happens, Hank whispered, no matter what else, do not let go of that horse. You’ll never get out of here alive without her.

Minutes later, Smokey nickered and pulled at her reins. Hank nodded toward the tree line, and Frank spotted the bear. The black animal nosed among the brush, apparently unaware of them.

Don’t move, Hank said.

Frank held a death grip on the horse’s reins with his left hand and thumbed off the cover of the bear spray with his right hand. Smokey pulled, but then settled down.

As quickly as it had appeared, the bear left.

Well, Hank said, let’s hope he doesn’t have friends around.

Do you think he saw us? Frank asked.

Hank chuckled, and said, If a man and a bear live in a square mile of forest, the bear will see the man every day, but the man will only see the bear once per year. Yes, he saw us.

Reaching the saddle back ridge, they consumed a quick snack of beef jerky. From this position, Frank could see the 70,000-year-old rhyolite lava flow that was his first target.

At seven in the evening, Frank planted the first of the sensors. With a hammer-driven drill, he and Hank took turns boring into the lava. He set the motion detector in the hole and sealed it with epoxy. With stainless steel spikes, he anchored the solar array, satellite antenna, and electronics module. When the whole assembly was configured, he used the GPS to set the exact location.

Turning on his satellite phone, Frank called the Cascades Volcano Observatory outside of Portland, Oregon.

Yes, this is Dr. Gould, he said to the technician. I have the first sensor in place, and I am ready to test it.

Great, give me a second. There was a pause. Are you having a fun vacation?

Absolutely splendid.

There, I’m set now. Send the test signal.

Frank pressed the test button on the electronic module. The unit’s computer completed an internal diagnostic test and sent the results via a satellite in Earth-orbit to the observatory.

Ah, everything checks out great, the technician said.

Fine, we are moving on to the next location. I’ll call you tomorrow. Signing off now, to save the battery. Frank quickly disconnected the call; he was not interested in chit-chat.

That’s it? Hank asked. We’re done with that one?

Yep. Should we camp here for the night, or move on?

Hank examined the height of the sun over the jagged mountain horizon and studied his map. I say we try to make another hour and camp by this stream. It will be nice to have fresh water for the horses.

Super, let’s go. Frank gathered up his tools and stowed them in the canvas bags hung over the pack horse’s back.

An hour later, in the final minutes of twilight, Frank straddled a narrow creek. A foot wide and half a foot deep, the ice cold water rushed along a crevasse carved in the ancient volcanic rock of the valley floor.

It comes from that snow pack, Hank said, pointing to the white capped peak looming over them.

Frank observed the thin jagged lines traced with green extending down the side of the mountain. The lines converged and formed the stream between his feet. He reached down and scooped another palm full of water. He slurped the crisp, pure water.

This is the best water I’ve ever tasted, he said.

Yup. Hank laid two cans of Coors beer in the small pool to chill.

Hank prepared a small campfire. First, he used a folding shovel to clear a six-foot diameter area of all flammable debris.  Then, he used grapefruit-sized rocks to construct a two-foot diameter ring in the center of the cleared space. Finally, he piled foot-long pieces of dead branches in the center. Placing a cube of paraffin in the center, he lit the fire with a single match.

Don’t let a single spark loose, he said, handing the folding shovel to Frank. This place is one big tinderbox.

Frank cooked their dinner of beans and franks while Hank secured the horses for the night. He watched the reddish hues from the sunset reflect on a snowcapped mountain peak. Sunsets in the mountains were spectacular. The air quickly chilled, and he dug his jacket out of the pack.

After their meal, Hank passed Frank a cold can of beer and became chatty. So where are all these earthquakes? Everyone calls them swarms, but I almost never feel anything.

They are very small earthquakes deep underground—a mile down. If you were to sit very quietly on one of these big rocks, you might feel it. But, there were more than a thousand of them last year.

What causes them? What does it have to do with the supervolcano?

The interior of the Earth is like hot pudding—something between liquid and solid. But, masses of the stuff—magma—moves around slowly. It can take a million years for a plume of hot material from deep down to work its way up and disperse. This movement drives the tectonic plate motion and feeds lava to the volcanos. It controls the orientation of the magnetic poles. The earthquake swarms are indications that the movement is getting close to the surface. That is, it is bumping into the solid rock crust. The hot stuff will continue to rise and build up pressure, pushing the crust up. This motion causes the earthquake swarms. Eventually, there will be a big quake, the crust will crack, and the volcano will blow; like squirting the puss from a pimple.

Eventually? Hank chuckled.

"Yeah, this supervolcano seems to blow about every six hundred-thousand years. The issue at hand is that it has been six hundred and forty thousand years since the last eruption. Of course, it is