The Front Row Perspective: Remembering John Harrington

Some people enter your life with a quiet gravity, pulling you into their orbit through shared curiosity and a steady presence. For me, that person was Colorado Springs Mineralogical Society (CSMS) member John Harrington.

I first noticed John at CSMS meetings in the 1980s. In a room full of hobbyists and experts, John was a fixture in the front row. A retired Air Force veteran and a skilled draftsman by trade, he brought precision to his passion for the Earth. He didn’t just listen; he leaned in, his eyes locked on the speaker, absorbing every detail of the lecture before inevitably raising his hand to ask the pointed, insightful questions that only come from someone truly paying attention.

Our friendship took root quickly, anchored by a monthly ritual at Maggie’s Restaurant on Pikes Peak Avenue. John was a man of consistency—he’d order a Coors and a bowl of chili every single time. As the steam rose from our bowls, the geologic map of Colorado expanded through his stories.

Between sips of beer, he’d tell me about the family farms in Michigan where he grew up and his "eye" for the Earth was first developed. He described how the plows would turn up more than just soil, unearthing Indian artifacts and coral fossils hidden in the glacial till. It was there, as a teenager standing in a sand blowout with his first arrowhead in hand, that his "front row" journey truly began.

When the local library couldn’t tell him enough about the craftsmanship of those points, he taught himself the art of flintknapping. John told me that in 1957 he enlisted in the U.S. Air Force, starting a career that spanned over twenty years and took him across the globe. Despite his travels, his passion for ancient crafts never waned. He once told me about a 1959 issue of Natural History magazine he’d found while serving in the Air Force; it contained the most sophisticated diagrams of stone tools he’d ever seen. He kept that same tattered issue as a reference for the rest of his life, carrying the lessons he learned at twenty into his seventies. As a Navy veteran myself, I found a kinship in his Air Force background; we shared a language of military service and endless stories.

John’s journey is a testament to the power of curiosity, transforming a childhood hobby into a sophisticated, lifelong pursuit of a dedicated study of geology, paleontology, archaeology, flintknapping, and photography.

A Masterclass in the Field

John’s lessons were not confined to the booth at Maggie's; he wanted to show me the stories of rocks and fossils in the field. He became my guide to the hidden corners of Colorado Springs. He led me to the ancient petroglyphs etched into the sandstone at Garden of the Gods. A few miles beyond the old Sears store on Highway 115, he showed me ripple marks from ancient shores preserved in stone, along with dinosaur tracks, and unusual sedimentary structures resembling "inverted streams," or casts of ancient stream channels that are captured in positive relief in the sandstone.

Figure 1. A view of the site off highway 115 reveals the full scale of this geological marvel, showing the dinosaur tracks and ripple marks as they scale the vertical sandstone wall. From this distance, the rhythmic pattern of the ripples and the steady path of the prints highlight the incredible transformation of this ancient shoreline into a towering, nearly vertical rock face. Photo date 2008 by S. W. Veatch.

Figure 2. These inverted structures defy traditional logic, leaving experts locked in a heated debate over their origin. There’s nothing quite like hearing world-class geologists clash over a mystery this big. To find the truth, we’re heading back into the field for more answers. Photo date 2008 by S. W. Veatch.

Figure 3. This close-up reveals the structures shown in the image are offset by “mini faults” that formed during Laramide deformation of the beds. Who would know all of this was just down the road from the old Sears Southgate store? Photo date 2008 by S. W. Veatch.

Figure 4. This displaced block of sandstone reveals something that has segmented joints (none are equidistant), perhaps an ancient fossil plant. Photo date 2008 by S. W. Veatch.

I remember a trip of the CSMS Fossil Study Group that John led with the same quiet authority he used to describe a map. We assembled one special morning on Rampart Range Road. John began to tell us what we would find and how to collect the specimens. It was as quiet as a comma as John spoke. At this spot, the Lower Pennsylvanian Glenn Eyrie Formation stands exposed like the end of a tattered history book. Most of us arrived with heavy rock hammers, ready to bash our way into the 320-million-year-old stone. But John stopped us. He knew this layer—a fragile remnant of a prehistoric sea—required a different approach to collecting specimens.

Under his guidance, we traded steel for straw. I watched as the group followed his lead, kneeling in the dirt with whisk brooms. It was a masterclass in patience; by meticulously brushing the weathered surfaces, we revealed the intricate skeletons of ancient sea urchins (echinoids) nestled in the shale. Because of John’s insistence on appropriate care and stratigraphic detail, we recovered the fossils with their fine spines and plates intact—delicate treasures that a hammer would have turned to dust. 

Figure 5. This spine fragment (15 mm in length) once attached to the tubercle of a sea urchin was unearthed from the Glen Eyrie Formation by John Harrington. These specimens were everywhere you dusted with a whisk broom. Fossils popped up all over the place! Photo by John Harrington. Date unknown.

If the Rampart Range was a lesson in micro-patience, our next adventure required a macro-lens from the sky. Our most ambitious expedition yet involved chartering a small plane to study the Tepee Buttes—rugged, conical hills formed by ancient methane seeps—from the air.

Figure 6. The propeller is about to spin, and the energy is electric at this small plane being readied at the Colorado Springs airport! John Harrington, seen waving enthusiastically on the left, is gearing up for a high-stakes aerial reconnaissance flight organized by Steven Veatch. This mission is all about capturing the rugged beauty of the Tepee Buttes in El Paso County from a breathtaking bird's-eye view. Standing alongside John are the expert pilot and a fellow photographer, both ready to brave the skies. Veatch is already in the plane. The single-engine aircraft is on the tarmac, moments away from roaring down the runway and into the wild blue yonder. For Veatch and Harrington, the adventure is just beginning. Photo date 2005 by S. W. Veatch.

Scheduling flights with John required a keen eye on the Colorado sky. We blocked out several early morning windows, hoping to catch Pikes Peak when the "Purple Mountain Majesties" were bathed in a crisp, golden hue (plus when the low sun brought out the shapes of the Tepee Buttes), and in quiet air before the afternoon thermal turbulence rolled off the peaks. But the most memorable part of the trip happened before we even left the tarmac.

Figure 7. Rising abruptly from the plains east of Interstate 25, between Colorado Springs and Pueblo, Colorado, are cone-shaped hills of limestone and shale known as the Tepee Buttes.  These distinctive features formed by carbonate precipitation around spring vents on the sea floor during the Late Cretaceous Epoch — between 75 and 76 million years ago. Photo date 2000 by S. Veatch.

Figure 8. Low oblique view of Tepee Buttes aligned along a fault.  Fault zones control the placement of the buttes, with butte fields commonly aligned in clusters along block faults or fracture zones formed during the Laramide uplift. These buttes near Boone, Colorado (32 kilometers east of Pueblo) mark sites where methane-rich fluids seeped out of the seafloor.   The airplane used for the project was a Cessna 172 P, flown over the site high enough to capture the target in a single frame.  Photo date 2000 by S. Veatch.

The plane was a tiny, cramped thing, and the cockpit door seemed to be designed for someone half our size. As I watched the pilot turn and help maneuver our gear, I wondered how John was going to manage the climb. He didn't complain, and he certainly didn't ask for a larger plane. He simply looked at the narrow opening, looked at me, and with a deadpan expression, unstrapped his prosthetic leg.

He handed the limb to me as if he were handing over a spare camera lens. While the pilot sat speechless, John hoisted himself into a back seat and buckled up, ready for the mission. To him, it wasn't a "disability" or a dramatic moment; it was just a practical solution to a spatial problem.

Once we cleared the runway, we banked west, leaving the Springs behind and headed for the sprawling open-pit mines of Cripple Creek and the legendary "Bone Wars" territory of Garden Park. From the air, the Morrison Formation—famous for Stegosaurus and Allosaurus fossils—revealed itself in long, colorful ribbons of earth that you simply can't appreciate from the ground.

Legacy of Curiosity

John’s influence on my life eventually spilled over the edges of our geologic maps. He pulled me into the Colorado Archaeology Society, sparking a fascination with the human story that rivals my love for the fossils themselves. In exchange, I took him to the water’s edge—a shoreline, substituting the dig site's dust for the tranquil setting of a trout-filled lake for a fishing trip.

John was there for one of my milestones, too. When I received my MS in Earth Science from Emporia State University, I looked out at my graduation party at the Garden of the Gods and saw John. He had a front-row seat and was a proud witness to a journey he had helped cultivate—a navigator who had seen me through the turbulence of hard study and helped me find my own "Purple Mountain Majesties."

John passed away a few years ago, but his presence is woven into the landscape. I feel it whenever I pass a familiar outcrop or feel the serrated edge of a Jurassic dinosaur tooth or look at fossils. He taught me that being a student of the world doesn't end with a career or retirement; it is a lifelong commitment to learning.

I still remember him best this way: a cold Coors, a steaming bowl of chili, endless conversation, and a mind that never stopped searching for the "why" behind the horizon. He showed me that no matter how much you think you know, there is always a reason to keep your eyes locked on the program speaker and make sure you get a seat in the front row.

Acknowledgments: I would like to express my sincere gratitude to Bob Carnein for his meticulous review and insightful comments on this paper. His expertise and thorough feedback were instrumental in refining the technical accuracy of the manuscript. Any improvements in the clarity and depth of this work are due in large part to his generous assistance.

GARDEN OF THE GODS: A NATURAL LANDMARK

By Steven Wade Veatch

The tall spires and monoliths of the Garden of the Gods have been a landmark to countless travelers and explorers.  The story of these rocks starts long ago and spans many periods of geologic time. About 65 million years ago, forces in the Earth’s crust resulted in the uplift of buried Pikes Peak granite and the bending and warping of overlying sedimentary rocks to a near vertical position.  This uplift, called the Laramide Orogeny, formed a major fault, the Rampart Fault, that fractured rocks in the area and caused their movement along this and other faults.   

A view of the Garden of the Gods. Pikes Peak is in the background. 

South Gateway Rock (left) and North Gateway Rock (right) are 

eroded features of the Lyons Sandstone. A Ute encampment 

is seen at the base of North Gateway Rock. 

Antique postcard from the S.W. Veatch collection.

The Rampart Fault divides the Garden of the Gods Park. Rocks on the west side of the park are at an angle of 45 degrees or less. It is here that the rocks of the Fountain Formation, such as Balanced Rock, are on display. To the west were the Ancestral Rocky Mountains, formed 300 million years ago. Erosion washed down unsorted sand and pebbles of many sizes from the nearby Ancestral Rocky Mountains. By 250 million years ago these mountains were eroded away, leaving behind sediments piled up as gravels in layers that formed the Fountain Formation.  This rock unit, up to 4,500 feet thick, has a dark red color from the chemical alteration of iron minerals.  

Rocks of the Fountain Formation are on the west side
of the Garden of the Gods park. Balanced Rock is on
the left, Steamboat Rock is on the right. These landmark
conglomerate rocks reveal the interbedded nature of
the Fountain Formation.  Antique postcard from the
S.W. Veatch collection.

Rocks east of the Rampart fault have been tilted more than 90 degrees from their original, horizontal position, such as the North Gateway Rock, which is formed from ancient sand dunes when the area was much drier and windier 280 million years ago when all the continents were joined into one giant landmass known as Pangaea.  Today, geologists call this rock formation the Lyons Sandstone which is composed of uniform sized grains of sand. The Lyons Sandstone was deposited largely in a desert environment, and oxidation of iron to hematite caused the red color. 

Archaeologists tell us people have visited the Garden of the Gods for over 3,000 years.  Before the advent of settlers and their occupation, the plentiful game, wild plants, and nearby water, made the park a good camping site for the Ute people and other Indian tribes. 

Starting in the 1800s, explorers spread the word of the scenic wonders there. The 1850s and 1860s brought gold prospectors through the region and others who stayed and farmed and raised cattle in this area.  With the establishment of the railroad in the 1870s, tourists flocked to see the unusual sandstone formations. 

In 1879, General William Jackson Palmer, the founder of Colorado Springs, persuaded his friend, Charles Elliot Perkins, to buy land in Garden of the Gods.  Perkins paid $22.00 per acre for 480 acres that surrounded the Gateway Rocks.  Perkins, who lived in Iowa, was the president of the Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Railroad.  He never built on his land in Garden of the Gods and wanted his holdings to become a public park. Perkins died before this could be arranged.  In accordance with their father’s wishes, Perkins’ children offered the land to the City of Colorado Springs with the following restrictions: 1) the park will be free of charge to visitors; 2) the park will be known as Garden of the Gods; 3) no liquors could be made or sold in the park; and 4) no buildings could be built, other than those needed to maintain the park. 

Late in 1909, the Colorado Springs City Council accepted the land and conditions.  Today, Garden of the Gods Park, with over 1,360 acres, is a national landmark (designated in 1972 by the U.S. Department of the Interior) and a popular destination for tourists from all over the world. We all owe a debt to the Perkins family.

Notes on the Geology of Colorado Fishing

By
Steven Wade Veatch

A stream, as a geological agent, is one of the most powerful forces on Earth.  Many of Colorado's magnificent landscapes are the products of what streams do best—moving sediments sporadically downstream in regular cycles of erosion and deposition.  In Colorado, the Continental Divide splits streams that flow west to the Pacific Ocean from those that flow eastward to the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico. The sparkling streams of Colorado not only shape the landscape but also provide great fishing.  A deeper understanding of the riparian environment and geologic processes will enhance every fishing trip.

Snowmelt gives rise to Colorado's four major river systems:  the Platte, the Arkansas, the Rio Grande, and the Colorado.  Here is a quick review of those rivers.

The South Platte begins in the high country of South Park, but when it reaches the Cheesman Canyon, south of Deckers, local geology creates some remarkable places to fish.  Granite formed in the canyon under enormous pressure several kilometers below the surface and was later exposed by regional uplift.  With the erosion of the overlying rock, the granite expanded and cracked due to the release of pressure.  Gravity now causes the rock between the cracks in the granite to break loose in concentric slabs from the underlying granite body.  This process, exfoliation, results in the rounded nature of the granite outcrops in the canyon.

Granite boulders, slabs, and gravel form bars across the South Platte that dissipate the energy of the flow, producing areas of calm water and deep pools in Cheesman Canyon.  Willows grow along the banks while aspens and spruce trees grow tall, providing shade for brown trout.  Because browns are very selective in what they eat, they are hard to catch and grow to a large size.  Anglers on this river frequently use small flies, especially the pheasant-tail fly.

The Arkansas River starts in the mountains near Leadville and Tennessee Pass and flows south and east to merge with the Mississippi in the state of Arkansas.  After spring runoff has reworked sand and gravel bars, fresh gold placers can be panned on the upper reaches of the Arkansas.  As the Arkansas River flows by the Texas Creek recreation area on its way to the Royal Gorge, brown trout can be caught with caddis flies.  The Texas Creek area is also noted for deposits of rose quartz associated with pegmatite (coarsely crystalline) granite that intruded into metamorphic rocks.

The Rio Grande River has its headwaters in the San Juan Mountains and flows through New Mexico on its way to the Gulf of Mexico.  Near Creede, at Wagon Wheel Gap, the Rio Grande offers excellent fishing for browns, brooks, rainbows, and cutthroats using a prince nymph.  Cutthroat trout like slow pools that are just opposite large granite boulders.  There are several geothermal springs in the area, and excellent specimens of fluorite occur nearby.

The Colorado River drains the western slope of the Continental Divide and empties into the Gulf of California.  The major tributaries of the Colorado River are the San Juan, White, Yampa, and Gunnison Rivers.

The Gunnison River began downcutting into the Earth after a period of regional uplift 28 million years ago.  Today steep Precambrian gneiss (metamorphic rock) walls, with pink pegmatite dikes filling cracks and fissures, rise thousands of feet above the Gunnison River in the Black Canyon.  Geological processes here have produced the best fishing spot in the state.  It is the only place in Colorado where browns and rainbows grow to 16 inches in just four years.  Anglers in this area commonly use big nymphs.

A view of the Gunnison River running through 

the Black Canyon of the Gunnison. Photo used 

by permission under a Creative Commons License. 

Geologic processes have created 1,800 lakes above 9,000 feet in elevation in Colorado.  Many of these high-country lakes, called tarns, occupy the bottoms of amphitheater-shaped cirques where glaciers eroded into the mountain.  If there are enough insects to eat and the lake is deep enough for the fish to winter, there will be a population of trout.

Maroon Lake, at the foot of snow-striped Maroon Bells, 

is one of many Colorado lakes where great fishing awaits.  

Photo © S. W. Veatch.

Trout are not always easy to catch in high lakes as they feed along the edges and can be easily spooked.  Brook trout—commonly found in high country lakes, beaver ponds, and small creeks—tend to be small because they reproduce rapidly and surpass their food supply.

Trout like to cruise most of the 11,300 miles of streams in Colorado, and if anglers consider the rock and understand the role that geology plays in fishing, they have an advantage for catching trout. It is “gneiss” to know that fishing and geology can't be taken for “granite.”

Unusual Columnar Jointing in Rocks Revealed at the Cresson Surface Mine

An extraordinary display of rock columns, formed from prehistoric magma (molten rock) that cooled underground, has been recently exposed by mining operations at the famous Cresson mine. The Cresson mine is located between Cripple Creek and Victor, Colorado. The Cripple Creek and Victor Gold Mining Company unearthed these magnificent rock columns while conducting routine mining operations at the surface mine.


About 32 million years ago a volcanic complex, with several eruptive vents formed along a deep break in the surface, was emplaced near Cripple Creek. Following the emplacement of the volcanic complex, mineral-rich fluids moved up from great depths and seeped into the fractures and fissures created by the violent volcanic upheaval, and cooled into hard, ore-bearing veins. This process formed a low-grade ore body of microscopic native gold attached to pyrite. Narrow, high-grade gold veins bearing quartz, pyrite, and fluorite were also formed. Most of the gold mined in the early days of the mining District came from the high-grade gold veins.

The historic Cresson mine began operations in 1906 with fair results. In 1914, the Cresson vug, or cavern, was discovered 1,200 feet below the surface of the mine. The room-sized vug was a rich strike—yielding over 60,000 troy ounces of gold in less than 4 weeks of frantic mining.

The potential of the Cresson deposit as a surface mine was recognized in 1990, and modern surface mining began in December 1994 to recover low-grade gold. The first gold ingot was poured in February 1995, and by the end of the year gold production was 76,500 ounces. The Cripple Creek and Victor Gold Mining Company continue mining operations at the Cresson surface mine. More than 250,000 troy ounces of gold were mined in 2008.

Recently, a remarkable display of columnar jointing was unearthed at the mine. The columnar jointing was formed as part of a body of magma that cooled underground into a rock known as phonolite.

Mining operations at the Cresson Surface mine exposed the geometric design of columnar joints, formed by a cooling mass of magma over 32 million years ago.  The mine is located north of Highway 67 between Victor and Cripple Creek, Colorado. 

The columnar joints found at the mine are parallel, prismatic columns that had formed in shallow magma at the mine. When these molten rocks cooled rapidly from the outside toward the center, they contracted. As a consequence, the shrinkage produced cracks or joints, generally in a hexagonal pattern that relived stress. Once the cracks or joints developed, they continued to grow, generally forming straight columns with parallel sides.

Columns typically form at right angles to the cooling surface where the molten rock makes contact. The size of columns depends on the rate of cooling of the rock—the faster the cooling, the smaller the columns.

As molten rocks cool below ground, they may shrink, forming joints.

Anywhere rocks that were once molten occur is a likely place for columnar jointing to develop: Devils Postpile in California, Sheepeaters Cliffs in Yellowstone National Park, and Devils Tower in Wyoming are good examples of these features.

Although such rock formations are often linked with legends of fearsome giants or the devil, there is nothing supernatural about them; they are simply geometric expressions of natural rock forming processes and are another example of the many geologic features in the Pikes Peak region.