Living on, near and between numerous fault lines in Southern California I got to experience lots of earthquakes. Some of them were barely noticeable. I’d awaken from sleep, wonder why, roll over and sleep again. When I moved out of the city, into the mountains east of San Diego, the experiences were even better.
Some earthquakes don’t do a lot of shaking, but they boom like thunder coming from inside the earth. Others give the world a quick shake as you might shake out a rug, letting dust and dog hair fly. Others make the world rattle, knocking things from shelves and doing damage.
My first earthquake was in 1959. I was in Montana, staying at my grandmother’s, and my Aunt Jo, Uncle Hank, and Aunt Martha were camping at Yellowstone. I wrote about it soon after I began my blog on WordPress. If you want to read the story, you can find it here and here.
The best was on Easter Sunday, 2010. My friend and I were hiking along Pine Creek which runs along a fault line between the Cuyamaca and Laguna Mountains. It was a beautiful hike and we had a good time. On our way back, we went through a gate designed to allow horses with riders through and keep cattle in. We kept walking. I heard the gate rattle some twenty feet behind us and I turned. The earth was moving toward us in a wave. We stood still as the earth rose under our feet, settled back in place and continued its rolling motion forward. The trees moved like spectators at a baseball game doing “The Wave.”
When I got home, I looked it up on the USGS site and found it had been a very strong earthquake, 7.2.
Because it was Easter, and businesses in Mexicali, BC, were mostly closed, there was little damage and no real injuries.
I kind of miss them. As long as no one is hurt, they are just fun and very interesting. But I was also in California when the big earthquake happened in Oakland in 1989. It was not even as strong as the Easter earthquake, a mere 6.9, but it was a different type of earthquake, more the shake the stuff out of your rug type. It was classified as “Violent.” It crumpled a bridge.
My stepson Ben, who lived in the Bay Area at the time, came down to visit. He was about 10 or so. Both of us had developed a fear of bridges and whenever we had to go under one (on foot) we ran. 🙂
(Featured photo: Cody O’Dog and I on the Pine Creek Trail that VERY Easter Sunday!)