The dictionary definition of obsidian is, “a hard, dark, glasslike volcanic rock formed by the rapid solidification of lava without crystallization”. It’s one of my favorite rocks and always has been. I remember first encountering it when I was about 7 and I was on vacation with my parents around Mammoth in California one summer. I had really only seen a picture of it in books and since I was fascinated with geology, my dad suggested a stop at the lava beds there. I remember slicing my finger pretty good on a piece of it. Natural beauty often comes with a little danger.
What’s wild, is in the metaphysical world, one of the main “properties” of obsidian is protection. Whether you believe rocks can have properties like that or not, it’s nonetheless interesting to me. For thousands of years, indigenous tribes used the stone to create arrowheads and blades and some even used objects made from it for ceremonial purposes. So the connection that it is a stone of “protection” is not so far fetched.
Since 2007, I’ve lived in a state that has experienced a lot of volcanic activity over millions of years. I’m actually currently reading (for fun!) a book on Oregon’s geology. Fascinating stuff to me. So when Mario and I moved up here, one of the very first trips we ever took was over to the Newberry National Volcanic Monument. It was a great trip with a lot of memories. We also took an extra little field trip while we were out that way. I had gotten a hand drawn map from some “rockhound” message board talking about an area on the way to Burns, OR, where people could go to collect obsidian. You can’t collect rocks in national monuments or parks, after all, and I wanted some. Of course there was no sign alongside the road or anything like that indicating exactly where this spot was.
I saw the whole thing as an adventure, but Mario had reservations. We were truly in the middle of nowhere when I guessed, based on this hand drawn map and seeing a dirt road going off the side of the road, that we might be at the right spot. It was pretty clear after we drove about a 1/4 mile off the main highway that I’d guessed correctly. We could see various pieces of obsidian laying all over the place. We even passed another rock collector who had braved the dirt road in a minivan to collect some of the beautiful stones. Mario wanted to turn around and get out of there. I’d honestly never seen him like that before. This was the guy who was completely comfortable riding a sketchy carnival ride or doing any number of questionable and potentially dangerous things, but being out there seemed to really rattle him.
As I eased our SUV along the road and deeper into the obsidian fields, he grew quiet. Every now and then I would stop the vehicle, get out and actually move a more jagged rock out of the way or just pick up some pieces that caught my eye and put them in one of the two 5 gallon buckets I had in the back just for this purpose. I pressed him on why he was so stressed out about this. I think he just had this impression about Eastern Oregon in general (being a “wasteland”) but he was totally freaked out about slicing a tire on a jagged rock and without cell service, he thought we’d just get stranded out there forever. The odds of that happening, especially with others coming to that spot a lot and driving around, were pretty slim. I joked we were surrounded by “protective” rocks.
He rallied at a few points and got into the spirit of things and helped pick out some nice pieces. I snapped a stealth photo of that moment.
We filed the buckets with different pieces and then headed back to civilization.
Today, I still have all of the pieces. They’re in various spots in my house and yard and each one of them holds the memories of that day.
