The Second Kind of Impossible

by Paul Steinhardt

  Glenn had spent the day resting and rebuilding his strength. I was glad to see that he was doing well enough to rejoin the group for dinner, even though he still seemed tired and worn out. As the evening progressed I noticed that Glenn, who was normally a strong if not combative personality, seemed vaguely dispirited. Sensing that he might be concerned about his future role on the mapping team, I decided to help ease his mind.

  “No more long hikes,” I told him firmly. “We have plenty of other important tasks for you to do closer to the camp.”

  Thankfully, it was one of the few moments in our professional relationship that Glenn did not try to argue with me about one of my decisions. Instead, he was relieved and readily agreed. The unspoken problem, of course, was that I had not yet figured out what his next assignment would be. First, I would need to make sure that he had fully recovered.

  Under clear skies the next morning, we were able to get back on schedule (color images 20 to 23). Will, Sasha, and I joined forces digging a new trench at the Primary. When Valery was at the site in 1979, only the very edge of the riverbed had been bulldozed. In the years since, Russian gold miners had removed an additional ten or twenty yards of dirt from the side of the stream. That gave us a good head start, because it meant we had less soil to remove to reach the blue-green clay we knew was buried in the hillside. The clay was our target, because it was linked to Valery’s original discovery.

  Digging was tough going, because the blue-green clay was heavy and sticky. In less than an hour, all of our regular shovels were broken. From that point on, digging at the Listvenitovyi was done with a combination of flimsily repaired shovels, trowels, and our bare hands.

  Valery had chosen to work at a different site just downstream from us. It was pristine and, unlike the Primary, had not been contaminated by any mining activity. We had all been working for about an hour when Valery suddenly started shouting to us excitedly in Russian. “He wants us to see what he has found,” Sasha said.

  We walked about fifty meters downstream and Valery showed us the hole he had dug next to the water. The three of us watched as he reached inside with both of his bare hands and pulled out a thick ball of mud. After a few moments, it began to solidify and Valery gave us a knowing look. We stared at his hands as he cracked the ball open like an Easter egg, revealing the hidden prize inside. Blue-green clay! Valery grinned as we cheered his latest discovery, which immediately reset our agenda for the rest of the day.

  Will and Sasha left the Primary and spent the next few hours working at Valery’s new dig site. We planned to continue to excavate the area, so they built a thick wall of clay around the hole to keep the stream from refilling it with water. Will seemed especially determined to extract as much clay as humanly possible. The site, pictured on the next page, would eventually come to be known as “Will’s Hole” in honor of his single-minded dedication.

  Instead of taking a break and heading back to camp for lunch with the rest of the team, Will stayed on-site that afternoon and nibbled on snacks he had stashed in his backpack. Even though he was working alone at the stream, I knew he was not in any danger from the bears we assumed were roaming nearby. The bears had no interest in the relatively puny waters of the Listvenitovyi when there was a rich supply of salmon swimming downstream in the Iomrautvaam River.

  Eating outdoors was more complicated than Will expected, though, because it meant trying to cope with the hordes of mosquitoes attracted by his breath. Exasperated, Will finally tied a bandanna over the bottom half of his face. Even so, every time he tried to put food in his mouth, he wound up inhaling a mouthful of mosquito appetizers.

  Later that afternoon, we encountered our first major scientific challenge. Glenn and Luca hiked out to the dig site to study some of the samples, and after much checking and double-checking, they came to a startling conclusion.

  “It is entirely possible that we are on the wrong track,” Glenn explained to me. “Blue-green clay might not be that relevant to finding more samples.” Their finding was a major surprise and would have major repercussions on the rest of the expedition.

  We had been speculating about the importance of the clay for the last two years, ever since the very beginning of our investigation. Luca and I had first learned of its existence in the scientific paper Leonid Razin and his coauthors published announcing the discovery of khatyrkite and cupalite.

  How important was blue-green clay to the discovery of meteorite samples? we always wondered.

  At first, before testing proved that the Florence sample was a piece of a meteorite, we had wondered if it was possible that the aluminum-copper alloys and the blue-green clay had formed together from natural bedrock, more specifically serpentinite. But as our investigation progressed and we learned that the Florence sample was an extraterrestrial, some began wondering if the blue-green clay had played a role in protecting the aluminum in the meteorite from oxidizing. Either way, our working hypothesis was that the blue-green clay was directly linked to the Florence sample. So we decided to focus our search efforts on areas where it could be found.

  The clay from Will’s Hole, which Glenn and Luca had studied, consisted of very fine grains arranged in alternating layers of blue and green. It was a match to the clay in which Valery found the Florence sample. So based on our hypothesis, we had hoped to find many tiny grains of metoeoritic minerals spread throughout the clay. But to our surprise, once Glenn and Luca began examining the material, they did not find metallic or meteoritic silicate material of any kind in either of the two layers.

  I recognized that it was a significant scientific result. It not only called into question one of our basic scientific assumptions, it was also going to have immediate tactical consequences.

  Perhaps it was a mistake to restrict our search to sites along the stream that contain blue-green clay.

  We discussed the problem with the rest of the group during dinner that night. Chris Andronicos, with expert knowledge of structural geology, weighed in with valuable insights. After mapping the area for several days, Chris had come to believe that the blue-green clay consisted of sediment that had originally been deposited much farther up the mountain. The clay was carried downstream by a glacier that had melted in the region about seven thousand years ago, which explained how it came to be distributed all along the Listvenitovyi Stream.

  I was impressed that Chris and Mike had gleaned so much so quickly after only a few mapping forays on the nearby mountains, like the one pictured below.

  Chris pointed out that he was still in the earliest stage of his investigation and there were many different possibilities still left to consider. But assuming the Florence sample was once part of a meteor, as Luca, Glenn, and I believed, he could imagine at least two possibilities to explain how it might have come to be embedded in the mysterious blue-green clay.

  In the first scenario, the meteor entered the Earth’s atmosphere between 6,700 and 8,000 years ago. The blue-green clay was either still upstream, or recently deposited downstream by glacier meltwater. If that were the case, the clay that had traveled downstream would have still been exposed to the air when the meteor arrived. If the meteor had burst in midair upon entering the Earth’s atmosphere, as many meteors do, its fragments would have been immediately lodged in the exposed blue-green clay and would still be embedded there today.

  In the second scenario, the meteor could have landed upstream nearly intact less than 6,700 years ago. If that were the case, it would have slowly eroded and broken into bits over thousands of years due to weathering. Some of those bits may have been caught up in what little blue-green clay remained upstream and, together, the meteorite bits and clay could have eventually been carried downstream. Most of the bits, though, would have landed in or traveled downstream with other kinds of clay. In that case, fragments could be lodged in any type of clay deposited in the last 6,700 years.

  Given the two possible scenarios, we should continue targeting blue-green clay, Chris advised. But we should also br
oaden our sights to include other types of clay that had been deposited at the Listvenitovyi more recently.

  But without blue-green clay to guide us, how do we decide what other sites to explore? I asked myself. We might be on the verge of looking for a needle in a haystack, just as critics of the expedition had predicted.

  I decided our best option was to add a new twist to the search procedure. Instead of choosing a dig site based solely on the presence of blue-green clay, we would cast a wider net and perform a series of preliminary tests before digging in, so to speak. We would obtain samples from a number of sites and examine the panned material for promising grains.

  The photo above shows Sasha, Will, and Glenn getting ready to work at one of the new sites that was later labeled the Lake Hole. Based on what we found, we would then decide if a site, even one without the presence of blue-green clay, merited further attention.

  That meant we would have to set up a makeshift field laboratory to sift through the hundreds of thousands of grains on a daily basis. It was not something we had anticipated, so we were not well-equipped. Our only option was to try to improvise by using Valery’s portable and somewhat primitive optical microscope.

  Glenn and Luca were the obvious choices to lead the laboratory effort. But after having worked with both of them over the past few years, I knew that teaming them up together might be asking for trouble. Glenn was more domineering and tended to distrust everyone else’s judgment. Luca had a naturally ebullient personality, but was noticeably intimidated by Glenn’s international stature and demanding standards. Unfortunately, I had no other choice but to hope opposites would attract.

  Valery’s microscope was crude in comparison to the state-of-the-art equipment Glenn and Luca were accustomed to working with and it was certainly not good enough to identify mineral compositions with complete certainty. But we were hoping it would be good enough to identify highly atypical specimens that would stand out from the more commonplace grains one would expect to find in a stream bed.

  Glenn and Luca’s mission would be to identify grains that could be a match for samples that Valery had discovered during his original expedition in 1979. That meant they would be looking for two sets of grains that seemed to have nothing in common. The first group of candidates would have a shiny, metallic appearance, like the St. Petersburg holotype. The second group would be a darker, duller, meteorite-like material, similar to the Florence sample in which we had discovered natural quasicrystals.

  Glenn and Luca would also be looking for grains that did not fit either of those two descriptions but whose mineral content was indicative of the local geology. That information would be passed along to Chris, and would be useful for his study of the geological history of the region.

  Thanks in large part to the detailed lab reports Glenn and Luca provided each evening, the field operations began to work much more efficiently. The team worked full blast over the next five days extracting, processing, and panning as much clay as possible.

  Glenn and Luca had an amazing laboratory routine that I sometimes stopped to observe. Each day there would be five to ten plastic sacks of panned material for them to examine. The sacks were labeled with a bag number, the site location, and the date when the material had been extracted. Luca would select a bag and record all of its information in his notes. He would then carefully remove a few spoonfuls of material from the sack and empty it into a small round dish. A spoonful would typically contain hundreds of grains or more. While viewing the grains under the microscope, Luca would use a tweezer to separate each and every individual particle.

  Whenever Luca found an “interesting” grain that appeared to be meteoritic or had any kind of unusual composition, he would move it to one side. Glenn would then come to the microscope and check the grains that Luca had identified and reach his own conclusions. If both of them agreed that a grain was “interesting,” Glenn would put a camera over the microscope lens and take a photo. Occasionally, Valery would visit the makeshift laboratory and add his opinion. Luca would assign the “interesting” grain a number, and place it in a special vial.

  The sample the team discovered the first day at the Green Clay Wall qualified as “interesting.” Luca had singled it out right away. Now, it was labeled Grain #5, because it was the fifth “interesting” grain processed in the makeshift laboratory.

  Once a dish of material was fully examined and the remaining grains put aside, another spoonful of material was moved from a bag to the dish for examination. It was a painstaking task. Glenn and Luca examined five to ten sacks each day. Each sack contained tens of thousands of grains.

  Once a bag had been sorted through, the majority of the grains, the “uninteresting” grains, would be carefully poured back into the bag. The bag was then sealed so its contents could be taken home for more extensive study. After one bag had been completely combed through, the same meticulous procedure would be repeated for the next bag. And the next. And the next. And so on.

  Glenn and Luca’s work exceeded my expectations. Despite my initial concerns, their personalities blended beautifully. It seemed that working in a close environment on a shared goal brought out the best in both of them.

  On one occasion, I was visiting the makeshift lab while Luca was reviewing some of the “interesting” grains from the Lake Hole, a site upstream from the Primary. I was watching as Luca stared into the microscope and a big smile suddenly flashed across his face.

  “You have to see this!” he said excitedly. “We have a dodecahedron!”

  A regular dodecahedron has twelve identical sides, each the shape of a perfect pentagon. Over the past few decades, synthetic quasicrystals had been known to occasionally form isolated grains with facets arranged in a dodecahedron. So finding a natural quasicrystal with twelve external facets, matching something that had already been spontaneously created in the lab, would be an important breakthrough.

  Glenn rushed over to confirm that Luca was right and told us he could clearly see a half-coppery, half-silvery grain in the shape of a dodecahedron under the microscope. The external shape does not necessarily translate to the same symmetry as the internal arrangement of atoms, of course, and vice versa. But having seen a dodecahedron with a shiny metallic appearance, Glenn was also now thinking that we had just identified a multifaceted natural quasicrystal.

  But when I took my turn at the microscope I had to laugh out loud. I could immediately see that we were looking at one of nature’s practical jokes.

  I recognized that the sample was a member of the pyrite family of minerals. Pyrite minerals include fool’s gold, which novices often mistake for real gold because it has a similar color and shape. Although its atoms are arranged in a crystalline pattern with the symmetry of a cube, one of the curious properties of members of the pyrite family is that they sometimes grow facets arranged in the shape of a distorted dodecahedron. I like to call them “fool’s quasicrystals,” because each of the twelve facets has the shape of a pentagon, fooling people into believing they had found a quasicrystal. A closer examination reveals that the pentagons are not perfect. Different sides have different lengths. A diffraction pattern reveals that the atomic structure is cubic. But without knowing that, anyone could be fooled. I was quick to notice the difference because I had been collecting an assortment of fool’s quasicrystals ever since I first began looking for the real thing in the 1980s.

  The three of us shared a good laugh about the irony of finding a fake quasicrystal along the Listvenitovyi Stream. I just hoped we could find a real one. Even so, I thought, if a perfect dodecahedron could be synthesized in the lab it was not so outrageous to think we might also find it in the natural world.

  * * *

  AUGUST 3, 2011: Tap-tap. Tap-tap. A soft, insistent pitter-patter of rain on the tent was my wake-up call the next morning. The temperature had once again dropped precipitously, and I hurriedly reached for my warmest coat as I rolled out of bed.

  I walked past Bucks, Olya’s Russian Blue cat
. Protected by a thick, double coat of fur, he seemed to take no notice of the weather. Like most mornings, he roamed around the camp like he owned the place. Will always described Bucks as acting more like a dog than a cat. He was also apparently nimble enough to be bear-proof.

  Olya had another one of her substantial breakfasts waiting for us that morning with fresh caviar, jam, and hot Russian blini. The hearty food she served at each meal not only helped sustain our work efforts, it also helped fortify us against the ever-worsening cold.

  The mapping team of Chris and Mike, once again undeterred by a looming subarctic storm, wanted to make one final hike to explore a distant mountain overlooking the jumble of rocks that surrounded the Listvenitovyi.

  The rest of us were planning to spend our last day in the field working at various locations. Luca and Valery would be focusing on dig sites they thought were the most promising. Marina, Vadim, and Sasha would do the same at distant sites downstream, including one we called the Downstream Green Clay Wall. Unlike the rest of us, though, they were not just looking for meteorite samples. They were also looking for signs of valuable ores.

  Will and I decided to gather a final round of samples from each dig site, along with samples from a few other spots we had never been able to explore.

  In an effort to literally leave no stone unturned, I asked Will to climb the fifty-foot spire of rock near the Primary to retrieve a sample of clay. There was admittedly no logical explanation for that request. Just a strange idea stuck in my head from a slapstick comedy I remembered watching as a youngster called It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World.

  In the movie, a bunch of crazy characters compete against each other to find a buried treasure supposedly hidden under a big letter “W.” At one point, they run around in circles in a greedy panic, each one hoping to find the “W” before anyone else.