Cosmic Connection (16 page)

But why are terrestrial mountains the last places to be frost-free? Because it is colder as we walk uphill, as every mountaineer knows. But why does it get colder as we walk uphill? Do the reasons that make terrestrial mountaintops colder than their bases apply to Mars?

We concluded that all factors that make it colder while walking uphill on the Earth are inoperative on Mars, mainly because of the very thin Martian atmosphere. But the winds on Mars should be higher at mountaintops than in valleys, as on Earth. This is not a conclusion from analogy, but is based on the appropriate physics. Therefore, we imagined that snows are removed by high winds preferentially from the mountains of Mars, and that the bright areas that retain frost on Mars are, therefore, low.

Our second line of attack was based on the radar observations of Mars, which began in the middle 1960s. There was one piece of evidence that immediately caught our attention. When the small central part of the radar beam was positioned directly on a dark area of Mars, only a very small fraction of the radar signal was returned to Earth. But when an adjacent bright area, on one side or the other of this dark region, was under the center of the radar beam, the reflection was much stronger. This could be understood if the dark area were either much higher or much lower than the adjacent bright area. From the preliminary radar evidence then available, we concluded that if it had to be one or the other of these two alternatives, the dark areas had to be systematically high on Mars. We concluded that major elevation differences existed on Mars, in some cases as much as ten miles between adjacent bright and dark areas. The large-scale slopes were at most only a few degrees–not a very steep grade–and both the elevation differences and slopes were comparable to those on Earth, although the elevations seemed to be greater than here. The notion that the deserts generally were lowlands seemed consistent with the notion of fine sand and dust being trapped in low valleys, with the tops of mountains–where the winds are higher–being scoured of small, bright, fine particles.

In the few years following our analysis many more detailed radar studies were done–principally by a group at the Haystack Observatory of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, headed by Professor Gordon Pettengill. For the first time it was possible to do direct radar altitude measurements. Instead of using our indirect arguments, the technology had reached a point where it was possible to measure how long it took the radar signal to reach Mars and be returned from it. Those places on Mars from which the radar signal took longest to return were farthest from us, and, therefore, deepest. Those regions from which the radar signal took the least time to return were closer to us, and, therefore, highest. In this way the first topographic maps of selected regions of the Martian surface were constructed. The maximum elevation differences and slopes were just about what we had concluded by much more indirect means.

But dark areas did not appear to be systematically higher than bright areas. Pettengill and his colleagues found that a bright region of Mars called Tharsis appeared to be very high–perhaps the highest region sampled on the planet. A major Martian bright circular area called Hellas–Greek for “Greece”–indeed turned out to be very low from later nonradar observations. A somewhat similar feature called Elysium, also large and bright and roughly circular, turned out to be high. The darkest big Martian area, Syrtis Major, turned out to be a steep slope.

Why were Pollack and I only partly right? Because of Occam’s Razor, a convenient and frequently used principle in science, but one that is not infallible. Occam’s Razor recommends that, when faced with two equally good hypotheses, we choose the simpler. We had assumed that dark areas were either systematically high or systematically low. If that were the case, dark areas would have to be systematically high. But that is not the case; dark areas can be either high or low. Our conclusions only reflected our assumptions.

But I am very pleased that we were able, through logic and physics, to get the story at least partly right, and to demonstrate that there are enormous elevation differences on Mars, elevations much vaster than Lowell had expected. I find it more difficult, but also much more fun, to get the right answer by indirect reasoning and before all the evidence is in. It’s what a theoretician does in science. But the conclusions drawn in this way are obviously more risky than those drawn by direct measurement, and most scientists withhold judgment until there is more direct evidence available. The principal function of such detective work–apart from entertaining the theoretician–is probably to so annoy and enrage the observationalists that they are forced, in a fury of disbelief, to perform the critical measurements.

T
he epic flight of
Mariner 9
to Mars in 1971 produced a new set of definitive and direct measurements concerning the mountains and elevations of Mars. Moderately complete elevation terrain maps of Mars have been developed as a result of the ultraviolet spectrometer, the infrared interferometric spectrometer, and the S-band occultation experiments aboard
Mariner 9
. But the most striking information on the mountains of Mars came from the television experiment.

The first pictures that
Mariner 9
returned from Mars, obtained even before orbital insertion on November 14, 1971, showed an almost completely featureless planet. The south polar cap could be discerned dimly, but the bright and dark markings, which had been seen and debated for over a century, were nowhere to be found. This was not a failure of the television camera, but rather the result of a spectacular planet-wide dust storm, which had begun in late September and would not significantly subside until early January.

The earliest pre-orbital pictures and the first few days of orbital pictures showed no significant nonpolar detail–except in the region of Tharsis. Here, there were four dark, somewhat irregular spots to be seen, three of them in an approximate straight line running northeast to southwest; the fourth was isolated away from them and to the west. Since there was otherwise nothing much visible on the planet, I devoted some attention to these spots in the early phases of the mission–so much attention that for a while they were known as “Carl’s Marks” by several of my wittier co-investigators. I, in turn, proposed naming them Harpo, Groucho, Chico, and Zeppo, but this was all before their significance was established.

The isolated spot corresponded in position quite well with the classical Martian feature named Nix Olympica–Greek for the Snows of Olympus, the home of the gods. The other three spots seemed to correspond to no familiar Martian surface features. But Bradford Smith, astronomer at New Mexico State University, pointed out that they corresponded quite well (as did Nix Olympica) to places on Mars that exhibited local afternoon brightening as observed from Earth. In some of Smith’s ground-based telescopic photographs, obtained with a blue or violet filter and when there was no dust storm on Mars, these four places appeared as brilliant white spots, even though the contrast between the usual bright and dark areas was very small and the usual markings of Mars were indiscernible (the usual situation when Mars is viewed in blue or violet light rather than in orange or red light). Were we observing some sort of dark clouds in the midst of the dust storm at sites where bright clouds were usually found?

Another
Mariner 9
experimenter, William Hartmann of Science Applications, Inc., Tucson, Arizona, performed a computer contrast-enhancement of the original photographs of the four spots and found some faint indication of circular central regions in at least two of them. Indeed, the
Mariner 6
and
7
photographs of Nix Olympica, taken in 1969, showed a similar indication there.

By this time, the extent and severity of the dust storm had become evident, and part of our preplanned mission for
Mariner 9
to map the planet had to be postponed. This then freed a significant picture-taking ability for high-resolution, close-up photographs of the four spots. These experiments of opportunity were possible only because
Mariner 9
had a major adaptive capability. The scan platform, on which the cameras were located, could be aimed at many desired spots on Mars, and the technical staff of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory of the California Institute of Technology was able to change its plans quickly enough to accommodate the changed scientific needs of the mission. Because of the design of the spacecraft and the adaptability of its controllers, the first close-up photographs of the four spots began coming in.

Each spot had a vaguely circular center. There were parallel arcuate segments. There was a kind of scalloping. All these features were dark against a bright surrounding, corresponding to the dark appearance of the spots as seen initially in low resolution.

The particular shapes that we had seen in the early pictures held no particular significance for me. But I was struck by the fact that these circular features occurred in Tharsis, the highest region on Mars. These features were craters. Why were we seeing them and virtually no other Martian features? Because they must be the highest regions in Tharsis, a region already enormously elevated. The four spots, therefore, seemed to me to be vast mountains poking through the dust. I proposed that as time went on and the dust storm settled (from experience with other Martian global dust storms over decades of observation, we knew the dust storms would have to settle eventually), we would see more and more of these mountains, clear down to their bases. I even thought it possible that we could produce topographic maps from the sequence of emerging detail as the dust settled. Unfortunately, the settling out of the dust was a very irregular affair, and this suggestion has not yet borne fruit.

Geologist members of the
Mariner
9 television team, such as Harold Masursky and John McCauley, of the U. S. Geological Survey, were taken with the
form
of the craters, and quite early identified them–by analogy with similar features on Earth–as vast volcanic piles with summit calderas. I have always been mistrustful of arguments from terrestrial analogy. After all, Mars is quite another place. For all we knew–at least, for all
I
knew–quite different geological processes might operate there, and Earth-like features might be produced by different causes.

However, by another route I reached the same conclusion as the geologists: There are only two processes we know that produce craters–the impact of interplanetary debris (the origin, for example, of most of the craters on the Moon) and vulcanism. It would be asking too much to expect that the large meteorites or small asteroids that carved out four of the largest impact craters in Tharsis knew enough to land on the top of the four highest mountains in Tharsis. Much more plausible is the idea that the mechanism that made the mountain made the crater. That mechanism is called vulcanism.

As the dust storm cleared, the true magnitude of these four volcanic mountains became clear. The largest of them, Nix Olympica, is five hundred miles across, larger than the largest such feature on the Earth, the Hawaiian Islands. The altitudes of the spots have not yet been determined with precision, but they appear to be ten to twenty miles above the mean level of the planet. (We cannot talk of sea level on Mars because there are not–today, at any rate–any seas there.) Over a dozen smaller volcanoes have since been found in other regions of Mars.

The infrared radiometer on
Mariner 9
showed no sign of hot lava in the summit calderas of the craters. On the other hand, their fresh appearance and the almost total absence of meteorite cratering on their slopes show them to be very young objects, geologically speaking–probably no more than a few hundred million years old, possibly younger.

The association of clouds with these volcanic mountains could be due to contemporary outgassing from the calderas–steam, for example, being exhaled up volcanic vents. But it seems more likely that the clouds are present at the summits of these mountains precisely because these mountains are so high. An imaginary parcel of Martian air, rising along the slope of the mountain, expands and cools. (The air gets colder as we go upward in the Martian atmosphere. But because the air is so thin on Mars, it cannot exchange heat well with the surface; thus the
surface
does not get cold as we go uphill on Mars, as we discussed earlier.) When the temperature in the parcel of air drops below the freezing point of water, all of the water vapor in the parcel condenses out into ice crystals. The amount of water vapor we know to exist in the Martian atmosphere, the heights of the mountains, and the amount of small ice crystals necessary to produce a visible cloud together work out correctly for this to be the explanation of mountain clouds on Mars.

Recent vulcanism on Mars implies outgassing, whether or not the clouds that we see at the summits of these volcanoes are signs of outgassing. When hot lava flows to the surface, it carries with it a significant amount of gas–on the Earth, mainly water, but with a significant amount of other materials. Thus, the volcanoes that we see on Mars must have made an important contribution to the Martian atmosphere. In part, at least, the air has come out of these holes in the ground. Because Mars is so cold today, water can be trapped in many forms, such as ice, and not remain in the atmosphere. Much more gas could have been produced by these volcanoes than we see in the Martian atmosphere today. If there is life on Mars, it will almost surely be based on the exchange of material with the atmosphere–just as on Earth, where the cycle of green-plant photosynthesis and animal respiration is predominant. If there is life on Mars, these volcanoes may–at least indirectly–have played an important role in its present development.