A short history of nearly everything - Bill Bryson [105]
Even more unnerving, because they are less well understood and capable of occurring anywhere at any time, are the rarer type of shakings known as intraplate quakes. These happen away from plate boundaries, which makes them wholly unpredictable. And because they come from a much greater depth, they tend to propagate over much wider areas. The most notorious such quakes ever to hit the United States were a series of three in New Madrid, Missouri, in the winter of 1811–12. The adventure started just after midnight on December 16 when people were awakened first by the noise of panicking farm animals (the restiveness of animals before quakes is not an old wives' tale, but is in fact well established, though not at all understood) and then by an almighty rupturing noise from deep within the Earth. Emerging from their houses, locals found the land rolling in waves up to three feet high and opening up in fissures several feet deep. A strong smell of sulfur filled the air. The shaking lasted for four minutes with the usual devastating effects to property. Among the witnesses was the artist John James Audubon, who happened to be in the area. The quake radiated outward with such force that it knocked down chimneys in Cincinnati four hundred miles away and, according to at least one account, “wrecked boats in East Coast harbors and . . . even collapsed scaffolding erected around the Capitol Building in Washington, D.C.” On January 23 and February 4 further quakes of similar magnitude followed. New Madrid has been silent ever since—but not surprisingly, since such episodes have never been known to happen in the same place twice. As far as we know, they are as random as lightning. The next one could be under Chicago or Paris or Kinshasa. No one can even begin to guess. And what causes these massive intraplate rupturings? Something deep within the Earth. More than that we don't know.
By the 1960s scientists had grown sufficiently frustrated by how little they understood of the Earth's interior that they decided to try to do something about it. Specifically, they got the idea to drill through the ocean floor (the continental crust was too thick) to the Moho discontinuity and to extract a piece of the Earth's mantle for examination at leisure. The thinking was that if they could understand the nature of the rocks inside the Earth, they might begin to understand how they interacted, and thus possibly be able to predict earthquakes and other unwelcome events.
The project became known, all but inevitably, as the Mohole and it was pretty well disastrous. The hope was to lower a drill through 14,000 feet of Pacific Ocean water off the coast of Mexico and drill some 17,000 feet through relatively thin crustal rock. Drilling from a ship in open waters is, in the words of one oceanographer, “like trying to drill a hole in the sidewalks of New York from atop the Empire State Building using a strand of spaghetti.” Every attempt ended in failure. The deepest they penetrated was only about 600 feet. The Mohole became known as the No Hole. In 1966, exasperated with ever-rising costs and no results, Congress killed the project.
Four years later, Soviet scientists decided to try their luck on dry land. They chose a spot on Russia's Kola Peninsula, near the Finnish border, and set to work with the hope of drilling to a depth of fifteen kilometers. The work proved harder than expected, but the Soviets were commendably persistent. When at last they gave up, nineteen years later, they had drilled to a depth of 12,262 meters, or about 7.6 miles. Bearing in mind that the crust of the Earth represents only about 0.3 percent of the planet's volume and that the Kola hole had not cut even one-third of the way through the crust, we can hardly claim to have