Colorado is a rectangle? Think again.

The Centennial State has 697 sides‚ not four.

Colorado is a rectangle? Think again.
  • Colorado looks like a rectangle. It isn't.
  • The Centennial State has not four, but 697 sides. That makes it a hexahectaenneacontakaiheptagon.
  • Does that make Wyoming the only real rectangular state? Well, about that…

America loves its straight-line borders. The only U.S. state without one is Hawaii – for obvious reasons (1).

West of the Mississippi, states are bigger, emptier and boxier than back East. From a distance, all seem to be made up of straight lines.

Only when you zoom in do you see their squiggly bits: the northeast corner of Kansas, for instance. Or Montana's western border with Idaho that looks like a human face. Or Oklahoma's southern border with Texas, meandering as it follows the Red River.

New Mexico comes tantalisingly close to having only straight-line borders. There's that short stretch north of El Paso that would have been just 15 miles (24 km) long if it was straight instead of wavy.

No, there are only three states whose borders are entirely made up of straight lines: Utah, which would have been a rectangle if Wyoming hadn't bitten a chunk out of its northeastern corner; Wyoming itself; plus Colorado.

Red: states with only straight-line borders. Yellow: states with some straight-line borders. Green: states without straight-line borders.Image: mapchart.net

Except that they aren't. For two distinct reasons: because the earth is round, and because those 19th-century surveyors laying out state borders made mistakes.

Congress defined the borders of Colorado as a geospherical rectangle, stretching from 37°N to 41°N latitude, and from 25°W to 32°W longitude (2). While lines of latitude run in parallel circles that don't meet, lines of longitude converge at the poles.

Which means that Colorado's longitudinal borders are slightly further apart in the south. So if you'd look closely enough, the state resembles an isosceles trapezoid (3) rather than a rectangle. Consequently, the state's northern borderline is about 22 miles (35 km) shorter than its southern one. The same goes, mutatis mutandis, for Wyoming.

That's not where the story ends. There's boundary delimitation: the theoretical description of a border, as described above. But what's more relevant is boundary demarcation: surveying and marking out the border on the ground. Colorado entered the Union in 1876.

Only in 1879 did the first boundary survey team get around to translating Congress's abstract into actual boundary markers. The official border would not be the delimited one, but the demarcated one. Unfortunately, 19th-century surveyors lacked satellites and other high-precision measurement tools.

Let's not be too harsh: considering the size of the task and the limitation of their tools — magnetic compasses and metal chains — they did an incredible job. They had to stake straight lines irrespective of terrain, often through inhospitable land.

But yes, errors were made — and were in fact quite habitual. Take for example the 49th parallel, which for more than 1,200 miles forms the international border between the U.S. and Canada. Rather than being a straight line, it zigzags between the 912 boundary monuments established by successive teams of surveyors (the last ones in 1872–4). The markers deviate by as much as 575 feet north and 784 feet south of the actual parallel line.

Colorado, not as rectangular as you think. Image: FascinatingMaps.com

The same kind of thing happened when the first surveying teams went out to demarcate the Colorado border. This map magnifies four of the most egregious surveying inaccuracies, where the difference between the boundaries delineated by Congress and the border demarcated by the surveyors is greatest.

Four Corners (and four more)

Four Corners. Clockwise from top left: Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona. Image source: Getty Creative

Located in a dusty, desolate corner of the desert, the Four Corners monument seems very far from the middle of anything. Yet this is the meeting point of four states: Utah, Colorado, New Mexico and Arizona. It is the only quadripoint in the United States (4). The monument's exact location is at 36°59'56″N, 109°02'43″W.

However, it's not where Congress had decreed the four states to meet. That point is about 560 feet (170 m) northwest of the quadripoint's current location, at 37°N, 109°02'48″W. Did you drive all the way through the desert to miss the actual point by a few hundred feet?

No, you didn't: in 1925, the Supreme Court ruled that the borders as surveyed were the correct ones. But perhaps the original quadripoint deserves a small marker of its own, if only to provide the site with an extra attraction. Or why not go for three? Some sources say the original point deviates by 1,807 feet (551 m).

 The La Sal/Paradox deviation

Paradox Valley in Colorado, near the (crooked) border with Utah. Image source: Wikimedia Commons/Tony Webster, CC BY 2.0


In 1879, a survey party marched north from Four Corners, placing markers at every mile. The surveyors eventually reached the Wyoming border, but not where they thought they'd end up. Later surveys, in 1885 and 1893, found out where the original surveyors had gone wrong, but by that time the border as surveyed had become the official one. Changing it would have required both Colorado and Utah to agree on a solution, and Congress to approve it.

The biggest error occurs just south of the road connecting La Sal, Utah to Paradox, Colorado. Across an eight-mile stretch, the surveyors strayed westward before regaining true north. The resulting deviation is 3860 feet (1.18 km).

Things go south after Edith

Border deviation near Edith, CO. Image source: Google Maps/Ruland Kolen

I

West to east, Colorado's border with New Mexico starts out fairly straight. However, just east of Edith, the border swerves southeast for about 3,400 feet (1 km) before resuming its course due east, now 2,820 feet (860 m) further south than before.

Why? It seems that for once, the surveyors have given in to the dictates of topography: the deviation follows a small valley oriented northwest-southeast.

Panhandling into Oklahoma

The Colorado border swerves south, eating into the Oklahoma Panhandle. Image source: FascinatingMaps.com

Almost at the end of their surveying mission, it seems the party lost the plot again. In the last 53 miles (85 km) before the border turns north, the stretch where Colorado rubs against Oklahoma, the line again swerves to the south, by as much as 1,770 feet (540 m).

Don't blame the terrain: appropriately for a place so close to the Oklahoma Panhandle, it's as flat as a pancake. Perhaps the surveyors were confused by the very featurelessness of the place.

Colorado is a 697-sider

Each dot is a twist in Colorado's supposedly straight borders. Image source: FascinatingMaps.com

These are just four of the biggest, most easily spotted surveying errors. In total, Colorado's borders have hundreds twists and turns — most much smaller than the Big Four. Here they are: every dot on is a border deviation, as indicated on the OpenStreetMap of Colorado.

Accordingly, the state has not just four sides, but a total of 697 sides. So if Colorado is not a rectangle, what is it? Well, not a pentagon, (Greek for 5-sider), hexagon (6-sider) or a heptagon (7-sider), but a — hold on to something — hexahectaenneacontakaiheptagon (697-sider).

Don't get your hopes up, Wyoming

Wyoming: just as fallible as Colorado — but more willing to admit its mistakes. Image source: FascinatingMaps.com

With Colorado thoroughly disqualified to as one of America's two truly rectangular states, does that leave Wyoming holding the crown all on its own? Nope. Turns out the surveyors who plotted the Equality State's outline were just as fallible as the Colorado set.

This map shows a few larger ones of the many deviations in on all four sides of Wyoming. Interestingly, the deviations shown come in pairs, whereby the second ones seem to correct the deviation of the first ones.

So, while Wyoming is just as imperfect as Colorado, it does seem that at least it is better at admitting (and correcting) its mistakes than its southern neighbor.

Maps of Colorado and Wyoming both by FascinatingMaps.com.

Strange Maps #945

Got a strange map? Let me know at strangemaps@gmail.com.

(1) If you're not into the whole obviousness thing: Hawaii is a bunch of islands, which therefore don't have a land border — neither with other U.S. states or third countries.

(2) That's west of the Washington Meridian — the third one, to be exact. Over time, four Washington meridians were defined as prime meridians for the U.S. They passed through the Capitol, the White House, the Old Naval Observatory and the New Naval Observatory. Defined by Congress in 1850 at 77°2'48.0"W of Greenwich, the third Washington meridian was used as the base line for a number of western state borders, including:


  • at 17°W, a stretch of border with Texas in the west, and Arkansas and Louisiana in the east. This line passes through the two-state conurbation of Texarkana;
  • at 25°W, the Colorado-Kansas border (and part of the Nebraska-Colorado border);
  • at 26°W, a stretch of the border between Texas and New Mexico (the Oklahoma-New Mexico border, just to the north, is set back two miles to the east);
  • at 27°W, the 555-mile stretch from Colorado north to the Canadian border, separating Montana and Wyoming in the west from the Dakotas and Nebraska in the east;
  • at 32°W, the straight line from Wyoming to Mexico, separating Utah and Arizona in the west from Colorado and New Mexico in the east (also running through Four Corners, where these four states meet).
Defined from the now standard Greenwich Meridian, the eastern and western extremities of Colorado are 102°2'48"W to 109°2'48"W, respectively

(3) An isosceles trapezoid is a four-sided shape with two parallel sides and two non-parallel but equal sides.

(4) The only state-level quadripoint. There are, in fact, dozens of quadripoints between U.S. counties, hundreds between U.S. municipalities, and indeed thousands (of usually bilateral ones) on the edges of checkerboard-patterned Indian reservations and other federally reserved territories.

A landslide is imminent and so is its tsunami

An open letter predicts that a massive wall of rock is about to plunge into Barry Arm Fjord in Alaska.

Image source: Christian Zimmerman/USGS/Big Think
Surprising Science
  • A remote area visited by tourists and cruises, and home to fishing villages, is about to be visited by a devastating tsunami.
  • A wall of rock exposed by a receding glacier is about crash into the waters below.
  • Glaciers hold such areas together — and when they're gone, bad stuff can be left behind.

The Barry Glacier gives its name to Alaska's Barry Arm Fjord, and a new open letter forecasts trouble ahead.

Thanks to global warming, the glacier has been retreating, so far removing two-thirds of its support for a steep mile-long slope, or scarp, containing perhaps 500 million cubic meters of material. (Think the Hoover Dam times several hundred.) The slope has been moving slowly since 1957, but scientists say it's become an avalanche waiting to happen, maybe within the next year, and likely within 20. When it does come crashing down into the fjord, it could set in motion a frightening tsunami overwhelming the fjord's normally peaceful waters .

"It could happen anytime, but the risk just goes way up as this glacier recedes," says hydrologist Anna Liljedahl of Woods Hole, one of the signatories to the letter.

The Barry Arm Fjord

Camping on the fjord's Black Sand Beach

Image source: Matt Zimmerman

The Barry Arm Fjord is a stretch of water between the Harriman Fjord and the Port Wills Fjord, located at the northwest corner of the well-known Prince William Sound. It's a beautiful area, home to a few hundred people supporting the local fishing industry, and it's also a popular destination for tourists — its Black Sand Beach is one of Alaska's most scenic — and cruise ships.

Not Alaska’s first watery rodeo, but likely the biggest

Image source: whrc.org

There have been at least two similar events in the state's recent history, though not on such a massive scale. On July 9, 1958, an earthquake nearby caused 40 million cubic yards of rock to suddenly slide 2,000 feet down into Lituya Bay, producing a tsunami whose peak waves reportedly reached 1,720 feet in height. By the time the wall of water reached the mouth of the bay, it was still 75 feet high. At Taan Fjord in 2015, a landslide caused a tsunami that crested at 600 feet. Both of these events thankfully occurred in sparsely populated areas, so few fatalities occurred.

The Barry Arm event will be larger than either of these by far.

"This is an enormous slope — the mass that could fail weighs over a billion tonnes," said geologist Dave Petley, speaking to Earther. "The internal structure of that rock mass, which will determine whether it collapses, is very complex. At the moment we don't know enough about it to be able to forecast its future behavior."

Outside of Alaska, on the west coast of Greenland, a landslide-produced tsunami towered 300 feet high, obliterating a fishing village in its path.

What the letter predicts for Barry Arm Fjord

Moving slowly at first...

Image source: whrc.org

"The effects would be especially severe near where the landslide enters the water at the head of Barry Arm. Additionally, areas of shallow water, or low-lying land near the shore, would be in danger even further from the source. A minor failure may not produce significant impacts beyond the inner parts of the fiord, while a complete failure could be destructive throughout Barry Arm, Harriman Fiord, and parts of Port Wells. Our initial results show complex impacts further from the landslide than Barry Arm, with over 30 foot waves in some distant bays, including Whittier."

The discovery of the impeding landslide began with an observation by the sister of geologist Hig Higman of Ground Truth, an organization in Seldovia, Alaska. Artist Valisa Higman was vacationing in the area and sent her brother some photos of worrying fractures she noticed in the slope, taken while she was on a boat cruising the fjord.

Higman confirmed his sister's hunch via available satellite imagery and, digging deeper, found that between 2009 and 2015 the slope had moved 600 feet downhill, leaving a prominent scar.

Ohio State's Chunli Dai unearthed a connection between the movement and the receding of the Barry Glacier. Comparison of the Barry Arm slope with other similar areas, combined with computer modeling of the possible resulting tsunamis, led to the publication of the group's letter.

While the full group of signatories from 14 organizations and institutions has only been working on the situation for a month, the implications were immediately clear. The signers include experts from Ohio State University, the University of Southern California, and the Anchorage and Fairbanks campuses of the University of Alaska.

Once informed of the open letter's contents, the Alaska's Department of Natural Resources immediately released a warning that "an increasingly likely landslide could generate a wave with devastating effects on fishermen and recreationalists."

How do you prepare for something like this?

Image source: whrc.org

The obvious question is what can be done to prepare for the landslide and tsunami? For one thing, there's more to understand about the upcoming event, and the researchers lay out their plan in the letter:

"To inform and refine hazard mitigation efforts, we would like to pursue several lines of investigation: Detect changes in the slope that might forewarn of a landslide, better understand what could trigger a landslide, and refine tsunami model projections. By mapping the landslide and nearby terrain, both above and below sea level, we can more accurately determine the basic physical dimensions of the landslide. This can be paired with GPS and seismic measurements made over time to see how the slope responds to changes in the glacier and to events like rainstorms and earthquakes. Field and satellite data can support near-real time hazard monitoring, while computer models of landslide and tsunami scenarios can help identify specific places that are most at risk."

In the letter, the authors reached out to those living in and visiting the area, asking, "What specific questions are most important to you?" and "What could be done to reduce the danger to people who want to visit or work in Barry Arm?" They also invited locals to let them know about any changes, including even small rock-falls and landslides.

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