INTRODUCTION

The interrelation between a three-dimensional surface and its contour map is

illustrated in Figure 1 .


Figure 1


We see a fence diagram of seismic sections, cut off at an important horizon to be
mapped. The surface represented by that horizon is three-dimensional, and is
specified only along the seismic lines. The contour map (superimposed above the
fence sections) honors the reflection-time information on each section, but also
fills in the reflection times between the sections; this it does in a geologically
plausible manner. There, then, is the importance of good contouring; to the
extent that the contouring embodies the constraints of geological plausibility, it
saves us seismic lines. Good contouring, performed in the interpretation stage, is
cheap; additional seismic lines are expensive.
Today much contouring is done by machine. However, the expert interpreter
must understand what the machine does, and where it is likely to fall short.
Where it does fall short, he must be able to do better. And he must be skilled not
only in making
contour maps but in reading contour maps made by others, so that from the two-
dimensional contour map he can instantly visualize the three-dimensional surface.
Within a minute or two, the expert interpreter knows the structural style, the
location of the trap, the location of the spill point, and the structural risk in the
prospect.
SHAPES AND CONTOURS
Specific geological processes yield characteristic shapes. There is therefore a two-
way interaction between the contouring of a surface and the processes that gave
rise to that surface: understanding the processes helps us to do the contouring,
and the message of the completed contours helps us to identify the geographical
and geological setting. We start by exploring the relation between the shape of a
surface and the contour map of that surface.
The contour map of a plane horizontal surface (in the jargon, a "flat" surface) is
blank. If a plane surface dips, the contours are parallel and equally spaced. For a
defined contour interval, widely spaced contours imply gentle dip, and closely
spaced contours imply steep dip. The contours represent structural strike; locally,
on each contour, the direction of steepest descent is perpendicular to the contour.
Smooth surfaces are characterized by contours that are gently curved and near
parallel; rough surfaces are characterized by tortuous contours and a "busy"
appearance.
This last distinction acquires immediate significance when we remember that the
sea floor is usually dominated by depositional processes, and is generally fairly
smooth; the surface of the land is often dominated by erosional processes, and
can be very rough indeed. Erosional processes and depositional processes yield
distinctive contour maps.
Let us consider the sea floor first. A contour map of the sea floor is often called a
bathymetric chart. Let us consider such bathymetric maps at several levels of
detail.
At the grossest level, the oceanic fringes of the continents are characterized (as
shown in Figure 1 (a)) by the coastal plain, the continental shelf , the continental
slope, the continental rise, and the abyssal plain.


Figure 1


We expect generally parallel contours--widely spaced on the shelf, closely spaced
on the slope ( Figure 1 (b)).
If we look more closely, we probably find that the outer part of the shelf, and the
slope, are cut by submarine canyons ( Figure 2 ) . We note the characteristic
contour pattern, and how the contour spacing tells us that the canyons are V-
shaped.



Figure 2


More closely again, we can see that the shelf itself is not uniform. Perhaps it is
dominated by carbonates, formed in banks ( Figure 3 ) with their characteristic
contour pattern: low relief, elongated, aligned along depositional strike.



Figure 3


Yet more closely, we see (in Figure 4 ) the formation of submarine fans at the
mouths of the submarine canyons.


Figure 4


The piles of sediment, and their contours, have the characteristic fan shape. In
this example the contours are used to represent the thickness of the fan
sediments.
All of these marine contour patterns are fairly smooth. On land, in contrast, the
contour patterns reflect the nature of the erosion (which is a function of the
climate, the characteristics of the rock, and the rate of uplift) and the time for
which erosion has been active. Thus the Alps and the Himalayas, uplifted
comparatively recently, are characterized by highly complex contours. The
interior of Australia, on the other hand, is a peneplain representing a very mature
erosional surface; this message is conveyed by its sparse contours.
The contours of a land surface may indicate alluvial fans (rather like submarine
fans), young river valleys (V-shaped, rather like submarine canyons), mature
river valleys (broad, with gentle bounding slopes), glacial valleys (U-shaped) and
ancient lakes. In any case, the hallmark of an expert contourer is this natural
appearance in his contours. The frustration of the novice contourer is that the
experts react to his maps with a "yuk," while not being able to say exactly what is
wrong--other than that the contours are just not natural.
We now return to the subsurface, to remind ourselves of the folding of concordant
layers and of its expression by contours. In Figure 5 (the block diagram)


Figure 5


and Figure 6 (a contour map on the base of the unit) we see a simple
symmetrical anticline and its representation by contours.


Figure 6


If the fold is not symmetrical the contours are more closely spaced on one side
than on the other. In Figure 7 and Figure 8 we see the corresponding simple
syncline.


Figure 7





Figure 8


Figure 9 and Figure 10 depict the contour expression of a plunging fold.


Figure 9





Figure 10


Figure 11 illustrates a classical petroleum trap--a closed anticlinal dome, with two
culminations, over the Keystone field in West Texas; the anticlinal axis is shown
by a bold line, with arrows to highlight the dips.


Figure 11


We notice that almost everywhere on this map the contours appear natural.
Figure 12 , Figure 13 and Figure 14 show what happens to the contours when a
closed anticline, developed on southeast regional dip as in Figure 12 , is subjected
to subsequent southeastward tilting, represented by Figure 13 . In Figure 14 the
anticline has become a nose; in a structural sense, we have lost a prospect.



Figure 12





Figure 13





Figure 14


(Always conscious of velocity problems, we recall that a closed anticline can
similarly be turned into a nose, or a nose into a closed anticline, by a lateral
variation of velocity.)
The delightful simplicity of the Keystone anticline in Figure 11 occurs only with
gentle structures. When the folding is more intense, the stretching of the upper
layers inevitably leads to faulting; this may take many forms, depending on the
totality of the stresses involved. Most anticlinal traps, therefore, tend to look
more like Figure 15 (the contours and faults of the Conroe field in Texas) --
basically a dome, but cut and displaced by many faults.


Figure 15


Indeed, in most exploration mapping it is not possible to separate the operation
of contouring from the decisions of fault interpretation.
THE RELEVANCE OF LINE SPACING
In some forms of geophysical exploration, the measurements are usually made
on the basis of a regular grid. Thus, a reconnaissance gravity survey on land
might make one gravity measurement for each square kilometer ( Figure 1 ) .
Three-dimensional seismic surveys allow a similar regularity, but on a much finer
grid. Data of this type are ideally suited to contouring because the data points are
regularly distributed.



Figure 1


Two-dimensional seismic surveys, aeromagnetic surveys, and marine surveys, on
the other hand, are ordinarily conducted along lines. The data points are very
closely spaced along the lines, but totally absent between the lines ( Figure 2 ). It
is the function of the contouring to fill in the blanks. There is a balance to be
sought between line spacing and contouring confidence.



Figure 2


In choosing line spacing, there is the risk that widely spaced lines may totally
miss a prospective feature, such as a reef. Now we add an extra consideration.
Closely spaced lines are expensive, but allow confidence in the contours; widely
spaced lines introduce ambiguity into the contouring between them. Even if this
ambiguity does not involve missing a prospective feature altogether, it may mean
that a critical spill point is not recognized, or that closure is drawn where none
exists.
Figure 3 ,


Figure 3


Figure 4 and Figure 5 show four lines,


Figure 4


on each of which the picked reflection is flat.


Figure 5


We have no way of knowing, from these data alone, whether the area between
the lines is flat ( Figure 3 ), or anticlinal ( Figure 4 ), or synclinal ( Figure 5 ). If
this ambiguity is immaterial to the interpretation, then we merely note the
ambiguity on the map, and pass on. But if the area is on trend with a structural
high, and is large enough to be of economic interest, then we record the
possibility of a prospect, and call for an infill line.
Figure 6 ,


Figure 6


Figure 7 and Figure 8 illustrate a different ambiguity.


Figure 7


Two lines show a high, and two a low.


Figure 8


We have no way of knowing, from Figure 6 , alone, whether the area between the
lines is an east-west syncline ( Figure 7 ) or a north-south anticline ( Figure 8 ) .
However, in this example (unlike the last) we must make a decision; our contours
must cross the area one way or the other. If the region has an east-west
structural grain we accept the syncline. Otherwise, we record the likelihood of a
prospect, and again call for an infill line.
In Figure 9 (an east-west line confirming some kind of closure) we assume that
the infill (Line 5) confirms the anticline.


Figure 9


Now the ambiguity is between the optimistic contouring of Figure 10 and the less
optimistic version of Figure 11 .


Figure 10


Perhaps the economics are such that either is attractive; then we need do no
more.


Figure 11


But if Figure 11 would be uneconomic, we need more infill lines. Thus in Figure 12
(after another infill line.


Figure 12


This one confirms closure in the north, but another line between 4 and 5 would be
necessary to confirm the closure) Line 6 removes all risk of the northerly saddle,
but leaves the possibility of the southerly saddle.
So the recognition of trends is important; it can save us in-fill lines, or it can
increase our confidence if we must proceed to a map without the benefit of infill
lines. The trends (of folds, or flexures, or faults) may be established by surface
geology, or the study of satellite images, or from gravity or magnetic data, or
from reasoning based on knowledge of the tectonic history or the depositional
history. A good interpreter searches all these sources for evidence of trends
before he starts to contour. And he contours the unambiguous parts of his map
first, to extract all possible trend information, before he makes a decision in areas
of ambiguity .
Figure 13 and Figure 14 ,


Figure 13


however, remind us that the definition of trends may itself be subject to
ambiguity.


Figure 14


Both maps honor the same data on the two lines. Both maps show the contour
expression of a series of folds. But the trend of the fold axes is quite different,
and from these two lines alone we cannot choose between them. This is one more
example of the phenomenon of aliasing, which we have encountered many times
and in many contexts throughout this series of modules.
What should we do in the situation of Figure 13 and Figure 14 ? If we can resolve
the ambiguity by some other indication of trend, well and good. If not, we should
mark on the individual lines the highs and the lows, and either leave the area
blank or suggest one of the possible interpretations by lightly dashed contours. In
either case we should annotate the map with a brief description of the
uncertainty. We remember that it is an important duty of the interpreter to
preserve some measure of the risk--in this case the contouring uncertainty--on
his map. Management must be told clearly whether our contours represent an
interpretation or merely a hypothesis.
CONTOURING BY HAND
In present practice, picking is usually done (or at least guided) by hand, because
the interpretive decisions made during picking have not yet been formalized to
the extent that they can be programmed. The contouring also incorporates
interpretive decisions--such as those based on geological likelihoods of shape or
on dimly perceived trends. Although the contouring process can be mechanized,
many interpreters therefore prefer to contour by hand in any situation where
these interpretive decisions are critical. The operations of timing and posting,
however, are not interpretive; they can (and should) be mechanized.
Picking: Basic Concepts
Picking a Geologically Meaningful Surface
Picking is the operation of marking the seismic section to identify the position of a reflecting surface. In
practice, it may appear to the novice merely the marking of a zone of reflection continuity--the trace-to-trace
alignment of reflection pulses. But it is far more than this. Indeed, the distinction is the reason that picking is
still done (or at least guided) by hand; the machine can easily identify zones of reflection continuity, or the
trace-to-trace alignment of reflection pulses, but that is not enough. What the human interpreter brings is a
visualization of the pick, in the mind's eye, as a geological surface. This is most important, and it cannot be
overemphasized; as we pick, we are continually making interpretive decisions based on our vision of the pick
as a real geological surface.
In most cases, this surface is either an unconformity surface (a one-time surface of erosion or nondeposition)
or a bedding-plane surface (a one-time surface of deposition). Figure 1 ,


Figure 1


Figure 2 ,


Figure 2


Figure 3 ,


Figure 3


Figure 4 ,


Figure 4


Figure 5 and Figure 6 remind us that the seismic expression of these surfaces may not be simple.


Figure 5


In Figure 1 we see ancient rocks uplifted and subjected to subaerial erosion.


Figure 6


As the erosion proceeds, a pod of sediments ( Figure 2 ) is formed, including much coarse material to the
right. Perhaps while this is forming, a rise of relative sea level allows marine sediments to onlap the pod, as
at the left; these are probably fine-grained to the extreme left, but coarser near the coastline at the point of
onlap. The marine transgression continues, as does the erosion of the land mass to the right ( Figure 3 ).
Thereafter, a period in which few coarse-grained sediments are available yields a rather uniform layer of
clays ( Figure 4 ). Thereafter, perhaps, a blanket of carbonate rocks forms overall ( Figure 5 ). The seismic
response to the present-day succession might appear as in Figure 6 .
The reflection from the top of the carbonate layer (aa) is probably positive, strong and continuous; it comes
from a boundary of rock type, and may well be a bedding-plane surface also. The reflection may be picked
almost mechanically, and it represents an excellent surface for contouring.
The reflections from the steeply dipping rocks (such as gg) below the major unconformity (bb) may be of
varying polarity and strength, but they are truncated by the unconformity. It would be a crass picking error
not to recognize this, and to continue the positive pick gg up the unconformity surface bb to the right.
The unconformity surface itself (bb-bb-bb) may be rough, but it is probably regionally continuous. However,
the reflection that corresponds to it is discontinuous--fragmented, of changing strength, and perhaps of
changing polarity. The pick we make is defined more by the termination of the subcropping reflections than
by forcing the continuity of a particular peak or trough ( Figure 7 , for example). However, when the pick has
been made, the regional nature of the unconformity makes it a good surface for contouring.


Figure 7


At each point on the unconformity surface, the reflection pick represents the surface of the solid earth at the
moment of burial; it certainly does not represent a bedding plane.
The reflection from the base cc of the carbonate layer is probably negative, strong, and continuous until it
onlaps the unconformity bb. It would be an error of picking to fail to notice the onlap, and to pick cc
continuous with the extreme right of bb. Easy to do, but wrong.
The pod of sediments between the unconformity bb-bb-bb and the unconformity dd-dd-dd is a purely local
feature; the reflection dd-dd-dd must be recognized as such. At its low end it terminates by downlap on to
bb. Near its high end it terminates by onlap on to bb. But at the high end itself the unconformity dd becomes
continuous with the unconformity bb; the lower part of the unconformity bb is truncated at the junction. It
would be a picking error not to recognize the double nature of the apparently continuous unconformity dd-
bb.
The reflection dd-dd-dd itself is a function of the materials overlying and underlying it, both of which change
spatially. Therefore it is possible for this unconformity to change strength dramatically--and even change
polarity--as suggested in the sketch. In this case the pick we make is defined more by the termination of the
onlapping reflections than by forcing the continuity of a particular peak or trough ( Figure 8 , for example) .


Figure 8


There are bedding-plane surfaces within the pod of sediments between dd and bb. They probably have the
same sigmoid form; they may or may not be seen as seismic reflections.
Finally, the interfaces ee and ff must be recognized to terminate by onlap against dd, and must not be forced
further. Because of their marine nature they are probably continuous to the left, and probably bedding
planes; however, the tendency for coarse-grained sediments to be concentrated near the coastline means
that the reflections may change their strength progressively away from the onlap. The reflections may be
strong near the onlap and weaken to nothing leftward (as suggested by the sketch), or the presence of
carbonate material out to sea could cause the reverse. In either case, the fact that the reflection disappears
does not mean that the bedding plane terminates--merely that there is no contrast of rock properties across
it.
From all of this, we see that the object of picking is not to force continuity relentlessly across the section.
Sometimes, it is true, we do force the continuity through, where we can see that the continuity is
geologically plausible and that the problem is a local area of noise. But in general we do not demand
continuity; in our picking we accept that reflections terminate, and we search for the geologic meaning in
these terminations. Specifically, reflections terminate because of truncation by an unconformity, because of
onlap, downlap and toplap, and because of a progressive reduction in the contrast of rock properties across
an interface. The first two of these signify the termination of a bedding-plane surface; the third does not.
These considerations lead to a general rule: we prefer to start our picking deep in the basin, and work
toward the basin margin, which is ordinarily updip. If the reflection we are following splits into two, thus
creating an ambiguity, we keep low. Looking again at Figure 6 , we see first that this gives the right answer
for the deep unconformity pick bb-bb-bb, working from the left. Next, coming higher in the section, we start
a new unconformity pick dd at the point of downlap on to bb, and trace it to its termination against bb updip.
Then we progressively pick ff, ee, and cc to their points of onlap.
However, the rule of keeping low, while a good one, is no substitute for geological thinking. For example, the
pick gg must never be regarded as continuous with the pick bb; we must recognize the termination of gg by
truncation.
To aid in the recognition of terminations, many interpreters start the picking exercise by marking on the
section all important points of toplap and truncation (by the arrow ) ( Figure 9 (a)) and onlap and downlap
(by the arrow ) ( Figure 9 (b)).


Figure 9


Figure 10 is a section annotated in this way before picking.


Figure 10


The practice has several benefits:
it gives a general idea of the geological history represented by the section;
it identifies the unconformities necessary for seismicstratigraphic purposes;
it identifies the places where mappable surfaces terminate;
it identifies the places where the character of the reflection below the lap-out may be expected to
change (since different materials are now brought into contact across this interface) .
The last point reminds us of the sensitivity of our picks to character changes caused by
interference between closely spaced reflections. In Figure 11 we see a single flat continuous
surface aa; the fan cc downlaps on to it, and subsequent marine deposition bb onlaps the fan.


Figure 11


Inevitably, both the amplitude and the character of the reflection aa must change across the
point of downlap; in turn, the change of character introduces a change of time in the peak or
trough we are following, and so causes spurious deflections of the contours on the contour
map. Therefore, in any case where a few milliseconds can be significant, it is important to
mark the onlap and downlap arrows on the contour map as well as on the section--as a
warning that a spurious step has been introduced in the map at this point.
Picking: General Rules
For contouring to be valid, the picking must be done with the contouring in mind,
and this leads to the following rules.
1. The pick must represent a geologically meaningful surface. This means
that we must be able to see a pick as one of the following.
A bedding plane, across which a contrast of acoustic impedance has been
formed by a change of sediment type, a change of sediment supply, or a
change of relative sea level. All points on such a surface were receiving
sediment at the same time; we remember that the surface is called time-
stratigraphic (or chronostratigraphic).
A rock-stratigraphic (or lithostratigraphic) surface, in which a highly
particular set of circumstances has formed a rock contrast that cuts across
the bedding planes. Usually this contrast is actually a transition,
generating a recognizably low-frequency reflection above an unconformity
surface. However, diagenetic processes (leading to different cementation
in different zones of the rock) cab lead to abrupt contrasts and discrete
reflections.
A hiatus or gap in deposition, caused by a break in sediment supply or a
change in relative sea level or currents. A hiatus increases the chances of
a significant rock contrast; today there is increasing evidence that most
strong reflections, even in conformable sequences, represent such gaps in
the deposition of sediments.
An erosional unconformity as it exists at present, within the earth. It is
important to remember that the constraints on the reasonableness of this
surface are not those constraining an exposed surface undergoing erosion
today; within the earth an unconformity was buried in one place, while still
being eroded in another. At no time did the complete unconformity surface
seen on a seismic section ever exist as a continuous surface.
Thus, in picking, we are not just marking a pulse-to-pulse alignment; we
are choosing a mappable surface.
2. Each of these surfaces, according to its type, must terminate along
some line. If we fail to recognize this termination, or force a pick across it,
the surface we contour is no longer geologically meaningful, and
considerations of reasonableness are no longer available to guide the
contouring.
3. Wherever possible, we start the picking deep in the basin, and work
updip; we are picking in the direction of onlap. Of course, the surface we
are following may rise to a high and then reverse; then we are picking
against the direction of onlap, and the general picking rule is to stay low.
This is illustrated in Figure 1 ,


Figure 1


Figure 2 ,


Figure 2


Figure 3 and Figure 4 .


Figure 3


However, we must remember at all times that such rules are no more than
convenient simplifications; the real rule is that the surface we follow must
be a geologically meaningful surface.


Figure 4


Thus, in Figure 5 ,


Figure 5


Figure 6 ,


Figure 6


Figure 7


Figure 7


and Figure 8 the geologically meaningful surface is the unconformity; it
would be quite wrong to follow the pick down a truncated interface merely
because someone had told us to stay low.



Figure 8


4. On sections known to have been brought to zero phase, reflections
known to be positive must be picked on a white trough and reflections
known to be negative must be picked on a black peak (for the SEG 1975
convention). In less clear situations, we may be driven to picking any
peak, trough, or zero crossing that (a) is near the envelope maximum and
(b) shows geologically plausible continuity.
5. Whenever changes of character are observed along a picked reflection,
those changes are probably due to interference; all we can do is to stay on
the "same" peak or trough, but we must recognize that we are not staying
on the "same" time-stratigraphic surface. Therefore we are careful to
make some annotation on the map (even " CC" will do) to indicate this
change of character. If a closed loop indicates a mistie, this is the first
place to look for the explanation.
6. The tying of loops is an essential discipline, of course. Also essential is
the meticulous tying of the seismic picks to the well control. For all the
reasons given above, the continuous seismic picks between wells usually
tie levels of the same geological age, except where unconformities
intervene; if this is not so we must either understand why not, or be
suspicious of the picks. Wherever possible, we refine the seismic ties to
the well by constructing synthetic seismograms; if the seismic grid ties
more than one well, we are careful to use the same variables in
constructing the corresponding synthetics (unless, of course, the relevant
seismic lines used different variables) Tying all the wells is critically
important if we are to have confidence in the final contour map.
7. We must recognize that sometimes the amplitude of a reflection falls to
zero. The same time-stratigraphic surface is still there, but the type or
condition of the rocks has changed, and there is no acoustic contrast.
Thus, in Figure 9 (an example in which we have to choose between
phantoming the pick and inserting a fault) the temptation is to stay on
reflection aa until it stops, and then to fault it up to bb.


Figure 9


This could be correct if there is other evidence for faulting above or below,
but in the absence of such evidence the reflection must be "phantomed,"
following the generally conformable grain of reflections.
8. We also recognize that seismic artifacts (for example, poor statics,
incorrect mutes, loss of stack fold, wrong stacking velocities, changes of
source pulse, changes of surface) can cause loss of continuity in
reflections. With the interactive workstation, we have some ability to
determine whether an observed loss of continuity is caused by such
artifacts or is real. But often some doubt remains. This leads us, again, to
the same ultimate rule: if there is doubt on the section, note it on the
map. When we come to the contouring, it may be of enormous significance
to see part of a line marked "phantomed," or "forced through," or "could
be a leg higher."
9. The picking operation can sometimes be confused by sideswipe from
anomalous features (faults, steep structure, salt domes) off the side of the
line. Often, sideswipe events identify themselves by being geologically
improbable, and we do our best to pick through them. In other instances
the events are more difficult to identify, and inevitably lead to picking
errors; then we hope that the errors are revealed and located by tying
around loops. In general, if conflicting dips lead us to suspect sideswipe,
we defer the picking in that part of the line until all the lines have been
worked, and the major features seen on other lines have been marked on
the map; then the source of the sideswipe can usually be identified. With
the location (and, possibly, the orientation) of the sideswipe source
established, it is easier to recognize and discard its effects on nearby
sections.
The Location Map
Figure 1 shows a location map in which all the lines were shot during one survey, with line numbers less than
100 reserved for dip lines and line numbers greater than 100 reserved for strike lines.


Figure 1


From the scale, we can see that the line spacing is appropriate to a large feature.
More typically, the location map would include lines shot in several different surveys, with the line numbers
coded to show the year. This is likely to reveal the history of the prospect: early reconnaissance lines
(perhaps at 5-10 km spacing on a regular north-and-east grid), followed by semidetail lines (perhaps at
0.25-1 km spacing in the same directions) and a line to tie a well, followed by individual short lines oriented
to resolve specific zones of uncertainty in the previous interpretation.
For preference, the source-points from different surveys should be plotted with different symbols; this aids
the reading of the map where lines cross. If different symbols are not used, or lines of the same survey
intersect at a very acute angle, or a line is caused to deviate across others by a fishing boat, the symbols
may be supplemented to show the line direction.
Source-points are usually shown every 10 or 20, and numbered every 50 or 100. Posting errors are
minimized if the system of marking and numbering is the same on the map and on the section.
The scale of the map is typically 1:100,000 (that is, 1 cm to 1 km) for reconnaissance work, 1:50,000 (2 cm
to 1 km) for semidetail work, and 1:25,000 (4 cm to 1 km) for prospect delineation. It is an advantage if
sections and maps are displayed at the same scale. Thus, detail sections are often made at a vertical scale of
10 cm/s and a horizontal scale of 1:25,000; the section may be folded horizontally along the time origin, and
the fold laid with exact correspondence along the line on the map.
(In the U.S. onshore, where topographic maps are usually plotted at 1 in. to 2000 ft, the scales for both
location map and section become 1:24,000.)
Transferring the Features
The first thing we must do in making a structure map is to transfer from the sections to the map all the highs
and all the lows (more strictly, all the dip reversals), and all the significant faults. This is not an option but a
necessity; it is our only protection if the frequency of dip reversals or faults causes us to violate the sampling
theorem. Then we transfer the arrows signifying truncation, toplap, and baselap. We also annotate zones of
near-constant dip, zero dip, loss of the reflection, change of character, phantom picks, and any recognizable
characteristic that is likely to aid correlation from line to line. Figure 1 is a simple example of this sort; a
typical prospect would have much more annotation.


Figure 1



Misties
The operation of picking around a closed loop involves folding one section vertically at the line intersection,
overlaying it on the next section at the right place, and continuing the pick from one section to the other. For
this purpose, we are not fazed by a mistie if we can see that we are indeed on the "same" reflection.
However, we can no longer be so tolerant when we are preparing to make a contour map. Obviously, errors
in the contours must arise if we ignore the mistie, or average it near the line intersections. The only truly
sound course is to solve the mistie.
To do this we must learn to recognize the types of mistie. While we can hope to eliminate misties from
unmigrated sections, a dip line and a strike line must always mistie on migrated sections. Therefore we look
first at the sources of mistie on unmigrated sections.
On unmigrated sections from the same survey, the source, the field settings, and the processing are likely to
be uniform. In this case there should be no systematic misties. The sources of unsystematic misties can then
be identified as follows.
At sea, positioning remains the most likely culprit. Before we blame the navigation
as such, however, we must check that the setback has been properly computed and
applied. In tidal waters, where significant feathering is likely on some lines, we also
need to check whether the antenna, the near group, or the common midpoint has
been kept on the programmed line. If these are the source of the trouble, the maps or
the setback must be corrected before we go any further. If they are not, the standard
procedure is to test empirically whether variations in the line intersection yield a better
tie. At the interactive workstation it is easy to move the line intersection on both lines
simultaneously (manually, it would be done by trying several folds on one section,
sliding the fold backward and forward across the nominal point of intersection on the
other section). Because the degree of mistie introduced by a navigation error is a
function of the dip, what we are searching for is a revised line intersection that
eliminates the mistie on all reflections--particularly the dipping ones. Where the
evidence for a revised line intersection is clear, the map must be changed (and
annotated to show that it has been changed). Where it is less clear, we usually make
some compromise adjustment, acknowledging the physical realities of boat speed
and feathering, and the significance of the change on the final contours.
Misties appearing to be unsystematic can also be caused by what is actually a systematic error
between the positioning of two or more surveys. This can occur, for example, where two base
stations of an early survey were on the mainland (perhaps in different countries, with different
geodetic datums) and the third was on an island that, at the time of the survey, did not have a
good geodetic tie to the mainland. Or a subsequent survey may use different positions for the base
stations, with different path lengths over land; again the two surveys may be systematically offset
from each other. The best approach to this problem is to go through all the lines of the most recent
survey, marking on the map every recognizable feature of the geology (highs, lows, flexures, and
particularly faults), and then to do the same, on transparent paper, for all the lines of the older
survey; then we can move one map over the other until we get the best fit of the geological
features. Normally we would then replot the older survey to accord with the positioning of the more
recent survey.
On land, the most likely culprit for unsystematic misties is static corrections. The mistie is then
the same at all reflection times. Of course, datum corrections calculated by deterministic means
should tie precisely at the line intersections; however, those calculated from the reflection data
themselves (including all forms of autostatics) may not do so. This is because of certain
mathematical indeterminacies in the statics solution (often called "long-wavelength" statics). A
good autostatics program yields a section after auto-statics that is a best fit (in a least-squares
sense) to the section before autostatics, but this in itself does not guarantee that the fit is actually
the same at the line intersections. The interpreter is then left to "fudge" the mistie as best he can.
Typically, he adopts the average reflection-time value at the line intersection, and then distributes
half the mistie over a reasonable distance each side of the intersection, on each line.
Can we improve on this rough-and-ready approach? First, we can use our understanding of the
phenomenon to tell us over what distance we should do the distribution; this is half a spread length
(or, more properly, half the length of that portion of the spread within the mute line over the
window used in the statics solution). Second, the processors can constrain the statics solution to tie
at all the line intersections. Although there is still no guarantee that the statics solution is actually
correct, this does eliminate the misties as an obstacle to contouring.
In any situation where we eliminate the misties introduced by an autostatics program--whether by
machine or by hand--we must remember that the resulting contours, although smooth, are not
right. This tells us that, whenever we "fudge" a mistie, we should add a note "M" at that
intersection; this will remind us, when we come to read meaning into the contour map, to have less
trust in the map near that intersection.
In working on a mistie problem caused by statics, we sometimes find that it helps to plot the
misties on a map; this may reveal an areal pattern, suggesting that the assumptions of the datum-
correction technique are not appropriate everywhere.
Another culprit causing unsystematic misties is obviously noise. If the tying reflection on one or
both sections is seen to be noisy, we just do whatever reasonable smoothing is necessary to
remove the mistie. If one of the sections is noisier than the other, we concentrate the mistie
correction on the noisy section.
Although we are here concerned with unsystematic misties, and although processing variations
generally introduce systematic misties, we should note that processing variations from line to line,
within a survey, can yield misties that appear unsystematic. The most common culprits are changes
in the mute pattern from line to line and discordant stacking velocities. Time-variant statistical
deconvolution programs can also cause apparently unsystematic misties.
This leads us to a discussion of systematic misties--those where all reflections of one survey
have a constant mistie with the corresponding reflections on another survey; the mistie may
be of time, or character, or both.
A constant mistie of time (for example, where one survey is uniformly 10 ms earlier
than another) suggests a simple difference of datum correction. For example, one
marine survey may be properly corrected to a sea-level datum, whereas another
(particularly an old one) may not be corrected for source and streamer depth. Or one
land survey may use one elevation velocity above one datum, while another may use
a different elevation velocity or a different datum, or both. All these differences should
be apparent from the section labels.
Another simple source of constant mistie, which should also be apparent from the section labels,
is the display polarity. The 1975 SEG polarity standard requires that a compression in the water (or
an upward motion of the geophone case on land) should produce a white trough on the section.
This standard may need modification for water guns and for Vibroseis, depending on the processing
applied. Of course, not everybody agrees with the SEG convention; some hold, with good reason,
that the dominant lobe of a positive reflection should be a black peak. All these considerations often
mean that sections of different vintage, or from different companies, have opposite polarity.
The correction, of course, is that a reflection picked as a peak on one set of sections must be picked
as a trough on the others. It is not correct to keep the "same" picking point and to add or subtract
a fixed time.
We turn now to apparent misties caused by differences of reflection character, from one survey to
another. This is a very common phenomenon; different surveys use different sources or different
source depths, different geophones or different hydrophone depths, different instruments or
different recording filters, and different processing.
Figure 1 reminds us of the effect of these agencies.


Figure 1


The figure represents successive stages in the life of the reflection pulse, excluding those effects
which occur in the body of the earth.
The source, in this marine illustration, is a small air-gun array. After the command to shoot, at
nominal zero time, there is a delay during which the air-gun valve is accelerated. Then we observe
the outgoing pulse as it would be recorded with a near-field hydrophone (pulse 1). As this signal is
transmitted downward, it is followed by the free-surface ghost (2); in the illustration the source is
about 6 m deep, so the ghost (which is negative, of course) comes after 8 ms. At this stage we
imagine that the pulse is turned back by a perfect reflector, and enters the hydro-phone array. It is
followed by a new free-surface ghost, in this case corresponding to a streamer depth of 15 m. Pulse
3 is the notional reflection signal at the input to the recording instruments.
The antialias filter in the instruments removes the highest frequencies, and has a marked effect on
the pulse (4). Thereafter the minimum-phase deconvolution in the processing reshapes this pulse,
and removes the vestigial bubble pulse (5). Finally, time-variant zero-phase cosmetic filtering is
applied; the illustration shows the resultant pulse at representative shallow and deep levels ([6]
and [7], respectively). Clearly, the dependence of the final reflection pulse on the intermediate
stages is major--even without the inevitable contributions from the earth.
Figure 2 shows the same sequence for a different source. Even without a change in the source
depth (or anything else), the final reflection pulse is quite different.


Figure 2


Obviously, surveys shot with these two sources must yield a major mistie of reflection character;
indeed, in this case, the change is so large that it could almost be taken as a reversal of polarity.
Figure 3


Figure 3


abstracts the recorded and processed pulse shapes from Figure 1 and Figure 2 , and adds two more
from other sources. If we were to add the effects of changing operating depths, different
instruments and different processing, we would obtain an even wider range of resulting pulse
shapes. The potential for misties is enormous.
There are several approaches in dealing with this type of mistie. The first approach merely accepts
the sections as they are, and attempts to find a simple time correction for each vintage of data,
relative to one vintage (normally the most recent) taken as the reference. This can be reasonably
effective, provided that the picks we make on all data are close to the envelope maximum. Indeed,
this is one of the reasons for always picking near the envelope maximum.
We can arrive at a figure for the time correction by looking at many line intersections at the level of
reflections known or believed to be discrete (that is, for a single major contrast of acoustic
impedance, without the complications of thin beds causing interference above or below). Then, on
our chosen pick near the envelope maximum, we estimate an average figure for the mistie, and use
that as the correction. As always, we use the convention that a positive correction increases the
reflection time.
The second approach involves reprocessing the older data to zero phase. In so doing, we may
choose to check whether the bandwidth can also be improved by modern deconvolution, but this is
not a necessary part of the approach. Our object is merely to measure whatever reflection
spectrum exists on the stacked data, and thereby to derive and apply a phase-correction operator
to bring the section to zero phase. This is straightforward and inexpensive if we have kept the
stacked but unfiltered data, and all the processing applied up to this stage has been minimum
phase, or close to minimum phase.
With this done, we pick all reflections on the peak or trough actually at the envelope maximum, and
the misties become much smaller. If they are still significant (for the type of structure being
delineated), we again estimate a mistie correction as an average of the misties observed on
discrete reflections. It is still important to work on discrete reflections; because the bandwidths on
the different surveys remain different, the complexes produced by reflection interference have
different character, and cannot tie leg for leg. Figure 4


Figure 4


and Figure 5 remind us of the effect: in Figure 4 only the substantially discrete reflection (the last
one)


Figure 5


yields no mistie between different zero-phase reflection pulses; in Figure 5 we can see from the
time variations that there are no effectively discrete reflections if the bandwidth is small and low-
frequency.
The third approach involves reprocessing of all the sections to have the same bandwidth, again with
zero phase. The advantage of this is that the mistie corrections now become very small, and yield a
full correction of all picks (including those on reflection complexes); only with this approach can we
really talk about the "same" pick on different sections. The disadvantage, of course, is that the final
bandwidth of all sections can be no larger than that of the worst; all other sections are degraded in
resolution, to this smallest common bandwidth. This approach is therefore a technique of last
resort, applicable only to structures whose relief is so small as to be jeopardized by the misties
remaining with any other approach.
In practice, mistie problems often have several causes. If the structures are large, we tend to
do what can be done with a little thought, and to "fudge" the rest. Perhaps we get a discovery.
Then we need to understand more of the detail, and the statics must be given more attention.
In this situation it is not unusual to reprocess all of the surveys over the feature with a
common (or at least harmonious) statics technique. The expenditure is justified by the
discovery, and the interpreters can now map detail with much more confidence. Indeed, the
number and severity of misties can be used as a quantitative measure of the confidence to be
placed in the data.
We turn now to the accommodation of misties on migrated sections. Our first note, obviously, has to be that
all the sources of mistie present on unmigrated sections are there also on migrated sections. But now we add
a new and entirely systematic type of mistie, characterized by a degree of mistie that increases with the
difference of dip on the two sections. This type of mistie, then, is greatest between strike lines and steeply
dipping dip lines. Provided that the migration has been properly done, with appropriate velocities, it is the dip
line that is correct, and the strike line that misties. Unless we have reason to doubt the migration, therefore,
we accept the picks on the dip lines; the question is what we do to the picks on the strike lines.
There are several options for picking migrated and unmigrated sections, depending on the geological
complexity. We can summarize these options as follows.
First, if the geology is uncomplicated, we reaffirm that we prefer to pick the unmigrated sections. This avoids
the problem of migration misties. Then we migrate the contour map derived from the unmigrated sections.
Second, at an intermediate level of geological complexity, we continue to pick the unmigrated sections, but
we use the migrated sections to guide the picking; in particular, we use the migrated sections to clarify the
existence of the faults, and to verify their locations after the migration of the contour map.
Third, in very complex or steep-dip areas, we are forced to work with the migrated sections alone. We use
the unmigrated sections only to check the line ties, and so to verify that the misties on the migrated sections
are solely the consequence of the migration. We pick the migrated sections in the normal manner on the dip
lines. We also pick the migrated sections normally on those strike lines where the dip is small (for example,
on the crestal strike line) ; in these cases, of course, there are no migration misties. Then we have to tackle
the strike lines on the flanks, where the migration misties are material. If the character ties are good, these
strike lines at least confirm the picking thus far, and so allow the contouring to proceed on the dip lines. But
to go beyond this, and actually to use the time values on the strike lines, we have two problems: to decide
what times to plot on the map, and to decide where to plot them.
Perhaps it helps to have an example before us. Figure 6 and Figure 7 illustrate how migration can make the
difference between a dry hole and a producer.


Figure 6


Note that a well at about SP57 on the unmigrated section would be far downdip from the fault trap.


Figure 7


The migration moves the trap some 20 source-points up-dip; this is the distance h in the dip-line diagram of
Figure 8 .


Figure 8


For a strike line to show the updip trap, the line intersection can be no farther updip than about SP57 in
Figure 6 and Figure 7 . The actual reflection "points" on this strike line are approximately under SP37. This is
illustrated graphically in Figure 9 (the inability of 2-D migration to correct the displacement on a strike line).


Figure 9


These illustrations give us one approximate solution to the problems posed above. We do not use the actual
reflection times on the strike line, but only their variation; in effect, we force a tie on one dip line, plot the
variations in time along the strike line, and hope (as we may) that this yields at least an approximate tie to
the next dip line. Then these values are plotted, not on the actual location of the strike line, but updip by the
amount h; in Figure 6 and Figure 7 , this would be at about SP37.
To do this, one must have a measure of the distance h. In Figure 6 and Figure 7 this is in no doubt because
the fault can be seen clearly on both migrated and unmigrated sections. In other cases some recognizable
feature (a small fault, a thinning, a local loss of amplitude) can be seen on both sections, and similarly used
to give a direct measure of the distance h.
To do better than this, we must calculate the distance h, and calculate the sideways-migrated times on the
strike line; this we can do, from either the migrated or unmigrated sections, using the equations derived in
the appendix.
Of course, care is necessary if there is geological complexity (splay faults, for example) along the strike line,
or if the dip changes markedly on the dip line, or if the lines do not correspond fairly closely to the dip and
strike directions. In a severe situation we must adopt a completely general approach, calculating a new
position and new times for every line (or at least for those not substantially on dip). Figure 10 illustrates the
process of constructing a track line, and the vertical projection of the reflection "point" to the surface.


Figure 10


Figure 11 gives the unmigrated time structure map for a uniformly dipping surface; the five lines show no
misties.


Figure 11


Figure 12 shows what happens if we map picks from the migrated sections (and convert to depth) ; mistie
"bumps" appear on the map at the line intersections.


Figure 12


Figure 13 displays the calculated vectors to move the actual line locations on the map to the track-line
locations; all lines are moved except the two dip lines.


Figure 13


Each vector is accompanied by a revised time value (or in this case a revised depth value). Then Figure 14
shows that the misties have been removed; the dipping surface is now properly represented by the contours.


Figure 14


Let us see if we can summarize all the above conclusions about misties.
1. It is impossible to contour a mistie. In principle, misties must be solved before we
attempt to contour.
This conclusion needs a sense of proportion, of course. We would generally adopt a contour interval
that would provide at least two contours (and preferably three or four) on the minimum closed
structure of commercial significance; if the mistie is small relative to this contour interval we are at
no risk of materially distorting the structure by smoothing over a mistie. But many of us work in
areas of such low relief that the misties may be much larger than the structural closure; in this case
we must solve the misties or get out of the game.
2. Misties are a pain, and solving them is often tedious and difficult. In this effort, it is important to
be able to recognize the source or type of the mistie, using the following criteria.
Misties due to mispicks must be identified first. This is done by calculating
the net dip (in milliseconds) around each loop of the grid; on unmigrated
sections the net dip should be zero. A nonzero value (a misclosure),
clockwise in one loop and anticlockwise in the next, points to a picking error
in the common side of the loop. Ideally, having found such a misclosure, we
do not merely "distribute" the error along the common side, but search for
(and try to understand) its cause; this may be a leg jump in a poor-data zone,
or miscorrelation across a fault, or the use of phantoming in an unconformity
situation where it was not legitimate, or a changing relation between the
source pulse and the reflector complex.
On migrated sections the net dip around a loop may not be zero, but is still worth
checking; it should either be very small (if the dips are small) or explicable by the
differences in dip at the line intersections.
A mistie due to a positioning error at sea is greatest on the reflections with greatest dip.
A mistie due to long-wavelength statics is constant down the section (except perhaps in
the mute zone) .
A mistie due to noise is likely to be different from reflection to reflection, and the noise
is likely to be evident as such.
A mistie due to frequency-selective effects (different sources, arrays, instrument
settings, deconvolution, filtering) is associated with a difference of reflection character; a
simple time shift is unlikely to be a perfect correction, but it may be acceptable if the
structure is large, or if all the reflections picked are substantially discrete.
A mistie due to migration is most likely between a strike line and a dip line showing a
local steepening of the dip. Although this sometimes makes it difficult to distinguish
between migration misties and navigation misties, there are characteristics of difference;
for example, the reflection of a migration mistie is always early on the strike line, and the
migration mistie disappears if both lines are at the same angle to the dip direction.
3. From the above, we conclude the following.
Navigation misties are corrected by a local change of line location on the
map, or possibly a systematic change of one survey relative to another.
Long-wavelength-statics misties are corrected by a simple static time shift, usually
shared between the two lines and tapered to zero over at least half a spread length from
the intersection.
Datum misties are corrected by a simple static time shift applied to a whole survey.
Polarity misties are corrected by changing the pick from a peak to a trough (or the
reverse) .
Character misties should really be tackled by reprocessing all sections to zero phase,
and in extreme cases to the same bandwidth; however, a simple static time correction
applied to the whole survey is sometimes an acceptable substitute.
Migration misties are corrected (to a first approximation) by forcing the strike lines to tie
the dip lines, as discussed above, and by changing the mapped location of the strike lines
to the track-line position; for a closer approximation, actual corrected times may be
calculated for the strike line.
In cases where there are many vintages of data, and many types of source, the misties
may be so numerous and so large that individual solution of each mistie becomes a very
daunting task. We may be driven to work solely with the time differences along each piece
of line within a loop. If there is one place (in a good-data area, or at a well) where we
trust the actual reflection time, we can then compute the corresponding time at every
other place, using these time-difference segments. This makes us nervous, of course, as
we get farther from control. However, the approach may still be the best solution--
provided (and only provided) that there are no misclosures of net dip around any of the
loops.
Digitizing
Once we have corrected for misties, we can digitize the picks on the interpreted sections. From this we
obtain, on tape or disc, a tabulation of reflection time as a function of horizontal distance.
In times past, this rather mechanical chore had to be done by the interpreter, by hand; today it is done at
the interactive workstation, or by a technician at a digitizing table. Where the interpreter does not do it
alone, he or she must provide to the technician clear instructions defining the mistie corrections; for
example, in the case of a long-wavelength-statics correction, the section must contain an indication of both
the original pick (for comforts sake) and the modified pick, tapering the mistie correction in and out.
If the digitizing is done by machine-assisted picking at the interactive terminal, we can specify the reflection
completely by recording the picked time on every trace. Where it is done on a manual pick of a paper
section, at a digitizing table, this would be a formidable task; usually the picked time is recorded for every
10th or 20th trace. This is acceptable, provided that we apply some judicious smoothing as we mark the
pick, and make sure to transfer all abrupt features of the reflection directly to the map.
There still remains the question, Should the sample interval be of horizontal distance (say, every 10th trace),
or of time (say, every 10 ms)? Although the sampling in distance is the traditional way, the sampling in time
has some advantages. Specifically, if we digitize in time at the contour interval, we eliminate the need for
interpolation along the line. If we digitize in distance, we have to do this interpolation to find the positions at
which the reflection pick crosses the contour; however, we note that interpolation is not strictly allowed
unless we first reconstitute (which would be a significant additional chore).
Accordingly, the practice recommended here is as follows.
From our general familiarity with the area, gained from previous work and from
picking the present prospect, we establish a feeling for the minimum structural relief
that would be of commercial interest (or of geological interpretive value) .
We choose the contour interval to give us at least two contours (and preferably three or four) on
that minimum structural relief.
For contouring by hand, we digitize the reflection picks at a sampling interval of time, at half the
chosen contour interval.
In our later visual analysis of the final contour maps, there is some advantage to having the same
contour interval at all the levels mapped. In this case the instructions to the digitizer are constant.
However, it is a frequent observation that the deeper levels have greater relief, and less clarity of
detail; this may lead us to use a coarser contour interval (and hence a coarser digitizing interval) at
deeper levels.
We should acknowledge that this practice does not suit everybody. The important things are
to understand the relevance of the sampling theorem, to understand the exploration problem,
to be sure to transfer all the significant geological features to the map, and to sprinkle all this
with common sense.
Practical matters are important too, of course. As structures become smaller and smaller, we must take a
corresponding degree of care with the digitization. In particular, we must be sure to check the calibration of
the digitizer before and after each series of measurements; paper sections brought out of storage can
change dimensions significantly as they lose or absorb moisture.
Posting
Posting is the process of annotating the location map with the picked reflection times, in preparation for
contouring. The operation is entirely mechanical (except to the degree that we have to do any final
adjustment of the line locations as a part of the mistie corrections) . Our only concern is that the plot
program gives us an easy distinction between SP numbers and time values, and is smart enough not to
overplot.
Contouring Procedures
Ordinarily we pick several or many reflections; we have to decide which reflection should be contoured first.
Factors entering the decision are as follows.
In general the shallowest reflectors are the least complicated, showing faults and
structures that are comparatively young. It is a marked advantage to contour these
first, even if they are of no commercial interest; we can establish the structural trends
and fault directions for the youngest deformation, and be able to separate these out
when we come to the deeper and more complex geology.
At the other extreme, an interpretation must sometimes start with the basement; only when the
fault and other trends in the basement are clear can we fully understand the later structure as
adjustments and rejuvenation of patterns in the basement.
In studying the intermediate stages, the key horizons are often the major unconformities.
Unconformities also often represent the break between two diverse systems of faulting.
All of this must be tempered with considerations of reflection clarity, quality, and continuity. If
there is a clear "marker" reflection from a major shale-limestone interface, widespread over the
whole basin, we surely contour this at an early stage; confidence in the data and confidence in the
pick are always very important.
If we thereby obtain one contour map in which we have full confidence, we can use it--and our
understanding of the regional tectonics--to bias the contouring of another geologically related
horizon.
So, with the contour interval decided as above, and the decision made for the first reflection to
be contoured, we start to contour. In so doing, we accept from the beginning that almost
everything we do is likely to be modified later.
As always, we start where the reflection is clear, the pick beyond doubt, and the geological complexity a
minimum. As with the picking, this often means that we start in the lows, or way down on the flanks.
Some interpreters start with the coarse contours (perhaps every 100 ms) , and trace these around to get the
gross picture. Others start by drawing in just the easy and obvious segments of contours that are clear,
whatever their value; this is probably safer if the regional trends are not yet known.
If the digitizing has been done at regular intervals of distance, the first step is to interpolate the positions
where the contours cross the lines ( Figure 1 (a)).


Figure 1


Strictly speaking, this requires reconstitution before interpolation; however, the traditional practice is merely
to interpolate linearly, as in the figure. If the digitizing has been done at the contour interval (or, better, at
half the contour interval), this step is not necessary ( Figure 1 (b)).
The second step is to sketch in the contours across the line intersections, where the control points are closely
spaced ( Figure 2 ).


Figure 2


As the control points become more distant, away from the intersection, we are less confident; perhaps, for
the moment, we dash these contours. We pay particular attention to lines that cross acutely ( Figure 3 ),
since these define some local contours with more certainty.


Figure 3


The third step is to search for any contours that might justifiably be closed around the highs or lows
previously marked on the map. These we sketch in very tentatively indeed. We are particularly interested, of
course, in any suggestion that these highs or lows align in a trend.
The fourth step involves our first real attempt to fill in the contours between spaced lines. On a flank this is
straightforward; we are basically interpolating linearly within the space between the lines ( Figure 4 ).


Figure 4


Thus the value we ascribe at the point x is some reasonable interpolation between all the lettered points of
control around it . . . between a and h, b and i, d and k, f and l, and so on. In particular, we note that
wherever we regard a previously drawn contour as safe, we use that in the overall interpolation; thus X is
also an interpolation between m and g. The rule, clearly, is that the value ascribed at any point between the
seismic lines takes into account the control points and the established contours in all directions, with the
greatest weight given to the nearest control and the safest control.
In situations more complex than a flank, we follow the same rule, but with allowance for the highs and lows.
Thus, in Figure 5 and Figure 6 we start by noticing the high to the southeast; clearly the high closes (through
control points g,


Figure 5


h, i, j), and has its apex within the grid of lines.


Figure 6


Now we note the weaker high to the northwest, and hope that the two highs define a trend. Then we have to
decide whether f connects to k and a to g (as in Figure 5 ), or f to a and k to q (as in Figure 6 ). Everything
hinges on the control points r, S, and t (in particular on t). We would certainly go back and check the picks at
these points if the extent of the closed area is critical to the prospect; in Figure 6 the point x is probably well
within a large closed area, but in Figure 5 it could be a spill point.
With the critical pick checked, we make our decision between these two choices. If the choice is Figure 6 , we
note that contours nm, p1, be, and cd can be left straight, as we probably drew them originally. But if the
choice is Figure 5 , we think for a moment about geologically meaningful surfaces, and reach for the eraser.
Having accepted a saddle between two highs, we now have to bow the contours p1 and be in toward the
saddle. It is also likely that the outer contours nm and cd bow in somewhat, although possibly not as much
as p1 and be. In Figure 5 , then, we have the contour signature of a saddle, as a high crossed by a low; two
pairs of contour lines approach the saddle, and turn away again.
In Figure 7 we add the actual contour values, and note a useful check: at the edges of any contour map,
successive contours must either define a slope (so that they differ by one interval) or define a high or low (so
that two are the same).


Figure 7


Adjacent contours at the edge of the map cannot be 720 and 740, and there cannot be just one 720 between
two 730s. We resolve always to make this check before we fair-draw any contour map.
In fact, of course, we typically have many more lines than the four shown in Figure 7 . So we continue the
contouring--perhaps doing one clear part completely, perhaps sketching only a few contours in another part,
until the overall picture emerges. Then, as we focus on the areas of doubt or difficulty, we check whether the
half-interval values (which we digitized but have not yet posted or used) can resolve any of these local
problems. Often they can; when they have clarified the difficulty, we erase the half-interval contours and
leave the map looking normal.
As the map takes shape, we start to tidy the contours. For example, we check that the contours are
perpendicular to any anticlinal or synclinal axis that they cross, and generally parallel to such axes over the
broadest part of any high or low. We check whether the emerging contours shed new light on a mistie
problem, or indicate that a zone of doubtful picking needs review. If this is not the first horizon to be
contoured, we overlay the map on the maps of other geologically related horizons, and check the relation of
the two maps for geological plausibility. And we start to smooth the contours, wherever the sections allow it,
to remove effects like the serpentine contours of Figure 8 ; although it is true that there can be detail in the
contours near the seismic lines, and much less detail between the lines, the inclusion of all the detail along
the lines gives an unnatural appearance.


Figure 8


However, this is a judgment; we preserve carefully all indications of significant reentrants or minor flexures
that guide the correlations from line to line.
We also review the contour spacings. A contour map does not look natural if the majority of the contours are
uniformly spaced, as may happen if the interpolations do not take into account control points in all directions.
Thus, the even circular contours of Figure 9 (a) are rare in nature,


Figure 9


being confined to features such as salt domes; as soon as there is any elongation (as with all systems of
folding) the contours are no longer "parallel" ( Figure 9 (b)).
With these checks and modifications made, and the final contours roughed in, we can start the fair-drawing.
Every interpreter finds his or her own way. If any advice can be given, it is to draw the curves in segments,
with the wrist or elbow positioned beforehand to provide the appropriate radius of curvature, and with the
fingers used only to provide small modifications of the radius. A well-drawn contour map can be a delight to
the eye.
Usually we accentuate every fourth or fifth contour, as appropriate, to facilitate the following of trends across
the map. Then we label each contour, or each bold contour as appropriate, at suitable places across the map
and at the edges of the map. On a hand-drawn map it is easy to place these labels exactly where they are
most needed in the assessment of the map, and to ensure that all labels are easily read when the map is
viewed from the south.
The assessment of the map by others can also be facilitated by adding symbols to distinguish highs, lows,
ridges, valleys, and noses, according to some accepted scheme. Color is also very helpful. Even more
important in the assessment of the map is the preservation on the map of indications of where it is certain,
and where (and in what way) it is in doubt.
Some Finer Points of Contouring
Wherever it is possible, we prefer to map all the faults before we start contouring. This requires that we
establish all the fault correlations from line to line before we start to detail the structural picture. The checks
that aid us in this include the following:
the angle (or hade) of the fault,
the direction of the throw,
the amount of the throw,
the presence of structures associated with the fault (for example, rollover structures on the
downthrown side of a growth fault [ Figure 1 ], or structures created above a rejuvenated fault) ,


Figure 1


the timing of the initiation of faulting (indicated by the shallowest reflection to show the maximum
throw), and
the timing of the end of fault movement (indicated by the deepest reflection that does not show
abrupt displacement).
In correlating faults from line to line, therefore, we demand that any variations in these
indicators should be geologically reasonable. The "same" fault is unlikely to have wild
variations in throw along its length, and cannot have wildly different age along its length.
Therefore, when we transfer the fault indications to the map, it often helps to annotate them
with the age of initiation, the age of termination, and the throw in milliseconds. Such means
usually allow us to distinguish between a confusion of options in fault correlation, such as
those indicated in Figure 2 .


Figure 2


The throw behavior of a fault is of particular importance in the relation between faults and contours. Thus, by
asking the digitizer to record the reflection time on both sides of each fault we can ensure that the contours
honor the fault throw on the lines themselves; then we must ensure that the contours also reflect a
reasonable variation in throw between the lines. We can also invoke reasonable variations in the throw when
a fault splays into two; in Figure 3 the sum of the throws bb and cc must approximate that of aa at the point
of splay (if the faults are of the same age), and is likely to preserve this relation, approximately, for some
distance.


Figure 3


Considerations such as this would influence our acceptance (or rejection) of the second interpretation of
Figure 2 .
The relation between faults and contours must also take into account the age of the faulting and the age of
the folding. Thus, in the sectional display of Figure 4


Figure 4


it is clear that the deep folding is older than the faulting; therefore the contours on the deepest reflection
must be broadly harmonious across the fault ( Figure 5 ). Obviously this would not be generally true where
the structure has developed since the faulting, or as a consequence of the faulting.


Figure 5


Most of the foregoing discussion has been concerned with contouring the type of surface produced by folding.
We must also consider the type of surface produced by erosion.
Figure 6 prepares us.


Figure 6


This is a combination contour map, displaying to the left the tilted time-stratigraphic surface of the top
reservoir, and to the right the result of the erosion of the reservoir. The two systems of contours, although
harmonious where they meet, are causally unrelated; the total change of character is clear from the figure.
Both systems of contours are necessary to define a drilling location.
Clearly, the criterion of the reasonableness of a system of contours is different for time-stratigraphic and
erosional surfaces. Nowhere could this be more important than where the erosional surface involves
channeling, and where the channeling provides either the reservoir or the lateral seal. In Figure 7 we
visualize a square grid of lines, on which the reflection times to the eroded surface have been posted at equal
increments of horizontal distance.


Figure 7


The surface is generally rough, but is particularly noteworthy for local depressions at c, u and t. It is of the
utmost importance that
we recognize the possibility of a channel when we are doing the picking, and
consider its exploration potential, and
we treat the channel as a feature to be contoured separately from the rest of the erosional
surface.
Thus the point x is emphatically not to be obtained by a general interpolation in all directions,
as we did with timestratigraphic surfaces. If it can be interpolated at all, it is between points c,
u and t; all other values around the grid are substantially irrelevant.
Rules of Contuoring
Hand Contouring: Procedure Summary
We may summarize the rules of hand contouring as follows:
1. The rules are different for different types of geological surfaces. Therefore the first
essential is that the type of surface should be recognized before picking, and picked
accordingly. We must be able to assume, as we contour, that the surface we are
contouring is a real geological surface.
2. Before posting the picked values, we correct the misties as far as we are able.
3. We select the first surface to be contoured; this may be on considerations of geological
simplicity, or interpretational significance, or reflection quality.
4. For the selected surface, we establish
whether it is a time-stratigraphic surface, a rock-stratigraphic surface, a
subaerial erosion surface, or a submarine erosion surface;
if it is a time-stratigraphic surface, whether it occurs within a generally conformable
sequence, and whether this sequence contains other mappable surfaces that may be
useful in the contouring;
the age of the folding;
whether faulting is present in the surface; and
the age of the faulting.
5. We transfer to the map, before attempting to contour, all recognizable features that
may aid the recognition of trends and the correlations from line to line. Specifically
these include the highs, the lows, the sustained monoclines, the breaks in slope, the
faults (with indication of the direction and amount of throw), the reflection limits and
truncations, any recognizable erosional features, and the toplap and baselap of
confluent reflections.
6. In general, we prefer to work from dense data and simple geology toward the sparse data and
the complications.
7. Where the surface is a folded but unfaulted timestratigraphic surface, we are looking for regional
dip interrupted by local reversals, and for any trends evinced by these local anomalies. Therefore
we try to sketch in the contours of the simple regional dip first; then we tackle the highs and lows,
and see whether we can find (but not force) structural axes.
8. On a folded time-stratigraphic or rock-stratigraphic surface, the position of a contour between
seismic lines is found by a general interpolation in all directions, taking into account the certainty of
the control, the distance to the control, and the existence of other established contours.
9. As the contours emerge, we review any remaining or enigmatic misties; we also check the
possibility of mispicking due to sideswipe from off-line features revealed by the contouring.
10. We mark on the map any zones of doubt or ambiguity, with a note to remind us of the nature
of the uncertainty.
11. In building the contour map, we apply the constraints appropriate to the type of geological
surface. Thus for a folded time-stratigraphic or rock-stratigraphic surface, we check for alternate
and preferred contouring if we see any of the following:
a closed high within a low (except for peripheral sinks around piercements),
a closed low on top of a high (unless it is seen to be a collapse feature),
a low trend directly aligned with a high,
like contours running parallel over a considerable distance.
12. For other reflections within the same generally conformable sequence, or subject
to the same folding, we use the contour map established on one surface to aid the
contouring of the others. This, of course, may require modifications to the first
mapping.
13. As a contour map nears completion, we review it for the following:
perpendicularity between contours and structural axes where they cross;
"naturalness";
each contour must be capable of being traced across the map, from an "in" point to an
"out" point;
there must be no crossing contours, no loose ends;
at the edge of the map, adjacent contours must be either successive (defining a slope)
or the same (defining a high or low); at every high or low there must be a pair of identical
contours;
the contours must depart from simple uniform spacing where they are required to do so
by the data, or by considerations of "naturalness," but they should not do so merely as a
caprice.
14. We ensure that the contour labeling is sufficient, and easy to read from the south.
15. We add supplementary symbols (highs, lows, noses) to highlight the exploration message of
the map.
16. If the surface is a time-stratigraphic or rockstratigraphic surface affected by both folding and
faulting, we try to correlate the faults from line to line before attempting any contouring; in this we
use the fault type, the direction and amount of throw, and the timing of the initiation and
completion of faulting.
17. Where reliable fault correlation by these means is not possible, we try to do the fault
correlations and the contouring together, using each to narrow the possibilities for the other; in this
we take account of likely drag and rebound effects near a fault.
18. If the faulting is seen to have occurred after the folding, we harmonize the pattern of the
structural contours across the fault.
19. We may choose to contour a fault as a very steep dip, running each contour along the fault
plane.
20. We check that every contour entering a fault also leaves it; if many contour lines enter and
leave the fault they must always be in pairs.
21. We check that the spacing of contours entering and leaving a fault implies a geologically
reasonable variation of the throw.
22. We check that the contours beyond the limits of a fault show the expected degree of flexure.
23. We make whatever use we can of the fact that faults do not just appear randomly in the earth,
but are physically related to coherent stress patterns existing in past time. Definable stress
patterns produce defined directions of primary and relief faulting, and the recognition of these
directions can be used to indicate that what appears as a simple structural axis must actually be a
series of highs en echelon.
24. Where the surface to be mapped is an erosional surface, the constraints of geological
plausibility are different, and this must be reflected in the contouring. Where the erosion is
recognized as subaerial, the contoured surface can be as rough as the present surface of the earth-
-mountainous for short periods of erosion, peneplaned for long periods. Where the erosion is
recognized as submarine, the erosional features are generally broader and smoother.
25. If the line spacing for the seismic grid has been chosen to give adequate definition of structural
features (as it often is), it may be too coarse to allow contouring of erosional features. This
situation must be handled with great care; clearly the sampling theorem demands that we smooth
out (that is, antialias-filter) any irregularity whose "wavelength" is less than double the line
spacing, but this may cause us to miss interesting features whose orientations we might be able to
predict from our knowledge of the geological history, or as continuations of features established by
the closer control near line intersections.
26. The most important illustration of this, in an exploration sense, is in the recognition of
channeling into an erosional surface. We must recognize that the contouring of a channeled surface
cannot be done with the same interpolations used for a folded surface. In effect, the channel and
the surface into which it is cut must be contoured independently, within the constraint that at the
time of the erosion the channel must have had a gradient appropriate to its type.
27. The constraints of geological plausibility are different again for certain types of mounding. Thus
the contouring applicable to the upper surface of an ancient dune complex should take into account
the known angle of repose of the sand dunes, while the contouring of a barrier reef complex should
be that appropriate to the known behavior of reef-building colonies. In more general terms, the
conclusions from our seismic-stratigraphic analysis of the sections (depositional mechanism,
depositional environment, change of relative sea level, and so on) must be used to define the
appropriate criteria of geological plausibility that we use in the contouring.
28. The final check that we make on every contour map is that it accords with the original sections.
(This may seem superfluous to the novice, but the expert knows better.) If we have constructed the
map at an interactive terminal , we call for a vertical profile across the map at the position of each
seismic line, and superimpose the profile on the seismic section. If we are working with paper maps
and sections (at the same scale), we fold each section along the time origin and align the fold along
the appropriate line on the map (just as we did when transferring the features initially), and check
that the final map honors the section.
29. Then it remains only to sign and date the map.
The Ethics of Contouring
There are no sacred tablets, no commandments graven in stone. But there are expectations--expectations
from our colleagues the geologists, expectations from the exploration manager, expectations from our own
company, and expectations from the company to whom we are selling a field or making a farmout. So let us
look at the reasons for these expectations.
Perhaps our company has total ownership of a discovered field, on which we now wish to make a final map
as input to the design of a production system. Then the effort is clearly to make the map "right," and the
contouring must be totally objective.
But in exploration the situation may be different. The company may operate by the dictum, "It is no great sin
to drill a dry hole, but it is a sin to miss a field." If this is so, our chief concern in contouring is that we do not
miss any feature that might be a field. We are led to contour optimistically; if there is no direct evidence for
a high between lines, but such a high is possible, we are tempted to put it in. And if our company is
interested in farming out or selling the prospect, the temptation is increased. Clearly, there must be some
constraints on this; we need to formulate the ethics of contouring.
Any simple test of objectivity in contouring would probably be derived from Ockham's Razor: It is vain to do
with more what can be done with less. In other words, the contouring should represent the simplest
interpretation in accord with the facts. Thus, if there is a large void between lines, but no indication of a high
on any of the sections bounding the void, we cannot show a high in the void. But if there is even a subtle
indication of a high on one of the lines, we should show a high--of a scale and extent reasonably compatible
with the subtlety of the high on the one section. We should not show on our basic map a high of the largest
scale and extent possible in that void. However, we may prepare on a second map (or show as an inset on
the basic map) this most optimistic interpretation allowed by the data. Thereby we establish a range of
possibilities, from which the exploration manager can make a judgment of the balance between risk and
reward.
In more complex situations the application of Ockham's Razor may not yield a single clear answer, because
which interpretation is "simplest," in geological terms, may be disputable. But the rule remains a good
generalization: make the simplest interpretation that is in accord with the facts.
Exercise
1/ Figure 1 offends which rule of contouring?



Figure 1


1. Closed high within a low
2. High broken by a low
3. Low trend aligned with a high
4. Not simplest interpretation
Solution
In Figure 2 , notice that the contour value 821 on the north-south line is given too much
weight, pulling in contours from both east and west. This forces an unnatural appearance on
the contours, one that is hard to explain geologically.


Figure 2


Figure 3 shows that a much simpler interpretation exists.


Figure 3


The correct answer is choice 4. Not simplest interpretation.
2/ Figure 1 offends which rule of contouring?



Figure 1


1. Perpendicularity between contours and axes
2. Closed high within a low
3. High broken by a low
4. Contours not the same or successive at edge of map
Solution
In Figure 2 , the northernmost lines show highs, but the interpreter has made no attempt to
connect them on an axis.


Figure 2


Instead, the contouring shows low areas between these highs, with no real support from the
data. Figure 3 establishes a high axis, which in turn helps to establish a regional strike.


Figure 3


The correct answer is choice 3. High broken by a low.
3/ Figure 1 offends which rule of contouring?



Figure 1


1. Loose ends
2. Like contours running parallel
3. Closed high within a low
4. Naturalness
Solution
In Figure 2 , the eastern portion of the map is difficult to interpret because of parallel 1430
contours.


Figure 2


Figure 3 , on the other hand, yields a more logical geologic pattern.


Figure 3


The correct answer is choice 2. Like contours running parallel.
4/ Figure 1 offends which rule of contouring?



Figure 1


1. Closed high within a low
2. High broken by a low
3. Contours traceable from "in" point to "out" point
4. Sideswipe unrecognized
Solution
In Figure 2, we see that the closed 810 contour in the northeast and the closed 830 contour in
the southwest are in line with a local low, represented by the closed 840 contour between
them.


Figure 2


The interpreter was probably forced to this conclusion by the closed 830 contour in the central
portion of the map, a high feature in the middle of a broad low. Figure 3 aligns all the highs.


Figure 3


The correct answer is choice 1. Closed high within a low.
5/ Figure 1 offends which rule of contouring?



Figure 1


1. Like contours running parallel
2. Does not reflect trend
3. Loose ends
4. Contours not the same or successive at edge of map
Solution
Refer to Figure 2 .


Figure 2


One of our contouring guidelines is that highs should align with highs, and lows with lows. In
other words, contouring should show these geologic trends wherever possible. Figure 3
shows such trends.


Figure 3


The correct answer is choice 2. Does not reflect trend.

CONTOURING BY MACHINE
The actual drawing of the contours is only one part of the over-all task of arriving
at a valid contour map. So the first point to make, in introducing contouring by
machine, is that the machine is not going to remove all our problems, all our
agonies of decision. The need to solve the mistie problems remains, as does the
need to determine and use all the evidence for trends; further, we still need to
determine and use all information on the type of geological surface that we have
picked. The machine, however, will do the interpolations, the arithmetic, and the
construction of the contours.
The second point to make is a general one that applies whenever we computerize
an operation previously done by humans--we have to say exactly what it is that
the human has been doing. We can no longer say that we "just eyeball it," or
"whatever looks right," or "well, more or less." We have to suffer the irritation of
having to be precise, and formal, and unambiguous. However, when we have
done this, we have the solace of knowing that the machine will always apply the
resulting rules consistently and objectively.
The consequence of all this is that whenever we can define exactly what we mean
by the oft-used term "geological plausibility," we can use the machine to relieve
us of some of the drudgery. For example, we may be mapping a time-
stratigraphic surface contained within a package of generally conformable strata,
and be quite confident that there is a physical limit on how tightly such a
sequence may be folded without cracking. Seeing no evidence of faulting on the
sections at this level, we may be prepared to state a minimum "tightness of fold"
(in terms of a minimum radius of curvature--as computed from rock mechanics,
or just as seen on the sections) . We may be prepared to give different values for
the dip and strike directions. Then we can tell the computer program to contour
the picked values within these constraints. Nowhere on the resulting map will
there be a tighter fold than we have allowed; this imposes a justifiable measure
of smoothing on the map, while the difference between the dip and strike
directions imposes some sense of trend.
This example is a realistic one; if there is any surface in the earth for which we
can hope to define "geological plausibility" in mathematical terms, it is a time-
stratigraphic depositional surface within a conformable sequence, subjected to
mild folding. As we allow more complexity into the geological processes
(fracturing, faulting, inversion, overpressure, and the relief of overpressure) , it
becomes more difficult to define geological plausibility; often the best we can do
is to establish limits on the behavior of a surface from our previous observations
over the general area.
Consequently the greatest historical use of machine contouring has been in the
mapping of fairly simple depositional surfaces. Meanwhile, research continues to
build the constraints of rock mechanics and other emerging technologies into the
contouring programs, so that they can handle a wider range of situations. For the
present, it is clear that common complexities (such as tear behavior near faults,
or the presence of two or more superposed trend systems) require that the
contouring program must be amenable to guidance and editing from a human
interpreter; this is the rationale for a second stage of machine contouring at an
interactive workstation. It is also generally acknowledged that there are some
contouring problems for which no machine solution currently exists; one case in
point would be the contouring of permafrost corrections, and many interpreters
would also include the contouring of interval velocities in any area subject to local
fracturing.
The general conclusion from this, of course, is an exact counterpart to one of our
conclusions about contouring by hand; just as we adjust our style of manual
contouring to the type of geological surface we are mapping, it is imperative that
the program we use in machine contouring must be designed for the type of
surface. In contouring by machine, as in contouring by hand, it would be a crass
mistake to contour an erosional surface incised by channels with the same
approach that we would use for a folded depositional surface.
Before we immerse ourselves in the technology of contouring by machine, we
might note that there are still some interpreters who are not interested. One very
human reason is that, being good at it, they just like contouring. Another reason,
perhaps, is more cogent: in contouring a prospect by hand, at several levels, the
interpreter acquires a very good feeling for the prospect. He sees the
alternatives, he knows which picks are critical, he sees the geological processes
at work, and he understands the risks.
Therefore, as in so many other modern activities, our search is to find the best
interaction of mind and machine; to use the machine to extend the power of the
mind, and to feed back the insights of the mind to enhance the expertise of the
machine.
Possible Approaches
To the human interpreter, data to be contoured consist of many time (or depth) values, posted along the
seismic lines. To the machine, the data become sets of three-dimensional coordinates x, y, and z, where x
and y are the map coordinates and z is the time (or depth) value. The problem for the machine, then, is to fit
a surface to these coordinates.
One possible way to pose the problem is suggested by Fourier analysis. We can view our picked horizon on
the section as a waveform in space --a waveform which (although perhaps geologically continuous over the
whole basin) is made transient by its truncation at the ends of the line. Then Fourier tells us that this
waveform can be regarded as composed of sinusoidal components whose spatial frequencies are harmonics
of the "fundamental" represented by the length of the line. If the structure is smooth and simple, few
harmonics are required; if it is faulted, a large "bandwidth" becomes essential to handle the sharp step.
Since we could do the same on both dip and strike lines, it is not difficult to accept that any geological
surface can be mathematically represented as a two-dimensional transform having a number of terms that
relates to the tightness of the folding (or to the faulting). Then one approach to machine contouring is to
start with a simple surface having few terms (a "low order") , to compute the error between that surface and
the given values along the seismic lines, to add more terms and reduce the error, and so to iterate toward a
mathematically defined surface that fits all the data points.
Over a large area, anything but the simplest geology requires a large number of terms, each with its
"amplitude" and its "phase"; the number of calculations is formidable. In some cases, it may be more
efficient and economical to apply this surface-fitting technique only on a local basis; for example, a less
demanding approach may be used for most of the data, and the full surface-fitting technique used only to
"patch" particular local areas.
Of the available methods for less expensive contouring, two have proved particularly popular: the grid
method, and the triangle method..
Both these basic methods have recently been augmented by many proprietary sophistications. Because our
concern is to deal with fundamentals rather than to endorse a particular product, we shall keep the
discussion at a general level.
Before we turn to the two main methods, we should note that the problem of machine contouring is much
more difficult for seismic data than for most other types of data. We recall that gravity and magnetic surveys
on land usually take their measurements on a regular grid, or at worst (in difficult terrain) on a random
basis; in general the data are fairly evenly spaced. Three-dimensional seismic surveys have the same
feature. Two-dimensional seismic surveys, however, yield very closely spaced data along the lines, but no
data at all between the lines; much of the complexity of modern contouring programs is made necessary by
this complicating factor.
Gridding Approach: Grid Sizing
Figure 1 illustrates the type of data obtained from 2-D seismic lines.


Figure 1


In contouring programs that use the gridding approach, the key operation is to replace the in-line data of
Figure 1 (a) by the rectangular grid of data values in Figure 1 (b).
It is very important that the size of the grid be appropriate to the data, and appropriate to the contour
interval finally required. Figure 2 illustrates the contours obtained from gridding a particular data set with a
grid of 11 x 7,


Figure 2


while Figure 3 and Figure 4 illustrate the effect of gridding more closely, at 21 16 and 41 61, respectively.


Figure 3


Clearly much detail is lost by the coarse gridding.


Figure 4


This detail is lost forever; it cannot be recovered, later in the program, by calling for a finer contour interval.
Figure 5 repeats the left half of Figure 4 , but with an even finer grid (61 101).


Figure 5


Now we can see, as intuition would suggest, that there is a point beyond which no further detail is added.
Comparing the two figures, and taking note of the original data points in Figure 2 , we can see that this
"adequate" grid density depends on the original data density (again as we would expect) .
So there is the problem in gridding seismic data: in some places (for example, where several lines come
together) the data density warrants a small grid, while in others (for example, between lines) a small grid
means a lot more computation without any benefit.
The ideal, therefore, is that the computer should first analyze the data density, and then assign an
appropriate (and therefore variable) grid size in different parts of the map. Thus, in each area of the map,
characterized by its data density, we might expect that the number of grid points would be broadly
comparable with the number of data points (so that, in a gross sense, the gridding operation would keep the
information content constant). Modern programs running on fast machines allow this to be done; the
interpreter must ask whether his program is of this type.
If it is not, the interpreter must expect a compromise grid size. Is the final map at risk by reason of that
compromise? It could be. Where we know that there is some critically important feature in one part of the
reservoir, and we have deliberately shot lines closely spaced in that area, any such compromise of grid
selection must defeat our purpose, and waste money. But in general, we have already observed the honoring
of all detail along all seismic lines imparts an "unnatural" appearance to the map, and therefore a
compromise may be acceptable if it is a good one.
For present purposes, the point to stress is that the appropriate choice of grid size is very important, and
that an error made in this choice cannot be recovered by subsequent manipulations. When the novice first
uses a contouring program, therefore, he is happy to see that the machine makes so many choices for him;
as he becomes more expert, he starts to worry about those choices. So, now and then, on a particularly
important map, he overrides the machine's choice of grid size, and halves it; this gives him a good feeling for
any additional detail that is available from the data, and the additional cost incurred to obtain it.
Calculating Grid Values
When a grid has been chosen, the contouring program proceeds to calculate new
values (grid values) at each intersection (node) of the grid. These values
subsequently replace the original data values, so we must think rather carefully
about how to compute the grid values from the data values.
If a grid node happens to coincide with a data point, the grid value should clearly
honor the data value. If a grid node happens to fall on a seismic line, between
two data points, then we would expect to get the grid value by a simple
interpolation. But for a grid node between seismic lines we have more of a
problem; we must look in all directions from the grid node to find data points, and
then we must average the data values in some way that ascribes the greatest
weight to the nearest values.
Figure 1 attempts to formalize our thinking.


Figure 1


Along the horizontal axis we plot the distance from the grid node to a data value,
and along the vertical axis we plot what we might loosely call the "relevance" of
that data value to the calculation of the grid value. If the distance is very small
the data value substantially determines the grid value, but as the distance
increases it becomes less and less relevant. Indeed at some distance (here called
the "range") we may judge that the data value is no longer material to the
calculation.
Now we can apply this to Figure 2 , in which the small triangles represent the grid
nodes and the small squares represent the data points; the exercise is to
compute the grid value at the center of the circle.


Figure 2


The radius of the circle represents the range as defined in Figure 1 ; we shall take
into the calculation only those data points within the circle. We wish to give the
greatest weight to the closest data point (C), and less weight to the more distant
data points (B and D).
Because the data points and the grid nodes are all kept in the machine as pairs of
rectangular coordinates, the calculation of the distances from grid node to data
points is done by Pythagoras. Consequently, a weighting system based on the
inverse square allows us to avoid taking a square root. The most common
weighting functions are therefore the inverse square and the inverse fourth
power; the inverse sixth power has also been used.
The value adopted as the grid value, according to this scheme, is the average of
the used data points, weighted by their distance and adjusted to bring the sum of
the weighting factors to unity. We need to realize two major consequences of
this. The first is that the computed grid values may no longer honor the data
values; where a grid node coincides with a data point, the influence of other data
points may cause the two values to differ. The second major consequence is that,
by the choice of grid size, range, and weighting function, we have effectively
limited the geology that the program can handle. This second consequence is
worth stressing, because the mathematical selections made within the program
may not be revealed to us, and because--even if they are--it is not easy to
interpret them directly in terms of the tightest fold that we shall be able to see on
the map.
Again we see the wisdom of an occasional test, on critical data; if the program
allows us to change the weighting function (giving us several displays as typified
in Figure 3 ), we can check that we are not losing anything important by
accepting the program's inbuilt choices.


Figure 3


Even as the programs become smarter and smarter (automatically adjusting the
grid size, the range, and the weighting function to the data), there is still some
wisdom in checking that the program's inbuilt decisions are appropriate to our
prospect. That is one of the reasons that we should preferably regard machine
contouring as a two-stage operation: an initial hands-off operation controlled by
the program's inbuilt wisdom, and a later interactive stage where the interpreter
at the workstation tests the sensitivity of the map (over critical areas) to the
variables chosen by the program.
The next problem that the program must tackle is that the averaging technique
described above is not appropriate for computing the grid values near highs and
lows. The problem is illustrated in Figure 4 (a); here we are computing the grid
value at the node position shown dashed, and for simplicity we assume that the
only data points (D1 to D4) within the range are along a line through the node.


Figure 4


Then the effect of the distance-weighting is that the new grid value is an average
of a large contribution from D2 (shown projected to the grid node), a smaller
contribution from D3, and yet smaller ones from D1 and D4. Overall, this yields
the distance-weighted average ZN, and suggests the surface shown in Figure 4
(b). The weakness of the technique is now obvious: the node value, being an
average, can never be higher or lower than the contributing data values, and any
true high or true low at the grid node is suppressed. The contour map becomes
full of small flat areas.
This can be overcome with the technique of dip projection. In the simple two-
dimensional view of Figure 4 (b), we could compute the dip between data points
D1 and D2, and project it to the dashed line at the grid node; then we could do
the same for data points D3 and D4, and average the two resulting intersections
at the node. In the full three-dimensional world the task is more onerous, but the
principle is the same; each grouping of three data points defines a dip plane,
which can then be projected to the grid node (usually within limits set to
constrain "wild" dips). A two-dimensional view of this is suggested in Figure 4 (c);
the new distance-weighted average ZN reveals the high.
Alternatively, we can use the surface-fitting techniques discussed at the
beginning of this chapter. We can consider using these, we remember, over local
areas; in the present application, over the small extent of one circular range, the
number of data values is manageable, and the surface can be assumed simple
enough to require few terms. When a surface has been fitted acceptably well to
the data points within the range, the value to be ascribed to the grid node follows
immediately ( Figure 4 (d)).
The program must also tackle another problem consequent on the highly variable
density and distribution of seismic data points. Figure 5 ,


Figure 5


Figure 6 ,


Figure 6


Figure 7 and Figure 8 illustrate that this problem is not a trivial one.


Figure 7


In Figure 5 a contour map representing "truth" has been drawn from 100 data
points.


Figure 8


The other three figures show contour maps derived from three different groupings
of about 20 of these data points, as indicated; clearly they are very poor
representations.
Figure 9 shows how some of these harmful effects arise.


Figure 9


Grid node A has many data points within its range, and they are distributed fairly
well in direction. Grid node B, on the other hand, has only two data points within
the same range, and they are both in a northerly direction. A grid node only
slightly to the southwest of B would have only two points in that different
direction, as would a grid node only slightly to the southeast. If the data values in
these different directions are themselves different, wild swings must occur
between closely adjacent grid values; this is the unrealistic effect we are seeing
to the northeast and northwest of Figure 7 .
One solution to this problem is that of quadrant or octant searching. In Figure 10
we take grid node B from Figure 9 and divide it into four sectors.


Figure 10


In the original range, the two data points lie in only the northwest quarter; the
other three quarters are empty. To the southwest and southeast, the two nearest
data points may be found in each quadrant only slightly outside the range; to the
northeast two may be found by going a little farther. A suitable course is clear:
insist on two data points in each quadrant--the nearest two--and rely on the
distance weighting (within a much-extended range) to reduce the contribution of
distant points. Figure 11 extends the same technique, demanding two points in
each octant.


Figure 11


These techniques do much to overcome the unrealistic effects seen in Figure 5 ,
Figure 6 , Figure 7 and Figure 8 . To do so, however, they may have to consider
more data points and greater distances than before; this increases both the cost
of the contour map and its degree of smoothing. It is not easy for the interpreter
to assess what appear to be rather arbitrary choices--the choice of octants, the
choice of the number of points in each octant, and the choice of the distance
weighting--in terms of the limit they impose on the maximum dip that the map
can finally show. One way to get some feeling for this, at the interactive stage, is
to call for a color-coded plot of the failure of the contour map to honor the
original data values.
Constructing Contours
Once all the calculations are made at the grid nodes, the original and irregular
data values are replaced by the regular grid values. The operation of drawing the
contours themselves then becomes comparatively simple. Figure 1 illustrates one
grid cell, having the grid values 39, 55, 70 and 45 at its nodes.


Figure 1


The "entry" points for the contours, on the west and south sides of the cell, have
already been found; we can quickly verify that these entry points do represent
linear interpolation between the values at the nodes. Since any contour entering a
cell must also leave it, we can now calculate the "exit" points along the east and
north sides of the cell, again by linear interpolation. As a first approximation, the
desired contours are given by straight lines between corresponding entry and exit
points. The operation then proceeds to the next cell, for which the previous exit
points become entry points. This builds up the contours as successions of straight
segments; each segment represents one grid cell, and each may be defined by
the coordinates of entry and exit points, or as a vector.
Figure 2


Figure 2


and Figure 3 remind us that the problem of a saddle, which arises when
contouring by hand, is not removed merely because the work is being done by a
machine.


Figure 3


In contouring the grid values of Figure 2 by hand, we would immediately
recognize the ambiguity in the center cell. So we would sketch in the intermediate
contours at 7, 6, 4, 3 and 2 (whether or not we were actually planning to display
these contours on the final map), and check whether they favored one or another
of the alternative contourings. If not, we would probably check whether the
southeast high was in fact a nose open to the southeast (or the northwest high a
nose open to the northwest); then considerations of permissible optimism would
allow us to adopt the full contours within the center cell, and so close one of the
highs. If, however, both highs were closed, permissible optimism would allow us
to adopt the dashed contours, and so increase the closed area. Thus, while
recognizing (and flagging) the ambiguity, we would be able to find other input to
resolve it.
Unless and until our programs have the same degree of sophistication, the
machine looks at the center cell and cannot choose between the straight-line
segments of Figure 3 . Some arbitrary rule (such as "high ground to the right")
must therefore be written into the program. Again the map should be flagged to
indicate the ambiguity; then the human interpreter can address the options at the
interactive review stage.
Figure 4 illustrates that the straight-line contour segments obtained by the above
techniques are not acceptable (unless perhaps the grid size is extremely small).


Figure 4


The contours must be smoothed. This is not as simple as it sounds; the
smoothing of individual contours is not generally satisfactory, because it does not
guarantee proper contour spacing, and may even cause the contours to cross.
Instead, the program must find some way to smooth the surface represented by
the contour segments, and then call out the contours from that smoothed
surface. Figure 5 shows the map in which the contours have been derived from
local surface-fitting over a moving and over-lapping array of grid cells; this may
be done, for example, by finding the best fit of a paraboloid to the array of grid
values.



Figure 5


Gridding Approach: Advantages and Disadvantages
Most of the gridding approachs advantages flow from the use of rectangular
coordinates. It is easy to compute closed areas and closed volumes; it is easy to
apply two-dimensional smoothing techniques; and it is easy to subtract one
structure map from another structure map to obtain a valid interval map. It is
also easy to construct isometric (or perspective) displays of the contoured
surface; Figure 6 (the spikes represent wells and the distance scale is only for the
near portion of the display) shows such a construction.


Figure 6


Further, the gridding approach appears to remove the bias associated with
clustered data points (although, as we have seen, this may be an advantage or a
disadvantage) .
One disadvantage of gridding is the total dependence of the result on the choice
of grid size, which is made right at the beginning; this becomes less serious as
faster machines allow smaller or variable grid sizes. A second disadvantage is that
the method may not honor the data values. A third is that the method is weak
near the edges of the map; independent maps of contiguous areas require a
harmonization step before they will tie. (Of course, this is true to some extent
with any system, but it tends to be worse with a gridding method.)
A related disadvantage is that the gridding approach does not really lend itself to
the treatment of faults. In computing the grid values from the data values, the
quadrant or octant search must be switched off when it reaches a fault; this
inevitably means that the grid values near the fault are less soundly based than
usual. Commercial gridding programs apply considerable ingenuity to the
minimization of this problem. For example, the data values on the far side of the
fault may be allowed some small contribution, as in Figure 7 , by computing their
weighting distance around the ends of the fault.


Figure 7


A constraint may be included on the rate-of-change of throw along the fault (if we
know how to specify such a constraint). And, for those cases where the faulting
occurred after the folding, the program can take out the fault, and harmonize the
structure across the fault.
Nevertheless, it probably remains true that the gridding approach is not a
"natural" way to accommodate faults. The program is forced to take steps that
appear contrived and artificial. Indeed, as we seek to build into the program more
and more of the criteria that a human interpreter would use, we get the feeling
that it might be better to use a different basic approach--one that would follow
more closely the mental workings of the human interpreter. This leads us into a
discussion of the triangular approach to contouring, which is contained under the
heading of "Contouring by Machine."
Triangular Approach
Figure 1 attempts to analyze what goes on in the mind of a human interpreter as he contours.


Figure 1


He brings the contour to the point X as an interpolation between data values A and C, and then looks at the
triangle ABC to see where the contour goes next. It may go out through AB or BC, or it may double back and
go out through AC; if it is through AB, he takes the contour out as an interpolation between A and B. As a
refinement, he may deviate from a linear interpolation to take account of marks he has made to indicate a
high or a low, or to take account of evident changes of dip occurring just outside the triangle ABC, or to
reflect less weight given to a distant data point.
To computerize this operation, we start by linking all the given data values ( Figure 2 (a)) to form an array of
triangles ( Figure 2 (b)).


Figure 2


Then, for each contour entering a triangle, we can find where it leaves that triangle and enters another; each
individual contour is thereby traced across the map ( Figure 2 (c)) . As long as we are content with linear
interpolation, this approach is delightfully simple, and very fast.
To simulate the human interpreter, however, four additional concerns must be addressed:
the answer must not depend on the way the triangles are chosen;
the contours must be made smooth;
the highs and lows must be added; and
the interpolation must be modified to take some account of dips evident in the surrounding
triangles.
Figure 3 illustrates the first concern; clearly, in the quadrilateral PQRS, the linkage may be
made from Q to S or from P to R.


Figure 3


A rule that makes the choice unique, and that also mimics what the human interpreter would
do, is to prefer the linkages that make the triangles most nearly equilateral (that is, QS rather
than PR).
This decision, however, raises the equivalent of an earlier problem: with the fairly regular data of Figure 3
the triangles can be close to equilateral, but for seismic data along lines ( Figure 4 , the nature of data is not
conducive to equilateral triangles) the triangles tend to be long and thin.


Figure 4


The first task of the program, then, is to optimize this choice of triangles. If the best that can be done is not
good enough, "fake" data points must be inserted to make the geometry acceptable, and the values to be
assigned to these points must be computed by distance-weighted averaging techniques.
Our second concern is to make the contours smooth; the straight-line contour segments must be made
shorter. Figure 5 gives us the key to this; divide each triangle between data points into many similar sub-
triangles, and trace the contour across each of these smaller triangles as before.


Figure 5


Now we must confront the other concerns above; we have to put in the highs and the lows, and we have to
do better than linear interpolation. At this stage the triangular approach faces some of the same problems
encountered with the grid approach: in effect, dip projection for the highs and lows, and the proper balancing
of near and distant data. It must do so, however, without the advantage of the simple coordinate system
provided by a grid.
As with the grid approach, the critical step is the fitting of a mathematically defined surface to some local
grouping (or patch) of data values, and then the use of that smooth surface to impose local smoothness on
the map. Let us take this concept a little further (though still at a simplified level) using Figure 6 .


Figure 6


We propose to fit a "standard" curved surface to the three data values A, B and C, and so to define the
contours within the shaded triangle. Immediately it is evident that if this surface within the shaded triangle is
to be continuous with the surfaces fitted to the surrounding triangles, the surface must fit not only the data
values but the dips at A, B and C.
To estimate the dip at point A requires the calculation of the seven dip planes ALD, ADE, AEB, . . . , AKL. At
point B it requires five, and at Point C six; on average, the calculation of the three dips requires 18 dip
planes, using 12 data values.
Once we have the three data values and the three dip values at A, B, and C, we can nominate a suitable
standard surface (for example, a paraboloid or a hyperboloid) and find which "size" of surface fits both the
data values and the dips. Then we can compute the values of that surface at the corners of all the sub-
triangles of Figure 5 . That done, we can trace the contours across the sub-triangles as before; in general the
contours will be curved, but formed of a number of straight-line segments.
Figure 7 ,


Figure 7


Figure 8 ,


Figure 8


Figure 9


Figure 9


and Figure 10 illustrate results obtained with a commercial program.


Figure 10


(This program, although conceptually related to the above description, actually uses 18 data points in the
calculations for each triangle.) The original data values and the original triangles are the ones shown in
Figure 3 . The result of dividing each side of each triangle into four is shown in Figure 7 and Figure 8 , and
the result of dividing into 16 is shown in Figure 9 and Figure 10 .
We have, then, a straight choice between contour smoothness and cost; this allows us to use a small
"smoothness factor" of 4 for an initial review map, an intermediate value of 8 for our work maps, and a value
of perhaps 16 for final maps.
One of the advantages of the triangular approach is that the contours do not change appreciably with the
choice of the smoothness factor. This is in contradistinction to the choice of grid size in the gridding
approach, which changes the contour smoothness but may also change the contours themselves.
Other advantages of the triangular approach are that it honors every data point, and that separate maps
spliced together in adjacent areas are more likely to tie than maps made with a gridding approach.
It is also true that the triangular approach provides a map resolution that automatically reflects the density
of the data; detail is preserved where it exists, and does not appear to be present where it does not exist.
There is no risk of losing the benefit of closely spaced lines deliberately shot to resolve some critical feature.
However, there remains the caution--as with any mapping system--that contours drawn in areas of sparse
data are highly uncertain; the interpreter must insist that the program identify (by dashed contours, or
otherwise) where the control is too sparse for the contours to be trusted. We must also remember that the
triangular method is still making hidden judgments about the geology, although perhaps these are not as
artificial as the judgments made in the gridding approach.
Another advantage of the triangular approach is that it offers a rather more "natural" treatment of faults.
Thus, provided that the digitizing of the horizon on each line includes values on the immediate upthrown and
downthrown sides of the fault, the upthrown edge can be made to lie along one side of a triangle, and the
downthrown edge likewise. In effect, we can look along the upthrown edge, and along the downthrown edge;
the triangular mesh is "unzipped" along the fault trace. Figure 11 shows how, at the interactive stage, we
can insert the geological likelihoods of fault curvature and throw variation by inserting dummy points F1-F4
along the fault, and by using them to establish new triangles.


Figure 11


The programs then allow us to display an isometric view of the fault face, and so to check its plausibility.
Although the calculation of closed areas and closed volumes can be done by maintaining the triangular
approach, there are some situations where the gridding approach has the advantage. Then the contour map
obtained by the triangular approach may itself be gridded, and the gridded data used in the calculations of
area or volume.
Interactive Workstations
In years past, the choice between hand contouring and machine contouring was a matte of sometimes
heated argument. Today, the grounds for such argument have disappeared. One contributing factor is the
increased power of the hardware; this has made it possible to add many software sophistications, and so to
improve the degree to which the machine mimics the human interpreter, while still preserving a substantial
cost advantage. The other factor has been the rise of the interactive workstation, which provides the best of
both worlds.
The combining of the interpreter and the machine, at the interactive workstation, has an altogether new
power. Some features of this new power are as follows.
The contouring program is no longer obliged to come up with an answer--regardless
of how far out it must reach for a data point, or how unsound the interpolation. It can
identify and present the problem, and ask for help.
The program can test different variables, present the resulting contours, and ask the interpreter
whether the difference is material or not. If it is, the evidence for a judgment can be gathered, and
the outcome of different judgments displayed on the screen by dissolving from one to the other, or
in split-screen mode.
To assist the accommodation of geological insights into the decisions, the machine can display
sections across the contour map, fence diagrams, rotatable three-dimensional projections, interval
maps, interval sections, interval fence diagrams, and three-dimensional views lit at different sun
angles. A particularly satisfying presentation is the rotatable "floating contour" display of Figure 1 .


Figure 1


The program can accommodate the geological biases of the interpreter, by inserting defined
trends (of variable intensity) into the contouring calculations. This makes it possible to state and
quantify the influence of a trend--something that has certainly defied the human interpreter.
The program can perform many checks on the combined interpretation as it proceeds. Thus, faults
can be restored, and the balance of volume before and after faulting can be checked. Different
alignments of channels can be tested, with the base of the channel restored to a plausible gradient.
And effects ascribed to sliding or subsidence or compaction can be tested for quantitative
reasonableness.
The mind can run on, visualizing the possibilities raised by the combination of man and
machine. However, for the foreseeable future it seems likely that the final judgment will rest
with the human interpreter. In the present, as in the past, the expert interpreter is an expert
contourer. Now, however, he needs an additional skill: to understand how the machine
contours. He must know what it does when the data are dense, what it does when the data
are sparse, how it looks at faults, what it does to highs and lows, what it does at the edge of
the map, what it does in the face of irresoluble ambiguity, and what it does when no
contouring could possibly be honest. Now he needs to be a double expert.

INTERVAL MAPS
In several ways, the contouring of a time interval is easier than the contouring of
time structure.
First, we are vastly relieved to see the end of several types of mistie: statics,
datum corrections, polarity, and reflection character. We do not see the end of
processing misties that are time variant: differences of stacking velocity or mute
from line to line, time-variant filters that do not follow the geology. And where
dips are significant, we do not see the end of navigation misties or migration
misties. However, misties are so irritating, and therefore seem to consume so
much of our time, that any reduction is very welcome.
The other ways in which the contouring of an interval is easier are concerned with
the geological constraints. Thus the agencies affecting structure include the total
regime of compressional and extensional force throughout all time, plus the
reaction of different rock materials in terms of flexing, fracturing, faulting, sliding,
or flowing--in fact, all the complexities of rock mechanics. The agencies affecting
an interval, however, are just deposition, erosion and compaction--agencies that
are much better understood.
Obviously the most direct way to make an interval map is to subtract the time (or
depth) of one horizon from that of the other, at each data point, and to contour
these intervals. Then, in the contouring, we are guided not by the geological
constraints on structure but by the simpler (and stronger) constraints on
thickness.
We may also make an interval map by contouring the two horizons as structure
maps, and then by subtracting one map from the other. This is readily done, for
example, with machine-made maps using either the gridding or triangular
approach. However, only for the simplest structures could this be as good as the
contouring of the interval itself, because the benefit and strength of the simple
constraints on thickness have been thrown away.
What we must not do, of course, is contour the two structure maps and the
interval map independently. The interval map may be viewed as contouring the
interval between two structure maps, or (better) the lower structure map may be
viewed as the upper structure map plus the interval. But we must not make a
suite of three maps that agree only at the data points.
The check that we can make on this is illustrated by overlaying the structure
maps. This also gives us the method for constructing an interval map from two
structure maps contoured by hand; we derive a supplementary data point each
time a contour of one structure map crosses a contour of the other structure
map, and we contour the interval using the combination of original and
supplementary data points.
There are two cautions we should keep in mind. One is that the picking or
digitizing error on a structure map may be doubled on an interval map. This does
not concern us too much where the interval is smoothly varying; we can smooth
out the "jitter" before (or as) we contour. It can be a problem, however, where
we are mapping an interval to find a river channel, or as an indicator of the
possible proximity of reefs.
Another caution arises from purely seismic considerations, in the presence of
significant interval thinning and in the presence of dip. Thus, Figure 1 (a) reminds
us that where the interval is thinning, the normal-incidence paths to top and base
are not coincident, so that the time difference does not strictly measure the
interval at all; this is true even if one of the reflectors has no dip.


Figure 1


It also reminds us that in the presence of dip the interval measurement on the
unmigrated section is not made at the "right" place. However, the interval
measurement on the unmigrated section is made (probably as we would wish)
approximately normal to the layer, although of course it is presented on the
section as a vertical interval.
On the migrated section of Figure 1 (b) the measurement (which again is
presented as a vertical interval) is indeed of the vertical interval; this is probably
not as we would wish. The measurement is in the " right" place, but its accuracy
depends on the validity of the migration (in particular, the aptness of the
migration velocities).
In Figure 1 and Figure 2 , then, we can see the justification for the earlier
comment that the contouring of intervals still leaves us exposed to migration
misties.


Figure 2


Despite these cautions, the making of interval maps is an extremely useful part of
exploration. There are four major uses of the interval map, as follows.
1. The interval map representing the thickness of certain geological units
has a characteristic form, by which the unit may be recognized. Figure 2
(schematic of a fan-delta system) and Figure 3 (isopach of the late
Pennsylvanian S3 sandstone in the Mobeetie field of the Texas panhandle)
is an illustration, for the case of a fan delta.


Figure 3


The interval map (in this case an isopach map) reveals the direction of
sediment transport; when coupled with an understanding of the
depositional mechanism, the isopach map indicates where the best
reservoir quality is likely to be found.
Another important example is the erosional channel. This may be revealed
as a thickening in the unit above or a thinning in the unit below; in either
case the critical diagnostic is the appearance on the map of a recognizable
drainage pattern.
A third important example is the identification of a reef (or other body
resistant to compaction) by the differential compaction of an interval
above it.
2. As suggested above, the preparation of successive interval maps is
often the best way to contour structure. Thus we agree that the shallowest
reflector is likely to be the least structurally contorted, and hence the
safest to contour first. If we then map the interval between first and
second reflections, the strong geological constraints on the thickness of an
interval allow us to be confident of our interval map . . . which we then
add to the first structure map to obtain the second structure map . . . and
so on down.
3. This approach becomes very important where the direct contouring of
the deep structure is made problematical by the sparseness or the quality
of the data. Figure 4 makes the point for well data, but it is equally
applicable to the case where deep reflections are poor, or lacking in
continuity.


Figure 4


If the contouring of the deep surface uses only the deep data it will be as
shown dashed, which is geologically unsound. Again, a better course is to
map the shallow structure, with its abundant control; to map the interval,
with its poorer control but strong geological constraints; and to map the
deep structure as the sum of these two maps, obtaining the configuration
shown by the full line.
This technique is particularly important where a highly critical surface
(such as the top reservoir) generates only a very weak or sporadic
reflection, but where a surface just above or below generates a reliable
and mappable reflection. The information on the interval may be obtained
from the sporadic reflection where it appears, or from well control; in
either case the strong geological constraints on the interval are available
to guide the contouring.
4. Perhaps most important of all is the use of interval maps to unravel the
geology and its history. Examples include updip thinning indicating uplift,
updip thinning indicating a gradient change in the depositional surface,
downdip thickening indicating subsidence, downdip thinning indicating
sediment starvation, and spurious downdip thinning caused by a velocity
increasing with depth. All of these are important, but the one that is often
critical to a prospect is updip thinning indicating uplift. One situation we
delight to discover is that of a structure that has been growing gently over
a long period of time; sandstones tend to be coarser over the high,
limestones tend to have local porosity, and the chances of a trap at the
time of hydrocarbon migration are maximized. Indeed, there are several
petroleum provinces in which barren structures exist side-by-side with
prolific structures, and where the key is to time the structural uplift as
predating (or coinciding with) the period of hydrocarbon migration; the
barren structures are the ones formed after the hydrocarbons had passed
through.
We may also make good use of the technique of datuming, which involves
constructing the attitude of deeper horizons at the time of deposition of a shallow
reference horizon; clearly this is conceptually equivalent to the mapping of
intervals. Not only is there a revelation of depositional history; often we begin to
see subtle features that would be totally missed on a structural map. Figure 5 ,


Figure 5


Figure 6


Figure 6


and Figure 7


Figure 7


show an example where late tilting has drastically changed the attitude of the
older beds; any gentle structural variations on horizon A would not be seen on
the structure map of Figure 6 . The interval map of Figure 7 shows us the
structural configuration of the surface A at the time represented by horizon B; the
subtle variations are now clearly seen.

Areas and Volumes
If our contour map reveals a prospect, and the geologists are comfortable about the likelihood of a source, a
reservoir, and a seal, the next step is to form some idea of the economics of the prospect.
At the simplest level, experience in the area may suggest that the recoverable reserves are so many tonnes
of oil, or so many standard cubic meters of gas, per cubic meter of reservoir rock (or barrels of oil, or
standard cubic feet of gas, per acre-foot of reservoir rock) . Then all we have to do is to measure the closed
area of the structure, and estimate (or guess) the reservoir thickness. Of course, in measuring the closed
area we do not know (in general) that the structure is full; all we can do is to measure the area within the
contour that passes through the spill point, and accept that this represents a maximum.
On hand-contoured maps the area within the closing contour can be assessed with a planimeter. Because of
the risk of slippage, most interpreters like to take two or three measurements, with different base positions;
however, most interpreters would probably allow that they are normally surprised by the consistency of the
device.
On machine-contoured maps, of course, the calculation of closed area needs no more than the specification
of the spill contour.
The volume estimated from area and thickness is only an approximation, of course. In Figure 1 (a),


Figure 1


where the reservoir is thin, we see that the estimate is a little too small because the area along structure is
actually more than the area on the map, but a little too large because the edges of the oil or gas are
feathered by the horizontal contact at the spill point. However, these errors are usually minor compared to
the general uncertainties of reserves estimation; they are often ignored for reservoirs in which the closure is
large compared to the thickness.
For thicker reservoirs, the shape of the hydrocarbon volume must be taken into account. In Figure 1 (b) and
Figure 1 (c), the closed area is circular, the reservoir thickness is greater than the hydrocarbon column, and
the structure is sinusoidal in section; then the volume of rock containing hydrocarbons can be calculated as a
solid of revolution. It is only 30% (yes, thirty percent) of the product of closed area and closure.
In general, the closed volume can be calculated as the sum of the horizontal slices represented by the
contours. As is clear from Figure 1 (d), this improves in accuracy if the contour interval is small (or if we add
intermediate contours, on structure, specifically for this purpose). Then the calculation of volume for each
horizontal slice is just the contour interval times the area of the contour. Obviously we can be more
sophisticated than this if we wish, but again we have to remember that the other uncertainties make it
pointless to attempt great precision in reserves estimation.
We remember that one of our obligations as interpreters is to communicate to exploration management
everything we know about the balance between reward and risk. A familiar situation in this context arises
when there are two or more possibilities for the spill point. In Figure 2 ,


Figure 2


for example, the three formations upward from the reservoir represent a good seal, a doubtful seal, and
another good seal--how does the reward vary with the risk represented by that doubtful seal? We compute
the closed volumes given by both the dotted contacts shown; then we report the two levels of reward, each
with its corresponding level of risk.
More generally, we can plot the closed volume as a function of a range of assumptions about the spill point,
or as a function of the degree to which the structure is full. Where the prospect is cut by a lease line or a
block boundary, we need to know how the ownership changes with these variations. Perhaps the other fellow
should drill first.
The calculation of closed volumes may also be relevant to the judgments we make as we are contouring, or
interpreting faults. Thus we have agreed that where we cannot choose between two possible contourings, or
two fault linkages, we will generally give first place to the more optimistic interpretation. But the more
optimistic interpretation is not necessarily the one that yields the greater closed area, because the different
interpretations may lead to different spill points, and hence to different heights of hydrocarbon column.
Therefore we have to make both maps, and compute both closed volumes, before we can decide which
interpretation is the more optimistic.
Two-Dimensional Filtering: Trends and Residuals
We accept that it is usual to apply some judicious smoothing as we pick the reflections, and to apply some
judicious smoothing as we contour the map. By "judicious" we mean that we consciously exclude any
variations that we deem to be noise, or not geologically significant in the context of the exploration play.
When we perform the picking or the contouring by machine, we hope that the program makes comparable
judgments.
In the sense that the picked horizon on the section represents a waveform, we may consider the smoothing
of our picks as a low-pass filter. The very localized variations, with their high spatial frequencies, are
suppressed. Similarly, the smoothing applied in the contouring is a two-dimensional low-pass filter--applied
during the mapping, rather than along the lines.
Sometimes, after all this filtering is complete and the map has been made, we wish to select or enhance one
of the many messages that the map may contain. Thus, a further two-dimensional low-pass filter, applied to
the map itself, could be expected to enhance the low-frequency trends. A two-dimensional high-pass filter,
on the other hand, could be expected to suppress these trends, and to enhance the local variations.
These filtering operations are most easily visualized on gridded data. Figure 1 illustrates a rectangular grid of
data and the machine-contoured map derived from it.


Figure 1


We can make a low-pass (integrating) filter for a waveform by replacing each sample by the average of it
and its neighbors; similarly we can make a low-pass filter for a surface by replacing each grid value by the
average of it and its neighbors. In Figure 1 , for example, we might replace each grid value by the average of
the values falling within a defined circle centered on the grid node; we might use the circle at the upper left,
embracing nine grid values.
We can see by eye that this would preserve the indication of the high, but remove all the detail. The filtered
version would no longer represent "truth," but it would show the trend. We have a trend map.
If we were to use a larger circle, even less of the highfrequency content would be preserved; only the gross
low-frequency trend would survive. If we were to use an ellipse ( Figure 1 , lower right) instead of a circle,
the filter would selectively enhance trends in the direction of the major axis of the ellipse
We make a high-pass (differentiating) filter from a simple low-pass filter by subtracting the central sample
from the average of the other samples. Similarly we can construct the high-pass filter corresponding to the
shaded circle of Figure 1 by subtracting the central grid value from the average of the other eight. On a
uniform dip, clearly, the output is zero. But highly local features, standing out from the background, are
accentuated.
Because the output of such a high-pass filter approximates the difference between the original contour map
and the low-pass-filtered trend map, it is often called the residual map.
The filter given by a simple running average of sample values is a very primitive filter; the filters of Figure 1
are likewise primitive. One simple variation is to run the filter twice; on a waveform this yields a triangular
weighting of sample values, and in two dimensions it yields a conical weighting. As with waveform filters,
there is an infinite choice of other filters. For example, Figure 2 reminds us of the so-called "ideal" filter and
the "sinc" operator that provides it; we can obtain the two-dimensional equivalent by rotating this operator
about its axis of symmetry.


Figure 2


Once again, however, we have to remember that the filter is "ideal" only in the sense of providing a very
abrupt separation between passed and blocked frequencies; it is inconceivable that such a filter could be
ideal on any real geological surface.
Two-dimensional filters for map work are normally symmetrical (i.e., zero-phase). This is not mandatory, of
course, but only a very specific geological problem would lead us to consider any other possibility.
Map Migration
The migration of a contour map is conceptually very simple; each point on a contour is displaced in a
direction perpendicular to the contour, by an amount that depends on the dip (that is, on the separation
between contours).
Figure 1 (m is the time gradient on the unmigrated map in the equations) repeats the standard migration
diagram for a constant-velocity earth.


Figure 1


In this instance, however, the horizontal datum line is not the line of section but a line perpendicular to a
contour--the line of steepest ascent; the point 0 is not a shot-point but a contour, perpendicular to the
paper. The equations given in the figure allow us to migrate the contour, using the time gradient on the
unmigrated map. In Figure 2 we see the same thing in plan.


Figure 2


Any point on the t contour, therefore, requires updip displacement by an amount h, and replacement with a
new time value t'. When this is done for a suitable number of points on each contour, we have a new set of
time points, migrated; these can then be contoured in the usual way. The contour value t, formerly at 0, is
now moved to P.
For detail studies on important prospects, the assumption of constant velocity may not be sufficiently close.
Then it becomes necessary to include not only the vertical and lateral variations of velocity, but also
refraction at the major interfaces above the contoured horizon; it becomes necessary to trace the normal-
incidence ray. This is a significant complication, which is addressed in the topics under the heading "Velocity
Interpretation and Depth Conversion."
REFERENCES

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Integration of Surface and Borehole Seismic Data: A Field Case in a Complex
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Society of Exploration Geophysicists.
Beyer, L. R. (1994). "Seismic Interpretation 40: Contouring with Center-line
Faults: Using Fault Geometry to your Advantage." The Leading Edge, 13 , no. 01,
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Beyer, L. R. (1993). "Contouring with Center-line Faults: Using Fault Geometry
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Bolondi, G., Rocca, F. and Zanoletti, S. (1977). "Methods for Contouring
Irregularly Spaced Data." Geophysical Prospectining, 25 , 96-119. Houten:
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Bolondi, G., Rocca, F. and Zanoletti, S. (1976). "Automatic Contouring of
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Britze, P. (1998). "Interpreter's Corner - Seismic Mapping Using Trendform
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Geophysicists.
Brown, L. F. and W. L. Fisher. 1977. Seismic-stratigraphic interpretation of
depositional systems: Examples from Brazilian rift and pull-apart basins. In
Seismic stratigraphy--Applications to hydrocarbon exploration, ed. C. E. Payton,
213-248. Tulsa: Am. Assoc. Petr. Geol.
Chiaruitini, C., Galuppo, P., Pipan, M. and Roberto, V. (1991). "Computer
Aided Fault Pattern Analysis (CAFPA): A Prototype of an Expert System for
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Association of Geoscientists & Engineers.
Dutton, S. P. 1982. Pennsylvanian fan-delta and carbonate deposits, Mobeetie
field, Texas panhandle. Am. Assoc. Petr. Geol. Bull. 66(3):389-4C7.
Gariepy, B. L. (1989). "Discussion on 'Seismic Contouring: A Unique Skill', by P.
M. Tucker." Geophysics, 54 , 130 . Tulsa: Society of Exploration Geophysicists.
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Reserves and Resources in Russia (By The Example Of West Siberia." Abstract 31
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Goudswaard, W. 1986. Seismic interpretation. EAEG Continuing Education
Course.
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Geophysics, 58 , 1491-1497 . Tulsa: Society of Exploration Geophysicists.
Harding, T. P. and S. D. Lowell. 1979. Structural styles, their plate-tectonic
habitats, and hydrocarbon traps in petroleum provinces. Am. Assoc. Petr. Geol.
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ADDITIONAL READING

Brown, A. (1999). Interpretation of Three-dimensional Seismic Data. Tulsa :
Society of Exploration Geophysicists.
Jenyon, M. K. and A. A. Fitch. 1985. Seismic reflection interpretation. Berlin :
Gebruder Borntraeger.
Jones, T. A., D. E. Hamilton, and C. R. Johnson. 1986. Contouring geologic
surfaces with the computer. New York : Van Nostrand Reinhold.
Kleyn, A. H. 1983. Seismic reflection interpretation. London : Applied Science
Publishers.
Tearpock, D. J. and Bischke, R. (1991). Applied Subsurface Gological
Mapping. New York: Prentice Hall.
Tearpock, D. J. and Bischke, R. (2002). Applied Subsurface Gological Mapping
with Structural Methods. New York: Prentice Hall.
Yilmaz, O. (2001). Seismic Data Analysis: Processing, Inversion and
Interpretation of Seismic Data. Tulsa: Society of Exploration Geophysicists

Ray Migration and Demigration as a Tool in Handling Misties
(Acknowledgment: This appendix is derived from an outline due to W. Goudswaard, used in his
recommended EAEG course "Seismic Interpretation.")
In Figure 1 , the full lines show the basic geometry of the migration process for a constant velocity V; the
reflection "point" is displaced horizontally by a distance h, and its time changes from t to t'.


Figure 1


The short-dashed lines show the corresponding geometry for a source position removed from the original
source position by a small distance x; the corresponding time difference At allows us to define the time dip t/
x = m before migration. The corresponding time dip after migration is t'/x' = m'.
These quantities are related to the true dip angle by:
sin =Vm/2 ;
tan = Vm'/2 .
Also, in the shaded triangle,
sin =2h/Vt =Vm/2 ;
tan = 2h/Vt' = Vm'/2 .
Hence, h may be obtained from the section either before or after migration:
h =V
2
tm/4 =V
2
t'm'/4 .
Similarly, we have:
cos =t'/t =
sec = t'/t =
On unmigrated data, then, we know V, t and m; hence,
h =V
2
tm/4 and t' =t .
We can calculate what the mistie will be when dip and strike lines are migrated.
On migrated data, we know V, t' and m'; hence,
h =V
2
t'm'/4 and t' =t' .
We can "demigrate" the data, and satisfy ourselves that a mistie between dip and strike lines
is removed thereby.
The equations also give us the amount by which a strike line must be repositioned updip (h), for track-line
construction, and the modified time value (t') that must be used in contouring the migrated data.