ZENASPIS: DEVONIAN FISH MORTALITY PLATE

A Devonian fish mortality plate showing all lower shields of Zenaspis podolica (Lankester, 1869) and Stensiopelta pustulata (or Victoraspis longicornualis) from Lower Devonian deposits of Podolia, Ukraine.

Zenaspis is an extinct genus of jawless fish which existed during the early Devonian period. Due to it being jawless, Zenaspis was probably a bottom feeder.

The lovely 420 million-year-old plate you see here is from Podolia or Podilia, a historic region in Eastern Europe, located in the west-central and south-western parts of Ukraine, in northeastern Moldova. 

Podolia is the only region in Ukraine where Lower Devonian remains of ichthyofauna can be found near the surface.

For the past 150 years, vertebrate fossils have been found in more than 90 localities situated in outcrops along banks of the Dniester River and its northern tributaries, and in sandstone quarries. 

At present faunal list of Early Devonian agnathans and fishes from Podolia number 72 species, including 8 Thelodonti, 39 Heterostraci, 19 Osteostraci, 4 Placodermi, 1 Acanthodii, and 1 Holocephali (Voichyshyn 2001a, modified).

In Podolia, Lower Devonian redbeds strata (the Old Red Formation or Dniester Series) can be found up to 1800 m thick and range from Lochkovian to Eifelian in age (Narbutas 1984; Drygant 2000, 2003). 

In the lower part (Ustechko and Khmeleva members of the Dniester Series) they consist of multicoloured, mainly red, fine-grained cross-bedded massive quartz sandstones and siltstones with seams of argillites (Drygant 2000).

We see fossils beds of Zenaspis in the early Devonian of Western Europe. Both Zenaspis pagei and Zenaspis poweri can be found up to 25 centimetres long in Devonian outcrops of Scotland.

Reference: Voichyshyn, V. 2006. New osteostracans from the Lower Devonian terrigenous deposits of Podolia, Ukraine. Acta Palaeontologica Polonica 51 (1): 131–142. Photo care of Fossilero Fisherman.

BACK IN THE USSR: BEADANTICERAS OF THE NORTHERN CAUCASUS

This lovely oil in water coloured ammonite is the beauty Beudanticeras sp. from the Lower Cretaceous (Upper Aptian), Krasnodar region, Northern Caucasus, southern Russia. 

This area of the world has beautiful fossil specimens with their distinct colouring. The geology and paleontological history of the region are fascinating as is its more recent history. 

The territory of present Krasnodar Krai was inhabited as early as the Paleolithic, about 2 million years ago. It was inhabited by various tribes and peoples since ancient times. 

There were several Greek colonies on the Black Sea coast, which later became part of the Kingdom of the Bosporus. In 631, the Great Bulgaria state was founded in the Kuban. In the 8th-10th centuries, the territory was part of Khazaria.

In 965, the Kievan Prince Svyatoslav defeated the Khazar Khanate and this region came under the power of Kievan Rus, Tmutarakan principality was formed. At the end of the 11th century, in connection with the strengthening of the Polovtsy and claims of Byzantium, Tmutarakan principality came under the authority of the Byzantine emperors (until 1204).

In 1243-1438, this land was part of the Golden Horde. After its collapse, Kuban was divided between the Crimean Khanate, Circassia, and the Ottoman Empire, which dominated in the region. Russia began to challenge the protectorate over the territory during the Russian-Turkish wars.

In 1783, by decree of Catherine II, the right-bank Kuban and Taman Peninsula became part of the Russian Empire after the liquidation of the Crimean Khanate. 

In 1792-1793, Zaporozhye (Black Sea) Cossacks resettled here to protect new borders of the country along the Kuban River. 

During the military campaign to establish control over the North Caucasus (Caucasian War of 1763-1864), in the 1830s, the Ottoman Empire for forced out of the region and Russia gained access to the Black Sea coast.

Prior to the revolutionary events of 1917, most of the territory of present Krasnodar Krai was occupied by the Kuban region, founded in 1860. In 1900, the population of the region was about 2 million people. In 1913, it ranked 2nd by the gross harvest of grain, 1st place for the production of bread in the Russian Empire.

The Kuban was one of the centres of resistance after the Bolshevik revolution of 1917. In 1918-1920, there was a non-Bolshevik Kuban People’s Republic. In 1924, North-Caucasian krai was founded with the centre in Rostov-on-Don. In 1934, it was divided into Azov-Black Sea krai (Rostov-on-Don) and North Caucasus krai (Stavropol).

September 13, 1937, the Azov-Black Sea region was divided into the Rostov region and Krasnodar Krai that included Adygei autonomous oblast. During the Second World War, the region was captured by the Germans. After the battle for the Caucasus, it was liberated. There are about 1,500 monuments and memorials commemorating heroes of the war on the territory of Krasnodar Krai.

The lovely block you see here is in the collections of the awesome John Fam, Vice-Chair of the Vancouver Paleontological Society in British Columbia, Canada.

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF A HADROSAUR

Glorious Parasaurolophus art work by Daniel Eskridge

Morning mist curls along the banks of a wide, slow river. The air is heavy with the earthy scent of wet ferns and moss, tinged with the sweet tang of distant flowering trees. 

Sunlight filters through the canopy of towering conifers, catching the mist in golden rays that dance across the forest floor. 

In the dappled light, a herd of Edmontosaurus—duck-billed hadrosaurs—trundle slowly along the muddy bank. Their broad, flattened snouts graze the lush vegetation as they move, leaves crunching softly underfoot. 

Occasionally, one lifts its head, nostrils flaring as it senses the faint rustle of small mammals or the distant call of a Troodon hunting nearby. The low, resonant calls of the herd echo through the valley—a combination of hums, grunts, and whistling notes, a complex social language that signals alertness or contentment.

Around the herd, the world teems with life. Tiny lizards dart among fallen logs. Feathered dinosaurs like Caudipteryx flit through the branches, their wings rustling against the leaves. In the sky, pterosaurs wheel silently, shadowing the riverbanks, while fish occasionally leap from the water, disturbing the mirrored surface. 

A Tyrannosaurus stalks at a distance, its presence felt more than seen, tension rippling through the herd as they lift their heads in unison, scanning the forest edge. Yet for now, they continue to feed, grazing on conifers, ferns, and flowering plants, their broad dental batteries efficiently shearing tough plant material.

As the sun climbs higher, the herd’s rhythm shifts. Juveniles cluster together near the center of the group, protected by adults forming a loose perimeter. Mothers communicate constantly with low-frequency hums that travel through the ground, letting their young know it is safe to graze. Each hadrosaur maintains a personal space, yet the herd moves as a fluid unit, coordinated by sight, sound, and subtle gestures. 

Occasionally, two adults nuzzle briefly or bump heads—a gentle reinforcement of social bonds within the herd.

By midday, the river becomes a focal point. Hadrosaurs wade into shallow water, stirring the mud with their broad feet, creating a chorus of splashes and grunts. The water’s surface reflects the glittering canopy above, disturbed only by the occasional leap of fish or the landing of a pterosaur. 

Here, the herd drinks, cools down, and reorients itself to the sun’s angle. Younglings playfully chase each other through the shallows, their calls mingling with the rhythmic lapping of water. Predators lurk nearby, and the herd’s vigilance never wavers—any unusual sound or movement triggers a wave of alert postures, heads lifting in unison, tails flicking nervously.

As afternoon wanes, the herd moves toward forested areas, seeking shade. The scent of resin from conifers mingles with the damp earth, masking the smell of predators. The larger adults lead, while subadults and juveniles follow, practicing the complex patterns of herd movement they will rely on for survival. 

The subtle vibrational signals—footsteps, tail swishes, body shifts—help coordinate the group over distances that the eyes alone cannot manage. Within these social structures, older hadrosaurs seem to guide the young, showing where the most nutritious plants grow and signaling which areas are safe.

By evening, the forest becomes alive with nocturnal creatures. Crickets and insects add a constant hum to the air, while small mammals rustle in the underbrush. The herd settles in a sheltered clearing, forming protective clusters. 

Some adults lower themselves to rest, heads tucked under broad forelimbs, while juveniles huddle close, still vocalizing softly, practicing the calls they will use to communicate when they reach adulthood. 

The sounds of the night—rustling leaves, distant predator calls, and the gentle low-frequency hums of the hadrosaurs—create a layered, symphonic soundscape of life at the end of a Cretaceous day.

The world of hadrosaurs was far from solitary—their forests, riverbanks, and floodplains teemed with life, forming a complex and interconnected ecosystem. While the herd grazed, the air vibrated with the calls of feathered dinosaurs like Microraptor flitting between branches, occasionally diving to snatch insects from the foliage. Small mammals—ancestors of shrews and multituberculates—scuttled across the forest floor, their tiny claws stirring the moss and fallen leaves.

Predators lurked at every edge. Tyrannosaurus and Albertosaurus prowled open plains and forest margins, stalking both hadrosaurs and smaller herbivores. Juvenile hadrosaurs, particularly vulnerable, relied on the protective circle of adults, whose heads, tails, and bodies created a living barrier. Even crocodilians patrolled the rivers, their eyes breaking the water’s surface as they waited for an unwary hadrosaur to drink or bathe.

But the landscape was not only danger and vigilance. Insects buzzed among flowering angiosperms, pollinating as they fed, while dragonfly-like odonates skimmed over ponds and streams. Frogs croaked from the damp undergrowth, adding a pulsing rhythm to the daily soundscape. Trees, ferns, and cycads provided more than food; their dense canopies offered shelter from predators and sun, while fallen logs and leaf litter created microhabitats for countless invertebrates.

Seasonal changes added another layer of complexity. During rainy months, riverbanks became muddy feeding grounds, leaving tracks that we find and study today. 

In drier periods, herds migrated across plains and valleys, guided by the scent of water and fresh vegetation. The interplay of predators, prey, plants, and smaller animals created a dynamic, constantly shifting stage where survival depended on vigilance, cooperation, and adaptability.

Through fossil evidence—trackways, bone beds, and stomach content analysis—we can reconstruct this rich tapestry. Imagining the sensory richness: the smell of resin and damp soil, the low hum of a herd communicating, the distant roar of predators, and the flash of feathered wings overhead, gives life to a world that has been silent for 66 million years. 

In that world, hadrosaurs were central actors in a vibrant, thriving ecosystem. Hadrosaurs were not solitary wanderers but highly social beings, capable of complex communication, coordinated group behavior, and protective care of their young. 

The hadrosaurs you see in this post are Parasaurolophus — one of the last of the duckbills to roam the Earth and their great crests were the original trumpets. We now know that their bizarre head adornments help them produce a low B-Flat or Bb. This is the same B-Flat you hear wind ensembles tune to with the help of their tuba, horn or clarinet players.

I imagine them signaling to the troops with their trumpeting sound carried on the winds similar to the bugle-horn call of an elephant.

Imagining a day in their life—from morning grazing along rivers to evening rest in the forest—reveals the richness of their world, teeming with interactions and sensory experiences that echo across millions of years.

For those that love paleo art, check out the work of Daniel Eskridge (shared with permission here) to see more of his work and purchase some to bring into your world by visiting:https://daniel-eskridge.pixels.com/

KU'MIS: WARRIOR CRABS

Look how epic this little guy is! 

He is a crab — and if you asked him, the fiercest warrior that ever lived. 

While that may not be strictly true, crabs do have the heart of a warrior and will raise their claws, sometimes only millimetres into the air, to assert dominance over their world. 

Crabs are decapod crustaceans of the Phylum Arthropoda. 

In Kwak'wala, the language of the Kwakwaka'wakw of the Pacific Northwest, this brave fellow is ḵ̓u'mis — both a tasty snack and familiar to the supernatural deity Tuxw'id, a female warrior spirit. Given their natural armour and clear bravery, it is a fitting role.

They inhabit all the world's oceans, sandy beaches, many of our freshwater lakes and streams. Some few prefer to live in forests.

Crabs build their shells from highly mineralized chitin — and chitin gets around. It is the main structural component of the exoskeletons of many of our crustacean and insect friends. Shrimp, crab, and lobster all use it to build their exoskeletons.

Chitin is a polysaccharide — a large molecule made of many smaller monosaccharides or simple sugars, like glucose. 

It is handy stuff, forming crystalline nanofibrils or whiskers. Chitin is actually the second most abundant polysaccharide after cellulose. It is interesting as we usually think of these molecules in the context of their sugary context but they build many other very useful things in nature — not the least of these are the hard shells or exoskeletons of our crustacean friends.

Crabs in the Fossil Record

The earliest unambiguous crab fossils date from the Early Jurassic, with the oldest being Eocarcinus from the early Pliensbachian of Britain, which likely represents a stem-group lineage, as it lacks several key morphological features that define modern crabs. 

Most Jurassic crabs are only known from dorsal — or top half of the body — carapaces, making it difficult to determine their relationships. Crabs radiated in the Late Jurassic, corresponding with an increase in reef habitats, though they would decline at the end of the Jurassic as the result of the decline of reef ecosystems. Crabs increased in diversity through the Cretaceous and represented the dominant group of decapods by the end.

We find wonderful fossil crab specimens on Vancouver Island. The first I ever collected was at Shelter Point, then again on Hornby Island, down on the Olympic Peninsula and along Vancouver Island's west coast near Nootka Sound. 

They are, of course, found globally and are one of the most pleasing fossils to find and aggravating to prep of all the specimens you will ever have in your collection. Bless them.

TRACKING DINOSAURS: FOOTPRINTS IN STONE

Dinosaur Track, Tumbler Ridge

Imagine kneeling beside a three-toed depression in a slab of sandstone, your fingers tracing the edges of a print left by a creature that thundered across the Earth over 100 million years ago. 

Dinosaur tracks—known scientifically as ichnites—are time capsules, snapshots of behavior frozen in stone. 

Unlike bones, which tell us what dinosaurs looked like, footprints reveal how they moved, how fast they walked, whether they traveled alone or in herds, and even how they interacted with their environment.

Footprints are classified by shape rather than by exact species, since tracks are trace fossils—evidence of activity, not anatomy. Paleontologists group them into “ichnogenera,” names based on their form.

• Theropods, the meat-eating dinosaurs like Tyrannosaurus and Allosaurus, left narrow, three-toed prints (tridactyl) with claw marks. Their tracks often show long, slender toes and a V-shaped outline.
• Ornithopods, the plant-eaters like Iguanodon, also made three-toed prints, but theirs are broader with blunt toes—built for walking on both two and four legs.
• Sauropods, the long-necked giants, left large round or oval footprints—massive impressions of their column-like feet, often paired with crescent-shaped handprints nearby.
• Ankylosaurs and stegosaurs left shorter, wider tracks, with toe impressions that resemble stubby, armored stumps.

Theropod Track

You can see spectacular dinosaur tracks across the world and close to home in western Canada. 

The Peace Region of British Columbia boasts the Tumbler Ridge Global Geopark, where hundreds of Cretaceous-era footprints adorn ancient riverbeds. 

In Alberta, the Dinosaur Provincial Park and the Willow Creek tracksites near Lethbridge preserve both sauropod and theropod prints. 

Farther south, classic trackways appear in Utah’s St. George Dinosaur Discovery Site and Colorado’s Picketwire Canyonlands, where sauropods once waded through ancient mudflats.

If you spot a fossil track, look closely at its size, toe count, and depth. 

Is it long and narrow, hinting at a swift predator, or broad and round, evidence of a lumbering herbivore? 

These shapes tell stories—of migration, of pursuit, of entire ecosystems now long vanished—each print a footprint not just in rock, but in time itself.

Definitely take a photo if you are able and if within cell range, drop a GPS pin to mark the spot to share with local experts when you get home.

Sometimes, you can find something amazing but it takes a while for others to believe you. This happened up in Tumbler Ridge when the first dino tracks were found.

Flatbed Creek Dino Tracks

In the summer of 2000, two curious boys exploring a creek bed near Tumbler Ridge, British Columbia, made a discovery that would put their small northern town on the paleontological map. 

While splashing along Flatbed Creek, Mark Turner and Daniel Helm noticed a series of large, three-toed impressions pressed deep into the sandstone—too regular to be random. 

They had stumbled upon the fossilized footprints of dinosaurs that had walked there some 100 million years ago during the Cretaceous. 

Their find sparked scientific interest that led to the establishment of the Tumbler Ridge Museum and later the Tumbler Ridge Global Geopark. 

Since then, paleontologists have uncovered thousands of tracks in the area—from nimble theropods to massive sauropods—etched into the ancient riverbeds and preserving a vivid record of dinosaurs on the move in what was once a lush coastal plain. 

AVES: LIVING DINOSAURS

Cassowary, Casuariiformes

Wherever you are in the world, it is likely that you know your local birds. True, you may call them des Oiseaux, pássaros or uccelli — but you'll know their common names by heart.

You will also likely know their sounds. The tweets, chirps, hoots and caws of the species living in your backyard.

Birds come in all shapes and sizes and their brethren blanket the globe. It is amazing to think that they all sprang from the same lineage given the sheer variety. 

If you picture them, we have such a variety on the planet — parrots, finches, wee hummingbirds, long-legged waterbirds, waddling penguins and showy toucans. 

But whether they are a gull, hawk, cuckoo, hornbill, potoo or albatross, they are all cousins in the warm-blooded vertebrate class Aves. 

The defining features of the Aves are feathers, toothless beaked jaws, the laying of hard-shelled eggs, a high metabolic rate, a four-chambered heart, and a strong yet lightweight skeleton. The best features, their ability to dance, bounce and sing, are not listed, but it is how I see them in the world.

These modern dinosaurs live worldwide and range in size from the 5 cm (2 in) bee hummingbird to the 2.75 m (9 ft) ostrich. 

There are about ten thousand living species, more than half of which are passerine, or "perching" birds. Birds have wings whose development varies according to species; the only known groups without wings are the extinct moa and elephant birds.

Wings evolved from forelimbs giving birds the ability to fly

Wings, which evolved from forelimbs, gave birds the ability to fly, although further evolution has led to the loss of flight in some birds, including ratites, penguins, and diverse endemic island species. 

The digestive and respiratory systems of birds are also uniquely adapted for flight. Some bird species of aquatic environments, particularly seabirds and some waterbirds, have further evolved for swimming.

Wee Feathered Theropod Dinosaurs

We now know from fossil and biological evidence that birds are a specialized subgroup of theropod dinosaurs, and more specifically, they are members of Maniraptora, a group of theropods that includes dromaeosaurs and oviraptorids, amongst others. As palaeontologists discover more theropods closely related to birds, the previously clear distinction between non-birds and birds has become a bit muddy.

Recent discoveries in the Liaoning Province of northeast China, which include many small theropod feathered dinosaurs — and some excellent arty reproductions — contribute to this ambiguity. 

Still, other fossil specimens found here shed a light on the evolution of Aves. Confuciusornis sanctus, an Early Cretaceous bird from the Yixian and Jiufotang Formations of China is the oldest known bird to have a beak.

Like modern birds, Confuciusornis had a toothless beak, but close relatives of modern birds such as Hesperornis and Ichthyornis were toothed, telling us that the loss of teeth occurred convergently in Confuciusornis and living birds.

The consensus view in contemporary palaeontology is that the flying theropods, or avialans, are the closest relatives of the deinonychosaurs, which include dromaeosaurids and troodontids.

Together, these form a group called Paraves. Some basal members of this group, such as Microraptor, have features that may have enabled them to glide or fly. 

The most basal deinonychosaurs were wee little things. This raises the possibility that the ancestor of all paravians may have been arboreal, have been able to glide, or both. Unlike Archaeopteryx and the non-avialan feathered dinosaurs, who primarily ate meat, tummy contents from recent avialan studies suggest that the first avialans were omnivores. Even more intriguing...

Avialae, which translates to bird wings, are a clade of flying dinosaurs containing the only living dinosaurs, the birds. It is usually defined as all theropod dinosaurs more closely related to modern birds — Aves — than to deinonychosaurs, though alternative definitions are occasionally bantered back and forth.

The Earliest Avialan: Archaeopteryx lithographica

Archaeopteryx, bird-like dinosaur from the Late Jurassic

Archaeopteryx lithographica, from the late Jurassic Period Solnhofen Formation of Germany, is the earliest known avialan that may have had the capability of powered flight. 

However, several older avialans are known from the Late Jurassic Tiaojishan Formation of China, dating to about 160 million years ago.

The Late Jurassic Archaeopteryx is well-known as one of the first transitional fossils to be found, and it provided support for the theory of evolution in the late 19th century. 

Archaeopteryx was the first fossil to clearly display both traditional reptilian characteristics — teeth, clawed fingers, and a long, lizard-like tail—as well as wings with flight feathers similar to those of modern birds. It is not considered a direct ancestor of birds, though it is possibly closely related to the true ancestor.

Unlikely yet true, the closest living relatives of birds are the crocodilians. Birds are descendants of the primitive avialans — whose members include Archaeopteryx — which first appeared about 160 million years ago in China.

DNA evidence tells us that modern birds — Neornithes — evolved in the Middle to Late Cretaceous, and diversified dramatically around the time of the Cretaceous–Paleogene extinction event 66 mya, which killed off the pterosaurs and all non-avian dinosaurs.

In birds, the brain, especially the telencephalon, is remarkably developed, both in relative volume and complexity. Unlike most early‐branching sauropsids, the adults of birds and other archosaurs have a well‐ossified neurocranium. In contrast to most of their reptilian relatives, but similar to what we see in mammals, bird brains fit closely to the endocranial cavity so that major external features are reflected in the endocasts. What you see on the inside is what you see on the outside.

This makes birds an excellent group for palaeoneurological investigations. The first observation of the brain in a long‐extinct bird was made in the first quarter of the 19th century. However, it was not until the 2000s and the application of modern imaging technologies that avian palaeoneurology really took off.

Understanding how the mode of life is reflected in the external morphology of the brains of birds is but one of several future directions in which avian palaeoneurological research may extend.

Although the number of fossil specimens suitable for palaeoneurological explorations is considerably smaller in birds than in mammals and will very likely remain so, the coming years will certainly witness a momentous strengthening of this rapidly growing field of research at the overlap between ornithology, palaeontology, evolutionary biology and the neurosciences.

Reference: Cau, Andrea; Brougham, Tom; Naish, Darren (2015). "The phylogenetic affinities of the bizarre Late Cretaceous Romanian theropod Balaur bondoc (Dinosauria, Maniraptora): Dromaeosaurid or flightless bird?". PeerJ. 3: e1032. doi:10.7717/peerj.1032. PMC 4476167. PMID 26157616.

Reference: Ivanov, M., Hrdlickova, S. & Gregorova, R. (2001) The Complete Encyclopedia of Fossils. Rebo Publishers, Netherlands. p. 312

SPIRIT BEARS OF CANADA'S WEST COAST

Mist clings to the moss-draped cedars, and the river below churns with the silver flash of salmon fighting upstream. 

Then, out of the shadows, a pale figure steps onto the slick stones—a spirit bear, its coat glowing against the emerald forest like a ghost made flesh. 

Each movement is unhurried, deliberate, as if the forest itself pauses to watch. Water beads and slides down its fur, its great head lifting to catch the scent of fish on the wind. 

In that moment, the rainforest hushes—ravens fall silent, even the river seems to soften—leaving only the sound of your breath and the soft trickle of a nearby stream as you realize you are witnessing something few people on Earth ever see.

On the temperate rainforests of British Columbia’s central and north coast, a rare white-furred black bear (Ursus americanus kermodei) roams among towering cedars, moss-draped hemlocks, and salmon-rich rivers. 

Known scientifically as the Kermode bear but more commonly called the spirit bear, this unique subspecies of the American black bear holds both biological and cultural significance. Their pale coats, the result of a genetic variation, have captured global fascination while remaining deeply rooted in the traditions of local First Nations peoples.

Spirit bears are not albinos; rather, their distinctive white coat results from a recessive allele in the melanocortin 1 receptor (MC1R) gene. 

To display the white fur, an individual must inherit the allele from both parents. Roughly 10–20% of the Kermode bear population in some regions are white-coated, though overall only about 1 in 10 black bears in the subspecies carries this trait. The remainder are typically black-furred, indistinguishable from other American black bears at a glance.

Spirit bears inhabit the Great Bear Rainforest, one of the largest remaining intact temperate rainforests in the world, stretching along British Columbia’s remote central and northern coast. 

They are most frequently found on Princess Royal Island and Gribbell Island, as well as smaller portions of the surrounding mainland. These regions offer a rich mosaic of old-growth conifer forests, rivers teeming with salmon, and sheltered estuaries that provide food and cover.

Like other black bears, spirit bears are omnivorous generalists. Their diet changes seasonally:

• Spring: young vegetation, grasses, sedges, and roots.
• Summer: berries (salmonberries, huckleberries, blueberries), insects, and carrion.
• Autumn: spawning Pacific salmon (Oncorhynchus spp.), which form the most critical food source for building fat reserves before winter denning. Salmon runs sustain the bears and also fertilize the forest. Bears often carry fish into the understory, leaving behind nutrients that enrich soil and feed trees, mosses, and invertebrates—a classic example of nutrient cycling.

Spirit bears are generally solitary, though feeding grounds such as salmon streams may bring multiple individuals together. Unlike coastal grizzlies, they tend to avoid confrontations, relying on patience and stealth while fishing. Interestingly, recent research suggests that spirit bears may enjoy a fishing advantage: their pale coats are less visible to salmon in bright daylight, allowing them to capture fish more efficiently than darker bears.

In late autumn, spirit bears retreat to winter dens, often dug into hollow logs, root systems, or natural rock shelters. They enter a state of torpor rather than true hibernation, slowing their metabolism while occasionally rousing during warmer spells. Cubs are born during this denning period, usually in January, and remain with their mothers for 1.5–2.5 years.

For millennia, the white bear has held deep spiritual and cultural meaning for First Nations peoples of the Pacific Northwest, including the Gitga’at, Kitasoo/Xai’xais, and Heiltsuk Nations. 

Known as moksgm’ol among the Gitga’at, the spirit bear is revered as a reminder of the Ice Age, when the land was blanketed in snow and ice. Oral traditions tell that Raven made one in every ten bears white to remind people of the time when glaciers ruled the earth, teaching humility and respect for nature.

Today, First Nations guardians continue to play a central role in protecting spirit bear habitats, leading stewardship programs, guiding visitors, and sharing cultural teachings. Their leadership was instrumental in the establishment of conservation agreements that limit industrial development and preserve the Great Bear Rainforest.

Though not classified as endangered, spirit bears are vulnerable due to their limited genetic distribution and reliance on intact rainforest ecosystems. Logging, habitat fragmentation, and declining salmon populations pose risks. The protection of their habitat through the 2016 Great Bear Rainforest Agreement and ongoing Indigenous stewardship has been critical in ensuring their survival.

Viewing Spirit Bears — Because of their rarity and remote habitat, spirit bears are challenging but not impossible to see in the wild. Some of the best-known viewing opportunities include:

• Princess Royal Island – the largest concentration of spirit bears.
• Gribbell Island – often called the “mother island” of the white bear.
• Kitasoo/Xai’xais territory near Klemtu – guided spirit bear tours led by Indigenous stewards.

Tourism is strictly managed to reduce disturbance and ensure that viewing supports conservation and local communities.

The spirit bear is a striking example of how biology and culture intertwine. Its unique genetics, ecological role in the rainforest, and place in Indigenous oral traditions make it an emblem of both natural wonder and cultural heritage. 

Protecting the spirit bear means safeguarding the Great Bear Rainforest itself—a living system where salmon, cedar, eagle, wolf, and bear are inseparably linked.

WHEN GORGON REIGNED SUPREME

Step back into the deep Paleozoic—an era that began some 540 million years ago with oceans bustling with trilobites, early fish, and soft-bodied wonders, while the continents themselves hosted little more than humble mats of mosses and fungi. Life’s great drama was still mostly underwater.

Fast-forward 240 million years, and the evolutionary landscape had transformed dramatically. 

Vertebrates had conquered the land, ecosystems had diversified, and Earth’s surface teemed with reptilian innovators, amphibians the size of crocodiles, and the early ancestors of mammals. Among these emerging terrestrial titans strode the Gorgonopsians, or “Gorgons”—ferocious sabre-toothed therapsids that dominated the Middle to Late Permian, from about 265 to 252 million years ago.

These were no sluggish proto-reptiles. Gorgons were highly specialized predators, boasting elongated canine teeth worthy of any future saber-toothed cat, powerful jaws, and sleek, muscular bodies built for pursuit. Their anatomy blended the primitive and the prophetic: reptile-like postures paired with early mammalian traits such as differentiated teeth and strong jaw musculature. 

Their clawed limbs, keen forward-facing eyes, and cutting-edge predatory adaptations placed them firmly at the top of the Permian food chain. In a world long before dinosaurs, they were the undisputed apex hunters.

My own fascination with these remarkable creatures was ignited by Gorgons, Peter Ward’s wonderfully wry and insightful dive into the ancient landscapes of South Africa. Ward’s vivid tales of fieldwork in the blistering, bone-dry vastness of the Karoo Basin—ancestral home of the Gorgons—captured both the hardships and the sheer exhilaration of unearthing deep time. 

His descriptions of sunburn and scientific revelations in that arid world made me laugh more than once. It is a highly enjoyable read.

The Great Karoo itself is a geological and paleontological marvel. This enormous, semi-arid expanse formed within a vast inland basin roughly 320 million years ago, at a time when the part of Gondwana destined to become Africa lay draped across the South Pole. 

Layer upon layer of sedimentary rock accumulated as glaciers advanced and retreated, rivers meandered, lakes dried, and ecosystems rose and fell. Today, those layers read like a grand evolutionary chronicle, preserving a world populated by beaked herbivores, hulking amphibians, and the charismatic, toothy Gorgonopsians.

This was a pivotal chapter in Earth’s history—just before the catastrophic Permian-Triassic extinction swept away nearly 90% of life. Yet in the twilight of the Permian, before that great dying, the Karoo thrived with innovation and ecological complexity. It was a world where the early steps toward warm-bloodedness were being taken, where synapsids (our own deep ancestors) were experimenting with new forms, and where the Gorgons reigned supreme.

FOSSIL BEES, FIRST NATION HISTORY

Welcome to the world of bees. This fuzzy yellow and black striped fellow is a bumblebee in the genus Bombus sp., family Apidae. 

We know him from our gardens where we see them busily lapping up nectar and pollen from flowers with their long hairy tongues.

My Norwegian cousins on my mother's side call them humle. Norway is a wonderful place to be something wild as the wild places have not been disturbed by our hands. Head out for a walk in the wild flowers and the sounds you will hear are the wind and the bees en masse amongst the flowers.   

There are an impressive thirty-five species of bumblebee species that call Norway hjem (home), and one, Bombus consobrinus, boasts the longest tongue that they use to feast solely on Monkshood, genus Aconitum, you may know by the name Wolf's-bane.

In the Kwak̓wala language of the Kwakwaka'wakw, speakers of Kwak'wala, and my family on my father's side in the Pacific Northwest, bumblebees are known as ha̱mdzalat̕si — though I wonder if this is actually the word for a honey bee, Apis mellifera, as ha̱mdzat̕si is the word for a beehive.

I have a special fondness for all bees and look for them both in the garden and in First Nation art.

Bumblebees' habit of rolling around in flowers gives us a sense that these industrious insects are also playful. In First Nation art they provide levity — comic relief along with their cousins the mosquitoes and wasps — as First Nation dancers wear masks made to mimic their round faces, big round eyes and pointy stingers. 

A bit of artistic license is taken with their forms as each mask may have up to six stingers. The dancers weave amongst the watchful audience and swoop down to playfully give many of the guests a good, albeit gentle, poke. 

Honey bees actually do a little dance when they get back to the nest with news of an exciting new place to forage — truly they do. Bumblebees do not do a wee bee dance when they come home pleased with themselves from a successful foraging mission, but they do rush around excitedly, running to and fro to share their excitement. They are social learners, so this behaviour can signal those heading out to join them as they return to the perfect patch of wildflowers. 

Bumblebees are quite passive and usually sting in defense of their nest or if they feel threatened. Female bumblebees can sting several times and live on afterwards — unlike honeybees who hold back on their single sting as its barbs hook in once used and their exit shears it off, marking their demise.

They are important buzz pollinators both for our food crops and our wildflowers. Their wings beat at 130 times or more per second, literally shaking the pollen off the flowers with their vibration. 

And they truly are busy bees, spending their days fully focused on their work. Bumblebees collect and carry pollen and nectar back to the nest which may be as much as 25% to 75% of their body weight. 

And they are courteous — as they harvest each flower, they mark them with a particular scent to help others in their group know that the nectar is gone. 

The food they bring back to the nest is eaten to keep the hive healthy but is not used to make honey as each new season's queen bees hibernate over the winter and emerge reinvigorated to seek a new hive each Spring. She will choose a new site, primarily underground depending on the bumblebee species, and then set to work building wax cells for each of her fertilized eggs. 

Bumblebees are quite hardy. The plentiful hairs on their bodies are coated in oils that provide them with natural waterproofing. They can also generate more heat than their smaller, slender honey bee cousins, so they remain productive workers in cooler weather.    

We see the first bumblebees arise in the fossil record 100 million years ago and diversify alongside the earliest flowering plants. Their evolution is an entangled dance with the pollen and varied array of flowers that colour our world. 

We have found many wonderful examples within the fossil record, including a rather famous Eocene fossil bee found by a dear friend and naturalist who has left this Earth, Rene Savenye.

His namesake, H. Savenyei, is a lovely fossil halictine bee from Early Eocene deposits near Quilchena, British Columbia — and the first bee body-fossil known from the Okanagan Highlands — and indeed from Canada. 

It is a fitting homage, as bees symbolize honesty, playfulness and willingness to serve the community in our local First Nation lore and around the world — something Rene did his whole life.

FOSSIL FISHAPODS FROM THE CANADIAN ARCTIC

Qikiqtania wakei, a fishapod & relative to tetrapods

You will likely recall the amazing tetrapodomorpha fossil found on Ellesmere Island in the Canadian Arctic in 2004, Tiktaalik roseae. 

These were advanced forms transitional between fish and the early labyrinthodonts playfully referred to as fishapods — half-fish, half-tetrapod in appearance and limb morphology. 

Up to that point, the relationship of limbed vertebrates (tetrapods) to lobe-finned fish (sarcopterygians) was well known, but the origin of significant tetrapod features remained obscure for the lack of fossils that document the sequence of evolutionary changes — until Tiktaalik. 

While Tiktaalik is technically a fish, this fellow is as far from fish-like as you can be and still be a card-carrying member of the group. 

Interestingly, while Neil Shubin and crew were combing the icy tundra for Tiktaalik, another group was trying their luck just a few kilometres away. 

A week before the eureka moment of Tiktaalik's discovery, Tom Stewart and Justin Lemberg unearthed material that we now know to be a relative of Tiktaalik's. 

Meet Qikiqtania wakei, a fishapod and close relative to our dear tetrapods — and cousin to Tiktaalik — who shares features in the flattened triangular skull, shoulders and elbows in the fin. 

Qikiqtania (pronounced kick-kick-TAN-ee-ya)

But, and here’s the amazing part, its upper arm bone (humerus) is specialised for open water swimming, not walking. 

The story gets wilder when we look at Qikiqtania’s position on the evolutionary tree— all the features for this type of swimming are newly evolved, not primitive. 

This means that Qikiqtania secondarily reentered open water habitats from ancestors that had already had some aspect of walking behaviour. 

And, this whole story was playing out 365 million years ago — the transition from water to land was going both ways in the Devonian.

Why is this exciting? You and I descend from those early tetrapods. We share the legacy of their water-to-land transition and the wee bony bits in their wrists and paddles that evolved to become our hands. I know, mindblowing!

Thomas Stewart and Justin Lemberg put in thousands of hours bringing Qikiqtania to life. 

The analysis consisted of a long path of wild events— from a haphazard moment when it was first spotted, a random collection of a block that ended up containing an articulated fin, to a serendipitous discovery three days before Covid lockdowns in March 2020.

Both teams acknowledge the profound debt owed to the individuals, organizations and indigenous communities where they had the privilege to work — Grise Fiord and Resolute Bay— Ellesmere Island in Nunavut, the largest and northernmost territory of Canada. 

Part of that debt is honoured in the name chosen for this new miraculous species. 

Aerial View of Ellesmere Island

The generic name, Qikiqtania (pronounced kick-kick-TAN-ee-ya), is derived from the Inuktitut words Qikiqtaaluk and Qikiqtani which are the traditional place name of the region where the fossil was discovered. 

The specific name, wakei, is in memory of the evolutionary biologist David Wake — colleague, mentor and friend. 

He was a professor of integrative biology and Director and curator of herpetology at the Museum of Vertebrate Zoology at the University of California, Berkeley who passed away in April 2021. 

Wake is known for his work on the biology and evolution of salamanders and vertebrate evolutionary biology. 

If you look at the photo on the left you can imagine visiting these fossil localities in Canada's far north.

Qikiqtania was found on Inuit land and belongs to the community. Thomas Stewart and his colleagues were able to conduct this research because of the generosity and support of individuals in the hamlets of Resolute Bay and Grise Fiord, the Iviq Hunters and Trappers of Grise Fiord, and the Department of Heritage and Culture, Nunavut.

To them, on behalf of the larger scientific community — Nakurmiik. Thank you! 

Here is the link to Tom Stewart's article in The Conversation & paper in Nature:

• Stewart, Thomas A.; Lemberg, Justin B.; Daly, Ailis; Daeschler, Edward B.; Shubin, Neil H. (2022-07-20). "A new elpistostegalian from the Late Devonian of the Canadian Arctic". Nature. doi:10.1038/s41586-022-04990-w. ISSN 0028-0836.
• Stewart, Thomas. "Meet Qikiqtania, a fossil fish with the good sense to stay in the water while others ventured onto land" The Conversation. Retrieved 2022-07-20.

Image One: An artist’s vision of Qikiqtania enjoying its fully aquatic, free-swimming lifestyle. Alex Boersma, CC BY-ND

Image Two: A new elpistostegalian from the Late Devonian of the Canadian Arctic, T. A. Stewart, J. B. Lemberg, A. Daly, E. B. Daeschler, & N. H. Shubin.

A huge shout out to the deeply awesome Neil Shubin who shared that the paper had been published and offered his insights on what played out behind the scenes!

CLALLAM BAY FOSSIL HEIST

Vertipecten fucanus (Dall, 1900)

Some water-worn samples of the bivalve Verdipectin fucanus, Clallam Formation, Clallam Bay, Washington State. Miocene.

It all began one gloriously sunny summer weekend when the planets aligned, the calendar gods smiled, and my mother and I were simultaneously free. 

Naturally, this meant one thing: we were going fossil hunting. I still get out collecting regularly but back in the day it was every weekend of the year with the bigger trips planned a few years in advance. 

Many of those were "reckie trips" scouting out new localities. The Olympic Peninsula was duly scouted and now it was back to the regular haunts. 

We rattled down through Port Angeles and set up camp at the Lyre River—mosquitoes, campfire smoke, and all the rustic feels. 

I took Mom on a grand tour of my favourite haunts: Majestic Beach (where we found some amazing fossil whale verts), a private-land site with ghost shrimp claws and urchins (with permission), and finally down to Clallam Bay and its dreamy beach exposures.

The Clallam Formation stretches along the north coast of the Olympic Peninsula, tracing the rugged edge of the Strait of Juan de Fuca from Slip Point at the eastern end of Clallam Bay to the headland of Pillar Point. Here, sandstone beds push the coastline outward in a subtle bulge, their weathered flanks dropping abruptly to a broad, wave-washed bedrock platform.

Pillar Point, Clallam Bay

Imagine standing on that foreshore: waves crash rhythmically against the stone, sending up bursts of cool spray. The surf’s deep, steady thunder pulses underfoot, while the sharper cries of gulls wheel above, carried on the wind. 

The air is rich with the briny scent of kelp and cold saltwater, a sharp, clean smell that settles in the back of the throat. Each retreating wave leaves a gleaming sheen on the rock, swirling with foam before sliding back to the sea.

Its cliffs and tidal benches have long drawn geologists—and especially paleontologists—who were captivated by the formation’s abundance of beautifully preserved fossils. 

William Healey Dall, a pioneering American geologist and paleontologist whose career spanned more than six decades. Dall loved to explore this rugged bit of coastline, studying and describing many of the mollusks now known from the Clallam Formation, adding his work to the early scientific tapestry woven from these windswept rocks.

He became one of the most prolific describers of North Pacific mollusks, naming hundreds of new species—from marine snails and clams to chitons—many of which still bear the names he assigned or honour him through genera such as Dallina and Dallididae. His work laid much of the early scientific foundation for the paleontology of the Pacific Coast.

Retracing his footsteps and to catch the tides just right, we collected in the early afternoon, blissfully unaware that we were setting up the perfect comedy plot twist. 

After a full day of hauling home the ocean’s Miocene leftovers, we decided to stash some of our fossil booty under a log—just until morning. A little paleo treasure cache. Perfectly safe. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

The next morning, we strolled back down the beach, coffees in hand, ready to retrieve our hoard like triumphant pirates.

Enter: A very enthusiastic gaggle of high school students.

There they were, marching toward us, each clutching a fossil like they’d just won the geological lottery. “Look what we found!” they cried, beaming, displaying our carefully cached treasures.

Yes. Our stash. Our carefully curated, lovingly positioned, absolutely-not-meant-for-public-consumption stash.

But honestly? They were so thrilled, we couldn’t help but be charmed. Besides, most of what I collect ends up in museums or teaching collections anyway. These young fossil hunters had simply… expedited the process. Efficient, really.

We gathered the Verdipectin together for one glamorous group photo, wished the kids well, and sent them off with pockets full of deep time. 

And our grand prize for the weekend? Some very fetching water-worn whale vertebrae—one of which was briefly enscripted into service as the crown of the King of the Lemon People, while my mother created elaborate beach sculptures to our shared amusement.. All in all, a perfect weekend.

Image: Vertipecten fucanus (Dall, 1900) is the most characteristic mollusk in assemblages from the Clallam Formation.

BEARDED SEALS OF SVALBARD

The Bearded Seal

Bartrobbe — the bearded seal (Erignathus barbatus) — is a familiar and charismatic presence in the high Arctic waters surrounding Svalbard, Norway. 

Large, solitary, and unmistakable with its luxuriant moustache of stiff vibrissae, this species is superbly adapted to life along the drifting margins of sea ice. 

Adults can exceed 400 kilograms in mass, with thick blubber for insulation and broad, flexible foreflippers that allow them to haul out on ice floes or shallow shorelines with surprising ease.

Bearded seals are benthic specialists. Rather than chasing fast-moving prey in the water column, they forage along the seafloor, using their extraordinarily sensitive whiskers to detect vibrations and textures in soft sediments. 

Their diet reflects this lifestyle and includes clams, mussels, polychaete worms, crabs, shrimp, snails, and demersal fishes such as sculpins and flatfish. Powerful suction feeding allows them to extract prey directly from shells or sediment, leaving distinctive feeding pits on the seabed—clear signatures of their presence even when the seals themselves are out of sight.

The Bearded Seal

Unlike many other pinnipeds, bearded seals are not strongly colonial. Outside of the breeding season they are largely solitary, loosely distributed across ice-covered continental shelves. 

Mating occurs in spring, typically from April to May, when males establish underwater display areas rather than surface territories. 

Courtship is acoustic: males produce long, haunting trills and sweeping calls beneath the ice, audible over kilometres, to attract receptive females. 

After mating, implantation of the embryo is delayed, a reproductive strategy shared with many seals, resulting in a total gestation of roughly 11 months. 

Pups are born the following spring on drifting sea ice and are remarkably precocial, entering the water within hours and weaned after only two to three weeks—one of the shortest lactation periods among seals.

In the fossil record, bearded seals belong to the family Phocidae, a lineage that diversified during the Miocene as cold-adapted marine ecosystems expanded in the Northern Hemisphere. 

While Erignathus barbatus itself does not appear as a clearly identifiable species until the late Pleistocene, its ancestry is represented by fossil phocids from Miocene and Pliocene deposits across the North Atlantic and Arctic margins. 

Fragmentary remains—skulls, mandibles, and limb bones—document the emergence of large, bottom-feeding seals adapted to shallow continental shelves, particularly in regions influenced by cooling climates and seasonal ice. 

Pleistocene deposits in northern Europe, Siberia, Alaska, and Arctic Canada contain remains attributable to Erignathus, telling us that bearded seals expanded their range alongside advancing ice sheets during glacial cycles.

Today, Bartrobbe and its kin remain tightly bound to Arctic sea ice, making them sensitive indicators of environmental change. Their long evolutionary history, traced through shifting climates and frozen seas, underscores just how finely tuned they are to the rhythms of ice, sound, and sediment in the polar oceans—a living echo of the Arctic’s deep past.

THE LOST SEA BENEATH THE PYRAMIDS: TETHYS

Tethys Ocean

Long before the first pharaohs ruled the Nile, Egypt lay beneath the warm, shallow waters of the Tethys Ocean—a vanished sea that once divided the ancient supercontinents of Gondwana and Laurasia. 

Stretching from what is now the Mediterranean to the Indian Ocean, the Tethys existed from the late Paleozoic through the early Cenozoic, roughly 250 to 50 million years ago.

The concept of this long-lost ocean was first proposed in 1893 by Austrian geologist Eduard Suess, one of the founders of modern geology. While studying the distribution of marine fossils in rocks found high in mountain ranges such as the Alps and Himalayas, Suess realized that these fossils—corals, ammonites, and foraminifera—must once have lived in a vast tropical sea. 

His revolutionary conclusion: the mountains had been uplifted from the floor of an ancient ocean that no longer existed. He named this vanished sea the Tethys, after the Greek sea goddess and wife of Oceanus.

Evidence for the Tethys Ocean comes from both geology and fossil assemblages. Layers of marine limestone rich in Nummulites, ammonites, and other marine fossils are found across Europe, North Africa, and southern Asia—often thousands of meters above current sea level. 

These rocks record an ocean teeming with life during the Mesozoic and early Cenozoic, later compressed and folded as the African, Indian, and Eurasian plates collided to form the Alps, the Himalayas, and the Zagros Mountains.

Its tropical lagoons once hosted coral reefs, sea urchins, mollusks, and the foraminifera that would later become Nummulites. As these tiny organisms lived, died, and settled onto the seafloor, their calcium carbonate shells accumulated in thick beds of lime mud. Over millions of years, these sediments hardened into the fossil-rich Eocene limestones that now form much of Egypt’s geology—including the very stone quarried for the pyramids of Giza.

Today, the remnants of the Tethys survive as the Mediterranean, Black, Caspian, and Aral Seas, but its story lives on in every fossil-bearing limestone block of the Great Pyramid—a geological time capsule of an ocean that vanished long before humankind emerged.

COLOSSAL TOMBS: THE PYRAMIDS OF GIZA

Aerial View of the Great Pyramids of Giza

From above, the Giza Plateau unfurls like a map of human ambition etched into the desert. 

Three monumental pyramids dominate the landscape — the great limestone giants of Menkaure, Khafre, and Khufu — their geometry so precise that even from orbit they align almost perfectly with the stars of Orion’s Belt.

To the south stands the smallest of the trio, the Pyramid of Menkaure, built for the grandson of Khufu. Its base once gleamed with granite casing stones — a mark of royal distinction. 

Just north of it rises the Pyramid of Khafre, easily recognized by the remnants of its original white Tura limestone casing that still clings to its summit. 

Great Sphinx of Giza

At its feet lies the enigmatic Great Sphinx, carved directly from the bedrock, guarding the necropolis for over four and a half millennia.

Towering above them all is the Great Pyramid of Khufu, or Cheops, the oldest and largest of the three — a structure so immense that it remained the tallest man-made monument on Earth for nearly 4,000 years.

Surrounding these colossal tombs are smaller queens’ pyramids, each one dedicated to the royal consorts who shared the pharaoh’s lineage and legacy. Scattered among them are mastabas — flat-topped rectangular tombs built for nobles, priests, and royal officials who served Egypt’s rulers in life and sought to rest eternally in their shadow. 

From the air, these secondary tombs form a vast honeycomb of stone, extending outward from each pyramid like satellites around a planet, all oriented toward the rising sun and the eternal life it symbolized.

Seen from above, Giza is both breathtaking and humbling — a city of the dead built to last forever, surrounded by desert sands that once lay beneath the warm waves of an ancient sea.

THE PYRAMIDS OF GIZA: FOSSILS IN STONE

Built to endure the tests of time, the pyramids of Giza stand as some of the oldest and last remaining wonders of the ancient world. 

Rising from the desert sands of Egypt’s Giza Plateau, these monuments were constructed from a masterful blend of limestone, granite, basalt, gypsum mortar, and baked mud bricks—materials quarried both locally and from distant sites along the Nile, including the red granite of Aswan.

Their smooth, once-glimmering exteriors were clad in fine-grained white limestone quarried from Tura, just across the river. This stone was prized in antiquity for its purity and brilliant color, chosen for the facing stones of Egypt’s wealthiest tombs. 

But beyond its beauty lies a story much older than any pharaoh. The Tura limestone is made almost entirely of the fossilized shells of Nummulites—single-celled marine organisms whose remains whisper of Egypt’s ancient seas.

First described by Lamarck in 1801, Nummulites are large foraminifera—amoeba-like protists with calcareous, chambered shells (or “tests”). In life, they resembled tiny white discs, their interiors patterned like concentric rings of a sliced tree or the cross-section of a shell. 

During the early Cenozoic, millions of these creatures thrived in the warm, shallow waters of the Tethys Sea. When they died, their calcium carbonate shells settled to the seafloor, accumulating over millennia. Layer upon layer, they were compacted and cemented by time and pressure into limestone—the same rock later quarried to build the tombs of kings.

Nummulites Foraminifera Fossil

It is astonishing to imagine that the Great Pyramid of Khufu (or Cheops), the largest and oldest of the Giza pyramids, built during Egypt’s Fourth Dynasty around 2560 BCE, is composed largely of the fossilized remains of microscopic life forms that lived some 50 million years earlier. 

The pyramid itself—a monument to human ambition—is, quite literally, built from the remains of ancient seas.

Nummulites are commonly found in Eocene to Miocene marine rocks across southwest Asia and the Mediterranean region, including the fossil-rich Eocene limestones of Egypt. In life, they ranged in size from a mere 1.3 cm (0.5 inches) to an impressive 5 cm (2 inches), and in some Middle Eocene species, up to six inches across—astonishingly large for single-celled organisms. 

Their size reflects an evolutionary adaptation: by expanding their surface area, they enhanced diffusion, allowing for more efficient nutrient exchange across the cell membrane. Many also harbored symbiotic algae, much like modern reef-dwelling foraminifera, further fueling their growth through photosynthesis.

Nummulites Foraminifera Fossil

These fossils, once the inhabitants of the ancient Tethys, later became both material and metaphor for Egyptian civilization. Nummulite shells were sometimes used as coins, and their very name—derived from the Latin nummulus, meaning “little coin”—speaks to this connection between life, economy, and art.

The Great Pyramid’s inner chambers tell a different geological story. The central burial chamber housing the pharaoh’s sarcophagus was constructed from massive blocks of reddish-pink granite transported from Aswan, nearly 900 kilometers upriver. This stone, denser and stronger than limestone, helped support the immense weight of the pyramid’s structure.

In 2013, archaeologists made a discovery that breathed life back into these ancient logistics: a 4,600-year-old papyrus scroll found in a cave some 700 kilometers from Giza. 

The document—addressed to Ankh-haf, half-brother of Pharaoh Khufu—records the journey of a 200-man crew tasked with transporting limestone from the Tura quarries to the Giza Plateau. After loading the stone blocks onto boats, the workers sailed down the Nile, where as many as 100,000 laborers waited to haul the two- to three-ton blocks up earthen ramps toward the construction site. It is a rare and poetic glimpse into one of humanity’s most ambitious building projects—and into the transformation of fossil limestone into enduring architecture.

Even in antiquity, the project stirred strong opinions. Writing centuries later, the Greek historian Herodotus visited Egypt and chronicled Khufu’s reign in his Histories. He described Khufu as a cruel tyrant who closed temples, oppressed his people, and forced them into servitude. According to Herodotus, 100,000 men labored in three-month rotations to quarry and transport the stone, while another decade was spent constructing the grand causeway leading to the pyramid—a feat of engineering almost as impressive as the monument itself.

Modern estimates suggest that 5.5 million tonnes of nummulitic limestone, 8,000 tonnes of granite, and 500,000 tonnes of gypsum mortar were used to complete the Great Pyramid. Whether viewed as an act of divine devotion, human hubris, or cruel genius, its creation also represents one of the largest—and most extraordinary—paleontological extractions in history.

For within its weathered stones, the fossils of an ancient sea still rest, silent witnesses to both deep time and the enduring reach of human imagination.