CHIEF EBBITS POLE. FATHER OF ANISALAGA

The Dogfish Kootéeyaa Pole in Saxman Totem Park

Rural Tennessee has electricity for the same reason Southeast Alaska has Totem Parks—to help the nation recover from The Great Depression. 

President Franklin D. Roosevelt, created several federal agencies to put people to work and work they did. 

From 1938-1942 more than 200 Tlingit and Haida First Nation carved totem poles and cleared land for the Civilian Conservation Corps to create “totem parks” the federal government hoped would draw travelers to Alaska.

This odd intersection of federal relief, Alaska Native art and marketing is the subject of Emily L. Moore’s book “Proud Raven, Panting Wolf: Carving Alaska’s New Deal Totem Parks.”

This effort to bring poles out of abandoned villages includes the Lincoln Pole being moved to Saxman Totem Park by the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC), who established the Saxman Totem Park in 1938.  Though it has been impossible to establish the exact year it was dedicated, the carving of President Lincoln was raised in Old Tongass Village in the late 1870s or the early 1880s, ten to fifteen years after the events it commemorated.

The top carving on the Lincoln Pole bears a great likeness of Abraham Lincoln. According to the teachings of many Tlingit elders, this carving was meant to represent the first white man seen in Tlingit territory in the 18th century.  

A century later, in the 1880s, one of my ancestors from the Gaanax.ádi Raven clan of the Tongass Tlingit commissioned the pole to commemorate our ancestor's pride to have seen this first white man—which has become a Gaanax.ádi crest—using a photograph of Abraham Lincoln as the model. 

It is important not only for these various readings of the crests but also because it claims Gaanax.ádi clan territory before the first Europeans and budding Americans came to these shores—territory that Tlingit carvers who were re-carving the pole in the 1940s were trying to assert to the U.S. government as sovereign land.

Interestingly, another pole in that same park is the Dogfish Pole, carved for Chief Ebbits Andáa, Teikweidi, Valley House. 

The Chief Ebbits Memorial Pole—the Dogfish Kootéeyaa Pole—was raised in 1892 in Old Tongass Village in honour of the Head Chief of the Tongass—a great man and my ancestor. 

Inscribed on the back is, "In Memory of Ebbits, Head Chief of Tongass, January 11, 1892."  

While the Memorial Pole was originally erected in Tongass, it was moved, re-carved and re-painted at Saxman Totem Park in 1938 as part of Roosevelt's program—and was refurbished again just a few years ago. 

The Pole shows the crests of our Clan and tells the story of his life. At his death, he was Chief Ebbits but he had been born Neokoots and became Chief Sheiks, after his father—Chief of Chiefs of all Tlingit in what would become to be known as Alaska. 

The changing of names is not unusual in our culture, or at least the acquiring of names. This happens throughout ones lifetime. What is unusual is the exchanging of names and that is just what happened for Chief Sheiks to become Chief Ebbits.

Later in life, he met and traded with some early American fur traders sailing aboard Commander John Jacob Astor's ship. One of those traders, a Mister Ebbits, became his great friend and the two sealed that friendship with the exchanging of names.  

Chief Ebbit's wife was Aanseet, Chief-of-All-Women, Drifted Ashore House.

Together, they had six children, including Anisalaga Mary Ebbits (Ebbetts) Hunt (the All-Mother), Yaashút' (their son who died in 1876, shot and killed by Kaltcheh), their daughter Gaachnéin who married Kucheesh III, their daughter Abbie (Atk'géigee) who married W. H. Bond, their son Keenanúk who married Xanséek and their daughter Kéilsháawat who married Xaashgáaksh II.

Aanseet drowned on the Nass River in 1870. Two memorial poles were raised in her honour — one in Alaska and one in my home town in Fort Rupert.

If you would like to read more about the Dogfish pole and others, I recommend, The Wolf and the Raven, by anthropologist Viola Garfield and architect Linn Forrest—another talented cousin—published in 1948 and reprinted in 1961.

The paint you see on the pole in these photographs is from the 1938 restoration. The pole had weathered to a silver grey and all paint had been stripped by wind and time. In 2022, an RFP was issued for a local carver to freshen up the paint and stabilize this ancient memorial pole to bring it back to some of its original luster so that the pole can be enjoyed for generations to come.

Jeff Whyte Photography of the Saxman Totem Park

Photos: Jeff Whyte kindly sent me these photos earlier this year from his last trip to the Saxman Totem Park. Jeff is a wonderful photographer from Calgary, Alberta, whose work captures the gorgeous landscape and people of the Pacific Northwest and western Canada.

You can visit his work showcasing amazing landscapes, cityscapes and prairie vistas at www.jeffwhytephotography.com

Letter from Chief Ebbits to Anisalaga Mary Ebbits Hunt

I found a letter from Chief Ebbits to my great-great-great grandmother Anisalaga Mary Ebbits-Hunt from 1876 telling her of her brother's death at the hands of Kaltcheh. 

Here, Chief Ebbits spells his name Abbits in the signature line. You will see Ebbetts, Ebbits and many variations on Anisalaga in the early recorded histories. 

Anisalaga / Anis'laga / Ansnaq / Anain / Anéin / A'naeesla'ga / Mary Ebbits Ebbetts (Abbits) Hunt (1823-1919) held many names. 

Her name has become famous for her beautiful Chilkat weavings. Her given Kwagu'ł name was Musgemxàala which she received when she moved down from Tongass to marry Robert Hunt. 

She belonged to the Raven/Yéil phratry of the Gigalgam Kyinanuk Tlingit of Tongass. 

Anisalaga is the All-Mother whose blood binds all the Cadwalladers, Spencers, Lyons, Hunts and Hendersons and many families of  the Pacific Northwest. 

It is to her and Robert that this Huntress owes heartfelt appreciation for so many cousins!

Photo Credits of Dogfish Pole courtesy of Jeff Whyte Photography  / www.jeffwhytephotography.com

Photo: Princess-Shining-Copper (that was taken to Seattle and raised in Pioneer Square) and one in Tsaxis/T'sakis, Fort Rupert, raised by Anisalaga.

THE LION BENEATH THE TOWER

Behind the glass of the Natural History Museum in London rests the skull of a lion that once prowled—not across the sun-baked mountains of North Africa—but within the stone walls of medieval London.

This is the skull of a Barbary lion, Panthera leo leo, one of the magnificent great cats once found across the Atlas Mountains and coastal forests of Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia. 

Barbary lions were renowned for their powerful bodies and, in adult males, luxuriant dark manes that often swept over the shoulders and beneath the belly. They were lions dressed for drama—and fully aware that subtlety was someone else’s problem.

The animal represented by this skull lived between approximately 1280 and 1385. It was not discovered in Morocco, however, but beneath the old moat surrounding the Tower of London.

In 1937, workmen excavating the filled-in moat uncovered two remarkably well-preserved lion skulls. Radiocarbon dating later revealed that the younger animal lived between 1420 and 1480, while this older skull belonged to a lion kept some 700 years ago. Genetic analysis identified both animals as Barbary lions.

The older specimen is the earliest lion found in Britain since the disappearance of the wild cave lions that inhabited the region during the last Ice Age. Unlike those ancient predators, however, this lion did not reach Britain under its own considerable power. It was almost certainly transported from North Africa as a royal possession.

For centuries, the Tower of London housed the Royal Menagerie—a collection of exotic animals presented to English monarchs as diplomatic gifts or acquired as demonstrations of royal wealth and influence. 

The menagerie operated a surprisingly long time—from the 1200s until 1835.

Lions occupied a particularly prominent place near the Tower’s entrance, where they served as living symbols of courage, nobility and royal authority.

Nothing says “welcome to the palace” quite like several enormous carnivores watching you approach.

The menagerie also held leopards, elephants, monkeys, bears and even a polar bear, which was reportedly allowed to fish in the River Thames while secured by a chain. These animals must have appeared almost mythical to medieval Londoners, most of whom knew distant wildlife only through travellers’ stories, illustrated manuscripts and some deeply imaginative medieval artwork.

Life inside the Tower was far less splendid for the animals themselves. Many suffered from cramped conditions, inadequate diets and poor health. The lions may have symbolized royal power, but they remained captives far from the landscapes in which their bodies and behaviours had evolved.

That history gives this skull a haunting weight. Its broad muzzle, powerful jaws and deep attachment points for the muscles of the head speak of a formidable predator. Its large canine teeth were built to seize and hold struggling prey, while the blade-like carnassial teeth farther back in the jaw sliced through flesh with the efficiency of biological shears.

Yet none of that strength could return this animal to the Atlas Mountains.

Barbary lions once hunted Barbary deer, gazelles and wild boar across North Africa. Centuries of habitat loss, shrinking prey populations and relentless hunting gradually drove them from the wild. 

The last widely cited confirmed wild Barbary lion was killed in Morocco in 1922, although unconfirmed sightings continued for several decades. Lions with possible Barbary ancestry survive in captivity, but the original wild population is gone.

Today, this medieval lion has exchanged one royal residence for another kind of palace. Its skull now holds pride of place in the Treasures Gallery at London’s Natural History Museum, where it tells several stories at once: the evolutionary history of lions, the vanished wildlife of North Africa, the strange extravagance of medieval royalty and humanity’s long, complicated desire to possess the wild things we admire.

It is a magnificent specimen—but also a melancholy one.

Seven centuries after this lion looked out from behind the walls of the Tower, its empty eyes still command our attention. The king who owned it is long gone. The menagerie has vanished. The wild Barbary lions have disappeared.

FOSSILS, LIMESTONE AND SALT: HALLSTATT

Hallstatt Salt Mines, Austria / Permian Salt Diapir

The Hallstatt Limestone is the world's richest Triassic ammonite unit, yielding specimens of more than 500 ammonite species.

Along with diversified cephalopod fauna  — orthoceratids, nautiloids, ammonoids — we also see gastropods, bivalves, especially the late Triassic pteriid bivalve Halobia (the halobiids), brachiopods, crinoids and a few corals. 

We also see a lovely selection of microfauna represented. 

For microfauna, we see conodonts, foraminifera, sponge spicules, radiolaria, floating crinoids and holothurian sclerites —  polyp-like, soft-bodied invertebrate echinozoans often referred to as sea cucumbers because of their similarities in size, elongate shape, and tough skin over a soft interior. 

Franz von Hauer’s exhaustive 1846 tome describing Hallstatt ammonites inspired renowned Austrian geologist Eduard Suess’s detailed study of the area’s Mesozoic history. That work was instrumental in Suess being the first person to recognize the former existence of the Tethys Sea, which he named in 1893 after the sister of Oceanus, the Greek god of the ocean. 

As part of the Northern Limestone Alps, the Dachstein rock mass, or Hoher Dachstein, is one of the large karstic mountains of Austria and the second-highest mountain in the Northern Limestone Alps. It borders Upper Austria and Styria in central Austria and is the highest point in each of those states.

Parts of the massif also lie in the state of Salzburg, leading to the mountain being referred to as the Drei-Länder-Berg or three-state mountain. Seen from the north, the Dachstein massif is dominated by the glaciers with the rocky summits rising beyond them. 

By contrast, to the south, the mountain drops almost vertically to the valley floor. The karst limestones and dolomites were deposited in our Mesozoic seas. The geology of the Dachstein massif is dominated by the Dachstein-Kalk Formation — the Dachstein limestone — which dates back to the Triassic.

Hallstatt and the Hallstatt Sea, Austria

There were several phases of mountain building in this part of the world pushing the limestone deposits 3,000 metres above current sea level. 

The rock strata were originally deposited horizontally, then shifted, broken up and reshaped by the erosive forces of ice ages and erosion.

The Hallstatt mine exploits a Permian salt diapir that makes up some of this area’s oldest rock. 

The salt accumulated by evaporation in the newly opened, and hence shallow, Hallstatt-Meliata Ocean. 

This was one of several small ocean basins that formed in what is now Europe during the late Paleozoic and early Mesozoic when the world’s landmasses were welded together to form the supercontinent Pangea. 

Pangea was shaped like a crescent moon that cradled the famous Tethys Sea. Subduction of Tethyian oceanic crust caused several slivers of continental crust to separate from Pangea, forming new “back-arc basins” (small oceans formed by rifting that is associated with nearby subduction) between the supercontinent and the newly rifted ribbon continents.

The Hallstatt-Meliata Ocean was one such back-arc basin. As it continued to expand and deepen during the Triassic, evaporation ceased and reefs flourished; thick limestone deposits accumulated atop the salt. 

When the Hallstatt-Meliata Ocean closed in the Late Jurassic, the compression squeezed the low-density salt into a diapir that rose buoyantly, injecting itself into the Triassic limestones above.

The Hallstatt salt diapir and its overlying limestone cap came to rest in their present position in the northern Austrian Alps when they were shoved northward as nappes (thrust sheets) during two separate collision events, one in the Cretaceous and one in the Eocene, that created the modern Alps. It is from the Hallstatt salt diapir that Hallstatt, like so many cities and towns, gets its name.

Deposits of rock salt or halite, the mineral name of sodium chloride with the chemical formula of NaCl, are found and mined around the globe. These deposits mark the dried remains of ancient oceans and seas. Names of rivers, towns and cities in Europe — Salzburg, Halle, Hallstatt, Hallein, La Salle, Moselle — all pay homage to their connection to halite and salt production. The Greek word for salt is hals and the Latin is sal. The Turkish name for salt is Tuz, which we see in the naming of Tuzla, a salt-producing region of northeastern Bosnia-Herzegovina and in the names of towns that dot the coast of Turkey where it meets the Black Sea. Hallstatt with its salt diapir is no exception.

The salt-named town of Hallstatt sits on the shores of the idyllic Hallstätter Sea at the base of the Dachstein massif. Visiting it today, you experience a quaint traditional fishing village built in the typical upper Austrian style. Tourism drives the economy as much as salt as this area of the world is picture-perfect from every angle.

Space is at a minimum in the town. For centuries, every ten years the local cemetery exhumes the bones of those buried there and moves them to an ossuary to make room for new burials. The Hallstatt Ossuary is called Karner, Charnel House, or simply Beinhaus (Bone House). Karners are places of secondary burials. They were once common in the Eastern Alps, but that custom has largely disappeared.

Hallstatt Beinhaus Ossuary, Hallstatt, Austria

A collection of over 700 elaborately decorated skulls rest inside the ossuary. They are lined up on rows of wooden shelves that grace the walls of the chapel. Another 500 undecorated skulls, bare and without any kind of adornment, are stacked in the corners.

Each is inscribed and attached to a record with the deceased's name, profession and date of death. The Bone House is located in a chapel in the basement of the Church of Saint Michael. The church dates from the 12th century CE. 

Decorating the skulls was traditionally the job of the local gravedigger and an honour granted to very few. At the family's request, garlands of flowers were painted on the skulls of deceased as decorative crowns if they were female. The skulls of men and boys were painted wreaths of oak or ivy.

Every building in Hallstatt looks out over the Hallstätter Sea. This beautiful mountain lake considered one of the finest of Austria's Salzkammergut region. It lies at the northern foot of the Dachstein mountain range, sitting eight-and-a-half kilometres long and two kilometres wide. The shoreline is dotted by the villages of  Obertraun, Steeg, and Hallstatt.

The region is habitat to a variety of diverse flora and fauna, including many rare species such as native orchids, in the wetlands and moors in the south and north.

Linked by road to the cities of Salzburg and Graz, Hallstatt and its lake were declared one of the World Heritage sites in Austria in 1997 and included in the Hallstatt-Dachstein Salzkammergut Alpine UNESCO World Heritage Site. The little market village of Hallstatt takes its name from the local salt mine.

Hallstatt, Salzkammergut region, Austria

The town is a popular tourist destination with its quaint shops and terraced cafes. In the centre of town, the 19th-century Evangelical Church of Hallstatt with its tall, slender spire is a lakeside landmark. You can see it here in the photo on the left.

Above the town are the Hallstatt Salt mines located within the 1,030-meter-tall Salzburg Salt Mountain. They are accessible by cable car or a three-minute journey aboard the funicular railway. There is also a wonderful Subterranean Salt Lake.

In 1734, there was a corpse found here preserved in salt. The fellow became known as the Man in Salt. Though no archaeological analysis was performed at the time — the mummy was respectfully reburied in the Hallstatt cemetery — based on descriptions in the mine records, archaeologists suspect the miner lived during the Iron Age. This Old Father, Senos ph₂tḗr, 'ɸatīr 'father' may have been a local farmer, metal-worker, or both and chatted with his friends and family in Celtic or Proto-Celtic.

Salt mining in the area dates back to the Neolithic period, from the 8th to 5th Centuries BC. This is around the time that Roman legions were withdrawing from Britain and the Goths sacked Rome. In Austria, agricultural settlements were dotting the landscape and the alpine regions were being explored and settled for their easy access to valuable salt, chert and other raw materials.

The salt-rich mountains of Salzkammergut and the upland valley above Hallstatt were attractive for this reason. The area was once home to the Hallstatt culture, an archaeological group linked to Proto-Celtic and early Celtic people of the Early Iron Age in Europe, c.800–450 BC.

Bronze Age vessel with cow and calf

In the 19th century, a burial site was discovered with 2,000 individuals, many of them buried with Bronze Age artefacts of amber and ivory.

It was this find that helped lend the name Hallstatt to this epoch of human history. The Late Iron Age, between around 800 and 400 BC, became known as the Hallstatt Period.

For its rich history, natural beauty and breathtaking mountainous geology, Hallstatt is a truly irresistible corner of the world.

Salzbergstraße 1, 4830 Hallstatt.  https://www.salzwelten.at/en/home/

Photo: Bronze vessel with cow and calf, Hallstatt by Alice Schumacher - Naturhistorisches Museum Wien - A. Kern – K. Kowarik – A. W. Rausch – H. Reschreiter, Salz-Reich. 7000 Jahre Hallstatt, VPA 2 (Wien, 2008) Seite 133 Abbildung 6. Hallstatt Village & Ossuary Photos: P. McClure Photography ca. 2015.

Bernoulli D, Jenkyns HC (1974) Alpine, Mediterranean, and Central Atlantic Mesozoic facies in relation to the early evolution of the Tethys. Soc Econ Paleont Mineral Spec Publ 19:129–160

Bernoulli D, Jenkyns H (2009) Ancient oceans and continental margins of the Alpine-Mediterranean Tethys: deciphering clues from Mesozoic pelagic sediments and ophiolites. Sedimentology 56:149–190

OUR GREAT BEARS: URSAVUS TO NAN

GREAT BEAR NA̱N

Hiking in BC, both grizzly and black bear sightings are common. Nearly half the world's population, some 25,000 Grizzly Bears, roam the Canadian wilderness — of those, 14,000 or more call British Columbia home. 

These highly intelligent omnivores spend their days lumbering along our coastlines, mountains and forests.

Both bear families descend from a common ancestor, Ursavus, a bear-dog the size of a raccoon who lived more than 20 million years ago. Seems an implausible lineage given the size of their very large descendants. 

An average Grizzly weighs in around 800 lbs (363 kg), but a recent find in Alaska tops the charts at 1600 lbs (726 kg). 

This mighty beast stood 12' 6' high at the shoulder, 14' to the top of his head and is one of the largest grizzlies ever recorded — a na̱ndzi.

Adult bears tend to live solo except during mating season. Those looking for love congregate from May to July in the hopes of finding a mate. Through adaptation to shifting seasons, the females' reproductive system delays the implantation of fertilized eggs — blastocysts —until November or December to ensure her healthy pups arrive during hibernation. If food resources were slim that year, the newly formed embryo will not catch or attach itself to her uterine wall and she'll try again next year. 

Females reach mating maturity at 4-5 years of age. They give birth to a single or up to four cubs (though usually just two) in January or February. The newborn cubs are cute little nuggets — tiny, hairless, and helpless — weighing in at 2-3 kilograms or 4-8 pounds. They feast on their mother’s nutrient-dense milk for the first two months of life. The cubs stay with their mamma for 18 months or more. Once fully grown, they can run 56 km an hour, are good at climbing trees and swimming and live 20-25 years in the wild. 

A Grizzly bear encounter inspires a humbling appreciation of just how remarkable these massive beasts are. Knowing their level of intelligence, keen memory and that they have a bite force of over 8,000,000 pascals — enough to crush a bowling ball — inspires awe and caution in equal measure. 

They have an indescribable presence. It is likely because of this that these majestic bears show up often in the superb carvings and work of First Nations artists. I have had close encounters with many bears growing up in the Pacific Northwest, meeting them up close and personal in the South Chilcotins and along our many shorelines. 

First Nation Lore and Language

In the Kwak'wala language of the Kwakiutl First Nations of the Pacific Northwest — or Kwakwaka'wakw, speakers of Kwak'wala — a Grizzly bear is known as na̱n. 

The ornamental carved Grizzly bear headdress was worn by the comic Dluwalakha Grizzly Bear Dancers, Once more from Heaven, in the Grizzly Bear Dance or Gaga̱lalał, is known as na̱ng̱a̱mł. 

The Dluwalakha dancers were given supernatural treasures or dloogwi which they passed down from generation to generation. 

In the Hamat'sa Grizzly bear dance, Nanes Bakbakwalanooksiwae, no mask was worn. Instead, the dancers painted their faces red and wore a costume of bearskin or t̓ła̱ntsa̱m and long wooden claws attached to their hands. You can imagine how impressive that sight is lit by the warm flickering flames of firelight during a Winter Dance ceremony.

Smoke of the World / Speaking of the Ancestors — Na̱wiła

Kwaguʼł Winter Dancers — Qagyuhl

Should you encounter a black bear and wish to greet them in Kwak'wala, you would call them t̕ła'yi. Kwakiutl First Nations, Smoke of the World, count Grizzly Bears as an ancestor — along with Seagull, Sun and Thunderbird. 

To tell stories of the ancestors is na̱wiła. 

Each of these ancestors took off their masks to become human and founded the many groups that are now bound together by language and culture as Kwakwaka’wakw. 

The four First Nations who collectively make up the Kwakiutl are the Kwakiutl (Kwágu7lh), K’umk’utis/Komkiutis, Kwixa/Kweeha (Komoyoi) and Walas Kwakiutl (Lakwilala) First Nations. 

There is likely blood of the Lawit’sis in there, too, as they inhabited the village site at Tsax̱is/T'sakis, Fort Rupert before the Kwakiutl First Nations made it a permanent home. It was here that I grew up and learned to greet my ancestors. 

Nan Grizzly Copper Repoussé by Ansnaq

Not all Kwakwaka'wakw dance the Gaga̱lalał, but our ancestors likely attended feasts where the great bear was celebrated. To speak or tell stories of the ancestors is na̱wiła — and Grizzly bear as an ancestor is na̱n helus.

Visiting British Columbia's Great Bears

If you are interested in viewing British Columbia's Great Bears, do check out Indigenous Tourism BC's wonderfully informative website and the culturally-rich wildlife experiences on offer. 

You will discover travel ideas and resources to plan your next soul-powered adventure. To learn more about British Columbia's Great Bears and the continuing legacy of First Nation stewardship, visit: 

Indigenous Tourism BC: https://www.indigenousbc.com

Great Bear Lodge has been offering tours to view the majestic animals of the Pacific Northwest. They keep both the guests' and the animals' comfort and protection in mind. I highly recommend their hospitality and expertise. To see their offerings, visit: www.greatbeartours.com

Image: Group of Winter Dancers--Qagyuhl; Curtis, Edward S., 1868-1952, https://lccn.loc.gov/2003652753. 

Note: The Qagyuhl in the title of this photograph refers to the First Nation group, not the dancers themselves. I think our dear Edward was trying to spell Kwaguʼł and came as close as he was able. 

In Kwak'wala, the language of the Kwaguʼł or Kwakwakaʼwakw, speakers of Kwak'wala, the Head Winter Dancer is called t̕seḵa̱me' — and to call someone a really good dancer, you would use ya̱'winux̱w. 

Anisalaga's Chilkat Robe, 1914

Charmingly, when Edward S. Curtis was visiting Tsaxis/T'sakis, he was challenged to a wrestling competition with a Giant Pacific Octopus, Enteroctopus dofleini. 

George Hunt (1854-1933) my great great grandfather's elder brother had issued the challenge and laughed himself senseless when Edward got himself completely wrapped up in tentacles and was unable to move. 

Edward was soon untangled and went on to take many more photos of the First Nations of the Pacific Northwest. Things did not go as well for the octopus or ta̱ḵ̕wa. 

It was later served for dinner or dzaḵwax̱stala, as it seemed calamari was destined for that night's menu.  

Image: On the right is a photograph by Edward Curtis in 1914 of one of Anisalaga's daughters wearing Anisalaga's woven Chilkat Robe. Anisalaga, the all-Mother, is the blood that binds all the Hunts in the Pacific Northwest. 

BLADES OF THE ICE AGE: SMILODON

Beneath the elegant halls of the Muséum national d’Histoire naturelle in Paris is the fossil skeleton of one of the Pleistocene’s most formidable predators: Smilodon, the celebrated—and slightly misleadingly named—sabre-toothed cat.

With its enormous blade-like upper canines, immensely powerful shoulders and muscular forelimbs, Smilodon looks like evolution became temporarily carried away while designing a cat.

Although often called a sabre-toothed tiger, Smilodon was not a tiger and was only distantly related to the lions, leopards and domestic cats living today. 

It belonged to an extinct branch of the cat family known as the Machairodontinae, whose members evolved elongated canine teeth shaped for very specialised hunting.

Smilodon lived across the Americas during the Pleistocene, sharing its world with mammoths, mastodons, giant ground sloths, ancient bison, horses, camels and many other large mammals. Three species are currently recognized: Smilodon gracilis, Smilodon fatalis and the particularly enormous South American species, Smilodon populator.

Unlike the long-legged cats that pursue prey across open ground today, Smilodon was built for close combat. Its body was compact and tremendously muscular, with massive forelimbs capable of seizing and restraining struggling animals. Its relatively short tail suggests that speed and extended pursuit were not its strengths. 

This was an ambush hunter—an Ice Age bruiser waiting in cover for an opportunity to strike.

Smilodon Skull versus modern-day Leopard Skull

Those celebrated canine teeth could reach more than 20 centimetres in the largest individuals, but they were not indestructible daggers. 

Long, flattened and finely serrated, they were effective slicing weapons but vulnerable to sideways stress. 

Smilodon likely used its forelimbs to overpower its prey before delivering a carefully controlled bite to the throat or other soft tissue. Evolution had provided magnificent cutlery, but it still needed to be handled with care.

To use those teeth effectively, Smilodon could open its jaws extraordinarily wide—perhaps approaching 120 degrees, compared with roughly 65 degrees in a modern lion. 

A yawn from one of these cats would have been less “sleepy house pet” and considerably more “please reconsider every decision that brought you here.”

Despite its fearsome appearance, Smilodon was not invincible. Its survival depended upon landscapes rich in large prey and suitable ambush cover. 

As the last Ice Age ended, climates shifted, habitats changed and many of the great herbivores upon which large predators depended disappeared. Human hunting and competition may also have contributed to these ecological pressures.

The final sabre-toothed cats vanished around 10,000 years ago, leaving behind bones, broken teeth and tantalizing clues to their lives. Exceptionally rich fossil deposits—most famously the Rancho La Brea tar pits in Los Angeles—have preserved thousands of Smilodon specimens, allowing us to study their injuries, growth, behaviour and possible social relationships.

In Paris, stripped of muscle, fur and movement, the skeleton carries the unmistakable architecture of power. The deep chest, reinforced forelimbs and extraordinary canines belong to an animal exquisitely adapted to its vanished world.

Image: Two skulls on black background. The relative size difference between the extinct Smilodon and a modern-day leopard. Two cats evolved in entirely different ways, one highly specialised and the other a superb generalist. Nick Greaves. License #1929090716

ANTLERS, ANCESTORS AND A CERTAIN MUSKY MAJESTY: ELK

The elk you see here, Cervus canadensis, belongs to a lineage stretching deep into the Pleistocene—a time when ice sheets advanced and retreated across much of North America, reshaping landscapes and every living thing within them.

Elk are members of the family Cervidae, a group that first appeared in the fossil record during the Early Miocene, roughly 20 million years ago. 

These early deer were generally small, forest-dwelling creatures whose simple antlers bore little resemblance to the magnificent branching crowns carried by their modern kin.

By the Late Miocene and into the Pliocene, cervids had begun to diversify in both form and habitat. 

As forests shifted and grasslands expanded, deer evolved longer limbs, new feeding strategies and increasingly elaborate antlers—those extraordinary seasonal crowns of bone used for display, intimidation and, when diplomacy fails, combat.

The genus Cervus, which includes modern elk, appeared later in Eurasia. Its descendants eventually spread into North America through Beringia, the land bridge that connected Siberia and Alaska during periods of lower sea level in the Pleistocene.

Once here, elk flourished.

Roosevelt elk, Cervus canadensis roosevelti

Pleistocene deposits across North America—from the tar seeps of Rancho La Brea in California (so worth a visit) to river gravels, caves and northern permafrost—preserve elk bones alongside an astonishing Ice Age cast: mammoths, mastodons, ancient bison, dire wolves, sabre-toothed cats and short-faced bears.

It was a formidable neighbourhood, yet elk held their own. 

As adaptable grazers and browsers, they could feed on grasses, sedges, leaves, twigs, bark and shrubs, allowing them to navigate shifting climates and rapidly changing ecosystems.

Here on Vancouver Island, the elk we encounter are Roosevelt elk, Cervus canadensis roosevelti—the largest-bodied of North America’s living elk subspecies.

And they are magnificent.

Big, breathtaking and completely at home in the rainforest, they emerge from the trees to browse in clearings, drink along the shores of Cowichan Lake and, with alarming regularity, appear beside island roadways looking as though they have somewhere important to be.

Elk Enjoying Nature's Salad Bar

Older scientific literature may list them as Cervus elaphus roosevelti, reflecting the long-running debate over whether North American elk should be classified with Eurasian red deer. 

Today, they are generally recognized as a subspecies of the distinct North American elk, Cervus canadensis.

Roosevelt elk are native to the wet coastal forests extending from northern California through Oregon and Washington into southwestern British Columbia. 

In Canada, their great natural stronghold is Vancouver Island, with smaller populations now living along portions of the southwest mainland coast. 

Several of those mainland herds descend from animals moved from Vancouver Island as part of successful restoration efforts.

Their ancestors reached Vancouver Island following the last glaciation, entering newly available landscapes as the ice retreated and forests, river valleys, wetlands and coastal meadows developed. Over time, they became superbly adapted to life in the temperate rainforest.

Unlike elk associated with the open grasslands and mountain valleys of the continental interior, Roosevelt elk often live beneath towering western redcedar, Douglas-fir, Sitka spruce and western hemlock. 

They favour low-elevation river valleys, estuaries, wetlands, forest openings and avalanche tracks where grasses, sedges, shrubs and tender young vegetation are plentiful.

Many herds move into higher country during summer, then descend into sheltered valleys as autumn storms and winter snow return. 

They are also regulars along Vancouver Island’s highways, where lush roadside vegetation apparently offers an irresistible salad bar. Unfortunately, their fondness for roadside dining sometimes ends very poorly—for elk and motorists alike. 

If you find yourself driving along Highway 18 (also known as the Cowichan Valley Highway) slow right down at any sign of movement along the roadside. April through June, look for wee fawns and the rest of the year, be prepared for a herd of Elk to emerge—especially within the vicinity of Youbou, British Columbia. Tis a favourite haunt of our Cervus locals.

Their dark coats seem almost made for the island’s rain-soaked forests. A mature bull can appear suddenly between the trees, his body blending into the shadows while his pale rump patch flashes through the undergrowth. He is massive, deep-chested and thick-necked, particularly during the autumn rut.

His antlers rise above the sword ferns like the branches of some highly mobile and faintly irritated tree.

To encounter one in the wild is unforgettable. The elk here have most definitely been enjoying the salad bar and look remarkably well nourished. They also appear wonderfully unconcerned by the human standing nearby, staring open-mouthed into the forest.

The woods may be dripping after rain, rich with the scents of cedar, wet earth and decaying leaves. Then comes the soft crack of a branch. A dark shape moves between the trunks, followed by another, until an entire herd materializes from the forest.

For a few moments, you simply stand and stare.

They are so perfectly at home they seem less like animals passing through the landscape than living pieces of the landscape itself. Their breath hangs in the cool air. Hooves press deeply into the saturated soil. Cows murmur softly to their calves while bulls watch from the edge of the herd, carrying an astonishing architecture of bone upon their heads.

And then the breeze turns.

Roosevelt elk possess the same earthy, musky scent as their continental relatives, enhanced during the rut by wallowing, urine-soaked vegetation and the general romantic conviction that smelling respectable is wildly overrated. The result is a potent mixture of wet hide, mud, fermented vegetation and eau de amorous ungulate.

It is not exactly Chanel No. 5, but the cows appear to approve.

On Vancouver Island, Roosevelt elk share the landscape with Columbian black-tailed deer, black bears, cougars and wolves that are more than capable of hunting them. Elk also help shape the ecosystems around them. Their grazing and browsing influence plant communities, while their movements open pathways, disperse seeds and carry nutrients through forests, wetlands and river valleys.

They are residents of these ecosystems and active participants in them.

Although elk survived the great wave of extinctions at the end of the Pleistocene, Roosevelt elk have faced more recent pressures from intensive hunting, expanding settlement, road traffic and the loss and fragmentation of low-elevation habitat.

Their Vancouver Island populations are therefore particularly important. They represent both a distinctive coastal form of elk and a living continuation of the great cervid migrations that followed the retreating Ice Age.

When a Roosevelt bull bugles through a misty Vancouver Island valley, the sound seems to belong to another time. It rises through the rain and cedar branches—wild, strange and resonant—carrying with it an echo of the Pleistocene.

Magnificent, ancient and, dare I say, magnificently smelly.

HUNTER OF PANTHALASSAN SEAS: SHONISAURUS

Shonisaurus sikanni / Sikanni Chief River

More than 200 million years ago, when the supercontinent Pangaea was still knitting the world together, a leviathan moved through the warm Panthalassan seas that covered what is now northeastern British Columbia. 

Shonisaurus sikanniensis was colossal. At an estimated 21 metres (about 70 feet) in length, it rivals or exceeds the largest whales alive today. 

This was no scaly sea dragon but an ichthyosaur: a dolphin-shaped marine reptile with immense paddle-like limbs, a long, tapering snout, and eyes built for the dim light of deep water. 

Its vertebrae alone are the size of dinner plates. When it swam, it would have moved with powerful sweeps of its crescent tail, master of a Late Triassic ocean teeming with ammonites and early marine reptiles.

The type specimen of Shonisaurus sikanniensis was discovered along the banks of the Sikanni Chief River and painstakingly excavated over three ambitious field seasons led by Dr. Betsy Nicholls of the Royal Tyrrell Museum. 

A Rolex Laureate and one of Canada’s most respected vertebrate palaeontologists, Dr. Nicholls undertook what remains one of the most formidable fossil excavations ever attempted in this country. 

The animal lay entombed in limestone, and freeing it required extraordinary logistics, teamwork, and resolve over many field seasons.  

That immense skeleton — the largest marine reptile ever described — reshaped our understanding of just how big ichthyosaurs could become.

Many dedicated researchers have contributed to expanding the story of Shonisaurus and its kin. Scholars such as Dean Lomax and Sven Sachs, among others, continue to refine our understanding of ichthyosaur anatomy, growth patterns, and evolutionary relationships. 

Recent work on giant ichthyosaurs from the Triassic of Europe and North America suggests that extreme body size evolved rapidly after the end-Permian mass extinction. New discoveries of enormous jaw fragments and vertebrae hint that multiple lineages independently pushed the limits of marine reptile gigantism. 

These animals were likely deep-diving specialists, feeding on abundant soft-bodied cephalopods and fish, filling ecological roles that whales would not occupy for another 150 million years.

The Sikanni Chief River flows through the traditional territory of the Kaska Dena, whose stewardship of these lands spans countless generations. Any scientific work in this region exists within that broader and much older human story, and it is important to acknowledge the enduring relationship between the land, the river, and the people who know it best.

Today, the bones of Shonisaurus sikanniensis rest in Alberta, but its story stretches far beyond a museum gallery. It is a tale of deep time, bold fieldwork, collaboration across continents, and the simple human wonder that arises when we uncover something vast and ancient from stone. 

From the warm Triassic seas to the careful hands of modern researchers, the story of Shonisaurus reminds us that our planet has always been capable of producing giants — and that with patience, teamwork, and curiosity, we can bring their stories joyfully back into the light.

FOSSIL HUNTING AT HARRISON LAKE

Located three hours east of Vancouver, most folks head to Harrison Lake to enjoy its crisp waters, soak in the hot springs, camp or four-wheel-drive immersed in rugged scenery, or look for the elusive Sasquatch reported to live in the area. 

But there are some who come to Harrison Lake and miss the town entirely. Instead, they favour the upper west side of the lake and the fossiliferous bounty found here.

Indeed, this is the perfect location for local citizen scientists to strut their stuff. Harrison is a perfect family day trip, where you can discover wonderful marine fossil specimens as complete or partially crushed fossilized shells embedded in rock. 

It is truly amazing that we can find them at all. These beauties range in age from Jurassic to Cretaceous, with most being Lower Callovian, meaning the ammonites here swam our ancient oceans more than 160 million years ago. 

The area around Harrison Lake has been home to the Sts’ailes, a sovereign Coast Salish First Nation for thousands of years. Sts’ailes’ means, “the beating heart,” and it sums up this glorious wilderness perfectly. They describe their ancient home as Xa’xa Temexw or Sacred Earth. 

With the settling of Canada, Geologists began exploring the area in the 1880s, calling upon the Sts’ailes to help them look for coal and a route for the Canadian Pacific Railway. Coal was the aim, but happily, they also found fossils. Sacred Earth, indeed.  

Belemnite Fossils

In my favourite outcrops, you can find large, smooth inflated Jurassic ammonites along with their small grey and brown cousins. 

Further up the road, you will see Cretaceous cigar-shaped squid-like cephalopods called Belemnites, and the bivalve (clam) Buchia — gifts deposited by glaciers. Here are the most common.

Ammonites

Almost all of the ammonite specimens found near Harrison Lake are the toonie sized Cadoceras (Paracadoceras) tonniense with well-preserved outer whorls but flattened inner whorls. We find semi-squished elliptical specimens here, too. If you see a large, smooth, inflated grapefruit-sized ammonite, you are holding a rare prize — a Cadoceras comma ammonite, the macroconch or female of the species.  

Ammonites were predatory, squid-like creatures that lived inside coil-shaped shells. Like other cephalopods, ammonites had sharp, beak-like jaws inside a ring of squid-like tentacles that extended from their shells. They used these tentacles to snare prey — plankton, vegetation, fish and crustaceans — similar to the way a squid or octopus hunts today.

Within their shells, ammonites had a number of chambers called septa filled with gas or fluid, and they were interconnected through a wee air tube. By pushing air in or out, they were able to control their buoyancy. 

These small but mighty marine predators lived in the last chamber of their shell and continuously built new shell material as they grew. As they added each new chamber, they would move their squid-like body down to occupy the final outside chamber.

Interestingly, ammonites from Harrison Lake are quite similar to the ones found within the lower part of the Chinitna Formation near Cook Inlet, Alaska, and Jurassic Point, Kyuquot, on the west coast of Vancouver Island — some of the most beautiful places on Earth. 

Buchia (bivalve) Clams

The bivalve or clam Buchia are commonly found at Harrison Lake. You will see them cemented together en masse. . They populated Upper Jurassic–Lower Cretaceous waters like a team sport. When they thrived, they really thrived, building up large coquinas of material. Large boulders of Buchia cemented together en masse hitched a ride with the glaciers and were deposited around Harrison Lake. Some kept going and we find similar erratics or glacier-deposited boulders as far south as Washington state. 

Buchia is used as Index Fossils. Index fossils help us to figure out the age of the rock we are looking at because they are abundant, populate an area en masse, and then die out quickly. In other words, they make it easy to identify a geologic time span.

So what does this mean to you? Now, when you are out and about with friends and discover rocks with Buchia, or made entirely of Buchia, you can say, “Oh, this looks to be Upper Jurassic or Lower Cretaceous. Come take a look! We're likely the first to lay eyes on this little clam since dinosaurs roamed the Earth.” 

Fossil Collecting at Harrison Lake Fossil Field Trip — Getting there

This Harrison Lake site is a great day trip from Vancouver or the Fraser Valley. You will need a vehicle with good tires for travel on gravel roads. Search out the route ahead of time and share your trip plan with someone you trust. If you can pre-load the Google Earth map of the area, you will thank yourself. 

Heading east on from Vancouver, it will take you 1.5-2 hours to reach Harrison Mills. 

Access Forestry Road #17 at the northeast end of the parking lot from the Sasquatch Inn at 46001 Lougheed Hwy, Harrison Mills. From there, it will take about an hour to get to the site. Look for signs for the Chehalis River Fish Hatchery to get you started. 

Drive 30 km up Forestry Road #1, and stop just past Hale Creek at 49.5° N, 121.9° W (paleo-coordinates 42.5° N, 63.4° W) on the west side of Harrison Lake. You will see Long Island to your right. 

The first of the yummy fossil exposures are just north of Hale Creek on the west side of the road. Keep in mind that this is an active logging road, so watch your kids and pets carefully. Everyone should be wearing something bright so they can be easily spotted.

How to Spot the Fossils

The fossils here are easily collected—look in the bedrock and in the loose material that gathers in the ditches. Specimens will show up as either dark grey, grey-brown or black. Look for the large, dark-grey boulders the size of smart cars packed with Buchia. 

And while you are at it, be on the lookout for anything that looks like bone. This site is also ripe for marine reptiles—think plesiosaur, mosasaur and elasmosaur. As a citizen scientist and budding palaeontologist, you might just find something new!

What to Know Before You Go

Fill your gas tank and pack a tasty lunch. As with all trips into British Columbia's wild places, dress for the weather. You will need hiking boots, rain gear, gloves, eye protection, and a good geologic hammer and rock (cold) chisel. 

Wear bright clothing and keep your head covered. Slides are common, and you may start a few if you hike the cliffs. If you are with a group, those collecting below may want to consider hardhats in case of rockfall — chunks of rock the size of your fist up to the size of a grapefruit. They pack a punch. 

Bring a colourful towel or something to put your keepers on. Once you set rock down, it can be hard to find again given the terrain. I take the extra precaution of spraying the ends of my hammers and chisels with yellow fluorescent paint, as I have lost too many in the field. You will also want to bring a camera for the blocks of Buchia that are too big to carry home. 

Identifying Your Treasures

When you have finished for the day, compare your treasures to see which ones you would like to keep. In British Columbia, you are a steward of the fossil, which means they belong to the province, but you can keep them safe. You are not allowed to sell or ship them outside British Columbia without a permit. 

Once you get home, wash and identify your finds. Harrison Lake does not have a large variety of fossil fauna, so this should not be difficult. If your find is coiled and round, it is an ammonite. If it is long and straight, it is a belemnite. And if it looks like a wee fat baby oyster, it is Buchia. This is not always true, but mostly true.

What about collecting fossils in all seasons?. Everyone has a preference. I prefer not to collect in the snow, but I have done it. While sunny days are lovely, it can also be easier to see the specimens when the rock is wet. So, do we do this in the rain? Heck, yeah! 

In torrential rain? 

Yes — once you are hooked, but for your casual friends or the kiddos, the answer is likely no. Choose your battles. They may come with you, but a cold day getting soaked is no fun. 

In time, you will find your inner fossil geek — probably with your first find. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. First, it will be you, then your kids, your friends and then your neighbour. Once you start, it is easy to get hooked. Fossil addiction is real, and the only cure is to get out there and do it some more. You've got this!

References and further information:

A. J. Arthur, P. L. Smith, J. W. H. Monger and H. W. Tipper. 1993. Mesozoic stratigraphy and Jurassic palaeontology west of Harrison Lake, southwestern British Columbia. Geological Survey of Canada Bulletin 441:1-62

R. W. Imlay. 1953. Callovian (Jurassic) ammonites from the United States and Alaska Part 2. The Alaska Peninsula and Cook Inlet regions. United States Geological Survey Professional Paper 249-B:41-108

An overview of the tectonic history of the southern Coast Mountains, British Columbia; Monger, J W H; in, Field trips to Harrison Lake and Vancouver Island, British Columbia; Haggart, J W (ed.); Smith, P L (ed.). Canadian Paleontology Conference, Field Trip Guidebook 16, 2011 p. 1-11 (ESS Cont.# 20110248).

DINOSAUR RIVALRY: MANTELLISAURUS

Mantellisaurus atherfieldensis 

This story begins some 125 million years ago on the lush floodplains of what is now the Isle of Wight, back in the Cretaceous.

Forget the cool, windswept English coastline of today. This was a warm, subtropical world of broad rivers, oxbow lakes and sprawling wetlands, where towering conifers, cycads and tree ferns sheltered one of Europe's richest dinosaur ecosystems. 

Early flowering plants were just beginning to appear, while insects buzzed through the forests and reptiles called across the floodplains.

Here, herds of Mantellisaurus atherfieldensis browsed on tender vegetation. At seven to eight metres (23–26 feet) long, these elegant herbivores were among the largest animals in their world. 

Their long hind limbs suggest they could move surprisingly quickly when needed—particularly if a hungry Neovenator emerged from the trees. 

Nothing encourages cardio quite like becoming someone else's lunch.

Its hands were every bit as remarkable as the rest of the animal. Projecting from each was a formidable thumb spike. Victorian artists loved depicting these dinosaurs charging into battle like armoured knights, but the reality was likely less theatrical. 

The spikes probably served as defensive weapons, may have helped settle disputes during the breeding season and perhaps even assisted in pulling down stubborn vegetation. Evolution has always appreciated a multitool.

The elongated fifth finger tells another story. Unlike the stout thumb, it was surprisingly flexible, capable of curling around branches to draw foliage closer—a wonderfully delicate adaptation for an animal weighing well over a tonne.

This specimen was discovered in 1914 by geologist Reginald Walter Hooley in the Upper Vectis Formation near Atherfield on the Isle of Wight. 

Described in 1917 and formally named Iguanodon atherfieldensis in 1925, it spent more than eighty years as a member of the ever-growing Iguanodon family.

That changed in 2007, when American palaeoartist and researcher Gregory S. Paul recognised that it was something quite different. 

More lightly built, with longer limbs and closer evolutionary ties to the African iguanodontian Ouranosaurus, it deserved a genus of its own. Paul named it Mantellisaurus, honouring Dr Gideon Algernon Mantell, the Sussex physician whose discoveries helped launch the science of dinosaurs.

Mantell's story is one of brilliance, perseverance and one of Victorian science's greatest rivalries.

In 1822, he described Iguanodon, only the second dinosaur ever scientifically named.

Mantell spent decades collecting fossils and championing these extraordinary animals, only to find himself increasingly at odds with the formidable anatomist Sir Richard Owen.

Owen coined the word Dinosauria and later became the driving force behind London's Natural History Museum, but he also had a habit of eclipsing rivals—and few felt that more keenly than Mantell. The two men disagreed about almost everything, from dinosaur anatomy to broader questions of evolution, as they emerged in Victorian science.

Mantell increasingly recognised that these animals were active, lightly built and far more dynamic than giant lizards. Owen preferred to reconstruct them as slow, heavily built, rhinoceros-like reptiles that fit comfortably within his creationist view of nature.

When Benjamin Waterhouse Hawkins created the famous Crystal Palace dinosaurs during the 1850s, it was Owen's interpretation that guided the sculptures. 

Visitors marvelled at enormous reptilian beasts, including an Iguanodon sporting what appeared to be a horn proudly perched upon its nose.

As science advanced—and as more complete skeletons were discovered, particularly the spectacular Bernissart specimens from Belgium—we learned that the famous "horn" was, in fact, the thumb spike.

One of the most iconic mistakes in palaeontology had become one of its best-known corrections.

FOSSILS AND FIRST NATIONS HISTORY: NOOTKA

Nootka Fossil Field Trip. Photo: John Fam

The rugged west coast of Vancouver Island offers spectacular views of a wild British Columbia. Here the seas heave along the shores slowly eroding the magnificent deposits that often contain fossils. 

Just off the shores of Vancouver Island, east of Gold River and south of Tahsis is the picturesque and remote Nootka Island.

This is the land of the proud and thriving Nuu-chah-nulth First Nations who have lived here always. 

Always is a long time, but we know from oral history and archaeological evidence that the Mowachaht and Muchalaht peoples lived here, along with many others, for many thousands of years — a time span much like always. 

While we know this area as Nootka Sound and the land we explore for fossils as Nootka Island, these names stem from a wee misunderstanding. 

Just four years after the 1774 visit by Spanish explorer Juan Pérez — and only a year before the Spanish established a military and fur trading post on the site of Yuquot — the Nuu-chah-nulth met the Englishman, James Cook.  

Captain Cook sailed to the village of Yuquot just west of Vancouver Island to a very warm welcome. He and his crew stayed on for a month of storytelling, trading and ship repairs. Friendly, but not familiar with the local language, he misunderstood the name for both the people and land to be Nootka. In actual fact, Nootka means, go around, go around. 

Two hundred years later, in 1978, the Nuu-chah-nulth chose the collective term Nuu-chah-nulth — nuučaan̓uł, meaning all along the mountains and sea or along the outside (of Vancouver Island) — to describe themselves. 

It is a term now used to describe several First Nations people living along western Vancouver Island, British Columbia. 

It is similar in a way to the use of the United Kingdom to refer to the lands of England, Scotland and Wales — though using United Kingdom-ers would be odd. Bless the Nuu-chah-nulth for their grace in choosing this collective name.  

An older term for this group of peoples was Aht, which means people in their language and is a component in all the names of their subgroups, and of some locations — Yuquot, Mowachaht, Kyuquot, Opitsaht. While collectively, they are the Nuu-chah-nulth, be interested in their more regional name should you meet them. 

But why does it matter? If you have ever mistakenly referred to someone from New Zealand as an Aussie or someone from Scotland as English, you have likely been schooled by an immediate — sometimes forceful, sometimes gracious — correction of your ways. The best answer to why it matters is because it matters.

Each of the subgroups of the Nuu-chah-nulth viewed their lands and seasonal migration within them (though not outside of them) from a viewpoint of inside and outside. Kla'a or outside is the term for their coastal environment and hilstis for their inside or inland environment.

It is to their kla'a that I was most keen to explore. Here, the lovely Late Eocene and Early Miocene exposures offer up fossil crab, mostly the species Raninid, along with fossil gastropods, bivalves, pine cones and spectacularly — a singular seed pod. These wonderfully preserved specimens are found in concretion along the foreshore where time and tide erode them out each year.

Five years after Spanish explorer Juan Pérez's first visit, the Spanish built and maintained a military post at Yuquot where they tore down the local houses to build their own structures and set up what would become a significant fur trade port for the Northwest Coast — with the local Chief Maquinna's blessing and his warriors acting as middlemen to other First Nations. 

Following reports of Cook's exploration British traders began to use the harbour of Nootka (Friendly Cove) as a base for a promising trade with China in sea-otter pelts but became embroiled with the Spanish who claimed (albeit erroneously) sovereignty over the Pacific Ocean. 

Dan Bowen searching an outcrop. Photo: John Fam

The ensuing Nootka Incident of 1790 nearly led to war between Britain and Spain (over lands neither could actually claim) but talk of war settled and the dispute was settled diplomatically. 

George Vancouver on his subsequent exploration in 1792 circumnavigated the island and charted much of the coastline. His meeting with the Spanish captain Bodega y Quadra at Nootka was friendly but did not accomplish the expected formal ceding of land by the Spanish to the British. 

It resulted however in his vain naming the island "Vancouver and Quadra." The Spanish captain's name was later dropped and given to the island on the east side of Discovery Strait. Again, another vain and unearned title that persists to this day.

Early settlement of the island was carried out mainly under the sponsorship of the Hudson's Bay Company whose lease from the Crown amounted to 7 shillings per year — that's roughly equal to £100.00 or $174 CDN today. Victoria, the capital of British Columbia, was founded in 1843 as Fort Victoria on the southern end of Vancouver Island by the Hudson's Bay Company's Chief Factor, Sir James Douglas. 

With Douglas's help, the Hudson's Bay Company established Fort Rupert on the north end of Vancouver Island in 1849. Both became centres of fur trade and trade between First Nations and solidified the Hudson's Bay Company's trading monopoly in the Pacific Northwest.

The settlement of Fort Victoria on the southern tip of Vancouver Island — handily south of the 49th parallel — greatly aided British negotiators to retain all of the islands when a line was finally set to mark the northern boundary of the United States with the signing of the Oregon Boundary Treaty of 1846. Vancouver Island became a separate British colony in 1858. British Columbia, exclusive of the island, was made a colony in 1858 and in 1866 the two colonies were joined into one — becoming a province of Canada in 1871 with Victoria as the capital.

Dan Bowen, Chair of the Vancouver Island Palaeontological Society (VIPS) did a truly splendid talk on the Fossils of Nootka Sound. With his permission, I have uploaded the talk to the ARCHEA YouTube Channel for all to enjoy. Do take a boo, he is a great presenter. Dan also graciously provided the photos you see here. The last of the photos you see here is from the August 2021 Nootka Fossil Field Trip. Photo: John Fam, Vice-Chair, Vancouver Paleontological Society (VanPS).

Know Before You Go — Nootka Trail

The Nootka Trail passes through the traditional lands of the Mowachaht/Muchalat First Nations who have lived here since always. They share this area with humpback and Gray whales, orcas, seals, sea lions, black bears, wolves, cougars, eagles, ravens, sea birds, river otters, insects and the many colourful intertidal creatures that you'll want to photograph.

This is a remote West Coast wilderness experience. Getting to Nootka Island requires some planning as you'll need to take a seaplane or water taxi to reach the trailhead. The trail takes 4-8 days to cover the 37 km year-round hike. The peak season is July to September. Permits are not required for the hike. 

Access via: Air Nootka floatplane, water taxi, or MV Uchuck III

• Dan Bowen, VIPS on the Fossils of Nootka: https://youtu.be/rsewBFztxSY
• https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/sir-james-douglas
• file:///C:/Users/tosca/Downloads/186162-Article%20Text-199217-1-10-20151106.pdf
• Nootka Trip Planning: https://mbguiding.ca/nootka-trail-nootka-island/#overview

OYSTERS ON THE HALF SHELL

One of the now rare species of oysters in the Pacific Northwest is the Olympia oyster, Ostrea lurida, (Carpenter, 1864).  

While rare today, these are British Columbia’s only native oyster. 

Had you been dining on their brethren in the 1800s or earlier, it would have been this species you were consuming. Middens from Port Hardy to California are built from Ostrea lurida.

These wonderful invertebrates bare their souls with every bite. Have they lived in cold water, deep beneath the sea, protected from the sun's rays and heat? Are they the rough and tumble beach denizens whose thick shells tell us of a life spent withstanding the relentless pounding of the sea? Is the oyster in your mouth thin and slimy having just done the nasty—spurred by the warming waters of Spring? 

Is this oyster a local or was it shipped to your current local and, if asked, would greet you with "Kon'nichiwa?" Not if the beauty on your plate is indeed Ostrea lurida. 

Oyster in Kwak'wala is t̕łox̱t̕łox̱

We have been cultivating, indeed maximizing the influx of invasive species to the cold waters of the Salish Sea for many years. 

But in the wild waters off the coast of British Columbia is the last natural abundant habitat of the tasty Ostrea lurida in the pristine waters of  Nootka Sound. 

The area is home to the Nuu-chah-nulth First Nations who have consumed this species boiled or steamed for thousands of years. Here these ancient oysters not only survive but thrive — building reefs and providing habitat for crab, anemones and small marine animals. 

Oysters are in the family Ostreidae — the true oysters. Their lineage evolved in the Early Triassic — 251 - 247 million years ago. 

In the Kwak̓wala language of the Kwakwaka'wakw, speakers of Kwak'wala, of the Pacific Northwest and my family, an oyster is known as t̕łox̱t̕łox̱. 

I am curious to learn if any of the Nuu-chah-nulth have a different word for an oyster. If you happen to know, I would be grateful to learn.