BARNACLES: K'WIT'A' A

One of the most interesting and enigmatic little critters we find at the seashore are barnacles. They cling to rocks deep in the sea and at the waters' edge, closed to our curiosity, their domed mounds like little closed beaks shut to the water and the world.

They choose their permanent homes as larvae, sticking to hard substrates that will become their permanent homes for the rest of their lives. It has taken us a long time to find how they actually stick or what kind of "glue" they were using.

Remarkably, the barnacle glue sticks to rocks in a similar way to how red cells bind together. Red blood cells bind and clot with a little help from some enzymes. 

These work to create long protein fibres that first blind, clot then form a scab. The mechanism barnacles use, right down to the enzyme, is very similar. That's especially interesting as about a billion years separate our evolutionary path from theirs.

So, with the help of their clever enzymes, they can affix to most anything – ship hulls, rocks, and even the skin of whales. If you find them in tidepools, you begin to see their true nature as they open up, their delicate feathery finger-like projections flowing back and forth in the surf.

One of my earliest memories is of playing with them in the tidepools on the north end of Vancouver Island. It was here that I learned their many names. In the Kwak'wala language of the Kwakiutl First Nations of the Pacific Northwest, the word for barnacles is k̕wit̕a̱'a — and if it is a very small barnacle it is called t̕sot̕soma — and the Kwak'wala word for glue is ḵ̕wa̱dayu.

DENDRERPETON FROM THE JOGGINS FOSSIL CLIFFS

Dendrerpeton acadianum, an extinct amphibian

One of the best Canadian fossil finds stems from a random boulder picked up on the beach near the town of Joggins, Nova Scotia. Inside were the bones of a fully articulated skeleton of Dendrerpeton acadianum, a Temnospondyli from the Lower Pennsylvanian. 

These little cuties belong to an extinct genus of amphibians who loved wet, swampy wetlands similar to those we find in the bayous of Mississippi today.   

Dendrerpeton is the primitive sister-group to a clade of Temnospondyls that includes Trimerorhachoids, the Eryopoids — Ervops, Parioxys, & Sclerocephalus — Zatracheids & Dissorophoids. 

This little guy along with finding the first true reptile, Hylonomus lyelli, ancestor of all dinosaurs that would rule the Earth 100 million years later serve as the reference point where animals finally broke free of the water to live on land. This evolutionary milestone recorded at Joggins remains pivotal to understanding the origins of all vertebrate life on land, including our own species. 

Joggins records life in a once a wet, swampy wetland

Sir Charles Lyell, the author of Principles of Geology, first noted the exceptional natural heritage value of the Joggins Fossil Cliffs. He described them as: 

“...the finest example in the world of a natural exposure in a continuous section ten miles long, occurs in the sea cliffs bordering a branch of the Bay of Fundy in Nova Scotia.” 

Indeed, the world-famous Bay of Fundy with its impressive tides, the highest in the world, and stormy nature exposed much of this outcrop. 

STEPPING-STONE ISLANDS

Steeped in mist and mythology, the islands of Haida Gwaii abound in local lore that surrounds their beginnings. 

Today the Hecate Strait is a tempestuous 40-mile wide channel that separates the mist-shrouded archipelago of Haida Gwaii from the BC mainland. Haida oral tradition tells of a time when the strait was mostly dry, dotted here and there with lakes. 

During the last ice age, glaciers locked up so much water that the sea level was hundreds of feet lower than it is today. Soil samples from the sea floor of Hecate Strait contain wood, pollen, and other terrestrial plant materials that tell of a tundra-like environment. Whether or not the strait was ever completely dry during these times, it seems that it did at least contain a series of stepping-stone islands and bridges that remained free of ice. An ancient Haida tale, recorded in the late 1800s by a Hudson’s Bay Company trader, records the island's glacial history. 

Scannah-gan-nuncus, a boy who lived in the village now called Skidegate, had canoed up the Hunnah, a tributary to Skidegate Channel. Today, the Hunnah is a rocky creek, seldom deep enough to navigate. 

The Haida the legend accurately records that it used to be several times deeper. Tired from paddling upstream, Scannah-gan-nuncus landed to take a nap. “In those days at the place where he went ashore were large boulders in the bed of the stream, while on both sides of the river were many trees. While resting by the river, he heard a dreadful noise upstream. 

Looking to see what it was, he was surprised to behold all the stones in the river coming toward him. … all the trees were cracking and groaning … he went to see what was crushing the stones and breaking the trees. On reaching them, he found that a large body of ice was coming down, pushing everything before it.” Scannah-gan-nuncus’ experience with the glacier would have been familiar to the inhabitants of the islands. 

Today, the highest peaks are often bare of vegetation and snow-covered during most of the year, but back in the time of the glaciers, these same local mountains were the birthplace of advancing ice. 

Precipitation and a significant drop in temperature gave rise to the Queen Charlottes ice-sheet, a thick mass of flowing ice that ran tandem with the Cordilleran sheet in the Hecate Lowlands. Strolling around today, you can see where the glaciers left their mark on the Islands’ U-shape valleys, once a steep V-shape, now scoured into a smooth by glaciers that also deposited the erratic boulders can been seen sitting like out of place sentinels on the beach.