DRIFTWOOD CANYON FOSSIL BEDS

Puffbird similar to Fossil Birds found at Driftwood Canyon 

Driftwood Canyon Provincial Park 

Driftwood Canyon Provincial Park covers 23 hectares of the Bulkley River Valley, on the east side of Driftwood Creek, a tributary of the Bulkley River, 10 km northeast of the town of Smithers in northern British Columbia. 

Driftwood Canyon is recognized as one of the world’s most significant fossil beds. 

It provides park users with a fascinating opportunity to understand the area’s evolutionary processes of both geology and biology. The day-use area is open from May 15 to September 2. There is a short, wheelchair-accessible interpretative trail that leads from the parking are to the fossil beds. Pets are welcome on leash. Signs along the trail provide information on fossils and local history. 

Wet'suwet'en First Nation

The parklands are part of the Traditional Territory of the Wet'suwet'en First Nation which includes lands around the Bulkley River, Burns Lake, Broman Lake, and François Lake in the northwestern Central Interior of British Columbia. 

The Wetʼsuwetʼen are part of the Dakelh or Carrier First Nation, and in combination with the Babine First Nation are referred to as the Western Carrier. They speak Witsuwitʼen, a dialect of the Babine-Witsuwitʼen language which, like its sister language Carrier, is a member of the Athabaskan family.

Their oral history or kungax recounts a time when their ancestral village, Dizkle or Dzilke, once stood upstream from the Bulkley Canyon. This cluster of cedar houses on both sides of the river was said to be abandoned because of an omen of impending disaster. The exact location of the village has been lost but their stories live on. 

The neighbouring Gitxsan, collectively the People of Smooth Waters—the Gilseyhu Big Frog Clan, the Laksilyu Small Frog Clan, the Tsayu Beaver Clan, the Gitdumden Wolf and Bear Clan and the Laksamshu Fireweed and Owl Clan—each phratry or kinship group calling the Lax Yip home—33,000 km2 of land and water in northwestern ​British Columbia along the waters of the Skeena River and its tributaries—have a similar tale—though the village in their versions is referred to as Dimlahamid or Temlahan depending on which house group or wilp is sharing the tale—as well as where they are located as dialects differ. 

Gitksan speak Sim'algax—the real or true language. Within the Gitxsan communities there are two slightly different dialects. The Gyeets (Downriver) dialect spoken in Gijigyukwhla (Gitsegukla), Gitwangax, and Gitanyow—and the Gigeenix (Upriver) dialect is spoken in Ansbayaxw (Kispiox), Sik-E-Dakh and Gitanmaax.

Driftwood Canyon Fossil Beds

Driftwood Canyon's Fossil Beds record life in the earlier portion of the Eocene when British Columbia — and indeed our world — was much warmer than it is today. This site was discovered in the beginning of the 20th century and is now recognized as containing significant fossil material. 

I was speaking this week with a friend and classmate recently from a Traditional Ecological Knowledge course through the University of Northern British Columbia, Jessy, about Driftwood Canyon and the fossil resources found here.

The fossils are tremendous—and their superb preservation—provide a fascinating opportunity to understand the area’s evolutionary processes of both geology and biology over the past fifty million years or so. The fossils themselves are 51.7 million years old and look remarkably like many of the species we recognize today. 

The fossil beds are on the east side of Driftwood Creek, C’ide’Yikwah in Witsuwit’en, which has its headwaters in the main, southwest facing basin of the Babine Mountains. The park that contains these beautiful fossils is fifty-seven years old. 

It was created in 1967 by the generosity of the late Gordon Harvey (1913–1976). He donated the land to protect fossil resources that he truly loved and wanted to see preserved. How Harvey came to be in a position to donate lands once part of a First Nation Traditional Territory will need to be explored deeper. I will share as I learn more about this as I learn more from locals and the local history museum in the coming weeks and months.

Metasequoia, the Dawn Redwood

Exploring the region today, we see a landscape dominated by conifers blanketing the area. 

Forests teem with the aromatic Western Red Cedar, Pacific Silver Fir with its many medicinal properties, the tall and lanky Subalpine Fir with its soft, brittle and quickly decaying wood, the slender scaly Lodgepole Pine, the graceful and slightly forlorn looking Western Hemlock. 

Across the landscape you see several species of Spruce, including the impressive Sitka, Picea sitchensis, the world's largest spruce tree who live up to an impressive 800 years. 

The stands of mature Sitka standing here today were just being established in this ground back in 1921 when Smithers was designated as the first incorporated village in British Columbia. They are slow to establish and get going, but once embedded are amongst the fastest growing trees we see on the western edge of Canada, colonizing glacial moraines with their cold resistant stock centuries ago when the glaciers that once covered this land eventually retreated.

Some of the tallest on view would have been mere seedlings, colonizing the glacial moraines centuries ago when the glaciers retreated. Collectively, these conifers tell the tale of the region's cool climate today. 

The Gitsan territory boasts seven of the 14 biogeoclimatic zones of the province—the Alpine Tundra, Spruce-Willow-Birch, Boreal White and Black Spruce, Sub-Boreal Pine-Spruce, Sub-Boreal Spruce, Engelmann Spruce-Subalpine Fir and Interior Cedar-Hemlock. 

The fossil material we find here speaks to a warmer climate in this region's past. We find fossil plants, fish—including specimens of salmon, suckerfish and bowfin, a type of air breathing fish—and insect fossil here—wasps and water striders—fossil plants including Metasequoia, the Dawn Redwood, alder—and interesting vertebrate material. Bird feathers are infrequently collected from the shales; however, two bird body fossils have been found here.

In 1968, a bird body fossil was collected in the Eocene shales of the Ootsa Lake Group in Driftwood Canyon Provincial Park by Pat Petley of Kamloops. 

Pat donated the specimen in 2000 to the Thompson Rivers University (TRU) palaeontology collections. This fossil bird specimen is tentatively identified as the puffbird, Piciformes bucconidae, of the genus Primobucco.

Primobucco is an extinct genus of bird placed in its own family, Primobucconidae. The type species, Primobucco mcgrewi, lived during the Lower Eocene of North America. It was initially described by American paleo-ornithologist Pierce Brodkorb in 1970, from a fossil right-wing, and thought to be an early puffbird. However, the discovery of a further 12 fossils in 2010 indicate that it is instead an early type of roller.

Related fossils from the European Messel deposits have been assigned to the two species P. perneri and P. frugilegus. Two specimens of P. frugilegus have been found with seeds in the area of their digestive tract, which suggests that these birds were more omnivorous than the exclusively predaceous modern rollers. The Driftwood specimen has never been thoroughly studied. If there is a grad student out there looking for a worthy thesis, head on down to the Thompson Rivers University where you'll find the specimen on display.

Another fossil bird, complete with feathers, was collected at Driftwood Canyon in 1970, This one was found by Margret and Albrecht Klöckner who were travelling from Germany. Theirs is a well-travelled specimen, having visited many sites in BC as they toured around, then to Germany and finally back to British Columbia when it was repatriated and donated to the Royal British Columbia Museum in Victoria. 

I am not sure if it is still on display or back in collections, but it was lovingly displayed back in 2008. There is a new grad student, Alexis, looking at Eocene bird feathers down at the RBCM, so perhaps it is once again doing the rounds. 

This second bird fossil is of a long-legged water bird and has been tentatively identified by Dr. Gareth Dyke of the University of Southampton as possibly from the order Charadriiformes, a diverse order of small to medium-ish water birds that include 350 species of gulls, plovers, sandpipers, terns, snipes, and waders. Hopefully, we'll hear more on this find in the future.

A Tapir showing off his prehensile nose trunk

Tapirs and Tiny Hedgehogs

The outcrops at Driftwood Canyon are also special because they record a record of some of the first fossil mammals ever to be found in British Columbia at this pivotal point in time. 

Wee proto-hedgehogs smaller than your thumb lived in the undergrowth of that fossil flora. They shared the forest floor with an extinct tapir-like herbivore in the genus Heptodon that looked remarkably similar to his modern, extant cousins (there is a rather cheeky fellow shown here so you get the idea) but lacked their pronounced snout (proboscis). I am guessing that omission made him the more fetching of his lineage.

In both cases, it was a fossilized jaw bone that was recovered from the mud, silt and volcanic ash outcrops in this ancient lakebed site. And these two cuties are significant— they are the very first fossil mammals we've ever found from the early Eocene south of the Arctic.

How can we be sure of the timing? The fossil outcrops here are found within an ancient lakebed. Volcanic eruptions 51 million years ago put loads of fine dust into the air that settled then sank to the bottom of the lake, preserving the specimens that found their way here — leaves, insects, birds, mammals.

As well as turning the lake into a fossil making machine—water, ash, loads of steady sediment to cover specimens and stave off predation—the volcanic ash contains the very chemically inert—resistant to mechanical weathering—mineral zircon which we can date with uranium/lead (U/Pb). 

The U/Pb isotopic dating technique is wonderfully accurate and mighty helpful in dating geologic events from volcanic eruptions, continental movements to mass extinctions. This means we know exactly when these lovelies were fossilized and, in turn, their significance.

Know Before You Go

If you fancy a visit to Driftwood Canyon Park, the park is accessible from Driftwood Road from Provincial Highway 16. You are welcome to view and photograph the fossils found here but collecting is strictly forbidden. 

Driftwood Canyon is recognized as one of the world’s most significant fossil beds. It provides park users with a fascinating opportunity to understand the area’s evolutionary processes of both geology and biology. The day-use area is open from May 15 to September 2. There is a short, wheelchair-accessible interpretative trail that leads from the parking are to the fossil beds. Pets are welcome on leash. Signs along the trail provide information on fossils and local history. 

Below a cliff face at the end of the trail is a viewing area that has interpretive information and viewing area overlooking Driftwood Creek.

This park proudly operated by Mark and Anais Drydyk

Email: kermodeparks@gmail.com / Tel: 1 250 877-1482 or 1 250 877-1782

Palaeo Coordinates: Latitude: 50° 51' 59" N / Longitude: 116° 27' 37" W

Lat/Long (dec): 50.86665,-116.46042 / GUID: d3a6bd3e-68d6-42cf-9b2c-d20a30576988

Driftwood Canyon Provincial Park Brochure: 

https://bcparks.ca/explore/parkpgs/driftwood_cyn/driftwood-canyon-brochure.pdf?v=1638723136455

Sheila Peters: Driftwood Creek – and the ways we cross it; here Sheila Peters shares a wonderful lived history which I have not had the pleasure to yet fully explore as of 09 February 2025. I do recommend you checking out her post as it contains information and photographs worthy of a newcomers visit to the area.

Link: https://sheilapeters.com/tag/peavine-harvey/

AMMONITES IN CONCRETION

At first glance they look like ordinary stones—rounded, weathered, unassuming. 

But then you notice the delicious hints: a spiral ghosting through the surface, a faint rib, a seam where time is ready to split wide open—it's magic!

Ammonites, long extinct cephalopods, so often appear this way because, shortly after death, their shells became chemical centres of attraction on the seafloor. 

As the soft tissues decayed, they altered the surrounding sediment, triggering minerals—often calcium carbonate or iron-rich compounds—to precipitate rapidly around the shell. 

This early cementation formed a concretion, a protective stone cocoon that hardened long before the surrounding mud was compressed into rock. While everything around it flattened, cracked, and distorted under pressure, the ammonite inside remained cradled and whole.

What you see here is a gathering of these time capsules: a cluster of ammonites preserved in their concretions, each one split or weathered just enough to reveal the coiled story within. 

Some are neatly halved, spirals laid bare like fingerprints from ages past; others are only just beginning to show themselves, teasing their presence beneath rough stone skins. 

Together, they tell a familiar fossil-hunter’s tale—of patience, sharp eyes, and the thrill of knowing that this unassuming rock holds an ancient ocean inside.

QUIKY CAMBRIAN CURIOSITIES: OPABINIA

Meet one of the most wonderfully peculiar animals to ever grace our ancient seas. 

This five-eyed marvel swam through the Cambrian oceans some 508 million years ago, its soft body drifting above the seafloor of what is now British Columbia—preserved in exquisite detail within the famed Burgess Shale of Yoho National Park.

At first glance, Opabinia regalis feels almost mischievous in its design. I think of them as Cambrian submarines. Five stalked eyes sit atop its head like a crown of periscopes, scanning a world teeming with early life. 

Along its sides, a series of delicate lobes ripple in coordinated waves, propelling it forward with gentle, undulating grace. But it is the feeding apparatus that truly steals the show—a long, flexible proboscis ending in a tiny claw, perfectly suited for plucking soft prey from the seafloor and delivering it to its backward-facing mouth tucked beneath the head.

Yes—five eyes. And a claw-tipped trunk. Nature was experimenting, and Opabinia was one of her boldest sketches.

When Charles Doolittle Walcott first described this curious creature in 1912, it puzzled generations of paleontologists. At the time, he believed it was an anostracan branchiopod. I don't see the resemblance but I wasn't looking at a fossil mystery with his lived experience of the time.

Walcott named the species Opabinia after Opabin Peak in the Canadian Rockies. While his initial classification as a crustacean was later debated and revised by researchers like Harry Whittington in the 1970s—who identified it as a far more enigmatic "weird wonder"—Walcott's 1912 publication remains the initial scientific description of this marvelous fancy of nature.

For decades, its place on the tree of life remained uncertain, its anatomy so unlike anything alive today that it seemed almost alien. 

Thanks to the careful work of Harry Whittington and colleagues—that Opabinia was understood as part of an early branch of arthropod evolution, a relative—albeit a very strange one—of the lineage that would eventually give rise to insects, crustaceans and spiders.

Soft-bodied and delicate, Opabinia would never have fossilized under ordinary circumstances. It is only through the extraordinary preservation of the Burgess Shale—where rapid burial in fine mud and low-oxygen conditions halted decay—that we are gifted this glimpse into deep time’s more experimental chapters.

In Opabinia, we see evolution not as a straight line, but as a riot of possibilities—forms tried, tested, and sometimes abandoned with countless strange and beautiful designs flickering briefly before fading into the stone. I am truly thrilled that we got a chance to see this one as so many never had the chance to fossilize and we'll never get to know their quirky selves. 

BEAUTIFUL PATHOLOGY: QUENSTEDTOCERAS

What you are seeing here is a protuberance extruding from the venter of Quenstedtoceras cf. leachi (Sowerby). It is a pathology in the shell from hosting immature bivalves that shared the seas with these Middle Jurassic, Upper Callovian, Lamberti zone fauna from the Volga River basin. 

The collecting site is the now inactive Dubki commercial clay quarry and brickyard near Saratov, Russia. 

The site has produced thousands of ammonite specimens. A good 1,100 of those ended up at the Black Hills Institute of Geological Research in Hill City, South Dakota. 

Roughly 1,000 of those are Quenstedtoceras (Lamberticeras) lamberti and the other 100 are a mix of other species found in the same zone. These included Eboraciceras, Peltoceras, Kosmoceras, Grossouvria, Proriceras, Cadoceras and Rursiceras. 

What is especially interesting is the volume of specimens — 167 Quenstedtoceras (Lamberticeras) lamberti and 89 other species in the Black Hills collection — with healed predation injuries. It seems Quenstedtoceras (Lamberticeras) lamberti are the most common specimens found here and so not surprisingly the most common species found injured. 

Of the 1,000, 655 of the Quenstedtoceras (Lamberticeras) lamberti displayed some sort of deformation or growth on the shell or had grown in a tilted manner. 

Again, some of the Q. lamberti had small depressions in the centre likely due to a healed bite and hosting infestations of the immature bivalve Placunopsis and some Ostrea. 

The bivalves thrived on their accommodating hosts and the ammonites carried on, growing their shells right up and over their bivalve guests. 

This relationship led to some weird and deformities of their shells. They grow in, around, up and over nearly every surface of the shell and seem to have lived out their lives there. It must have gotten a bit unworkable for the ammonites, their shells becoming warped and unevenly weighted. 

Over time, both the flourishing bivalves and the ammonite shells growing up and over them produced some of the most interesting pathology specimens I have ever seen.    

In the photo here from Emil Black, you can see some of the distorted shapes of Quenstedtoceras sp. 

Look closely and you see a trochospiral or flattened appearance on one side while they are rounded on the other. 

All of these beauties hail from the Dubki Quarry near Saratov, Russia. The ammonites were collected in marl or clay used in brick making. The clay particles suggest a calm, deep marine environment. 

One of the lovely features of the preservation here is the amount of pyrite filling and replacement. It looks like these ammonites were buried in an oxygen-deficient environment. 

The ammonites were likely living higher in the water column, well above the oxygen-poor bottom. An isotopic study would be interesting to prove this hypothesis. 

There's certainly enough of these ammonites that have been recovered to make that possible. It's estimated that over a thousand specimens have been recovered from the site but that number is likely much higher. But these are not complete specimens. We mostly find the phragmocones and partial body chambers. Given the numbers, this may be a site documenting a mass spawning death over several years or generations.

If you fancy a read on all things cephie, consider picking up a copy of Cephalopods Present and Past: New Insights and Fresh Perspectives edited by Neil Landman and Richard Davis. Figure 16.2 is from page 348 of that publication and shows the hosting predation quite well. 

Photos: Courtesy of the deeply awesome Emil Black. These are in his personal collection that I hope to see in person one day. 

It was his sharing of the top photo and the strange anomaly that had me explore more about the fossils from Dubki and the weird and wonderful hosting relationship between ammonites and bivalves. Thank you, my friend!

GRACEFUL BEAUTY: ALBERTONIA

This graceful beauty, with its elegant, sail-like fins and armour of shimmering scales, is Albertonia sp.—an Early Triassic ganoid fish whose lineage once glided through the recovering seas of what is now western Canada. 

Belonging to a group of extinct bony fishes remarkable for their enamel-coated, diamond-shaped ganoid scales, Albertonia offers a rare and intimate glimpse into life shortly after the end-Permian mass extinction, when marine ecosystems were slowly rebuilding themselves.

Specimens of Albertonia have been discovered in two significant rock units: the Sulphur Mountain Formation near Wapiti Lake in British Columbia and the Lower Triassic Montney Formation of Alberta. 

These formations preserve an extraordinary record of Early Triassic marine life—ecosystems shaped by fluctuating sea levels, restricted basins, and the evolutionary experimentation that followed Earth’s most profound biological crisis.

The Sulphur Mountain Formation, in particular, is renowned for its exceptional vertebrate fossils, including fishes, marine reptiles, and rare soft-tissue impressions. Within these beds, Albertonia appears as a slender, streamlined fish with surprisingly tall dorsal and anal fins—features that give it that distinctive “sail-like” profile. These fins likely played a role in stabilization and maneuverability, allowing it to dart through the shallow carbonate-siliciclastic seas with speed and precision.

Ganoid fishes like Albertonia are characterized by their thick, lustrous scales, locking together like a natural chainmail. These scales not only protected the fish from predators but also provide paleontologists with exquisite fossil details. In well-preserved specimens, you can sometimes see the subtle ornamentation—ridges, pits, and patterns—etched into the ganoine coating, each reflecting the biology of a world more than 245 million years removed from our own.

Though Albertonia is long extinct, its fossils help illuminate the pivotal evolutionary story that unfolded during the Early Triassic. As life clawed its way back from catastrophe, species like this little ganoid fish were among the pioneers of new ecological niches, their presence a quiet testament to resilience in ancient oceans.

DODOS AT THE RIVER

Dodo Birds by Daniel Eskridge

Two dodo birds—one warm brown like sun-baked coconut husk, the other a pale, ghostly white with hints of grey—stand beak-deep in the shallows of a river that winds like a silver serpent through the tropical jungles of ancient Mauritia. 

Their feet sink into cool silt and damp leaves at a rivers edge. 

The air is thick with the scent of pandanus and damp leaves, heavy enough to taste. Dragonflies hover in lazy spirals above them, iridescent flashes stitching over the water’s skin.

The brown male dodo dips first, scooping up a beakful of water with a gentle glop, while the white female one pauses, head cocked, watching a fruit drift downstream. For a moment the world feels impossibly quiet—no humans, no predators bold enough to trouble them, only the chorus of the forest and the steady rhythm of their drinking.

These feathered oddities belong to an island that itself has slipped through time. Mauritia, a now-lost microcontinent once nestled between Madagascar and India, cracked and sank more than 60 million years ago as the Indian Ocean spread and rearranged the world’s geography. All that remains today are a few scattered fragments—Mauritius, Réunion, Rodrigues—emerald crumbs left atop an ancient submerged landmass.

Dodo Birds by Daniel Eskridge

It is on one of these volcanic islands, long after Mauritia’s foundering, that the dodo evolved into its peculiar glory. 

Descended from flighted pigeons that likely swept in on storm winds from Southeast Asia, the dodo abandoned the sky entirely. 

With no natural predators and an island full of fruits, nuts, and fallen seeds, wings became more decorative than practical. Their legs grew stout. Their bodies rounded. 

Their beaks curved into the iconic hooked silhouette now etched into the imagination of every natural historian.

The brown dodo nudges the white one aside, perhaps a sign of affection, perhaps mild irritation—dodos, after all, were social birds, not the clumsy caricatures drawn centuries later. 

They waddled in flocks, nested on the ground, and lived comfortably beneath the canopy of ebony forests. Their feathers, described by early visitors as soft and hair-like, varied from gray-brown to white depending on age, sex, and perhaps even seasonal cycles.

But their peace was fragile, vulnerable to change they could not see coming.

When humans finally set foot on Mauritius in the late 1500s, they brought ships that carried pigs, rats, goats, and monkeys, all eager for eggs, seedlings, and anything edible. 

Forests were cut, nests trampled, and the trusting dodos, unaccustomed to fear, walked directly into the hands of sailors who considered them a convenient, if not particularly tasty, meal. Within roughly a century, they were gone.

But in this imagined moment—two birds drinking from a clear jungle river on an island born from a drowned continent—they live again. 

The sun breaks through a gap in the canopy, scattering gold across their backs. The white dodo lifts its head, droplets falling like tiny jewels, and lets out a soft, throaty grunt.

Here, in the cool breath of Mauritia’s shadowed past, the dodos are a symbol of loss—curious, gentle, utterly at home.

And for a heartbeat, we remember them.

Illustration Credit: This image was created by the supremely talented Daniel Eskridge, Paleo Illustrator from Atlanta, Georgia, USA. I share it here with permission as I have licensed the use of many of his images over the years, including this one. 

To enjoy his works (and purchase them!) to adorn your walls, visit his website at www.danieleskridge.com

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

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).

CTENOPHORES: CANNIBALISTIC COMB JELLIES

Cannibalistic Comb Jellies

This festive lantern looking lovely belongs to a group of invertebrates known as comb jellies.

Comb jellies are named for their unique plates of giant fused cilia, or combs, which run in eight rows up and down the length of their bodies. 

They are armed with sticky cells or colloblasts, that do not sting but display wonderful bioluminescent colouring as they move through the sea.

Ctenophores or comb jellies are one of the phylogenetically most important and controversial metazoan groups. 

Looks can be deceiving. At first glance you might think you are looking at a jellyfish but this is not the case. Surprisingly, they are not jellyfish and are not closely related, though they do share some characteristics with the gelatinous members of the subphylum Medusozoa. 

Comb jellies are not picky eaters. Their tastes range to what is at hand, including cannibalizing other comb jellies. They will feast on their kin along with tasty plankton, zooplankton, crustaceans and wee fish.

Interest in their fossil record has been catalysed by spectacularly preserved soft-bodied specimens from Cambrian Lagerstätten of the 518-million-years-old Chengjiang Biota, the 505-million-years-old Burgess Shale and other Burgess Shale-like deposits. 

We find them in the Late Devonian Escuminac Formation at Miguasha National Park, Quebec, Canada — a UNESCO world heritage site famous for its abundance of well-preserved vertebrate fossils including most major evolutionary groups of Devonian lower vertebrates from jawless fish to stem-tetrapods.

Based on morphological similarities of this Canadian fossil with stem-ctenophore fossils from the Cambrian Lagerstätte of the Chinese locality Chengjiang, they have been assessed for their affinity to stem-group ctenophores (dinomischids, Siphusauctum, scleroctenophorans) and early crown-group ctenophores. Modern ctenophores and many fossil forms lack mineralized hard parts, which renders the rare fossils that have been extracted from several Lagerstätten quite remarkable. 

Like the soft bodies of jellyfish and the polyps of hydrozoans and anthozoans, the probability for such soft bodies (or body regions) to become fossilized is extremely low. In spite of this low preservation potential, remains of stem-ctenophores have become known from several Cambrian and younger conservation deposits, and with even older candidate ctenophores in the Ediacaran. 

While Cambrian Lagerstätten have yielded several genera, ctenophore remains are much rarer in the Devonian; in particular, two studies, describing material from the German Hunsrück Slate. 

Bioluminescent Comb Jellies

This Early Devonian material, however, appears to belong to crown ctenophores morphologically similar to living forms such as Pleurobrachia, unlike the stem Cambrian taxa and the new Devonian stem taxon described here.

The most basal stem ctenophores are the dinomischids: sessile benthic petaloid invertebrates, many of which are equipped with a stalk. This group first was described from the Middle Cambrian Burgess Shale. Based on the genus Dinomischus, these early stalked forms were commonly called ‘dinomischids’. 

Zhao et al. shared that dinomischids "form a grade in the lower part of the ctenophore stem group” and include taxa such as Xianguangia, Daihua, and Dinomischus that have hexaradiate-based symmetry (e.g., sixfold, 18-fold). 

Some later, skeletonised stem-ctenophores were termed ‘Scleroctenophora’; ‘scleroctenophorans’ have a shorter stalk, lack the ‘petals’ and have no bracts and might be monophyletic. 

To date, all known dinomischids and scleroctenophorans are Cambrian. Remarkably, analysis of the material described here suggests it is a very late-surviving member of this part of the ctenophore tree, occurring in strata over a hundred million years younger with no intervening known record, thus making it a Lazarus taxon with an extensive ghost lineage. 

Palaeozoic sediments yield a growing number of fossil invertebrates with radial symmetries, some being quite enigmatic with body plans differing radically from those of extant organisms.

The morphological similarities to Cambrian forms and the mix of characters regarding overall shape and symmetries render this discovery important. The aims of this study are to describe the only known specimen of this Devonian ctenophore, discuss its phylogenetic and systematic position, and the impact of fossil data for ctenophore affinities, and assess its palaeoecological role.

A CITY WITHIN A CITY: FOSSIL CORAL

Fossil Coral — A City within a City

Here are some beauties for you — lovely fossil coral, frozen in stone yet once very much alive. 

At first glance it looks like a single organism, but that's the clever bit. 

Corals are really bustling little cities, built by thousands of tiny marine animals called polyps. Think of them as the world's oldest condominium developers... only with much better architecture and absolutely no strata council meetings.

Corals belong to the class Anthozoa within the phylum Cnidaria, making them close cousins of sea anemones and jellyfish. 

Together, these tiny builders have spent hundreds of millions of years constructing vast reefs that became home to an astonishing diversity of marine life.

Some corals even keep diaries. Deep-sea bamboo corals (Isididae), for example, lay down annual growth bands much like the rings of a tree. 

Those delicate layers preserve year-by-year records of changing ocean conditions, allowing us to reconstruct ancient climates with remarkable precision. Today, those same growth bands are also helping us understand one of the greatest challenges facing our oceans: ocean acidification.

Another remarkable form is the microatoll. These coral colonies have living edges that remain submerged while their tops die once they reach the average low-tide level. Their flattened shape quietly records changing sea levels through time. 

By studying their growth patterns and using radiocarbon dating to measure the decay of Carbon-14, we can piece together detailed histories of Holocene sea-level change spanning thousands of years.

Modern corals are facing some formidable challenges. Tropical sea temperatures have risen by roughly 1°C over the past century, triggering widespread coral bleaching events. 

When ocean waters become too warm, corals expel the tiny symbiotic algae—zooxanthellae—that provide much of their food and their brilliant colours. Left without their microscopic partners, reefs turn ghostly white and, if stressful conditions persist, many colonies die.

The story isn't entirely one of doom, though. Corals have shown an impressive capacity for adaptation, even if they don't make it look particularly dramatic. Being firmly cemented to the seafloor means they aren't exactly packing their bags and moving to cooler neighbourhoods. 

Instead, many are changing partners. Different strains of zooxanthellae vary in their tolerance to heat, and we are seeing more heat-resistant varieties becoming established in warmer waters. There is a trade-off, however. These hardy algae tend to photosynthesize more slowly, meaning the corals often grow more slowly as well.

In places like the Gulf of Mexico, warming seas have already shifted the distribution of iconic staghorn and elkhorn corals. Across many reefs, slower-growing but more heat-tolerant colonies are becoming increasingly common. 

Some reefs tucked into cooler ocean currents may even serve as refuges, buying precious time as the climate continues to change.

Corals reproduce both sexually and asexually. While cloning allows successful colonies to spread efficiently, it also limits the genetic diversity that fuels rapid evolution. 

Their long lifespans and remarkably stationary lifestyle mean adaptation can be slower than the pace of environmental change. Even so, these ancient architects have survived countless upheavals over hundreds of millions of years.

Holding a fossil coral is a reminder that reefs have witnessed worlds come and go. Long before whales, seabirds, or even the dinosaurs, coral colonies were quietly building underwater kingdoms, one tiny polyp at a time. The fossil before us is not simply stone—it is the preserved foundation of an ancient ecosystem, a snapshot of oceans that disappeared long before our own began.

SACRED CEPHALOPODS: OCTOPUS TAK'WA

This lovely with her colourful body is an octopus. Like ninety-seven percent of the world's animals, she lacks a backbone. 

To support their bodies, these spineless animals — invertebrates — have skeletons made of protein fibres. 

This flexibility can be a real advantage when slipping into nooks and crannies for protection and making a home in seemingly impossible places.

On the east side of Vancouver Island, British Columbia, Canada, there is an area called Madrona Point where beneath the surface of the sea many octopus have done just that. This is the home of the Giant Pacific Octopus, Enteroctopus dofleini, the largest known octopus species.

The land above is the home of the Snuneymuxw First Nation of the Coast Salish who live here, on the Gulf Islands, and along the Fraser River. In Hul'q'umin'um' — the lingua franca of the Snuneymuxw First Nation and the many First Nations of Cowichan Tribes , a living language that expresses their worldview and way of life — the word for octopus is sqi'mukw'. 

In the Kwak̓wala language of the Kwakiutl or Kwakwaka'wakw, speakers of Kwak'wala, further north on Vancouver Island, octopus or devil fish are known as ta̱k̕wa.

I have gone scuba diving at Madrona Point many times and visited the octopus who squeeze into the eroded sections of a sandstone ledge about 18 metres or 60 feet below the surface. 

On one of those trips, my friend Suzanne Groulx ran into one of the larger males swimming just offshore. I was surfacing as I heard her shriek clear as a bell. Sound moves through water about four times faster than it does through the air — faster than a jet plane. 

On that day, I suspect Suzanne was neck and neck both in sound and motion. Seconds later, she popped up a good three feet above the surf, still screaming. I have never seen anyone surface quite so quickly — dangerous and impressive in equal measure. Her coming up that fast meant her lungs were expanding rapidly as the air inside doubled every 30 ft as it was released from the pressure of the sea... very dangerous!

It was on another of those trips that I met Philip Torrens, with whom I would later co-author, In Search of Ancient BC.     

While the entire coastline is beautiful to explore, it was visiting the octopus that drew me back time and time again. I have seen wee octopus the size of the palm of your hand, large males swimming and feeding and the lovely females tucked into their nursery homes.

After forty days of mating, the female Giant Pacific Octopus attach strings of small fertilized eggs to the rocks within these crevices and call it home for a time — generally five months or 160 days. When I visit, I sometimes bring crab or sea urchin for her to snack on as the mothers guarding these eggs do not leave to hunt, staying ever vigilante protecting their brood from predators. All the while she is here, she gently blows fresh water over the eggs.

And sadly, this will be her only brood. Octopus breed once in their too-short lives. Males die directly after mating and females die once their young have hatched. They live in all the world's oceans and no matter the species, their lifespans are a brief one to five years. I rather hope they evolve to live longer and one day outcompete the humans who like to snack on them.

Octopus are soft-bodied, eight-limbed molluscs of the order Octopoda. They have one hard part, their beaks, which they use to crack open clams, crab and crustaceans. They are ninja-level skilled at squeezing through very tight holes, particularly if it means accessing a tasty snack. The size of their beaks determines exactly how small a hole they can fit through. Looking, you would likely guess it could not be done, but they are amazing — and mesmerizing!

At the Vancouver Aquarium, they have been known to unscrew lids, sneak out of one tank to feed in another then slip back so you do not notice, open simple hooks and latches — burglars of the sea. They can also change the colour and texture of their skin to blend perfectly into their surroundings. You can look for them around reefs and rocky shores. 

There are 300 species of octopus grouped within the class Cephalopoda, along with squid, cuttlefish, and nautiloids. 

The oldest fossil octopus at 300 million years old is Pohlsepia mazonensis from Carboniferous Mazon Creek fossil beds in Illinois. The only known specimen resembles modern octopuses with the exception of possessing eight arms and two tentacles (Kluessendorf and Doyle 2000).

My favourite fossil octopus is the darling Keuppia levante (Fuchs, Bracchi & Weis, 2009), an extinct genus of octopus that swam our ancient seas back in the Cretaceous.

EPIC FOSSIL HUNTING: TYAUGHTON & CASTLE PEAK

Some places stay with you long after you've left them.

Tyaughton, north of Gold Bridge beneath the rugged skyline of Castle Peak, is one of those places for me. 

It is wild, breathtaking country where glaciers cling to the mountains, marmots whistle from rocky slopes, golden eagles drift effortlessly overhead, and every winding trail feels like it leads into another chapter of Earth's history.

It is also one of British Columbia's most remarkable places to hunt Triassic and Jurassic fossils.

Standing among these peaks, it is almost impossible to picture that some 200 to 220 million years ago this entire landscape lay beneath a warm tropical sea. Instead of alpine meadows and mountain goats, graceful ammonites cruised the water column while crinoids swayed gently on the seafloor. 

Brachiopods, bivalves, gastropods and countless other marine creatures flourished in an ocean that has long since disappeared.

Those ancient seabeds would one day be lifted thousands of metres skyward as the Coast Mountains rose around them, preserving their story within layers of limestone and shale.

Badouxia ammonites

There is nothing quite like splitting open a weathered slab and finding a beautifully preserved ammonite waiting inside. 

One careful tap with the rock hammer and suddenly you are sharing a moment with an animal that last saw daylight before the first dinosaurs truly came into their own. 

Those discoveries never lose their magic.

The nearby Taseko Lakes region has yielded one of the finest collections of Late Hettangian ammonites ever discovered in British Columbia. 

Over many remarkable field seasons, we documented thirty-five ammonite taxa and described three entirely new species, greatly expanding our understanding of Early Jurassic life along the ancient western margin of North America.

That work holds a particularly special place in my heart.

I had the enormous honour of having one of those new species named after me by Dr. Louise Longridge of the University of British Columbia. Fergusonites hendersonae is a beautiful little nektonic carnivorous ammonite that now carries my family name through the scientific literature. It remains one of the greatest honours of my life.

I first met Louise as an undergraduate, and later had the privilege of joining expeditions into the Taseko backcountry alongside wonderful friends from the Vancouver Island Paleontological Society, the Vancouver Paleontological Society, and researchers from UBC. 

We followed in the footsteps of the legendary Dr. Howard Tipper, whose meticulous geological mapping and extraordinary knowledge of Jurassic ammonites transformed our understanding of this part of British Columbia. His maps remain the foundation for much of the work we continue today.

Those expeditions were unforgettable.

Over several field seasons we endured altitude sickness, rain, snow, grizzly bears, and more than a few freezing nights camped beside glaciers. Helicopters spared us days of hiking into some of the most inaccessible fossil localities in the province, where every outcrop held the possibility of something extraordinary. 

Along with the three new ammonite species, we recovered beautifully preserved gastropods, crustaceans, and countless specimens that continue to help us piece together the history of these ancient seas.

What makes these fossils so important is not simply their beauty.

Ammonites evolved rapidly, making them some of our finest index fossils. By comparing species found here with those from Nevada, Alaska, South America, New Zealand, and Europe, we can correlate rock layers across continents and refine the geological timescale for the Early Jurassic. 

These tiny coiled shells have become some of our most powerful tools for understanding how life recovered following the greatest mass extinction our planet has ever known.

Collecting in this country also comes with responsibility. Many of these fossil localities lie within sensitive alpine environments or protected areas where collecting requires permits or is prohibited altogether. We tread lightly, respect the land, follow regulations, and remember that we are visitors in landscapes that have preserved these stories for hundreds of millions of years.

That is perhaps what I love most. You stand surrounded by towering peaks, yet beneath your boots lies the floor of an ancient tropical ocean. The mountains themselves are built from forgotten seas, and every fossil reminds us that Earth is never still. 

Continents wander. Oceans open and close. Mountains rise. Species flourish, disappear, and give way to those yet to come.

VANCOUVER ISLAND'S ICE AGE CAVES: WHERE GIANT GROUND SLOTHS STILL SLEEP

There is a version of Vancouver Island that few ever see.

Not the emerald forests draped in moss, the crashing Pacific surf or the towering Douglas firs reaching skyward, but another world hidden beneath our feet. 

A world of silent limestone chambers where time slows to a crawl and the Ice Age still lingers in the darkness.

Deep within the island's karst cave systems lie the remains of an extraordinary lost ecosystem. 

Long before people paddled these shores, before cedar canoes skimmed the inlets and long before the glaciers finally loosened their grip, these caves became natural vaults, preserving the stories of some of the largest animals ever to call Vancouver Island home.

Among the most remarkable are the giant ground sloths. The thought almost seems impossible. Sloths? On Vancouver Island? Yet it is wonderfully true.

The giant ground sloth Megalonyx jeffersonii, Jefferson's Ground Sloth, wandered British Columbia during the closing chapters of the Pleistocene. 

Unlike the tiny tree sloths that spend their days hanging upside down in the tropical forests of Central and South America, these impressive herbivores stood nearly three metres (10 feet) tall when rearing up on their hind legs. 

Giant Ground Sloth

Built like shaggy tanks, they browsed shrubs and young trees using long, powerful forelimbs tipped with formidable claws that were better suited to pulling branches toward them than defending against predators.

As the last glaciers retreated some 14,000 to 12,000 years ago, Vancouver Island was transforming. 

Vast ice sheets gave way to open parklands, willow thickets and patches of spruce, creating a landscape rich enough to support these gentle giants.

They were not alone.

The caves have yielded an astonishing collection of Ice Age fauna, each discovery adding another piece to the puzzle of a vanished world. 

Ancient bison once grazed these emerging landscapes. Caribou and deer moved across newly exposed valleys. 

Wolves and foxes hunted among the tundra-like plains. Black bears sought shelter in the caves, while the colossal short-faced bear, Arctodus simus, one of North America's largest terrestrial predators, also roamed these lands. 

Arctodus simus, La Brea Tar Pits

There is a wonderful fossil specimen of Arctodus simus on display at the La Brea Tar Pits in California, if you ever have the chance to visit. 

Smaller creatures, from marmots to birds, left their own subtle traces within the cave sediments, creating an extraordinary record of an ecosystem rebuilding itself after the glaciers.

Unlike many fossil localities exposed on cliffs or riverbanks, these treasures survived because they were tucked safely away underground. 

Animals occasionally wandered into cave entrances, became trapped in vertical shafts or sought temporary shelter, their remains gradually buried beneath sediments that remained cool, dry and remarkably undisturbed for thousands of years.

Recovering these fossils has never been the work of a lone adventurer. Their discovery is the story of collaboration. 

Many of Vancouver Island's fossil-bearing caves were first explored by dedicated local cavers and members of the BC Speleological Federation. Crawling through tight passages, descending deep shafts, and carefully mapping these hidden worlds, they occasionally encountered ancient bones resting undisturbed on cave floors. 

Knowing their importance, they did exactly what every responsible caver hopes they would do—they left the remains where they were and contacted researchers, museums and universities so the discoveries could be properly studied.

That decision preserved an irreplaceable scientific record.

My good friend Mike Trask (Oh, how I miss that man!) also contributed greatly to our knowledge of these caves and the wonders held within. 

Port Eliza Cave, Vancouver Island

Over the years, archaeologists Dr. Quentin Mackie and Dr. Duncan McLaren of the University of Victoria have led investigations of several of Vancouver Island's remarkable cave sites, including the famous Port Eliza Cave, located on the rugged west coast of Vancouver Island near the Holberg Quatsino Sound region.

Their research has revealed rich fossil assemblages that help us understand how animals—and eventually people—lived as the Ice Age drew to a close.

Quaternary geologist and geoarchaeologist Dr. Michael C. Wilson has also played a pivotal role in documenting these cave deposits. 

His comprehensive analyses of the faunal remains have helped establish the presence of giant ground sloths, bison, short-faced bears and many other species, painting an increasingly detailed picture of Vancouver Island's ancient ecosystems during a period of profound environmental change.

Together, scientists, archaeologists, geologists and volunteer cavers have opened a remarkable window into British Columbia's deep past. 

Vancouver Island has worn many faces. It has been buried beneath kilometres of ice, transformed into open tundra, crossed by giant sloths, stalked by immense bears and slowly reclaimed by the forests we know today.

A special thank you to Shirley Renaud for rekindling this wonder for all of us with her thoughtful questions around these cave systems and the Ice Age assemblages they hold. 

Image: A skeleton of M. jeffersonii on display in the Orton Geological Museum. This skeleton was mounted in 1896. Photo by Fuzheado. 

Image: Arctodus simus, La Brea Tar Pits. Photo by Jonathan Chen

Port Eliza Cave: North American West Coast interstadial environment and implications for human migrations, ScienceDirect: https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0277379103000921

Late Wisconsinan Port Eliza Cave deposits and their implications for human coastal migration, Vancouver Island, Canada. https://www.researchgate.net/figure/Location-of-Port-Eliza-Cave-along-the-hypothesized-coastal-migration-route_fig1_229940158

TENDER GIANTS: MAMENCHISAURUS SINOCANADORUM

For those who know me—and many of you know me rather well—you'll know I carry around a very long bucket list.

Some of it is wonderfully practical. There are places I ache to visit, museums I long to wander, fossils I dream of collecting with muddy boots and sunburned shoulders, and so many of you I'd love to spend a day in the field with, swapping stories while splitting shale or scanning a cliff face for the tiniest hint of ancient life.

Those dreams are mostly a matter of time, opportunity, and perhaps convincing my bank account to cooperate.

But there are other wishes that no amount of planning can ever make possible.

If I could choose one impossible gift, it would be to step back into deep time. Not to change anything. Just to watch.

To stand unnoticed beneath the towering trees of the Jurassic and witness moments forever lost to us. The fierce ones, certainly. The great hunts and desperate escapes. But even more than those, I'd love to see the quiet moments. A parent watching over its young. Animals greeting one another. The ordinary lives hidden between the fossils we find millions of years later.

One of the scenes I return to again and again is this.

The air is warm and heavy with the rich scent of damp earth, resin, and fresh conifer needles. Giant tree ferns crowd the shoreline, while dragonflies the size of small birds skim across still water that mirrors the fading sky. 

Somewhere beyond the trees, insects sing, and the calls of unseen dinosaurs drift through the evening air.

A family of Mamenchisaurus sinocanadorum moves silently into the shallows.

The immense adults wade with astonishing grace, each careful step sending gentle ripples across the lake. Between them, two youngsters splash through the water, still awkward in bodies that will one day become truly colossal. 

Their impossibly long necks sway with effortless elegance as they browse from branches leaning over the water's edge, occasionally pausing as if simply enjoying the coolness of the evening. 

There is no urgency. No violence. Only the quiet rhythm of another day drawing to a close in the Jurassic.

Mamenchisaurus sinocanadorum lived about 160 million years ago in what is now China and is celebrated for possessing one of the longest necks ever to evolve. At an astonishing 15 metres (50 feet), its neck alone was longer than many entire dinosaurs.

Despite their immense size, these remarkable sauropods were peaceful browsers, sweeping those extraordinary necks through the forest canopy to feed on conifers, cycads, ferns, and other lush Jurassic vegetation. Their anatomy allowed them to forage across a huge area without constantly moving their massive bodies—an elegant solution for an animal that could exceed 25 metres (82 feet) in length.

Whenever I look at these magnificent giants, I'm reminded that not every giant in Earth's history was built for conflict. Some were architects of quiet landscapes, moving through ancient forests with remarkable gentleness. 

They left no roar echoing across the valley, only soft footfalls, the rustle of leaves high in the canopy, and widening circles on the surface of a Jurassic lake as twilight settled over a world we know today only through stone.